Much of Pascal’s philosophy, though applicable to a variety of problems and issues we face today, is couched in religious terms that, even for religious believers today, may not resonate. This chapter explores some possibilities of developing some key Pascalian ideas – the limits of reason and experience, the ambiguity of the world, the heart, our sometimes-misplaced desires, and the wager – in secular terms. One possibility that emerges as particularly fruitful is to replace Pascal’s “God” with William James’s “religious belief” that the good will ultimately triumph, and that it is important and beneficial for us to believe it.

Wollstonecraft, like most philosophers of the enlightenment period, had a deep trust in the power of reason to change the course of human history, and thought that religion, provided it was not dogmatic and allowed for dissent, was a crucial element of what it meant to be a good human being. Yet she was also an applied philosopher who engaged with revolutionaries proposing social and political reforms. In this chapter, I look at how her work was shaped by the political acts that took place around her, and how it in turns attempted to help shape the new social and political frameworks that were developing at the time – the French Revolution, which she commented on in her Moral and Historical View of the French Revolution.

For Pascal, our knowledge of everything from geometry and the external world to God comes not from reason or experience alone, but rather it requires a feeling of “the heart.” This central notion in Pascal, which is underexplored in the literature, is the key to understanding his philosophy. This chapter develops a “cordate” (or heart-shaped) epistemology to show how the heart replaces reason and experience as the foundation in Pascal. Once we piece together an account of the heart – no easy task, since Pascal’s notes do not explicitly define it – we can trace its role in generating belief. The heart is, roughly, an affective orientation that is the seat of the will, which in turn affects experience, feelings, and perception. It even generates its own reasons. This affective orientation includes, for example, what one fundamentally loves, hates, fears, and so on. We can then see how a feeling of the heart can generate knowledge of first principles, that we are not dreaming, and, once we consider the role of the heart in Pascal’s Augustinian theology, a kind of religious engagement with the world and ultimately a love (and consequently knowledge) of God. Applications to life today are also explored.

Having established the basics of a Pascalian, “cordate” epistemology, this chapter explores the implications for how the world works and applications to some pressing problems today. The way the world looks, and so the reasons your experience gives you, depends on the state of your heart. But the fact that the world can be seen in these ways, according to the different states of heart, is a significant fact about it. Pascal infers much from this built-in ambiguity in the world when it comes to religion. That the world can be seen as both a Godless mechanism and mediating a loving relationship with God confirms one theology (the Augustinian Fall), and disconfirms the rest. A similar situation arises for us today, where the facts about the world can seem equally obvious to both sides of our polarized society, even though they are looking at the same world, albeit from their own “echo chambers.” This chapter explores the relevance of Pascal’s views on ambiguity to the deep disagreements we encounter in society today, applying insights about how the heart influences the way things appear as well as how to communicate with those who profoundly disagree with us.

Philosophy is not only about beliefs but also decisions and desires. This chapter explores Pascal’s ideas about the human condition, how our desires can make us miserable even when they are satisfied, and how this condition leads us to seek distractions that only make us more miserable. Again we find Pascal’s views and prescriptions stem from the heart, as our fallen state is the source of this sad situation. At the same time, by thinking well about it we can arrive at the conclusion that life could be great, and that the fact that it is not so great confirms the theology of the Fall (and doesn’t confirm other religions, which do not predict our actual predicament). The heart, then, is the key to all of our engagement with the world: not only our beliefs about it but also our desires and happiness. Remarkably, some of the problems Pascal wrote so eloquently about seem especially applicable today, as his descriptions of the need to display a fake identity predict and diagnose TikTok culture, and his rejection of the project to “find your true self,” “love yourself,” and “go with your heart” challenges the typical self-help advice one finds today.

This chapter applies the Pascalian picture developed in the rest of the book to the famous “wager.” With that background in place, we can see how the wager has been misunderstood, and that the correct interpretation is far more defensible than the standard one. The so-called wager is an argument designed to convince a very particular kind of person – one with only self-interest in their heart – to seek a change of heart. It is a predictable part of Pascal’s general aim in his philosophy, and it doesn’t make the silly mistakes that are often attributed to him. Pascal’s innovations, such as the notion of infinity, the ambiguity of the world, the dependence of reasons on the heart, and corrupting influence of bad desires, are brought to bear on the wager to present a plausible, and less radical picture of the role of belief in Pascal. Topics such as self-deception, alternative conceptions of God, and the benefits of seeking the love of God are addressed throughout.

This chapter investigates the mechanisms of sexist domination and women’s apparent complicity in their own oppression in the Vindication of the Rights of Woman. It takes as its starting point Wollstonecraft’s claim that aristocratic women are as birds in cages who swap their freedom and reason for clothes and food. I ask whether this can be interpreted as a form of adaptive preferences, and, secondly, existentialist bad faith. I argue that while these theories are useful for understanding Wollstonecraft’s schema, they do not suffice to explain it.

When Socrates finally has the opportunity to present his defense (apologia) to the Athenian jury, he takes an unusual strategy. Rather than asking for forgiveness and throwing himself on the mercy of his judges – “You would have liked to hear me weep and wail,” he tells them – or appealing to their emotions by having his wife and children come before the court to plea for his life, he simply describes his mission in life.

In Plato’s early dialogue Euthyphro, we find Socrates on the eve of the trial in 399 BCE that will end with his conviction and, eventually, execution. According to the story, the official charges brought against him by some leading citizens of Athens are “failing to recognize the city’s gods, introducing other new divinities, and breaking the law because he corrupts the youth of the city.” However, Socrates knows – and we know – that the real reason for his indictment is political. Besides cavorting with individuals suspected of being enemies of the democracy, he has earned the resentment and suspicion of powerful citizens after years of harassing Athenians about the lives they were leading. Socrates has a bad reputation, in part because of those he refers to as the “old accusers” – people such as Aristophanes, whose unflattering portrayal of Socrates among the youth in plays like The Clouds (produced in 423 BCE) only reinforced the animus against him.