It is my opinion, I own, replied DEMEA, that each man feels, in a manner,
the truth of religion within his own breast, and, from a consciousness of
his imbecility and misery, rather than from any reasoning, is led to seek
protection from that Being, on whom he and all nature is dependent. So
anxious or so tedious are even the best scenes of life, that futurity is
still the object of all our hopes and fears. We incessantly look forward,
and endeavour, by prayers, adoration, and sacrifice, to appease those
unknown powers, whom we find, by experience, so able to afflict and
oppress us. Wretched creatures that we are! what resource for us amidst
the innumerable ills of life, did not religion suggest some methods of
atonement, and appease those terrors with which we are incessantly
agitated and tormented?
I am indeed persuaded, said PHILO, that the best, and indeed the only
method of bringing every one to a due sense of religion, is by just
representations of the misery and wickedness of men. And for that purpose
a talent of eloquence and strong imagery is more requisite than that of
reasoning and argument. For is it necessary to prove what every one feels
within himself? It is only necessary to make us feel it, if possible,
more intimately and sensibly.
The people, indeed, replied DEMEA, are sufficiently convinced of this
great and melancholy truth. The miseries of life; the unhappiness of man;
the general corruptions of our nature; the unsatisfactory enjoyment of
pleasures, riches, honours; these phrases have become almost proverbial
in all languages. And who can doubt of what all men declare from their
own immediate feeling and experience?
In this point, said PHILO, the learned are perfectly agreed with the
vulgar; and in all letters, sacred and profane, the topic of human misery
has been insisted on with the most pathetic eloquence that sorrow and
melancholy could inspire. The poets, who speak from sentiment, without a
system, and whose testimony has therefore the more authority, abound in
images of this nature. From Homer down to Dr. Young, the whole inspired
tribe have ever been sensible, that no other representation of things
would suit the feeling and observation of each individual.
As to authorities, replied DEMEA, you need not seek them. Look round this
library of CLEANTHES. I shall venture to affirm, that, except authors of
particular sciences, such as chemistry or botany, who have no occasion to
treat of human life, there is scarce one of those innumerable writers,
from whom the sense of human misery has not, in some passage or other,
extorted a complaint and confession of it. At least, the chance is
entirely on that side; and no one author has ever, so far as I can
recollect, been so extravagant as to deny it.
There you must excuse me, said PHILO: LEIBNIZ has denied it; and is
perhaps the first [That sentiment had been maintained by Dr. King and some
few others before Leibniz; though by none of so great a fame as that
German philosopher] who ventured upon so bold and paradoxical an opinion;
at least, the first who made it essential to his philosophical system.
And by being the first, replied DEMEA, might he not have been sensible of
his error? For is this a subject in which philosophers can propose to
make discoveries especially in so late an age? And can any man hope by a
simple denial (for the subject scarcely admits of reasoning), to bear
down the united testimony of mankind, founded on sense and consciousness?
And why should man, added he, pretend to an exemption from the lot of all
other animals? The whole earth, believe me, PHILO, is cursed and
polluted. A perpetual war is kindled amongst all living creatures.
Necessity, hunger, want, stimulate the strong and courageous: Fear,
anxiety, terror, agitate the weak and infirm. The first entrance into
life gives anguish to the new-born infant and to its wretched parent:
Weakness, impotence, distress, attend each stage of that life: and it is
at last finished in agony and horror.
Observe too, says PHILO, the curious artifices of Nature, in order to
embitter the life of every living being. The stronger prey upon the
weaker, and keep them in perpetual terror and anxiety. The weaker too, in
their turn, often prey upon the stronger, and vex and molest them without
relaxation. Consider that innumerable race of insects, which either are
bred on the body of each animal, or, flying about, infix their stings in
him. These insects have others still less than themselves, which torment
them. And thus on each hand, before and behind, above and below, every
animal is surrounded with enemies, which incessantly seek his misery and
destruction.
Man alone, said DEMEA, seems to be, in part, an exception to this rule.
For by combination in society, he can easily master lions, tigers, and
bears, whose greater strength and agility naturally enable them to prey
upon him.
On the contrary, it is here chiefly, cried PHILO, that the uniform and
equal maxims of Nature are most apparent. Man, it is true, can, by
combination, surmount all his real enemies, and become master of the
whole animal creation: but does he not immediately raise up to himself
imaginary enemies, the demons of his fancy, who haunt him with
superstitious terrors, and blast every enjoyment of life? His pleasure,
as he imagines, becomes, in their eyes, a crime: his food and repose give
them umbrage and offence: his very sleep and dreams furnish new materials
to anxious fear: and even death, his refuge from every other ill,
presents only the dread of endless and innumerable woes. Nor does the
wolf molest more the timid flock, than superstition does the anxious
breast of wretched mortals.
