seized by a sort of idolatry and hunger for knowledge, and learning was
the fashion of the day. Men of talent devoted their whole lives to
science, with an abnegation of every other pursuit unknown in the
present age, and were honoured by the great and followed by their
disciples with a reverence merited by their enthusiasm and diligence, as
well as by the benefits they conferred on their fellow creatures, in
enlarging their sphere of knowledge, and bringing from the chaos of
ignorance, truth, or the image of truth, to the light of day. Descartes
was one of the most celebrated of the Frenchmen of genius of that time.
He was not content with being the most eminent mathematician of his age,
but he combined a system of philosophy, which, though false, obtained
vogue, and secured to him a greater temporary reputation than if he had
merely enounced truths, independent of the magic of a theory. The war of
his partisans and their antagonists spread his fame: geometry and
mathematics obtained more attention than they had ever done; and
discoveries were made that excited the ambition of every fresh student
to penetrate further than his predecessors into the secrets of the
system of the universe. Étienne Pascal found men in Paris, with whom he
allied himself in friendship, deeply versed in physics and mathematics,
and he also applied himself to these sciences. He associated with
Roberval, Carcavi, Le Pailleur, and other scientific men of high
reputation--they met at each other's house, and discussed the objects of
their labours; they detailed their new observations and discoveries;
they read the letters received from other learned men, either
foreigners, or residing in the provinces: the ambition of their lives
was centred in the progress of science; and the enthusiasm and eagerness
with which they prosecuted their researches gave an interest to their
conversations that awoke to intensity the curiosity of Pascal's almost
infant son. Adding youthful fervour to abilities already competent to
the formation of scientific combinations and accuracy, the young Blaise
desired to make discoveries himself in causes and effects. A common
phenomenon in sound obtained his earliest attention. He observed that a
plate, if struck by a knife, gave forth a ringing sound, which he
stilled by putting his hand on the plate.
[Sidenote: 1635.
Ætat.
12.]
At the age of twelve he wrote a little treatise to account for this
phenomenon, which was argued with acuteness and precision. His father
wished, however, to turn his mind from the pursuits of science,
considering the study of languages as better suited to his age; and he
resolved that the boy should no longer be present at the philosophical
meetings. Blaise was in despair: to console him, he was told that he
should be taught geometry when he had acquired Latin and Greek: he
asked, eagerly, what geometry was? His father informed him, generally,
that it was the science which teaches the method of making exact
figures, and of finding out the proportions between them. He commanded
him at the same time neither to speak nor think on the subject more. But
Blaise was too inquiring and too earnest to submit to this rule. He
spent every moment of leisure in meditation upon the properties of
mathematical figures. He drew triangles and circles with charcoal on the
walls of his playroom, giving them such names as occurred to him as
proper, and thus began to teach himself geometry, seeking to discover,
without previous instruction, all the combinations of lines and curves,
making definitions and axioms for himself, and then proceeding to
demonstration: and thus, alone and untaught, he compared the properties
of figures and the relative position of lines with mathematical
precision.
One day his father came by chance into the room, and found his son busy
drawing triangles, parallelograms, and circles: the boy was so intent on
his work that he did not hear his father enter; and the latter observed
him for some time in silence: when at last he spoke, Blaise felt a sort
of terror at being discovered at this forbidden occupation, which
equalled his father's wonder at perceiving the objects of his attention.
But the surprise of the latter increased, when, asking him what he was
about, Blaise explained in language invented by himself, but which
showed that he was employed in solving the thirty-second proposition of
Euclid. His father asked him, how he came to think of such a question:
Blaise replied, that it arose from another he had proposed to himself;
and so going back step by step as to the figures that had excited his
inquiry, he showed that he had established a chain of propositions
deduced from axioms and definitions of his own adoption, which conducted
him to the proposition in question (that the three angles of every
possible triangle are equal to two right angles). The father was struck
almost with fear at this exhibition of inborn genius; and, without
speaking to the boy, hurried off to his intimate friend M. le Pailleur;
but when he reached his house he was unable to utter a single word, and
he stood with tears in his eyes, till his friend, fancying some
misfortune had occurred, questioned him anxiously, and at length the
happy parent found tongue to declare that he wept for joy, not sorrow.
