Dark Matters: Pessimism and the Problem of Suffering

Abstract

In Dark Matters, Mara Van Der Lugt attempts to rehabilitate pessimism as a moral stance. Critical to this task is the distinction between what she calls “future-oriented” and “value-oriented” pessimism (10). The former is what most people presently understand the word pessimism to mean: a gloomy view about the future, an attitude of premature defeat.Although this kind of fatalism can be found alongside value-oriented pessimism, Van Der Lugt is chiefly interested in the latter, which she portrays as a sympathetic appreciation of suffering that, although not without hope, does not attempt to explain—let alone explain away—the existence of evil.To make this case, Dark Matters proceeds in three sections. The first section, comprising the introduction and first two chapters of the book, sets up the contrast between future- and value-oriented pessimism by examining various approaches to the classic problem of evil, as summarized by Epicurus’s classic trilemma among God’s power, God’s goodness, and the existence of evil.Some of these are what she calls “negative” strategies, which deny the premise that there is evil—or, more generously, a problematic amount of evil—in the world (33). And some are “positive” strategies, which accept the premise of evil in the world but attempt to explain the origin of evil by, for example, casting it as the inevitable side effect of free will and/or sin (35). Whatever their views about the future, those who take up these strategies are, in Van Der Lugt’s terms, “optimists.” And they are so by virtue of believing the problem of evil can be satisfactorily answered.On the other hand, those who take the contrasting approach, believing that the problem of evil is so acute that it cannot be rationally resolved, are pessimists. And first among them, for Van Der Lugt’s purposes, is Pierre Bayle, who set the terms of the pessimist/optimist debate in the early modern era by making the problem of evil primarily a problem of suffering.For Bayle, the primary task of addressing Epicurus’s query is not to justify or undermine belief in the existence of a good God. It is, rather, to understand, or at least appreciate, the irrefutable experience of human suffering. This focus on suffering alone does not make Bayle a pessimist. Rather, what makes him a pessimist is his insistence that there is far more suffering than pleasure in life, that we have little power to choose whether we suffer or flourish in any given circumstance, and that most of our pains cannot be explained as just punishment.In opposing Bayle’s diagnosis, Van Der Lugt suggests that most optimists employ a rhetorical strategy that she calls “the optics of optimism.” This strategy first attempts to meet Bayle head-on by denying his first two assertions. That is, optimists hold that there is far more joy in life than suffering and that we have significant capacity to choose happiness over sorrow. In this dispute, disagreement centers around a thought experiment proposed by Bayle: if you ask those advanced in years whether or not they would willingly pass through their lives again, with the same ration of good and evil, most will answer negatively. Optimists, such as William King and Leibniz, disagree. As they see it, most people would readily agree to live their lives again, if the alternative was oblivion.The problem for the optimists here is not that their answer is implausible. Indeed, they seem to be correct about the general opinion of humanity. It is, rather, that it is insufficient for their purposes. For although Bayle may indeed be wrong that most people would choose oblivion over a second pass through life, the existence of even one creature who would reasonably choose oblivion is enough to trouble those who assert the existence of a good universal order. This is where the optics of optimism come in. For, when confronted with the likely existence of even one miserable wretch, the optimists shift their arguments from the “creaturely” to the “cosmic” perspective (71). The world, they concede, is not unblemished by miserable wretches, but their suffering is either necessary for the overall good order or more than adequately rewarded in the next life.At this point, according to Van Der Lugt, the structure of the debate about the problem of evil in the early modern era is set. The pessimists, following Bayle, find the optimists’ attempts at rational theodicy cruelly dismissive of actually experienced suffering. At the same time, the optimists believe the pessimists overstate their case and consequently cause unnecessary suffering by promoting a gloomy view of existence. As Van Der Lugt notes, both of these positions are deeply ethical; they both care about the practical effects of philosophical and theological attempts to address the problem of evil. And in the second section of Dark Matters she takes us on a “Grand Tour” through the ways this debate played out during the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries (105).This section of the book, like any grand tour, is necessarily selective. Major stops include Voltaire (chapter 3), La Mettrie and Maupertuis (chapter 4), Hume (chapter 5), Rousseau (chapter 6), Kant (chapter 7), and Schopenhauer (chapter 8). As the subtle interplay among these figures resists easy summary, I will not attempt a synopsis here but rather make two general comments. First, in this section of the book, Van Der Lugt skillfully demonstrates the contributions of these figures without becoming distracted by thorny