Part 10

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 admit, replied DEMEA, that I believe every man feels the truth of religion, in a way, within his heart. Awareness of his weakness and misery, rather than any reasoning, leads him to seek protection from that Being. Both he and all of nature depend on that Being. Even the best parts of life are so full of anxiety or boredom that all our hopes and fears concern the future. We constantly look ahead and try, through prayers, worship, and sacrifice, to appease those unknown powers. Experience shows us how capable those powers are of making us suffer and oppressing us. What miserable creatures we are! What help would we have amid life's countless troubles if religion did not offer some ways to make amends? What help would we have if religion did not calm the terrors that constantly trouble and torment us?

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.

I am convinced, said PHILO, that accurately portraying human misery and wickedness is the best way to give everyone a proper sense of religion. Indeed, it is the only way. For that purpose, eloquence and vivid imagery are more necessary than reasoning and argument. For do we need to prove what everyone feels within themselves? We only need to make people feel that misery and wickedness more deeply and vividly, if possible.

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?

People are indeed convinced enough of this great and sad truth, replied DEMEA. The miseries of life, human unhappiness, the general corruption of our nature, the dissatisfaction of pleasure, wealth, and honors: these phrases have become almost proverbial in all languages. And who can doubt what all people report from their own direct feelings 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.

On this point, said PHILO, scholars agree completely with ordinary people. And all literature, both religious and secular, has dwelt on human misery with deeply moving eloquence. Sorrow and melancholy could inspire no more moving words. Poets speak from feeling, without following a system of thought, so their testimony carries greater authority. Their work is full of images of human misery. From Homer down to Dr. Young, all these inspired poets have always recognized one thing. No other picture of life would match every individual's feelings and observations.

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.

As for authorities, replied DEMEA, you need not look far. Look around this library of CLEANTHES. I would venture to say that hardly any of these countless writers have failed to acknowledge human misery. Somewhere in their work, a sense of that misery has forced them to complain and admit its existence. I except writers on specific sciences, such as chemistry or botany, who have no reason to discuss human life. At least, the odds are entirely on that side. And as far as I can recall, no author has ever gone so far as to deny human misery.

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.

You must excuse me there, said PHILO. LEIBNIZ denied it and was perhaps the first to advance such a bold and paradoxical opinion. [Dr. King and a few others had defended that view before Leibniz. But none was as famous as that German philosopher.] At least, he was the first to make that opinion 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 might being the first not have made him aware of his mistake, replied DEMEA? For can philosophers expect to make discoveries on this subject, especially at so late a stage in history? And can anyone hope, simply by denying it, to overturn the united testimony of humanity, based on sense and consciousness? The subject hardly allows for reasoning.

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.

And why, he added, should humans claim to be exempt from the fate of all other animals? Believe me, PHILO, the whole earth is cursed and polluted. A never-ending war rages among all living creatures. Necessity, hunger, and deprivation drive the strong and courageous. Fear, anxiety, and terror torment the weak and frail. Birth brings anguish to the newborn infant and its miserable parent. Weakness, helplessness, and suffering mark every stage of life. And life finally ends 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.

Notice too, says PHILO, Nature’s ingenious tricks for making every living being’s life bitter. The stronger prey on the weaker and keep them in constant fear and anxiety. The weaker, in turn, often prey on the stronger and torment and harass them without rest. Consider the countless insects that breed on each animal’s body or fly around and pierce the animal with their stings. These insects have still smaller insects that torment them. And so every animal is surrounded by enemies on all sides, ahead and behind, above and below. These enemies never stop seeking to cause the animal suffering 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.

Humans alone, said DEMEA, seem to be partly exempt from this rule. By working together in society, they can easily overpower lions, tigers, and bears. These animals’ greater strength and agility naturally allow them to prey on humans.

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.

On the contrary, cried PHILO, Nature’s consistent and impartial rules are most evident here. Humans can, it is true, join forces to overcome all their real enemies and master the entire animal kingdom. But don’t they immediately create imaginary enemies for themselves, demons of their own imagination? These demons haunt them with superstitious terrors and ruin every pleasure in life. People imagine that their pleasure is a crime in these demons’ eyes. Their food and rest offend and anger the demons. Even their sleep and dreams give them new reasons for anxious fear. And even death, their refuge from every other evil, offers only the dread of endless, countless miseries. A wolf troubles a frightened flock no more than superstition troubles the anxious hearts of miserable 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.