M. le Pailleur was not less astonished when the circumstances narrated
were explained to him, and of course advised the father to give every
facility for the acquirement of knowledge to one so richly gifted by
nature. Euclid, accordingly, was put into the boy's hands as an
amusement for his leisure hours. Blaise went through it by himself, and
understood it without any explanation from others.[53] From this time he
was allowed to be present at all the scientific meetings, and was behind
none of the learned men present in bringing new discoveries and
solutions, and in enouncing satisfactory explanations of any doubtful
and knotty point. Truth was the passion of his soul; and, added to this,
was a love of the positive, and a perception of it, which in the exact
sciences led to the most useful results. At the age of sixteen he wrote
an "Essay on Conic Sections," which was regarded as a work that would
bestow reputation on an accomplished mathematician; so that Descartes,
when he saw it, was inclined rather to believe that Pascal, the father,
had written it himself, and passed it off as his son's, than that a mere
child should have shown himself capable of such strength and accuracy of
reasoning. The happy father, however, was innocent of any such deceit;
and the boy, proceeding to investigate yet more deeply the science of
numbers and proportions, soon gave proof that he was fully capable of
having written the work in question.
Étienne Pascal was rewarded for all his self-devotion by the genius of
his son. His daughters also profited by his care, and became
distinguished at once by their mental accomplishments and their personal
beauty. A disaster that occurred, which at first disturbed the happiness
of the family, tended in the end to establish it, and to bring into
greater notice the talents and virtues of the individuals of which it
was composed.
[Sidenote: 1638.
Ætat.
15.]
The finances of the government being at a low ebb, through mismanagement
and long wars, the minister, cardinal de Richelieu, sought to improve
them by diminishing the rate of interest towards the public creditor. Of
course this act excited considerable discontent among holders of public
stock; riots ensued, and some men, in consequence, were imprisoned in
the Bastille. Among these was a friend of Étienne Pascal, who openly
and warmly defended him, while he cast considerable blame on several
government functionaries, and in particular the chancellor Séguier.
This imprudence endangered his own liberty; he heard that he was
threatened with arrest, and to avoid it left Paris, and for several
months hid himself in Auvergne. He had many friends however among noble
patrons of learning, and the duchess d'Aiguillon, in particular,
interested herself in his favour. Richelieu, as is well known, was very
fond of theatrical representations, and a tragi-comedy by Scuderi, was
got up for his amusement. Jaqueline Pascal, then only fourteen years
old, was selected to fill one of the parts: she at first refused, saying
that the cardinal gave them too little pleasure for her to try to
contribute to his; but the duchess saw hopes for the father's recall in
the daughter's exertions, and persuaded Jaqueline to undertake the part.
She acted charmingly, and at the end of the piece approached the
cardinal, and recited some verses written for the occasion, asserting
the innocence of her father, and entreating the cessation of his exile.
The cardinal delighted, took her in his arms, and kissing her again and
again, said, "Yes, my child, I grant your request; write to your father,
that he may safely return."
[Sidenote: 1639.
Ætat.
16.]
The duchess followed up the impression by an eulogium on Pascal, and by
introducing Blaise; "He is but sixteen," she said, "but he is already a
great mathematician." Jaqueline saw that the cardinal was favourably
inclined; and with ready tact, added, that she had another request to
prefer. "Ask what you will, my child," said the minister, "I can refuse
you nothing." She begged that her father, on his return, might be
permitted personally to thank the cardinal. This also was granted; and
the family reaped the benefit. The cardinal received the exile
graciously; and, two years after, named him intendant of Normandy at
Rouen. Étienne removed with his family, in consequence, to that city.
