Blaise Pascal’s Anthropological Argument

As it relates to apologetic arguments, Blaise Pascal is certainly most known for Pascal’s Wager. However, Pascal’s thought is much more diverse and, in my opinion, even more compelling in other areas. Of course, due to his untimely death, Pascal did not flesh out many of his thoughts into any kind of systematic work. Nevertheless, even his pre-modern “tweets” can pack a serious punch. 

One example of this is found in what is known as his Anthropological Argument. Pascal was somewhat critical of the more classical arguments for God. Rather than starting from abstract reasoning, he found benefit in looking into our own human experience and reasoning to God (or truth) from there. Within our experience Pascal noticed a great paradox. This paradox is humanity’s greatness and our wretchedness. 

Think about the amazing things that we humans do: We create endless varieties of music, paint stunning images of beauty, think and reflect on existence itself, we sacrifice for one another, we laugh and make friends, we travel the planet, and have even left it! There is a glory to be found here. And yet, we need only turn on the news to see a dark side as well. We lie. We hate. We steal. We murder. War after war. Horror after horror. To paraphrase Pascal, “What sort of freaks we are!”

Pascal is merely pointing out what is obvious to any who observe human behavior and history. Yet, he does so with a rhetorical flare that cannot but grab our attention and stir our hearts:

What sort of freak then is man! How novel, how monstrous, how chaotic, how paradoxical, how prodigious! Judge of all things, feeble earthworm, repository of truth, sink of doubt and error, the glory and refuse of the universe!¹

Who can seriously deny this contrast? It is evident wherever human beings are to be found. So evident in fact, that Pascal believed that the true worldview (or religion) had to capture both of these extremes within our nature. Both our glory and our shame. As he states: 

Man’s greatness and wretchedness are so evident that the true religion must necessarily teach us that there is in man some great principle of greatness and some great principle of wretchedness.²

Think of the height of human virtue, goodness, and beauty. The greatest song. The most noble deed. The most profound speech. The best friendship. The sweetest gift and gentlest act of kindness. Are we merely nothing? Are such acts nothing substantial? Are they free? Are they objectively good? Do they not stir up something deep within us? I believe that if we are being honest, it is hard to deny a significant appeal and beauty and glory to be found within humanity. A principle of greatness.

But then, what is our end? Literally, even the best of us will one day be fodder for the worms. That sentence is meant to hurt. It is meant to jar. For death does hurt. Death strikes against our glory—seems to dash it pieces. Is it we who rule this world or is it Death? Ah, but it is not even death alone that challenges our splendor. Our prisons are full. Many of our stomachs are full while others starve. Politics endlessly divide. We cannot escape war. Have you been on Twitter lately? Both within our world and within our homes there is something greatly askew. A principle of wretchedness.

Now, with Pascal we can ask, which religion (including secular beliefs) best explains this stark contrast? Where shall both the great principles of wretchedness and greatness be found and adequately grounded? Pascal would say that no belief system has such a perfect explanation for these competing principles as Christianity. For according to the Christian story, each human being is indeed something great, something very close to glorious. For we are all made as image bearers of the truly glorious God. And yet, that is only a part of the story. For, all is not well. We are not just made in the image of God, but are also fallen. Cursed and cast out of a right relationship with God, neighbor, and even the earth itself. The swords barring the way back to Eden still burn.

Whatever else one thinks about the truth of Christianity, it is difficult to deny that it does indeed offer a compelling explanation for both the way we act and for what we are. Both the great principles of greatness and wretchedness are profoundly explained and are key pillars of the Christian story.

Personally, I’ve found this argument very compelling. While being a middle-class American (and just being human) allows for the observance of much glory, I have found that being a firefighter has not allowed me to distract myself from the wretchedness. Every third day, I get to look behind the closed doors of humanity. It’s not a pretty sight. But, even there it is not all darkness. What explains the sacrifice? What explains the tender care? What explains the hope and virtue? What provides an adequate and livable meaning within such contrast?

Pascal and I agree, the best explanation for our experience is found in both our inherent and created goodness, and our great fall. Wonderfully, it is not an explanation alone, but also an invitation. An invitation to escape from futility and meaninglessness. And invitation to rise above the curse, and the dirt, and the worms, and the hate. An invitation to embrace an even greater paradox found at the climax of Christianity. God made flesh. His greatest act found in his crucifixion. Killed by his own creation. Giving his life to save it. Entering our worst fear: the grave. And rising from it. 

This argument is what inspired my book Redeeming Royalty: Anthro and the King of Lux. Although a work of literary fiction, it functions as an allegorical apologetic, with Pascal’s Anthropological Argument acting as the framework and inspiration for the main character, Anthro. If this argument intrigues you, consider giving Redeeming Royalty a read to entertain the argument through story. 

*This is the first of a series of blog posts I’ll be doing which explore the apologetics of Blaise Pascal to celebrate the release of my first book. 

Notes:

1. Blaise Pascal, Pensées translated by A. J. Krailsheimer, Penguin Books (Hudson Street, New York, 1995), 34, (434)
2. Ibid. 29, (397)

Photo by: Photo by Andres F. Uran on Unsplash