Part 11

I scruple not to allow, said CLEANTHES, that I have been apt to suspect the frequent repetition of the word infinite, which we meet with in all theological writers, to savour more of panegyric than of philosophy; and that any purposes of reasoning, and even of religion, would be better served, were we to rest contented with more accurate and more moderate expressions. The terms, admirable, excellent, superlatively great, wise, and holy; these sufficiently fill the imaginations of men; and any thing beyond, besides that it leads into absurdities, has no influence on the affections or sentiments. Thus, in the present subject, if we abandon all human analogy, as seems your intention, DEMEA, I am afraid we abandon all religion, and retain no conception of the great object of our adoration. If we preserve human analogy, we must for ever find it impossible to reconcile any mixture of evil in the universe with infinite attributes; much less can we ever prove the latter from the former. But supposing the Author of Nature to be finitely perfect, though far exceeding mankind, a satisfactory account may then be given of natural and moral evil, and every untoward phenomenon be explained and adjusted. A less evil may then be chosen, in order to avoid a greater; inconveniences be submitted to, in order to reach a desirable end; and in a word, benevolence, regulated by wisdom, and limited by necessity, may produce just such a world as the present. You, PHILO, who are so prompt at starting views, and reflections, and analogies, I would gladly hear, at length, without interruption, your opinion of this new theory; and if it deserve our attention, we may afterwards, at more leisure, reduce it into form.

I freely admit, said CLEANTHES, that I have often been suspicious of the word infinite, so frequently repeated by all theological writers. I suspect it expresses praise more than philosophical thought. Both reasoning and even religion would be better served if we settled for more precise and moderate language. Words like admirable, excellent, supremely great, wise, and holy are enough to fill people's imaginations. Anything beyond these terms leads to absurdities and has no effect on people's feelings or emotions. So, on the present question, suppose we abandon all comparisons with human nature, as you seem to intend, DEMEA. I fear we then abandon all religion and retain no conception of the great being we worship. If we keep the comparison with human nature, we can never reconcile any evil in the universe with infinite attributes. Still less can we prove those infinite attributes from a universe containing evil. But suppose the Author of Nature has limited perfection, though far greater than humanity's. We may then give a satisfactory account of natural and moral evil, and explain every troubling phenomenon consistently. A lesser evil may then be chosen to avoid a greater one. Disadvantages may be accepted to achieve a desirable goal. In short, goodness guided by wisdom and limited by necessity may produce a world just like the present one. You, PHILO, are so quick to suggest perspectives, reflections, and comparisons. I would gladly hear your opinion of this new theory at length, without interruption. If the theory deserves our attention, we may later take more time to put it into a systematic form.

My sentiments, replied PHILO, are not worth being made a mystery of; and therefore, without any ceremony, I shall deliver what occurs to me with regard to the present subject. It must, I think, be allowed, that if a very limited intelligence, whom we shall suppose utterly unacquainted with the universe, were assured, that it were the production of a very good, wise, and powerful Being, however finite, he would, from his conjectures, form beforehand a different notion of it from what we find it to be by experience; nor would he ever imagine, merely from these attributes of the cause, of which he is informed, that the effect could be so full of vice and misery and disorder, as it appears in this life. Supposing now, that this person were brought into the world, still assured that it was the workmanship of such a sublime and benevolent Being; he might, perhaps, be surprised at the disappointment; but would never retract his former belief, if founded on any very solid argument; since such a limited intelligence must be sensible of his own blindness and ignorance, and must allow, that there may be many solutions of those phenomena, which will for ever escape his comprehension. But supposing, which is the real case with regard to man, that this creature is not antecedently convinced of a supreme intelligence, benevolent, and powerful, but is left to gather such a belief from the appearances of things; this entirely alters the case, nor will he ever find any reason for such a conclusion. He may be fully convinced of the narrow limits of his understanding; but this will not help him in forming an inference concerning the goodness of superior powers, since he must form that inference from what he knows, not from what he is ignorant of. The more you exaggerate his weakness and ignorance, the more diffident you render him, and give him the greater suspicion that such subjects are beyond the reach of his faculties. You are obliged, therefore, to reason with him merely from the known phenomena, and to drop every arbitrary supposition or conjecture.

