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Rousseau's Wager
ROUSSEAU’S
WAGER
SAGUIV A. HADARI*
A page of Rousseau’s Confessions, hitherto read as a typical illustration of its author’s childishness and superstition, hides underneath its deceptive futility a pointed parody of Pascal’s Wager. First, let me quote in full the page in question, which I translate myselffrom the authoritative Pltiade edition:’ I would like to know whether such childish notions pass through other men’s hearts as sometimes pass through mine. In the midst of my studies and ofa life as innocent as one could lead, and regardless of everything that had been said to me, the fear of Hell still agitated me often. I was asking myself: In what state am I? If I were to die at this very moment, would I be damned? According to my Jansenists the matter was beyond doubt; but according to my conscience it appeared to me the opposite. Being always fearful floating in this cruel uncertainty, I resorted in order to escape it to the most ludicrous expedients, for which I would willingly lock-up a man should I see him doing the same. One day when dreaming about this sad subject I was mechanically practicing throwing stones at the tree trunks, and this with my usual skill, that is to say without hardly ever hitting one. In the midst of this great exercise, it occurred to me to make it a sort of omen to calm my anxiety. I told myself, I will throw this stone at the tree facing me. If I hit, it will be a sign of salvation; if I miss-of damnation. While saying this I threw my stone with a trembling hand and with a terrible throbbing of the heart, but SO happily that it hit the tree full in its middle; which in truth was not very difficult, for I had taken care to pick it very close and very thick. Since then I have never again doubted my salvation. I know not if in recalling this incident I ought to laugh or weep. You great men who surely laugh, congratulate yourselves, but do not insult my misery, for I swear I feel it very much.
The few accepted commentaries, meticulously reported in the above edition, offer straightforward interpretations. Pierre Janet saw this incident as an example of the ‘mania of predictions and questioning of fate’.’ More recently Jean Starobinski, with his customary subtlety, expounded on Rousseau’s wish to eliminate uncertainty, and fashion a clearly determined world, unambiguous in its meaning. The stone thrown from Jean-Jacques’ hand, having hit the tree, returns to him as a sign: the reversal of direction erases the human origins of the action and ratifies instead a divine decision.3 Yet both the latter commentary, in noting that Rousseau’s strong selfcriticism here fails to reappear subsequently in similar circumstances, and the original text, in its oddly disproportionate vehemence against such childish games, point to a further residue of meaning to be deciphered. The following
*Department U.S.A.
of Political
Science,
Stanford
University,
Stanford,
CA 94305-2044,
709
Saguiv A. Hadari interpretation, founded on a conception of the Confessions as being more than mere recollections, is offered as an attempt to solve this intriguing little textual puzzle.
I My approach to the text will be patient: three preliminary steps, gradually closing in on the passage quoted, are necessary. First, a brief reminder on the nature of the Confessions: a best-selling autobiography, famous for its candid revelations, it is also a work of art. History and fiction are interwoven to form a tale of universal moral significance, and this higher aim justifies not merely inadvertent distortions but also conscious fabulations. In truth, the second preface to Julie already admitted that its author could not see the consequence of distinguishing between fiction and reahty in the letters composing the novel (II, 11-30). Rousseau from the start of his literary career exhibited an acute awareness of his rhetorical situation visd-vis his readers,4 and privately confided that ‘often I have given myself much work in attempting to enclose in one sentence, in one line, in a word thrown as if by chance, the result of a long series of reflections’ (III, 106). Given this evidence of a simultaneous concern for two audiences, the public at large and the knowledgeable few able to discern and comprehend such hints (ibid.), the cryptic self-reference of the Coi?f‘essions---‘the resolution I have taken to write and hide myself’ (I, 116)-assumes added importance. Finally, to firmly secure the framework for an interpretation attempting to read between (and behind) the lines, it must be noted that Rousseau’s Rkveries openly admitted, in retrospect, to the Confessions artful blend of truth and lie (IVth Promenade). Hence one can plausibly assume that our little tale possibly offers more than a faithful, if insignificant reminiscence.