He filled the situation for seven years, enjoying the highest reputation
for integrity and ability. About the same time, his daughter, Gilberte,
formed an advantageous marriage with M. Périer, who had distinguished
himself in a commission entrusted to him by the government in Normandy,
and who afterwards bought the situation of counsellor to the court of
aids of Clermont-Ferrand.
[Sidenote: 1641.
Ætat.
18.]
Blaise, meanwhile, was absorbed in scientific pursuits. To the
acquisition of Latin and Greek was added the study of logic and physics;
every moment of his time was occupied--and even during meals the work of
study went on. Charmed with the progress his son made, and his apparent
facility in learning, the father was blind to the ill-effects that such
constant application had on his health: at the age of eighteen, Pascal
began to droop; the indisposition he suffered was slight, and he did not
permit it to interfere with his studies; but neglected, and indeed
increased, it at last entirely disorganised his fragile being. From that
hour he never passed a single day free from pain. Repose, taken at
intervals, mitigated his sufferings; but when better he eagerly returned
to study--and with study illness recurred.
[Sidenote: 1642.
Ætat.
19.]
His application was of the most arduous and intense description. At the
age of nineteen he invented his arithmetical machine, considered one of
the most wonderful discoveries yet put into practice. A machine capable
of automatic combinations of numbers has always been a desideratum; and
Pascal's was sufficiently well arranged to produce exact results--but it
was very complex, expensive, and easily put out of order, and therefore
of no general utility, though hailed by mathematicians as a most
ingenious and successful invention. It cost him intense application,
both for the mental combinations required, and the mechanical part of
the execution:--his earnest and persevering study, and the great efforts
of attention to which he put his brain, increased his ill health so much
that he was obliged for a time to suspend his labours.
Soon after this, a question, involving very important consequences in
physics, agitated the scientific world, and the position of the two
Pascals was such, that their attention could not fail to be drawn to the
consideration of it. The mechanical properties of the atmosphere had
previously been inquired into by Galileo, who recognised in it the
quality of weight. This philosopher, however, notwithstanding the
wonderful sagacity which his numerous physical discoveries evince,
failed to perceive that the weight of the atmosphere, combined with its
fluidity and elasticity, opposed a definite force to any agent by which
the removal of the atmosphere from any space was attempted. This
resistance to the production of a vacuum had long been recognised, and
was in fact expressed, but not accounted for, by the phrase, "nature's
abhorrence of a vacuum." Whatever meaning he may have attached to it,
Galileo retained this phrase, but limited its application, in order to
embrace the phenomenon, then well known, that suction-pumps would not
raise water more than about thirty-five feet high; and although
"nature's abhorrence of a vacuum" raises the water thirty-five feet, to
fill the space deserted by the air, which had been drawn out by the
piston, yet above that height a vacuum still remained; which fact
Galileo expressed by saying, that "thirty-five feet was the limit of
nature's abhorrence of a vacuum."
That Galileo should have missed a discovery as important as it was
obvious, is the more remarkable from the circumstance of its having been
actually suggested to him by one of his own pupils. A letter from
Baliani to Galileo is extant, dated in 1630, in which the writer says
that Galileo, in one of his letters to him, having taught him that air
has sensible weight, and shown him how that weight might be measured, he
argued from thence that the force necessary to produce a vacuum, was
nothing more than the force necessary to remove the weight of the mass
of atmosphere which presses round every object, just as water would
press on any thing at the bottom of the sea.[54]
Torricelli, the pupil of Galileo, next took up the problem. He argued,
that if the weight of the atmosphere were the direct agent by which the
column of water is sustained in a pump, the same agent must needs exert
the same amount of force in sustaining a column of any other liquid;
and, therefore, that if a heavier liquid were used, the column sustained
would be less in height exactly in the same proportion as the weight of
the liquid forming the column was greater. Mercury, the heaviest known
liquid, appeared the fittest for this purpose. The experiment was
eminently successful. The weight, bulk for bulk, of mercury was fourteen
times greater than that of water; and it was found that, instead of a
column of thirty-five feet being supported, the column was only thirty
inches, the latter being exactly the fourteenth part of thirty-five
feet.