Besides, consider this, DEMEA: Society enables us to overcome wild beasts, our natural enemies. Yet what new enemies does society create for us? What suffering and misery does society cause? Human beings are their own greatest enemies. Through oppression, injustice, contempt, insults, violence, rebellion, war, slander, betrayal, and fraud, people torment one another. They would soon break up the society they had formed, if they did not fear still greater suffering from 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.

But although these attacks from outside us form a terrifying list of troubles, said DEMEA, worse troubles come from within. Animals, people, and all the elements attack us. Yet these attacks are nothing compared with the suffering caused by disorders of our own minds and bodies. How many people endure the lingering torment of disease? Listen to the great poet’s moving account of these sufferings.

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.

Mental suffering, continued DEMEA, though more hidden, is perhaps no less terrible and distressing. Remorse, shame, anguish, rage, disappointment, anxiety, fear, depression, despair: who has lived without cruel attacks from these tormentors? How many have hardly ever felt anything better? Hard work and poverty, which everyone hates, are the certain fate of the vast majority. And the privileged few who enjoy comfort and wealth never achieve contentment or true happiness. All life's good things combined would not make anyone very happy. But all life's troubles combined would make anyone truly miserable. Almost any single trouble is enough to make life not worth choosing. And who can be free of every trouble? Indeed, often the absence of just one good thing is enough to make life not worth choosing. And who can possess every good thing?

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.

If a stranger suddenly arrived in this world, I would show him some examples of its suffering. I would show him a hospital full of disease, a prison crowded with criminals and debtors, a battlefield strewn with corpses. I would show him a fleet sinking in the ocean, a nation suffering under tyranny, famine, or plague. But where should I take him to show him the cheerful side of life and its pleasures? To a ball, an opera, a royal court? He might rightly think I was only showing him different forms 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?

There is no escaping such striking examples, said PHILO, except through excuses that only make the case against you stronger. Why, I ask, have all people in every age complained endlessly about life's miseries?... They have no good reason, someone says. These complaints come only from their dissatisfied, grumbling, anxious nature...And could there possibly be, I reply, a more certain source of misery than such a wretched disposition?

But if they were really as unhappy as they pretend, says my antagonist, why do they remain in life?...

But my opponent asks: If they are really as unhappy as they claim, why do they stay alive?...

This is the secret chain, say I, that holds us. We are terrified, not bribed to the continuance of our existence.

This, I say, is the hidden chain that binds us. We keep living because we are frightened, not because we are rewarded.

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?

He may insist that only a false sensitivity, indulged by a few refined people, is to blame. This sensitivity has spread these complaints throughout the whole human race. . . . But what, I ask, is this sensitivity you criticize? Is it anything but a greater sensitivity to all of life's pleasures and pains? And if a sensitive, refined person feels life so much more intensely than everyone else, yet is only that much unhappier, what should we conclude about human life in general?

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.

Let people rest, our opponent says, and they will be at ease. They willingly create their own misery. . . . No! I reply: rest brings them anxious listlessness. Activity and ambition bring them disappointment, frustration, and trouble.

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.

I can see something like what you describe in some other people, replied CLEANTHES. But I admit I feel little or nothing of it myself. And I hope it is not as common as you say.

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.

If you do not feel human misery yourself, cried DEMEA, I congratulate you on being so happily unlike everyone else. Others, seemingly the most prosperous, have not been ashamed to voice their complaints in the saddest terms. Consider the great and fortunate emperor CHARLES V. Tired of worldly greatness, he handed over all his vast territories to his son. In his final speech on that memorable occasion, he publicly admitted that even his greatest successes had brought many troubles. So many, he said, that he could truthfully say he had never known any satisfaction or contentment. But did retirement, where he sought refuge, bring him any greater happiness? If we can believe his son's account, he began regretting his decision the very day he gave up his throne.

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.