My views, replied PHILO, are not worth keeping secret. So I will say plainly what occurs to me about the subject before us. I think we must accept the following point. Suppose a being with very limited intelligence knew nothing at all about the universe. Suppose he was assured that a very good, wise, and powerful Being had created it, even with finite abilities. His expectations would lead him to imagine a different universe from the one we actually experience. Knowing only these qualities of the creator, he would never imagine such a result. He would not expect the universe to contain as much vice, misery, and disorder as we find in life. Now suppose this person entered the world, still assured that such an exalted and benevolent Being had made it. He might, perhaps, be surprised to find his expectations disappointed. But he would never abandon his earlier belief if it rested on a very solid argument. For someone with such limited intelligence must recognize his own blindness and ignorance. He must admit that many explanations for these events may forever lie beyond his understanding. But now suppose this creature had no prior conviction that a supreme, benevolent, and powerful intelligence existed. Suppose instead he had to form that belief from the way things appear. This is humanity's actual situation, and it changes the case entirely. He would never find any reason to reach such a conclusion. He may be fully convinced that his understanding has narrow limits. But recognizing those limits will not help him infer that higher powers are good. For he must draw that inference from what he knows, not from what he does not know. The more you stress his weakness and ignorance, the less confident you make him. You also give him greater reason to suspect that such subjects lie beyond his abilities. You must therefore reason with him solely from known facts, and abandon every arbitrary assumption or guess.

Did I show you a house or palace, where there was not one apartment convenient or agreeable; where the windows, doors, fires, passages, stairs, and the whole economy of the building, were the source of noise, confusion, fatigue, darkness, and the extremes of heat and cold; you would certainly blame the contrivance, without any further examination. The architect would in vain display his subtlety, and prove to you, that if this door or that window were altered, greater ills would ensue. What he says may be strictly true: The alteration of one particular, while the other parts of the building remain, may only augment the inconveniences. But still you would assert in general, that, if the architect had had skill and good intentions, he might have formed such a plan of the whole, and might have adjusted the parts in such a manner, as would have remedied all or most of these inconveniences. His ignorance, or even your own ignorance of such a plan, will never convince you of the impossibility of it. If you find any inconveniences and deformities in the building, you will always, without entering into any detail, condemn the architect.

Suppose I showed you a house or palace where not a single room was comfortable or pleasant. Its windows, doors, fireplaces, passages, stairs, and entire layout caused noise, confusion, exhaustion, darkness, and extremes of heat and cold. You would certainly blame the design without examining it further. The architect would gain nothing by showing off his cleverness. He might prove that changing this door or that window would cause greater problems. What he says may be entirely true. Changing one feature while leaving the rest of the building unchanged may only make the problems worse. But you would still insist that a skilled architect with good intentions could have designed the whole building differently. He could have arranged its parts to fix all or most of these problems. The architect's inability to imagine such a design, or even your own, will never convince you that such a design is impossible. If you find any problems or ugly features in the building, you will always condemn the architect without examining any details.

In short, I repeat the question: Is the world, considered in general, and as it appears to us in this life, different from what a man, or such a limited being, would, beforehand, expect from a very powerful, wise, and benevolent Deity? It must be strange prejudice to assert the contrary. And from thence I conclude, that however consistent the world may be, allowing certain suppositions and conjectures, with the idea of such a Deity, it can never afford us an inference concerning his existence. The consistence is not absolutely denied, only the inference. Conjectures, especially where infinity is excluded from the Divine attributes, may perhaps be sufficient to prove a consistence, but can never be foundations for any inference.