II The sixth book of the Confessions describes Jean-Jacques’ stay at Les Charmettes. By Rousseau’s testimony, this is the happiest time of his life, yet also one marked by a calm contemplation of his death, which he (mistakenly) considers imminent (I, 225). Physical torments and a quiet, unhurried way of living create an ambiance conducive to religious reflection. Moreover, JeanJacques’ readings, somehow stimulated by the proximity of death, contribute to this metaphysical and theological mood: the writings of Port-Royal dominate the self-selected syllabus, even for scientific information (specifically the works of Father Lamy, a renowned Jansenist). In the midst of this report, Rousseau carefully inserts two observations of some importance. ‘Believers regard God to be like themselves’, he concludes in a striking reversal of Genesis’ teaching (I, 228). While this applies particularly to the ordinary people, leaders sometimes make God as useful as possible for political purposes: Fenelon, whom Rousseau admires, probably (hopefully, comments our author) lied in fulfilling his public function (I, 229). The context of this surprising declaration makes clear its implication: Fenelon could not really
711
Rousseau’s Wager
have believed in Hell, for there is none (a notion Rousseau supports elsewhere as well: IV, 591-92; letter to Voltaire, 18 August 1856, C.G. II, pp. 303-24). The general thrust of both observations, that God and religious doctrines are humanly shaped for private or public reasons, must be emphasized, as it throws some light on our targeted passage. Rousseau’s instrumental appreciation of religion should of course be familiar from the chapter on ‘Civil Religion’ in The Social Contract, as well as the ‘Profession of Faith of the Savoyard Vicar’ in E&e, two passages which respectively illustrate the public and the private use of religion. Indeed the Confessions mention, as one of Rousseau’s planned but unachieved projects, a treatise ‘On the Utility of Religion’ (I, 972). His keen respect for the irrational (I, 554), coupled with his severe judgment on the intellectual mediocrity of the masses (III, 78,80, 106,782-among many others) motivated a strong utilitarian interest in religion as a moral scarecrow (see, for a striking example, IV, 634, note c).
III The specific context of our passage, the immediately preceding paragraph (I, 242), sets a crucial dichotomy which deserves detailed attention. Rousseau locates his own views between the writings of Port-Royat and his confessor: the first stand for the Jansenist school, while the second is a Jesuit. The issue on which Rousseau finds himself simultaneously attracted to and repelled by both theologies is one of profound personal concern for him-his eternal salvation. Indeed, complains Rousseau, the fear of Hell has inserted itself in his heart (quite suddenly, as a cautious reader would be forced to observe). His reason sides with the Jansenists, and finds causes to reject the ‘dangerous jesuit doctrine’ (I, 242): the first seems logically compelling, the second unduly forgiving, thus weak as a public incentive for moral conduct. Yet his conscience rebels against the harsh Jansenist doctrines, and finds comfort (‘une bonne assiette’, I 242) in the Jesuit fold: the stress on original sin and the unyielding distinction between elected and damned souls seem unjust and unforgiving in comparison to an acknowledgement of universal grace and an emphasis on the mitigating complexities of individual circumstances. Rousseau juxtaposes inanimate objects (the books) and cold reason, and opposes them to lovable persons (Father Hermet and Father Coppier) and warm compassion. Note as well how private and public clash once more: personally and intimately the Jesuit doctrine responds to JeanJacques’ cri-de-coeur, but publicly and officially the Jansenist doctrine provides a more efficient moral incentive.
