I think I’m supposed to write something about Blaise Pascal. In the past few days, his name has come to me on three different occasions. And truthfully? He isn’t that common of a topic, like, say, flight cancellations or pardoned turkeys. Or even the Kardashians, for that matter.
But on the other hand, I don’t want to bore you with the details of his life. In short, Blaise Pascal was a French mathematician, physicist, inventor, philosopher, writer, and Catholic theologian. He lived a long time ago, from 1623 until 1662.
To name all of his accomplishments would take more room than I typically have here. He was a child prodigy who was educated by his father. As a teenager, he started showing an intense interest in the mathematics of conic sections. While most kids his age were worried about getting their horse and cart driver’s license, he was off working on projective geometry at the age of 16.
In 1642 — mind you, he is still a teenager — he started developing calculating machines. They were called Pascal’s calculators and later Pascalines. This established him as one of the first two inventors of the mechanical calculator.
More than anything, he was all about science and became a pioneer in the natural and applied sciences.
The reason he came up in the history notes today? On November 23, 1654, Blaise Pascal experienced an intense, mystical vision that marked him for life. It kind of “thrust him” into believing there is a god. Pascal’s sudden religious conversion was probably the most decisive moment in his life. He witnessed something he interpreted as fire. It convinced him of God’s “reality and presence.”
He even sewed a note into his coat, reminding him so. It began with began: “Fire. God of Abraham, God of Isaac, God of Jacob, not of the philosophers and the scholars…” and concluded by quoting Psalm 119:16: “I will not forget thy word. Amen.” It sounds like a major shift in his perspective of the world.
I should mention, too, he was short-lived. Pascal was in frail health all his life, especially after the age of 18. He died just two months after his 39th birthday.
Okay, so I droned on a bit, but that is the nutshell.
There is a reason his name always stands out for me. My Mom’s mother’s maiden name was Worms. Yes, like the tendered body invertebrate. The spineless insect. Not a strong bone in its slimy self.
There is also a region in France called Worms, but a lot of people were not aware of that fact in rural Auglaize County, Ohio, back in the mid-1800s, where the rest of this story takes place.
So, the story goes that my grandmother’s great uncle, whose name was George Worms, fell head over heels in love with a young woman named Talitha Cotton. He proposed as fellas did back then. But Talitha said she would not marry a man wwhoselast name was Worms.
So George, my great-great-great-uncle, changed his last name to Pascal. The year was 1851. I have no idea why he chose the name Pascal, but it suited Talitha. They were wed and lived happily ever after, I suppose. At least, they had about nine kids and moved to DeWitt, Iowa. He farmed in Ohio, and he farmed in Iowa too. Corn is corn, I guess.
George came back to Ohio for a visit and wrote letters home to Iowa. They are delightful to read, but I can tell you this. George was no mathematical or scientific wizard.
So mystery surrounds Blaise Pascal for me. I wonder about his vision, and I also wonder if he is the namesake of my uncle. Mostly I figure, I shall never know.
But the main thing here. There are mysteries in life. People have revelations. Connections come from near or far. And sometimes, your car keys wind up in the flour tin, and there is no sensible explanation.
What a thing. The glorious mysteries of life.
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“Nothing exists except atoms and empty space; everything else is opinion.”
― Democritus
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“Don’t judge a book by its cover”
― George Eliot, The Mill on the Floss
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“The more this guy talked, the more he sounded like a fortune cookie.”
― Kelly Creagh, Nevermore
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Blaise. Pascal. Not wormy, yucky wormy.