In short, I repeat the question: Consider the world as a whole, as we experience it in this life. Is it different from what a human, or another similarly limited being, would expect beforehand from a very powerful, wise, and benevolent Deity? It would take a strange prejudice to deny the difference. So I conclude that certain assumptions and guesses may make the world compatible with the idea of such a Deity. But the world can never give us grounds to infer his existence. I do not absolutely deny that compatibility, only the inference. Guesses may perhaps be enough to establish compatibility, especially if the divine attributes are not assumed to be infinite. But guesses can never provide a basis for any inference.

There seem to be four circumstances, on which depend all, or the greatest part of the ills, that molest sensible creatures; and it is not impossible but all these circumstances may be necessary and unavoidable. We know so little beyond common life, or even of common life, that, with regard to the economy of a universe, there is no conjecture, however wild, which may not be just; nor any one, however plausible, which may not be erroneous. All that belongs to human understanding, in this deep ignorance and obscurity, is to be sceptical, or at least cautious, and not to admit of any hypothesis whatever, much less of any which is supported by no appearance of probability. Now, this I assert to be the case with regard to all the causes of evil, and the circumstances on which it depends. None of them appear to human reason in the least degree necessary or unavoidable; nor can we suppose them such, without the utmost license of imagination.

Four conditions seem to account for all, or most, of the suffering that troubles creatures capable of feeling. All four conditions may be necessary and unavoidable. We know so little beyond everyday life, or even about everyday life itself. So, when considering how a universe works, any guess, however wild, may be right. And any guess, however plausible, may be wrong. In such deep ignorance and uncertainty, human understanding can only be skeptical, or at least cautious. We should not accept any hypothesis at all, much less one with no apparent likelihood of being true. Now, I maintain that none of the causes of evil, or the conditions on which evil depends, has such support. To human reason, none of these causes or conditions appears necessary or unavoidable in the slightest. Nor can we suppose them necessary or unavoidable without giving our imagination the greatest possible freedom.

The first circumstance which introduces evil, is that contrivance or economy of the animal creation, by which pains, as well as pleasures, are employed to excite all creatures to action, and make them vigilant in the great work of self-preservation. Now pleasure alone, in its various degrees, seems to human understanding sufficient for this purpose. All animals might be constantly in a state of enjoyment: but when urged by any of the necessities of nature, such as thirst, hunger, weariness; instead of pain, they might feel a diminution of pleasure, by which they might be prompted to seek that object which is necessary to their subsistence. Men pursue pleasure as eagerly as they avoid pain; at least they might have been so constituted. It seems, therefore, plainly possible to carry on the business of life without any pain. Why then is any animal ever rendered susceptible of such a sensation? If animals can be free from it an hour, they might enjoy a perpetual exemption from it; and it required as particular a contrivance of their organs to produce that feeling, as to endow them with sight, hearing, or any of the senses. Shall we conjecture, that such a contrivance was necessary, without any appearance of reason? and shall we build on that conjecture as on the most certain truth?

The first source of evil is the way animal life is organized. Pain, as well as pleasure, drives all creatures to act and keeps them alert to the vital task of self-preservation. Yet to human understanding, pleasure alone, in its various degrees, seems enough for this purpose. All animals might constantly enjoy life. But when natural needs such as thirst, hunger, or tiredness pressed upon them, their pleasure might decrease instead of causing pain. This decrease might prompt them to seek whatever they needed to survive. People pursue pleasure as eagerly as they avoid pain. At least, they might have been made that way. So it seems plainly possible for life to continue without any pain. Why, then, is any animal ever made capable of feeling pain? If animals can be free from pain for an hour, they might be free from pain forever. And producing pain required their organs to be specially designed, just as giving them sight, hearing, or any other sense did. Should we assume that this design was necessary, without any apparent reason? And should we build on that assumption as though it were the most certain truth?

But a capacity of pain would not alone produce pain, were it not for the second circumstance, viz. the conducting of the world by general laws; and this seems nowise necessary to a very perfect Being. It is true, if everything were conducted by particular volitions, the course of nature would be perpetually broken, and no man could employ his reason in the conduct of life. But might not other particular volitions remedy this inconvenience? In short, might not the Deity exterminate all ill, wherever it were to be found; and produce all good, without any preparation, or long progress of causes and effects?