CICERO rose from humble beginnings to the greatest glory and fame. Yet how movingly his personal letters and philosophical writings complain about life's troubles! In keeping with his own experience, he portrays CATO, the great and fortunate CATO, declaring in old age: If he were offered another life, he would refuse the gift.

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:

Ask yourself, or anyone you know, whether you would relive the last ten or twenty years of your life. No! But the next twenty years, people say, will be better:

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.

So they finally find themselves complaining that life is too short. At the same time, they complain that life is empty and full of sorrow. Human misery is so great that it reconciles even contradictions.

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?

Is it possible, CLEANTHES, said PHILO, that you still insist on giving God human qualities after all these reflections? Infinitely more reflections could be offered. Can you still claim that God’s moral qualities are of the same nature as these virtues in human beings? I mean his justice, kindness, mercy, and moral integrity. We admit that his power is infinite. Whatever he wills happens. But neither humans nor any other animals are happy. Therefore, he does not will their happiness. His wisdom is infinite. He never makes a mistake in choosing the means to any end. But the course of nature does not lead to human or animal happiness. Therefore, nature was not established for that purpose. In the entire range of human knowledge, no conclusions are more certain and infallible than these. In what way, then, do his kindness and mercy resemble human kindness and mercy?

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?

EPICURUS's old questions remain unanswered. Is he willing to prevent evil, but unable to? Then he is powerless. Is he able to prevent evil, but unwilling to? Then he is malicious. Is he both able and willing? Then where does evil come from?

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.

You attribute purpose and intention to Nature, CLEANTHES, and I believe you are right. But tell me, what is the goal of the intricate design and machinery she has displayed in all animals? Only to preserve individuals and reproduce the species. Nature seems satisfied if a species barely maintains its place in the universe. She shows no care or concern for the happiness of its individual members. She provides no resources for their happiness, no machinery designed merely to give pleasure or ease. There is no store of pure joy and contentment, no enjoyment without some accompanying need or necessity. At least, the few examples of such happiness are outweighed by opposite examples 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.

Our appreciation of music, harmony, and indeed beauty of all kinds gives us pleasure. Yet these pleasures are not absolutely necessary for the species to survive and reproduce. But consider the agonizing pains caused by gout, kidney stones, migraines, toothaches, and rheumatism. In these conditions, the damage to the body's machinery is either slight or incurable. Cheerfulness, laughter, play, and fun seem to be pleasures given freely, serving no further purpose. Ill temper, melancholy, discontent, and superstition are pains of the same kind. How, then, does God's goodness reveal itself, as you Anthropomorphites understand it? Only we Mystics, as you were pleased to call us, can explain this strange mixture of experiences. We trace this mixture to attributes that are infinitely perfect but beyond our understanding.

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?

And have you finally revealed your intentions, PHILO? said CLEANTHES, smiling. Your long agreement with DEMEA did surprise me a little. But I see you were secretly preparing an attack against me all along. And I must admit, you have now found a subject worthy of your noble passion for opposition and debate. If you can establish your point and prove humanity unhappy or corrupt, all religion comes to an immediate end. For what is the point of establishing the Deity’s natural qualities while his moral qualities remain 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.

You take offense very easily, replied DEMEA, at the most innocent and widely accepted opinions, even among religious and devout people. Nothing could be more surprising than to hear talk of human wickedness and misery accused of outright atheism and irreverence. Have not all devout theologians and preachers spoken at length on so rich a subject? And have they not easily answered any difficulties the subject may raise? This world is only a speck compared with the universe. This life is only a moment compared with eternity. The evils we now witness are therefore put right elsewhere, and in some future stage of existence. People's eyes will then be opened to a broader view of things. They will see how general laws are all connected. And with reverence, they will trace the Deity's goodness and justice through all the twists and complexities 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.

No! replied CLEANTHES, No! We can never accept these arbitrary assumptions when they contradict clear and undisputed facts. How can we know any cause except through its known effects? How can we prove any hypothesis except through observable evidence? Basing one hypothesis on another is like building in midair. The most we can ever establish through these guesses and inventions is that our opinion is possible. But we can never establish its truth on those terms.

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.