Various ways of further testing the evident inferences to be drawn from
this beautiful experiment, were so obvious, that it is impossible to
suppose the illustrious philosopher to whom we are indebted for it,
would not have pursued the inquiry further, had not death, almost
immediately after this, prematurely removed him. The experiment became
known, and excited much interest in every part of Europe; and Mersenne,
who had an extensive scientific correspondence, having received an
account of Torricelli's investigation, communicated the particulars to
Pascal. Always reluctant to surrender long established maxims, the
philosophers of that day rejected the solution of the problem given by
Torricelli, and still clung to the maxim that "nature abhors a vacuum."
The sagacity of Pascal, however, could not be so enslaved by received
notions; and he accordingly, assisted by M. Petit, applied himself to
the discovery of some experimental test, of a nature so unanswerable as
to set the question at rest. The result was the celebrated experiment on
the Puy de Dôme, the first and most beautiful example of an
"experimentum crucis" recorded in the history of physics.
Pascal argued, that if the weight of the incumbent atmosphere were the
real agent which sustained the mercury in Torricelli's tube, as it was
inferred to be by that philosopher, any thing which would diminish that
weight, ought to diminish in the same proportion the height of the
mercurial column. To test this, he first conceived the idea of producing
over the surface of the mercury in the cistern in which the end of the
tube was immersed, a partial vacuum, so as to diminish the pressure of
the air upon it. But, apprehending that this experiment would hardly he
sufficiently glaring to overcome the prejudices of the scientific world,
he proposed to carry the tube containing the mercurial column upwards in
the atmosphere, so as gradually to leave more and more of the incumbent
weight below it, and to ascertain whether the diminution of the column
would be equal to the weight of the air which it had surmounted. No
sufficient height being attainable in Paris, the experiment was
conducted, under Pascal's direction, by his brother-in-law, M. Périer,
at Clermont, on the Puy de Dôme, a hill of considerable height, near
that place. The experiment was completely successful. The mercurial
column gradually fell until the tube arrived at the summit, and as
gradually rose again in descending. Bigotry and prejudice could not
withstand the force of this, and immediately gave way. The maxim of
nature's abhorrence of a vacuum was henceforth expunged from the code of
natural science; and, what was still more conducive to the advancement
of all true science, philosophers were taught how much more potent
agents of discovery, observation and experiment, guided by reason, are,
than the vain speculations in which the ancients had indulged, and from
the baneful influence of which scientific inquirers had not yet been
emancipated.
[Sidenote: 1647.
Ætat.
24.]
Pascal had hardly escaped from boyhood at this time; his invention, his
patience, the admirable system he pursued of causing all his opinions to
be supported by facts and actual experiment, deserved the highest praise
and honour. It is mortifying to have to record that his discovery was
disputed. The jesuits accused him of plagiarism from the Italians; and
Descartes declared, that he had first discovered the effects produced by
the weight of the atmosphere, and suggested to Pascal the experiment
made on the Puy de Dôme.
[Sidenote: 1651.
Ætat.
28.]
Pascal treated these attacks the contempt which his innocence taught him
that they deserved; and published an account of his experiments without
making the slightest allusion to them. Descartes was a man of eminent
genius--his industry and penetration often led him to make the happiest
conjectures; but, more intent on employing his bold and often fortunate
imagination in the fabrication of ingenious theories than on applying
himself with patience and perseverance to the discovering the secrets of
nature, he sometimes threw out a happy idea, which he did not take the
pains to establish as a truth and a law. The honour of invention is due
to those who seize the scattered threads of knowledge which former
discoverers have left, and weave it into a continuous and irrefragable
web.
[Sidenote: 1653.
