Does the potential for earthly suffering outweigh the uncertainty of what awaits us after death?

The question, then, is whether the weariest life outweighs the uncertainty of death. I say it does, and not from a love of misery, but from a playwright's understanding of the stage. Even the ache of penury, the confines of imprisonment, offer a stage for action, a theater for the soul. Death, as Hamlet pondered, is an undiscovered country from whose bourn no traveler returns. And what is drama without return? What is life without the possibility of surprise, of redemption, of a changed scene? I have written kings and clowns, lovers and murderers, and in each, I have found a spark, however dim, that desires to play its part upon the earth. To snuff out that candle before the play is done is a tragedy far greater than any earthly suffering.

It seems to me a matter of observation, not of faith, whether earthly suffering outweighs the unknown after death. As one who has been plagued by illness these many years, I can attest that life can indeed be wearying, as Mr. Shakespeare so eloquently puts it. Yet, I am inclined to think that even with its hardships, life offers something of inestimable value: the opportunity to observe, to learn, to contribute to our understanding of the natural world. My voyage on the Beagle, despite the discomforts, opened my eyes to the astonishing diversity of life. Even in the face of earthquakes, as I witnessed in South America, which can destroy the prosperity of any country, life finds a way. We cling to life, perhaps, not merely from primal fear, but because it is the arena in which we exercise our uniquely human capacity for curiosity and discovery.