Besides, consider, DEMEA: This very society, by which we surmount those
wild beasts, our natural enemies; what new enemies does it not raise to
us? What woe and misery does it not occasion? Man is the greatest enemy
of man. Oppression, injustice, contempt, contumely, violence, sedition,
war, calumny, treachery, fraud; by these they mutually torment each
other; and they would soon dissolve that society which they had formed,
were it not for the dread of still greater ills, which must attend their
separation.
But though these external insults, said DEMEA, from animals, from men,
from all the elements, which assault us, form a frightful catalogue of
woes, they are nothing in comparison of those which arise within
ourselves, from the distempered condition of our mind and body. How many
lie under the lingering torment of diseases? Hear the pathetic
enumeration of the great poet.
Intestine stone and ulcer, colic-pangs,
Demoniac frenzy, moping melancholy,
And moon-struck madness, pining atrophy,
Marasmus, and wide-wasting pestilence.
Dire was the tossing, deep the groans: despair
Tended the sick, busiest from couch to couch.
And over them triumphant death his dart
Shook: but delay'd to strike, though oft invok'd
With vows, as their chief good and final hope.
The disorders of the mind, continued DEMEA, though more secret, are not
perhaps less dismal and vexatious. Remorse, shame, anguish, rage,
disappointment, anxiety, fear, dejection, despair; who has ever passed
through life without cruel inroads from these tormentors? How many have
scarcely ever felt any better sensations? Labour and poverty, so abhorred
by every one, are the certain lot of the far greater number; and those
few privileged persons, who enjoy ease and opulence, never reach
contentment or true felicity. All the goods of life united would not make
a very happy man; but all the ills united would make a wretch indeed; and
any one of them almost (and who can be free from every one?) nay often
the absence of one good (and who can possess all?) is sufficient to
render life ineligible.
Were a stranger to drop on a sudden into this world, I would show him, as
a specimen of its ills, a hospital full of diseases, a prison crowded
with malefactors and debtors, a field of battle strewed with carcasses, a
fleet foundering in the ocean, a nation languishing under tyranny,
famine, or pestilence. To turn the gay side of life to him, and give him
a notion of its pleasures; whither should I conduct him? to a ball, to an
opera, to court? He might justly think, that I was only showing him a
diversity of distress and sorrow.
There is no evading such striking instances, said PHILO, but by
apologies, which still further aggravate the charge. Why have all men, I
ask, in all ages, complained incessantly of the miseries of life?...
They have no just reason, says one: these complaints proceed only from
their discontented, repining, anxious disposition...And can there
possibly, I reply, be a more certain foundation of misery, than such a
wretched temper?
But if they were really as unhappy as they pretend, says my antagonist,
why do they remain in life?...
Not satisfied with life, afraid of death.
This is the secret chain, say I, that holds us. We are terrified, not
bribed to the continuance of our existence.
It is only a false delicacy, he may insist, which a few refined spirits
indulge, and which has spread these complaints among the whole race of
mankind. . . . And what is this delicacy, I ask, which you blame? Is it
any thing but a greater sensibility to all the pleasures and pains of
life? and if the man of a delicate, refined temper, by being so much more
alive than the rest of the world, is only so much more unhappy, what
judgement must we form in general of human life?
Let men remain at rest, says our adversary, and they will be easy. They
are willing artificers of their own misery. . . . No! reply I: an anxious
languor follows their repose; disappointment, vexation, trouble, their
activity and ambition.
I can observe something like what you mention in some others, replied
CLEANTHES: but I confess I feel little or nothing of it in myself, and
hope that it is not so common as you represent it.
If you feel not human misery yourself, cried DEMEA, I congratulate you on
so happy a singularity. Others, seemingly the most prosperous, have not
been ashamed to vent their complaints in the most melancholy strains. Let
us attend to the great, the fortunate emperor, CHARLES V, when, tired
with human grandeur, he resigned all his extensive dominions into the
hands of his son. In the last harangue which he made on that memorable
occasion, he publicly avowed, that the greatest prosperities which he had
ever enjoyed, had been mixed with so many adversities, that he might
truly say he had never enjoyed any satisfaction or contentment. But did
the retired life, in which he sought for shelter, afford him any greater
happiness? If we may credit his son's account, his repentance commenced
the very day of his resignation.