IV Confronting at last the page of our reading (I, 243), we find a question, a method to address it and a decisive experiment. Rousseau’s query is: ‘If I were to die at this very moment, would I be damned? Clearly an upshot of the previously elaborated dispute, hence seemingly futile apart from it, the question goes to the heart of the opposition Rousseau has set: who is right, my (Jansenist) reason or
712
Saguiv A. Hadari
my (Jesuit) conscience? To eliminate the ‘cruel uncertainty’, more painful it would seem than even the frightening certainty of eternal damnation-but then again Rousseau does not really believe in Hell-Jean-Jacques devises a method. Though his ‘ludicrous expedients’ would seem familiar to many, Rousseau vehemently denounces them: does he mind the turning of religion into a lottery, or the much too quick absolution of all sins, past and future? Yet similar gambles and equally facile verdicts had been offered before.. . The experiment itselfjoins in one stone-throw three dimensions of uncertainty, and resolves all three at once. Hitting or missing, salvation or damnation, Jesuitism or Jansenitism are the mutually exclusive options: natural, personal and theological uncertainty are superimposed. The happy hit fully dissolves Jean-Jacques’ doubts, and seemingly vindicates Jesuit theology, possibly another reason for the vehemence of his self-criticism. Indeed in good Jesuit fashion ‘the doctrine of probabilities’ SO bitterly denounced by Pascal,5 making use of any favourable circumstances, supplants the strict Jansenist doctrine. The hitherto unnamed Other, the target of this parody, has been mentioned at last. Pascal, the Jansenist dedicated to criticizing Jesuitism, had been of course the first to similarly use ‘game theory’in attempting a theological demonstration. Burning as well with the desire to find a firm support (‘une assietteferme’, Fragm. 199), with the yearning for certainty, he designed his famous wager (Fragm. 418). In that logical construct two dimensions of uncertainty were combined in such a way as to force a decision. Theological uncertainty-does God exist or not?-joined personal uncertainty-should I believed or not?-the dimension of natural uncertainty being irrelevant in a purely intellectual experiment. The heading of the fragment, ‘infinirien’, summarised the payoffs from a conjunction of the first or second alternatives in each pair. Having nothing to lose and everything to win, according to Pascal’s specifications for this wager, one should rationally decide to live in faith. Most significant are the differences between Pascal’s and Rousseau’s wager. An intellectual thought-experiment, in contrast to a practical one, decides what way of living should be activelyfollowed, rather than preempting divine judgment regardless of the experimenter’s conduct. Rousseau thus offers a parody of Pascal’s wager, presenting an upside-down mirror-image of the famous demonstration-question, method and result. Yet this distorting parody unvails the ‘underside of the game’ (‘le dessous du jeu’), about which the atheist in Pascal’s imaginary dialogue was eager to learn more, but failed to get an answer. Both games, we are taught by Rousseau’s tale, present pseudo-arguments and misleading demonstrations. If Rousseau admits to a manipulation of the probabilities (‘I had taken care to pick it very close and very thick’) it is of course because Pascal manipulates the stakes: would there really be nothing to lose or gain where there no God?! In both cases the dice are loaded. Reason cannot certify faith. Alleged experiments of this kind are merely rhetorical artifices, calculated to persuade non-believers (especially when the ‘experimenter’ does not believe in Hell!). As Rousseau had hinted earlier on in the sixth book, they merely offer a humanly shaped God fit to satisfy personal cravings, in Jean-Jacques’ case, and public goals, in Pascal’s, While other criticisms of Pascal’s wager are possible,6 the point of Rousseau’s parody as interpreted here would have been conceded by the Jansenist master.
Rousseau’s
713
Wager
Fairness requires that we conclude by emphasising that Pascal evidently designed his wager as an adhominem argument directed at an utilitarian free-thinker, and accordingly never resorted to it in any other context. Saguiv A. Hadari Stanford
University,
California
NOTES 1. Jean-Jacques Rousseau, Oeuvres complkres (Paris: Editions de la Pleiade, 1959). All references to Rousseau’s work will be to this edition; volume and page number will be given in parenthesis. 2. Pierre Janet, Les N&roses (Paris: Flammarion, 1909), p. 50. 3. Jean Starobinski, La Transparence et /‘obstacle (Paris: Galimmard, 1971), p. 206. 4. Robert J. Ellrich, Rousseau and his Reader: The Rhetorical Situation of‘the Major Works (Chapel-Hill: North-Carolina University Press, 1969). 5. Blaise Pascal, Oeuvres comp/Ptes (Paris: Gallimard, 1954) Vth letter. 6. See, for example, J.H. Broome, Pascal (London: Edward Arnold, 1965); Hugh M. Davidson, The Origins ofcerrainry (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1979); Jean Levillain, ‘Exegese du fragment sur le pari’, in Ecrits sur Pascal (Paris: Editions du Luxembourg, 1959) pp. 125-54.
