|
The
Problem of Evil (Part X of Dialogues Concerning Natural Religion) David Hume Full text at: http://www.anselm.edu/homepage/dbanach/dnr.htm#A11 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: Leibnitz has denied it; and is perhaps the
first 9 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 shew him, as a
specimen of its ills, an 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 shewing 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 judgment 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 lives. No! but the next twenty, they
say, will be better: And from the dregs of life, hope to receive 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, seems
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 connexion 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 skepticism 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 skeptical 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 laboring oar, and to support your philosophical subtleties
against the dictates of plain reason and experience. |