CICERO's fortune, from small beginnings, rose to the greatest lustre and
renown; yet what pathetic complaints of the ills of life do his familiar
letters, as well as philosophical discourses, contain? And suitably to
his own experience, he introduces CATO, the great, the fortunate CATO,
protesting in his old age, that had he a new life in his offer, he would
reject the present.
Ask yourself, ask any of your acquaintance, whether they would live over
again the last ten or twenty years of their life. No! but the next
twenty, they say, will be better:
And from the dregs of life, hope to receive
What the first sprightly running could not give.
Thus at last they find (such is the greatness of human misery, it
reconciles even contradictions), that they complain at once of the
shortness of life, and of its vanity and sorrow.
And is it possible, CLEANTHES, said PHILO, that after all these
reflections, and infinitely more, which might be suggested, you can still
persevere in your Anthropomorphism, and assert the moral attributes of
the Deity, his justice, benevolence, mercy, and rectitude, to be of the
same nature with these virtues in human creatures? His power we allow is
infinite: whatever he wills is executed: but neither man nor any other
animal is happy: therefore he does not will their happiness. His wisdom
is infinite: He is never mistaken in choosing the means to any end: But
the course of Nature tends not to human or animal felicity: therefore it
is not established for that purpose. Through the whole compass of human
knowledge, there are no inferences more certain and infallible than
these. In what respect, then, do his benevolence and mercy resemble the
benevolence and mercy of men?
EPICURUS's old questions are yet unanswered. Is he willing to prevent evil,
but not able? then is he impotent. Is he able, but not willing? then is he
malevolent. Is he both able and willing? whence then is evil?
You ascribe, CLEANTHES (and I believe justly), a purpose and intention to
Nature. But what, I beseech you, is the object of that curious artifice
and machinery, which she has displayed in all animals? The preservation
alone of individuals, and propagation of the species. It seems enough for
her purpose, if such a rank be barely upheld in the universe, without any
care or concern for the happiness of the members that compose it. No
resource for this purpose: no machinery, in order merely to give pleasure
or ease: no fund of pure joy and contentment: no indulgence, without some
want or necessity accompanying it. At least, the few phenomena of this
nature are overbalanced by opposite phenomena of still greater importance.
Our sense of music, harmony, and indeed beauty of all kinds, gives
satisfaction, without being absolutely necessary to the preservation and
propagation of the species. But what racking pains, on the other hand,
arise from gouts, gravels, megrims, toothaches, rheumatisms, where the
injury to the animal machinery is either small or incurable? Mirth,
laughter, play, frolic, seem gratuitous satisfactions, which have no
further tendency: spleen, melancholy, discontent, superstition, are pains
of the same nature. How then does the Divine benevolence display itself,
in the sense of you Anthropomorphites? None but we Mystics, as you were
pleased to call us, can account for this strange mixture of phenomena, by
deriving it from attributes, infinitely perfect, but incomprehensible.
And have you at last, said CLEANTHES smiling, betrayed your intentions,
PHILO? Your long agreement with DEMEA did indeed a little surprise me;
but I find you were all the while erecting a concealed battery against
me. And I must confess, that you have now fallen upon a subject worthy of
your noble spirit of opposition and controversy. If you can make out the
present point, and prove mankind to be unhappy or corrupted, there is an
end at once of all religion. For to what purpose establish the natural
attributes of the Deity, while the moral are still doubtful and
uncertain?
You take umbrage very easily, replied DEMEA, at opinions the most
innocent, and the most generally received, even amongst the religious and
devout themselves: and nothing can be more surprising than to find a
topic like this, concerning the wickedness and misery of man, charged
with no less than Atheism and profaneness. Have not all pious divines and
preachers, who have indulged their rhetoric on so fertile a subject; have
they not easily, I say, given a solution of any difficulties which may
attend it? This world is but a point in comparison of the universe; this
life but a moment in comparison of eternity. The present evil phenomena,
therefore, are rectified in other regions, and in some future period of
existence. And the eyes of men, being then opened to larger views of
things, see the whole connection of general laws; and trace with
adoration, the benevolence and rectitude of the Deity, through all the
mazes and intricacies of his providence.