WAGER
SAGUIV A. HADARI*
A page of Rousseau’s Confessions, hitherto read as a typical illustration of its author’s childishness and superstition, hides underneath its deceptive futility a pointed parody of Pascal’s Wager. First, let me quote in full the page in question, which I translate myselffrom the authoritative Pltiade edition:’ I would like to know whether such childish notions pass through other men’s hearts as sometimes pass through mine. In the midst of my studies and ofa life as innocent as one could lead, and regardless of everything that had been said to me, the fear of Hell still agitated me often. I was asking myself: In what state am I? If I were to die at this very moment, would I be damned? According to my Jansenists the matter was beyond doubt; but according to my conscience it appeared to me the opposite. Being always fearful floating in this cruel uncertainty, I resorted in order to escape it to the most ludicrous expedients, for which I would willingly lock-up a man should I see him doing the same. One day when dreaming about this sad subject I was mechanically practicing throwing stones at the tree trunks, and this with my usual skill, that is to say without hardly ever hitting one. In the midst of this great exercise, it occurred to me to make it a sort of omen to calm my anxiety. I told myself, I will throw this stone at the tree facing me. If I hit, it will be a sign of salvation; if I miss-of damnation. While saying this I threw my stone with a trembling hand and with a terrible throbbing of the heart, but SO happily that it hit the tree full in its middle; which in truth was not very difficult, for I had taken care to pick it very close and very thick. Since then I have never again doubted my salvation. I know not if in recalling this incident I ought to laugh or weep. You great men who surely laugh, congratulate yourselves, but do not insult my misery, for I swear I feel it very much.
The few accepted commentaries, meticulously reported in the above edition, offer straightforward interpretations. Pierre Janet saw this incident as an example of the ‘mania of predictions and questioning of fate’.’ More recently Jean Starobinski, with his customary subtlety, expounded on Rousseau’s wish to eliminate uncertainty, and fashion a clearly determined world, unambiguous in its meaning. The stone thrown from Jean-Jacques’ hand, having hit the tree, returns to him as a sign: the reversal of direction erases the human origins of the action and ratifies instead a divine decision.3 Yet both the latter commentary, in noting that Rousseau’s strong selfcriticism here fails to reappear subsequently in similar circumstances, and the original text, in its oddly disproportionate vehemence against such childish games, point to a further residue of meaning to be deciphered. The following
*Department U.S.A.
of Political
Science,
Stanford
University,
Stanford,
CA 94305-2044,
709
Saguiv A. Hadari interpretation, founded on a conception of the Confessions as being more than mere recollections, is offered as an attempt to solve this intriguing little textual puzzle.
I My approach to the text will be patient: three preliminary steps, gradually closing in on the passage quoted, are necessary. First, a brief reminder on the nature of the Confessions: a best-selling autobiography, famous for its candid revelations, it is also a work of art. History and fiction are interwoven to form a tale of universal moral significance, and this higher aim justifies not merely inadvertent distortions but also conscious fabulations. In truth, the second preface to Julie already admitted that its author could not see the consequence of distinguishing between fiction and reahty in the letters composing the novel (II, 11-30). Rousseau from the start of his literary career exhibited an acute awareness of his rhetorical situation visd-vis his readers,4 and privately confided that ‘often I have given myself much work in attempting to enclose in one sentence, in one line, in a word thrown as if by chance, the result of a long series of reflections’ (III, 106). Given this evidence of a simultaneous concern for two audiences, the public at large and the knowledgeable few able to discern and comprehend such hints (ibid.), the cryptic self-reference of the Coi?f‘essions---‘the resolution I have taken to write and hide myself’ (I, 116)-assumes added importance. Finally, to firmly secure the framework for an interpretation attempting to read between (and behind) the lines, it must be noted that Rousseau’s Rkveries openly admitted, in retrospect, to the Confessions artful blend of truth and lie (IVth Promenade). Hence one can plausibly assume that our little tale possibly offers more than a faithful, if insignificant reminiscence.
