I would like to use this blog post to explore the ideas of pain, wholes, and individuals found in Pascal and Wittgenstein in connection to another French thinker, Simone Weil. For me, she seems to lie somewhere between the two on these issues and, as she had studied Pascal extensively, offers some interesting insights to the limitations of his theory.

Pascal’s analogy, in remark 372, of a human made up of thinking members to represent how individual men relate to humanity as a greater whole is only really made up of two parts: the separated member and the body to which is belongs. It is almost as if Pascal is imagining the type of absurdity Wittgenstein asks his readers to through his discussion of how pain relates to the body (286). In Pascal, it is not a question of pain but a question of faith, or more specifically Christian faith. The separated member, or bodily appendage, is a follower of Christ who, even if it believes itself to be whole and dependent eventually “comes to know itself […] and loves itself for the body’s sake.” The process is a discovery of faith or a truth that, for Pascal, is the only possibility: “but he that is joined to the Lord is one spirit”. We can only know ourselves if we know God. The two figures of Pascal’s analogy do not directly correlate to the human and the Lord; individual members of humanity can, in fact, think. Therefore if the analogy is to work it’s literal meaning must be ignored; the literal figure of the organic body must be posited and replaced with something more abstract.

Simone Weil, in her essay on “Human Personality”, approaches a similar topic to Pascal: how we relate to one another as individuals, and how we relate to a greater whole. For Weil, however, there are three parts to the equation: the Personal, the Collective, and the Impersonal. Her three roughly correlate to Pascal’s as follows; the Personal is like the separated member of the analogy, the Collective is similar to the whole body (Jesus Christ), and the Impersonal is something else. The best correlation I can imagine is to see it as either the separated member once if has found it’s home in the body, or the human once it has found the lord. However, neither of these is quite right. Weil describes the Impersonal as all that is sacred. “What is sacred in science is truth; what is sacred in art is beauty. Truth and beauty are impersonal.” (I believe there are similarities in style with Pascal here, the use of aphoristic phrases with no guarantee the reader is following.) She goes on, still sounding like she is in agreement with Pascal, to state “Perfection is impersonal. Our personality is the part of us which belongs to error and sin”. However, it is her application of these three which marks her against Pascal and, at least for me, makes her more accessible. The personal is unimportant in both, selfish, foolish and unknowing of itself, however for Weil there is also a sense of selfishness in the collective; it too acts with itself as priority. Her collective is not Jesus Christ, it is perhaps more an institutional religion, or a nation. The impersonal then is what is missing from Pascal’s analogy, the gap that means the literal body must be posited. Similarly to Pascal she separates parts, yet not to join them together in Jesus Christ but as a way to find a different truth; Weil’s truth is Justice. The impersonal is the part which can ask “what are you going through” without relating to one’s own experience, or worrying about how it affects the collective whole.

Wittgenstein’s investigation of whether the body has pain or whether the consciousness does (although he never uses this word himself) is in a similar vein to Pascal’s analogy discussed above. However, Wittgenstein’s aim is different. He is looking at how we understand pain and how, then, we can understand the pain of others. This latter aim is what connects him to Simone Weil. Wittgenstein leads his readers through the idea that it is “absurd to say of a body that it has pain” to the question “How does it become clear that it is not the body?” (286) because for Wittgenstein, this is true. Wittgenstein moves his discussion to the larger concept of sensations to explore how they only exist in the signals and signs language, or we through the medium of language, have created in order to represent, but more importantly, to express pain and sensations to others. This focus fits into Wittgenstein’s overall investigation of language. Earlier he poses the question “what about language which describes my inner experiences [sensations] and which only I can myself can understand?”(256) Is it possible for sensations, whether pain or otherwise, to remain private and not understood when they must be expressed in a language which “is not a ‘private’ one”? Weil’s answer would be, I believe, that they should not be private; the focus should not be on your personal pain but on the pain of others. She would agree with Wittgenstein most when he demands that we do not comfort the body “but the sufferer: one looks into his eyes.”(286)

Emily Dickinson uses the ambiguity in her poem, created by punctuation and false opposites, to explore what it means to be mad. She appears to support Plato’s notion that certain madness is linked to a divine truth and uses this idea to criticise earth-bound human attitudes to madness.