No! replied CLEANTHES, No! These arbitrary suppositions can never be
admitted, contrary to matter of fact, visible and uncontroverted. Whence
can any cause be known but from its known effects? Whence can any
hypothesis be proved but from the apparent phenomena? To establish one
hypothesis upon another, is building entirely in the air; and the utmost
we ever attain, by these conjectures and fictions, is to ascertain the
bare possibility of our opinion; but never can we, upon such terms,
establish its reality.
The only method of supporting Divine benevolence, and it is what I
willingly embrace, is to deny absolutely the misery and wickedness of
man. Your representations are exaggerated; your melancholy views mostly
fictitious; your inferences contrary to fact and experience. Health is
more common than sickness; pleasure than pain; happiness than misery. And
for one vexation which we meet with, we attain, upon computation, a
hundred enjoyments.
Admitting your position, replied PHILO, which yet is extremely doubtful,
you must at the same time allow, that if pain be less frequent than
pleasure, it is infinitely more violent and durable. One hour of it is
often able to outweigh a day, a week, a month of our common insipid
enjoyments; and how many days, weeks, and months, are passed by several
in the most acute torments? Pleasure, scarcely in one instance, is ever
able to reach ecstasy and rapture; and in no one instance can it continue
for any time at its highest pitch and altitude. The spirits evaporate,
the nerves relax, the fabric is disordered, and the enjoyment quickly
degenerates into fatigue and uneasiness. But pain often, good God, how
often! rises to torture and agony; and the longer it continues, it
becomes still more genuine agony and torture. Patience is exhausted,
courage languishes, melancholy seizes us, and nothing terminates our
misery but the removal of its cause, or another event, which is the sole
cure of all evil, but which, from our natural folly, we regard with still
greater horror and consternation.
But not to insist upon these topics, continued PHILO, though most
obvious, certain, and important; I must use the freedom to admonish you,
CLEANTHES, that you have put the controversy upon a most dangerous issue,
and are unawares introducing a total scepticism into the most essential
articles of natural and revealed theology. What! no method of fixing a
just foundation for religion, unless we allow the happiness of human
life, and maintain a continued existence even in this world, with all our
present pains, infirmities, vexations, and follies, to be eligible and
desirable! But this is contrary to every one's feeling and experience: It
is contrary to an authority so established as nothing can subvert. No
decisive proofs can ever be produced against this authority; nor is it
possible for you to compute, estimate, and compare, all the pains and all
the pleasures in the lives of all men and of all animals: And thus, by
your resting the whole system of religion on a point, which, from its
very nature, must for ever be uncertain, you tacitly confess, that that
system is equally uncertain.
But allowing you what never will be believed, at least what you never
possibly can prove, that animal, or at least human happiness, in this
life, exceeds its misery, you have yet done nothing: For this is not, by
any means, what we expect from infinite power, infinite wisdom, and
infinite goodness. Why is there any misery at all in the world? Not by
chance surely. From some cause then. Is it from the intention of the
Deity? But he is perfectly benevolent. Is it contrary to his intention?
But he is almighty. Nothing can shake the solidity of this reasoning, so
short, so clear, so decisive; except we assert, that these subjects
exceed all human capacity, and that our common measures of truth and
falsehood are not applicable to them; a topic which I have all along
insisted on, but which you have, from the beginning, rejected with scorn
and indignation.
But I will be contented to retire still from this entrenchment, for I
deny that you can ever force me in it. I will allow, that pain or misery
in man is compatible with infinite power and goodness in the Deity, even
in your sense of these attributes: What are you advanced by all these
concessions? A mere possible compatibility is not sufficient. You must
prove these pure, unmixed, and uncontrollable attributes from the present
mixed and confused phenomena, and from these alone. A hopeful
undertaking! Were the phenomena ever so pure and unmixed, yet being
finite, they would be insufficient for that purpose. How much more, where
they are also so jarring and discordant!
Here, CLEANTHES, I find myself at ease in my argument. Here I triumph.
Formerly, when we argued concerning the natural attributes of
intelligence and design, I needed all my sceptical and metaphysical
subtlety to elude your grasp. In many views of the universe, and of its
parts, particularly the latter, the beauty and fitness of final causes
strike us with such irresistible force, that all objections appear (what
I believe they really are) mere cavils and sophisms; nor can we then
imagine how it was ever possible for us to repose any weight on them. But
there is no view of human life, or of the condition of mankind, from
which, without the greatest violence, we can infer the moral attributes,
or learn that infinite benevolence, conjoined with infinite power and
infinite wisdom, which we must discover by the eyes of faith alone. It is
your turn now to tug the labouring oar, and to support your philosophical
subtleties against the dictates of plain reason and experience.