Ætat.
30.]
Pascal followed up his experiments with the utmost hesitation and care,
only deciding when decision became self-evident. Two Treatises, one "On
the Equilibrium of Liquids," another "On the Weight of the Atmosphere,"
which he subsequently wrote, though they were not published till after
his death, display his admirable powers of observation, and the patient
zeal with which he followed up his discoveries. At the time that he
wrote these treatises he was engaged on others, on geometrical subjects:
he did not publish them; and some have been irrecoverably lost. Every
subject then interesting to men of science employed his active mind. His
name had become well known: he was consulted by all the philosophers and
mathematicians of the day, who proposed questions to him; and his
thoughts were sedulously dedicated to the solution of the most difficult
problems. But a change meanwhile had come over his mind, and he began to
turn his thoughts to other subjects, and to resolve to quit his
mathematical pursuits, and to dedicate himself wholly to the practice
and study of religion.
This was no sudden resolve on his part--piety had always deep root in
his heart. He had never, in the most inquisitive days of his youth,
applied his eager questionings and doubts to matters of faith. His
father had carefully instilled principles of belief; and gave him for a
maxim, that the objects of faith are not the objects of reason, much
less the subject of it. This principle became deeply engraven in his
heart. Logical and penetrating as his mind was, with an understanding
open to conjecture with regard to natural causes, he never applied the
arts of reasoning to the principles of Christianity, but was as
submissive as a child to all the dicta of the church. But though the so
to call it metaphysical part of religion was admitted without a doubt or
a question, its moral truths met with an attention--always lively, and
at last wholly absorbing; so that he spent the latter portion of his
life in meditating, day and night, the law of God.
This change began first to operate at the age of four-and-twenty. His
zeal overflowed to, and was imbibed by, all near him. His father was not
ashamed to listen to his son's exhortations, and to regulate his life
hereafter by severer rules. His unmarried sister, Jaqueline--the heroine
of the tale previously narrated, who possessed singular
talents--listened to her brother with still greater docility and effect:
an effect rather to be deplored than rejoiced in, since it caused her to
renounce the cultivation of her talents, and the exercise of active
duties, and to dedicate herself to the ascetic practices of Catholicism.
Meanwhile the health of Pascal suffered severer attacks, and his frail
body wasted away; so that before he attained the prime of life he fell
into the physical debility of age. He resided at this time in Paris,
with his father and his sister Jaqueline. To benefit his health, he was
recommended to suspend his labours, to enjoy the recreations of society,
and to take more exercise: accordingly, he made several tours in
Auvergne and other provinces.
[Sidenote: 1651.
Ætat.
28.]
The death of his father broke up the little family circle. Jaqueline
Pascal had long entertained the desire of becoming a nun: on the death
of her father she put her resolve in execution, and took the vows in the
abbey of Port Royal aux Champs.
[Sidenote: 1653.
Ætat.
30.]
The other sister resided with her husband at Clermont. Pascal, left to
himself, devoted his time more earnestly than ever to studious pursuits,
till the powers of nature failed; and he was forced, through utter
inability, to abandon his studies. He took gentle exercise, and
frequented society. Though serious even to melancholy, his conversation
pleased by the depth of understanding and great knowledge that it
displayed. Pascal himself felt the softening influence of sympathy: he
began to take pleasure in society--he even contemplated marrying. Happy
had it been for him if this healthy and sound view of human duties had
continued: but an accident happened which confirmed him as a
visionary--if we may apply that term to a man who in the very excess of
religious zeal preserved the entire use of his profound arts of
reasoning, and an absolute command over his will: yet when the
circumstances of his exclusive dedication of himself to pious exercises
are known, and we find that a vision forms one of them, that word cannot
be considered unjust--nor is it possible to help lamenting that his
admirable understanding had not carried him one step further, and taught
him that asceticism has no real foundation in the beneficent plan of the
Creator.
[Sidenote: 1654.
Ætat.
31.]