interpretive issues. And second, the overall impression given by this long section of Dark Matters is that the “debate” between pessimists and optimists in the early modern period is less a debate than a collaboration. Certainly Maupertuis disagreed with La Mettrie, Hume with the Stoics, Rousseau with Voltaire, Kant and Schopenhauer with everyone. But these disagreements were the effect of a deeper agreement about the importance of offering hope and consolation to those who suffer. The true problem of evil that emerges from these chapters is that philosophy is insufficient to the task. Perhaps we can rationally explain the origin of evil; perhaps we can justify the existence of all suffering as deserved or necessary. But even if the optimists are correct, theodicy does little to address the lived experience of suffering and sorrow. Rational inquiry is, therefore, not the end but the beginning of an answer the problem of evil. It can show us where sympathy, consolation, and hope are necessary, but it cannot provide them on its own.This concern with the ethical import of the problem of evil and the use and limitations of philosophy in the face of suffering also informs the last section, and chapter, of Dark Matters. Subtitled “Pessimism as a Moral Source,” this chapter aims to apply the lessons of the foregoing to the present (395). According to Van Der Lugt, this task is urgent for two reasons. First, Van Der Lugt is wary of the contemporary gospel of self-actualization. There is a dark side to being told that you can be anything if you just work hard enough: “If we’re not happy, we are doing something wrong” (402). Second, in addition to the ubiquity of debased aphoristic Stoicism, Van Der Lugt worries that our increasing exposure to depictions of suffering, as supplied by the internet and mass media, depletes our capacity for sympathy. There is an obvious moral difference between torturing someone to death and fictionally depicting the act of torturing someone to death. But it seems likely, Van Der Lugt proposes, that from the perspective of the spectator, the deleterious effects of watching these depictions for entertainment is similar.Thus, according to Van Der Lugt, we find in the Baylean tradition of pessimism and the debate that followed not only an overlooked and fascinating philosophical tradition but also a necessary corrective. For pessimism at its best is not a prediction that things will turn out ill. It is, rather, a reminder of the fragility of life, and the importance of sympathy, consolation, and hope.As an intellectual history, Dark Matters is superb. Throughout, Van Der Lugt traces the tradition of pessimism during the early modern period with clarity, energy, and subtlety. Subject experts on the philosophers profiled may complain that Van Der Lugt rarely gives her opinion regarding contested interpretations, but Van Der Lugt is relentlessly unconcerned with these issues. The story of Dark Matters is the story of pessimism and optimism after Bayle, and so it is of little importance, for instance, whether Kant ultimately decided that theodicy is or is not impossible. Similarly, some may complain that important figures have been left out of the narrative. Yet, as Van Der Lugt notes, the intellectual history contained in Dark Matters is not intended to be exhaustive (396). The point of the work is to rehabilitate pessimism as a moral stance, not to comprehensively document every position that could be called pessimistic or optimistic.Finally, some may find her willingness to drop the facade of philosophical distance in the last chapter unseemly. Is certainly unconventional, but this reader appreciated her willingness to take the risk. Further, the practical turn is justified by the preceding argument. To treat value-oriented pessimism as a mere mental exercise would betray the very tradition Dark Matters wishes to revive.Thus, with respect to the focus, selectivity, and practical orientation of the book, Van Der Lugt’s decisions are all justifiable. Yet they come at a cost, as well. For my part, the most troublesome was the first, which seemed to occasionally rob the reader of informed insight. For instance, near the end of her chapter on Schopenhauer, Van Der Lugt writes, “Whether [Schopenhauer’s argument against suicide] works is another question: my point is merely that the structure of Schopenhauer’s response seems to get something right” (383). It is understandable that Van Der Lugt would not want to weigh in here and broach inessential subjects. Yet having come so far with so competent a guide, both here and at other points, I could not help but be disappointed she did not venture an opinion.Stylistically, the book is not only well written but is leavened with humor and humanity. Given the subject matter, these attributes are both helpful and necessary. In the hands of a lesser author, discussions of, for example, philosophical justifications for suicide could be oppressive, not to mention dangerous. Yet Van Der Lugt manages them with care and compassion, without sacrificing philosophical rigor. In sum, Dark Matters is a major contribution to the understanding the oft-overlooked tradition of value-oriented pessimism. Whether it will ultimately spur further interest in this tradition, or the way this tradition is manifested in the philosophers profiled, one cannot say. As Van Der Lugt notes, philosophical fashion is unpredictable (105). Yet it is surely an informative and, surprisingly, enjoyable work, one that throws considerable light on the shadow side of human existence.