II The sixth book of the Confessions describes Jean-Jacques’ stay at Les Charmettes. By Rousseau’s testimony, this is the happiest time of his life, yet also one marked by a calm contemplation of his death, which he (mistakenly) considers imminent (I, 225). Physical torments and a quiet, unhurried way of living create an ambiance conducive to religious reflection. Moreover, JeanJacques’ readings, somehow stimulated by the proximity of death, contribute to this metaphysical and theological mood: the writings of Port-Royal dominate the self-selected syllabus, even for scientific information (specifically the works of Father Lamy, a renowned Jansenist). In the midst of this report, Rousseau carefully inserts two observations of some importance. ‘Believers regard God to be like themselves’, he concludes in a striking reversal of Genesis’ teaching (I, 228). While this applies particularly to the ordinary people, leaders sometimes make God as useful as possible for political purposes: Fenelon, whom Rousseau admires, probably (hopefully, comments our author) lied in fulfilling his public function (I, 229). The context of this surprising declaration makes clear its implication: Fenelon could not really
711
Rousseau’s Wager
have believed in Hell, for there is none (a notion Rousseau supports elsewhere as well: IV, 591-92; letter to Voltaire, 18 August 1856, C.G. II, pp. 303-24). The general thrust of both observations, that God and religious doctrines are humanly shaped for private or public reasons, must be emphasized, as it throws some light on our targeted passage. Rousseau’s instrumental appreciation of religion should of course be familiar from the chapter on ‘Civil Religion’ in The Social Contract, as well as the ‘Profession of Faith of the Savoyard Vicar’ in E&e, two passages which respectively illustrate the public and the private use of religion. Indeed the Confessions mention, as one of Rousseau’s planned but unachieved projects, a treatise ‘On the Utility of Religion’ (I, 972). His keen respect for the irrational (I, 554), coupled with his severe judgment on the intellectual mediocrity of the masses (III, 78,80, 106,782-among many others) motivated a strong utilitarian interest in religion as a moral scarecrow (see, for a striking example, IV, 634, note c).
III The specific context of our passage, the immediately preceding paragraph (I, 242), sets a crucial dichotomy which deserves detailed attention. Rousseau locates his own views between the writings of Port-Royat and his confessor: the first stand for the Jansenist school, while the second is a Jesuit. The issue on which Rousseau finds himself simultaneously attracted to and repelled by both theologies is one of profound personal concern for him-his eternal salvation. Indeed, complains Rousseau, the fear of Hell has inserted itself in his heart (quite suddenly, as a cautious reader would be forced to observe). His reason sides with the Jansenists, and finds causes to reject the ‘dangerous jesuit doctrine’ (I, 242): the first seems logically compelling, the second unduly forgiving, thus weak as a public incentive for moral conduct. Yet his conscience rebels against the harsh Jansenist doctrines, and finds comfort (‘une bonne assiette’, I 242) in the Jesuit fold: the stress on original sin and the unyielding distinction between elected and damned souls seem unjust and unforgiving in comparison to an acknowledgement of universal grace and an emphasis on the mitigating complexities of individual circumstances. Rousseau juxtaposes inanimate objects (the books) and cold reason, and opposes them to lovable persons (Father Hermet and Father Coppier) and warm compassion. Note as well how private and public clash once more: personally and intimately the Jesuit doctrine responds to JeanJacques’ cri-de-coeur, but publicly and officially the Jansenist doctrine provides a more efficient moral incentive.
