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462 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1955
The fact remains that the tragedy of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries—and, for the rest of this book, the words 'tragedy' and 'tragic', except when otherwise stated, will indicate the tragedy of refusal characteristic of these two centuries—does, like other forms of tragic creation and awareness, express a crisis in human relationship between certain groups of men and the cosmic and social world.
I have already said that the central problem of this tragedy is that of discovering whether a man can still live when the eye of God has lighted upon him. This is a real problem, since to live means necessarily to live in this world—a fundamental and universal truth of which phenomenology and existentialism have merely made us more conscious.
For me, literature, art, philosophy and, to a great extent, the practice of a religion are essentially languages, means whereby man communicates with other beings, and who may be either his contemporaries, his future readers, God, or purely imaginary readers. However, these languages constitute only a small and limited group chosen from among the many other forms of communication and expression open to man. One of the first questions that we must therefore ask is this: what is the characteristic peculiar to such languages? Although this is obviously to be found first and foremost in their actual form, it must be added that one cannot express just anything at all in the language of art, literature or philosophy.
These 'languages' are reserved for the expression and communication of certain particular contents. My initial hypothesis, which can be justified only by examples of concrete analysis, is that these contents are in fact world visions.
The second method goes from the abstract to the concrete, and this means from the parts to the whole and from the whole back to the parts again. For abstract knowledge of particular facts is made concrete by the study of their relationship with the whole, and the abstract knowledge of relative wholes is made concrete by the study of their internal structure, of the functions of the different parts and of their relationship with one another.
Secondly, that the essence of man lies in the very fact that he can neither choose one of these antagonistic elements nor accept tension and antagonism. His very nature impels him to strive after a synthesis—pure goodness, absolute truth, real justice, immortality of the body as well as of the mind on all and every plane. But this ideal synthesis can never be achieved on earth, and can come only from a transcendent being, from God.
Under a different, reified form, these are the fundamental concepts of any dialectical thought: the antagonistic quality of all human reality, and the aspiration to synthesis and totality are what characterise other thinkers who came centuries after Pascal. All that needs to be added is that this antagonism is much more intense in tragic than in dialectical thought, since while in Hegel and Marx the very possibility of a future throws its light back on to the conflict between thesis and antithesis, the situation with which Pascal is confronted is entirely different. The complete absence of any possibility of a historical perspective renders the antagonism correspondingly more acute.