The poem opens by playing with the idea of madness and sense as contrary states by linking them together: “Much Madness is divinest sense/ Much Sense- the starkest Madness”. Dickinson suggestively starts both statements the same way presenting them as opposites. However, they are not true opposites. The word “much” cancels out their opposition; as long as Dickinson is not talking in absolutes both statements can be true, to varying degrees. Dickinson seems to be simultaneously undermining the dichotomy between madness and sense whilst drawing a connection between them. Through the use of dashes, she makes it unclear whether it is the former or latter statement which is apparent “to [the] discerning eye”. A discerning eye has good, sharp judgement; an attribute Dickinson does not credit the majority with. Regardless of which statement is true to the discerning eye, the implication is that the majority do not see it. They cannot see the sense in madness, nor the madness in their sense. The dashes add to this ambiguity and coyly invite the reader to use their own discerning eye to read the lines as they deem proper.

Dickinson presents a divide between bodily senses (the five senses) and divine sense. However, once again, she is not using absolutes. The otherworldly “divinest sense” is still tied to the other senses although it is an elevated variation. It is the divinest sense not a divine sense. General sense, on the other hand, is described as “starkest madness” implying that it has a corporeal existence. Stark conjures images of stark naked, stark light, and stark raving mad. Stark naked is the body in its purest form; a stark light would be bright, obvious, and a contrast to what a discerning eye can see; someone who is stark raving mad has a physical frenzy which is different to madness as divinest sense. The stark light image echoes that found at the end of 336 “where other creatures put their eyes- /I Incautious- of the Sun-“ furthering the divide between seeing and guessing, reason and faith.  These distinctions between types of madness may be why Dickinson cannot speak in absolutes: she acknowledges the potential reality of other madness but they are not madness in the divinest sense and the two should not be aligned. The divide between corporal and divine senses becomes important in the judgement of the majority over what classes as sane and what does not.

Interestingly, in a poem full of opposites Dickinson never contrasts sanity and madness directly.  To do so would be to undermine the different types of madness and place stark raving madness and madness connected to the divine. To her this is the real false opposite.  The word madness is given so many inferences and meanings throughout the poem that it seems insufficient in getting Dickinson’s meaning across. The critique of the treatment of madness, or rather the classification of madness, by the majority reaches its climax at the end of the poem. The majority are criticised for their black and white divide. To them the opposite of sane is dangerous. Dickinson undermines this distinction with the word demur. Demur is not a true antonym of assent but, as Anna pointed out, a mild hesitation or slight divergence. “Handled with a Chain” refers to the imprisonment of the mad and “handling” invokes the idea of touch- one of the five senses- aligning this treatment away from divinest sense. The image of the chain offers another explanation of the ambiguous nature of the poem. If the punishment is a result of simply demurring Dickinson may fear being too blatant in her critique. Not only is Dickinson claiming that the treatment of the non-sane is cruel but that the supposedly sane cannot comprehend the divine sense nor the concept of a divine truth and this is certainly more than a slight demur on her part.

However, if we consider this poem within Dickinson’s oeuvre there may be something else at work here. The last three lines read like advice, perhaps from someone who has already made the wrong decision, one who did demur and was consequently handled with a chain. The tone, if the poem is read this way, is similar to the one Pascal takes up in his “Wager”. Both Pascal and Dickinson speak with a voice of experience. However there are other elements of the poem which do not coincide directly with Pascal’s views but with his way of thinking. In his discussion of who can know God— surely a form of divinest sense?— in passage 394, Pascal claims there are:

“two sorts of persons who know him: those who are humble of heart and love their lowly state, whatever their degree of their intelligence, high or low, and those who are intelligent enough to see the truth, however much they may be opposed to it.”

The type of truth Pascal is discussing here is not one connected to intelligence or education but one that exists from faith according to the first half of the passage. A notion, I believe, Dickinson shares. Truth is not something you learn from from your traditional five sense no matter how highly tuned they are. Pascal’s second group is trickier. The intelligence in the second group seems to be a different type from the first. If one’s intelligence is irrelevant then how can one be intelligent enough to see the truth? It is too much of a stretch to connect this to those who demur in Dickinson’s poem but both share the idea that truth, whichever form of it you are looking for, is not something that necessarily aligns with one’s reason or nature.