But the capacity to feel pain would not, by itself, cause pain without the second condition: general laws governing the world. And governing the world by general laws seems in no way necessary for a completely perfect Being. Admittedly, if everything were governed by individual acts of will, the course of nature would constantly be disrupted. No one could then use reason to guide their life. But might not further individual acts of will solve this problem? In short, might not the Deity eliminate all evil wherever it appeared? And might not the Deity bring about all good without any preparation or long chain of causes and effects?

Besides, we must consider, that, according to the present economy of the world, the course of nature, though supposed exactly regular, yet to us appears not so, and many events are uncertain, and many disappoint our expectations. Health and sickness, calm and tempest, with an infinite number of other accidents, whose causes are unknown and variable, have a great influence both on the fortunes of particular persons and on the prosperity of public societies; and indeed all human life, in a manner, depends on such accidents. A being, therefore, who knows the secret springs of the universe, might easily, by particular volitions, turn all these accidents to the good of mankind, and render the whole world happy, without discovering himself in any operation. A fleet, whose purposes were salutary to society, might always meet with a fair wind. Good princes enjoy sound health and long life. Persons born to power and authority, be framed with good tempers and virtuous dispositions. A few such events as these, regularly and wisely conducted, would change the face of the world; and yet would no more seem to disturb the course of nature, or confound human conduct, than the present economy of things, where the causes are secret, and variable, and compounded. Some small touches given to CALIGULA's brain in his infancy, might have converted him into a TRAJAN. One wave, a little higher than the rest, by burying CAESAR and his fortune in the bottom of the ocean, might have restored liberty to a considerable part of mankind. There may, for aught we know, be good reasons why Providence interposes not in this manner; but they are unknown to us; and though the mere supposition, that such reasons exist, may be sufficient to save the conclusion concerning the Divine attributes, yet surely it can never be sufficient to establish that conclusion.

Besides, we must consider how the world is currently arranged. Even if nature follows perfectly regular laws, nature does not appear regular to us. Many events are uncertain, and many disappoint our expectations. Health and sickness, calm and storms, and countless other events have causes that are unknown and variable. Such events greatly influence both individual fortunes and the prosperity of societies. Indeed, nearly all human life depends on such events. A being who knows the universe’s hidden workings could therefore easily direct all these events toward humanity’s good. Through individual acts of will, he could make the whole world happy without revealing himself in any action. A fleet serving purposes beneficial to society might always have favorable winds. Good rulers might enjoy sound health and long lives. People born to power and authority might be given good temperaments and virtuous characters. A few such events, managed consistently and wisely, would transform the world. Yet these events would seem no more disruptive to nature’s course or human conduct than the present arrangement of things. Under the present arrangement, causes are hidden, variable, and combined with one another. A few small changes to CALIGULA’s brain in infancy might have turned him into a TRAJAN. One wave, a little higher than the rest, might have buried CAESAR and his fortunes beneath the ocean. By doing so, the wave might have restored liberty to a considerable part of humanity. For all we know, there may be good reasons why Providence does not intervene in this way. But those reasons are unknown to us. Merely supposing such reasons exist may be enough to defend the conclusion about the divine attributes. Yet surely that supposition can never be enough to establish the conclusion.