IV Confronting at last the page of our reading (I, 243), we find a question, a method to address it and a decisive experiment. Rousseau’s query is: ‘If I were to die at this very moment, would I be damned? Clearly an upshot of the previously elaborated dispute, hence seemingly futile apart from it, the question goes to the heart of the opposition Rousseau has set: who is right, my (Jansenist) reason or
712
Saguiv A. Hadari
my (Jesuit) conscience? To eliminate the ‘cruel uncertainty’, more painful it would seem than even the frightening certainty of eternal damnation-but then again Rousseau does not really believe in Hell-Jean-Jacques devises a method. Though his ‘ludicrous expedients’ would seem familiar to many, Rousseau vehemently denounces them: does he mind the turning of religion into a lottery, or the much too quick absolution of all sins, past and future? Yet similar gambles and equally facile verdicts had been offered before.. . The experiment itselfjoins in one stone-throw three dimensions of uncertainty, and resolves all three at once. Hitting or missing, salvation or damnation, Jesuitism or Jansenitism are the mutually exclusive options: natural, personal and theological uncertainty are superimposed. The happy hit fully dissolves Jean-Jacques’ doubts, and seemingly vindicates Jesuit theology, possibly another reason for the vehemence of his self-criticism. Indeed in good Jesuit fashion ‘the doctrine of probabilities’ SO bitterly denounced by Pascal,5 making use of any favourable circumstances, supplants the strict Jansenist doctrine. The hitherto unnamed Other, the target of this parody, has been mentioned at last. Pascal, the Jansenist dedicated to criticizing Jesuitism, had been of course the first to similarly use ‘game theory’in attempting a theological demonstration. Burning as well with the desire to find a firm support (‘une assietteferme’, Fragm. 199), with the yearning for certainty, he designed his famous wager (Fragm. 418). In that logical construct two dimensions of uncertainty were combined in such a way as to force a decision. Theological uncertainty-does God exist or not?-joined personal uncertainty-should I believed or not?-the dimension of natural uncertainty being irrelevant in a purely intellectual experiment. The heading of the fragment, ‘infinirien’, summarised the payoffs from a conjunction of the first or second alternatives in each pair. Having nothing to lose and everything to win, according to Pascal’s specifications for this wager, one should rationally decide to live in faith. Most significant are the differences between Pascal’s and Rousseau’s wager. An intellectual thought-experiment, in contrast to a practical one, decides what way of living should be activelyfollowed, rather than preempting divine judgment regardless of the experimenter’s conduct. Rousseau thus offers a parody of Pascal’s wager, presenting an upside-down mirror-image of the famous demonstration-question, method and result. Yet this distorting parody unvails the ‘underside of the game’ (‘le dessous du jeu’), about which the atheist in Pascal’s imaginary dialogue was eager to learn more, but failed to get an answer. Both games, we are taught by Rousseau’s tale, present pseudo-arguments and misleading demonstrations. If Rousseau admits to a manipulation of the probabilities (‘I had taken care to pick it very close and very thick’) it is of course because Pascal manipulates the stakes: would there really be nothing to lose or gain where there no God?! In both cases the dice are loaded. Reason cannot certify faith. Alleged experiments of this kind are merely rhetorical artifices, calculated to persuade non-believers (especially when the ‘experimenter’ does not believe in Hell!). As Rousseau had hinted earlier on in the sixth book, they merely offer a humanly shaped God fit to satisfy personal cravings, in Jean-Jacques’ case, and public goals, in Pascal’s, While other criticisms of Pascal’s wager are possible,6 the point of Rousseau’s parody as interpreted here would have been conceded by the Jansenist master.
Rousseau’s
713
Wager
Fairness requires that we conclude by emphasising that Pascal evidently designed his wager as an adhominem argument directed at an utilitarian free-thinker, and accordingly never resorted to it in any other context. Saguiv A. Hadari Stanford
University,
California
NOTES 1. Jean-Jacques Rousseau, Oeuvres complkres (Paris: Editions de la Pleiade, 1959). All references to Rousseau’s work will be to this edition; volume and page number will be given in parenthesis. 2. Pierre Janet, Les N&roses (Paris: Flammarion, 1909), p. 50. 3. Jean Starobinski, La Transparence et /‘obstacle (Paris: Galimmard, 1971), p. 206. 4. Robert J. Ellrich, Rousseau and his Reader: The Rhetorical Situation of‘the Major Works (Chapel-Hill: North-Carolina University Press, 1969). 5. Blaise Pascal, Oeuvres comp/Ptes (Paris: Gallimard, 1954) Vth letter. 6. See, for example, J.H. Broome, Pascal (London: Edward Arnold, 1965); Hugh M. Davidson, The Origins ofcerrainry (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1979); Jean Levillain, ‘Exegese du fragment sur le pari’, in Ecrits sur Pascal (Paris: Editions du Luxembourg, 1959) pp. 125-54.