The only way to defend God's goodness is to deny completely that humans are miserable and wicked. I willingly accept this approach. Your descriptions are exaggerated. Your gloomy views are mostly imaginary. Your conclusions go against facts and experience. Health is more common than sickness, pleasure more common than pain, and happiness more common than misery. And for every trouble we encounter, we enjoy, by my count, a hundred pleasures.

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.

Even if I accept your position, replied PHILO, you must also admit something else. Your position is still extremely doubtful. But if pain is less frequent than pleasure, pain is infinitely more intense and lasting. One hour of pain can often outweigh a day, a week, or a month of our ordinary, dull pleasures. And how many days, weeks, and months do some people spend in the most intense torment? Pleasure hardly ever reaches ecstasy and rapture. And pleasure can never remain at its highest intensity for any length of time. Our energy drains away, our nerves weaken, our bodies become unsettled, and enjoyment quickly turns into fatigue and discomfort. But pain often, good God, how often! rises to torture and agony. And the longer pain continues, the more agonizing and torturous it becomes. Our patience runs out, our courage fades, and despair takes hold of us. Nothing ends our misery except the removal of its cause or another event, the only cure for all suffering. Yet in our natural foolishness, we regard that event with even greater horror and dread.

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 I will not dwell on these points, continued PHILO, though they are entirely obvious, certain, and important. I must speak freely and warn you, CLEANTHES: you have made the debate turn on a very dangerous question. Without realizing it, you are introducing total skepticism into the most essential doctrines of natural and revealed theology. What! Is there no way to give religion a sound foundation unless we agree that human life is happy? Must we also maintain that continued life, even in this world, is worth choosing and desiring? And must we maintain this despite all our present pains, weaknesses, frustrations, and follies? But this view contradicts everyone's feelings and experience. The authority of those feelings and experiences is so firmly established that nothing can overturn it. No decisive evidence can ever be presented against that authority. Nor can you calculate, assess, and compare all the pains and pleasures in every human and animal life. So you rest the whole system of religion on a question that, by its very nature, must forever remain uncertain. By doing so, you implicitly admit that the whole 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 suppose I grant that animals, or at least humans, experience more happiness than misery in this life. No one will ever believe this claim, and you certainly can never prove it. Even if I grant it, you have still achieved nothing. For this balance is by no means what we expect from infinite power, infinite wisdom, and infinite goodness. Why is there any misery at all in the world? Surely not by chance. Then misery must have some cause. Does the Deity intend it? But he is perfectly benevolent. Does misery go against his intentions? But he is almighty. Nothing can undermine this argument, so brief, so clear, so decisive, unless we make one assertion. We must assert that these subjects exceed all human understanding, and our usual standards of truth and falsehood cannot apply. I have insisted on this point all along. But from the beginning, you have rejected it 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!

But I am willing to retreat even from this defensive position, though I deny you could ever drive me from it. I will grant that human pain or misery is compatible with God’s infinite power and goodness. I will grant this even in your sense of those qualities. What have you gained by all these concessions? Mere possible compatibility is not enough. You must prove that God has these qualities in their pure, unmixed, and unlimited form. Your evidence must come from the mixed and confused phenomena we observe, and from these alone. What a promising undertaking! Even if the phenomena were entirely pure and unmixed, they would still be finite and therefore insufficient for your purpose. How much more insufficient, then, when the phenomena are also so conflicting 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.

Here, CLEANTHES, I feel at ease with my argument. Here I triumph. Earlier, when we debated intelligence and design as divine attributes, I needed all my skeptical and metaphysical subtlety to escape your arguments. When we consider the universe in many ways, especially its parts, the beauty and fitness of purposeful design strike us irresistibly. All objections then seem like mere quibbles and deceptive reasoning, as I believe they really are. We cannot then imagine how we ever gave those objections any weight. But no view of human life or humanity’s condition lets us infer God’s moral qualities without seriously straining the evidence. Nor can we discover infinite goodness joined with infinite power and infinite wisdom. We must see those qualities through the eyes of faith alone. Now you must take the oar and do the hard rowing. You must defend your philosophical subtleties against the conclusions of plain reason and experience.