If every thing in the universe be conducted by general laws, and if animals be rendered susceptible of pain, it scarcely seems possible but some ill must arise in the various shocks of matter, and the various concurrence and opposition of general laws; but this ill would be very rare, were it not for the third circumstance, which I proposed to mention, viz. the great frugality with which all powers and faculties are distributed to every particular being. So well adjusted are the organs and capacities of all animals, and so well fitted to their preservation, that, as far as history or tradition reaches, there appears not to be any single species which has yet been extinguished in the universe. Every animal has the requisite endowments; but these endowments are bestowed with so scrupulous an economy, that any considerable diminution must entirely destroy the creature. Wherever one power is increased, there is a proportional abatement in the others. Animals which excel in swiftness are commonly defective in force. Those which possess both are either imperfect in some of their senses, or are oppressed with the most craving wants. The human species, whose chief excellency is reason and sagacity, is of all others the most necessitous, and the most deficient in bodily advantages; without clothes, without arms, without food, without lodging, without any convenience of life, except what they owe to their own skill and industry. In short, nature seems to have formed an exact calculation of the necessities of her creatures; and, like a rigid master, has afforded them little more powers or endowments than what are strictly sufficient to supply those necessities. An indulgent parent would have bestowed a large stock, in order to guard against accidents, and secure the happiness and welfare of the creature in the most unfortunate concurrence of circumstances. Every course of life would not have been so surrounded with precipices, that the least departure from the true path, by mistake or necessity, must involve us in misery and ruin. Some reserve, some fund, would have been provided to ensure happiness; nor would the powers and the necessities have been adjusted with so rigid an economy. The Author of Nature is inconceivably powerful: his force is supposed great, if not altogether inexhaustible: nor is there any reason, as far as we can judge, to make him observe this strict frugality in his dealings with his creatures. It would have been better, were his power extremely limited, to have created fewer animals, and to have endowed these with more faculties for their happiness and preservation. A builder is never esteemed prudent, who undertakes a plan beyond what his stock will enable him to finish.

If everything in the universe follows general laws, and animals can feel pain, some suffering seems almost unavoidable. Matter collides in various ways, and general laws sometimes work together and sometimes conflict. But such suffering would be very rare without the third circumstance I proposed to mention. This is the extreme stinginess with which powers and abilities are given to each individual being. All animals have organs and abilities so well suited to survival that no species appears to have died out anywhere in the universe. At least, none has done so as far back as history or tradition reaches. Every animal has the abilities it needs. But these abilities are given so sparingly that any considerable reduction must destroy the creature entirely. Wherever one power is increased, others are reduced in proportion. Animals that excel in speed commonly lack strength. Animals with both speed and strength either have some imperfect senses or are burdened with the most pressing needs. Human beings, whose chief strengths are reason and insight, have the greatest needs and the fewest bodily advantages. They have no clothes, weapons, food, shelter, or comforts of life except what their own skill and effort provide. In short, nature seems to have calculated exactly what her creatures need. Like a strict master, she has given them barely more ability than is strictly necessary to meet those needs. An indulgent parent would have given creatures a generous supply of abilities to protect them against accidents. Such a supply would secure their happiness and welfare even in the most unfortunate combination of circumstances. Every way of life would not have been surrounded by such steep drops. The slightest departure from the right path, through mistake or necessity, would not have plunged us into misery and ruin. Some reserve, some extra resources, would have been provided to ensure happiness. Abilities would not have been matched to needs with such strict economy. The Author of Nature is inconceivably powerful. His power is supposed to be great, if not entirely inexhaustible. As far as we can judge, there is no reason for him to treat his creatures so sparingly. Even if his power were extremely limited, it would have been better to create fewer animals. He could then have given those animals more abilities to secure their happiness and survival. No builder is ever considered prudent for undertaking a plan beyond what his resources will allow him to finish.

In order to cure most of the ills of human life, I require not that man should have the wings of the eagle, the swiftness of the stag, the force of the ox, the arms of the lion, the scales of the crocodile or rhinoceros; much less do I demand the sagacity of an angel or cherubim. I am contented to take an increase in one single power or faculty of his soul. Let him be endowed with a greater propensity to industry and labour; a more vigorous spring and activity of mind; a more constant bent to business and application. Let the whole species possess naturally an equal diligence with that which many individuals are able to attain by habit and reflection; and the most beneficial consequences, without any allay of ill, is the immediate and necessary result of this endowment. Almost all the moral, as well as natural evils of human life, arise from idleness; and were our species, by the original constitution of their frame, exempt from this vice or infirmity, the perfect cultivation of land, the improvement of arts and manufactures, the exact execution of every office and duty, immediately follow; and men at once may fully reach that state of society, which is so imperfectly attained by the best regulated government. But as industry is a power, and the most valuable of any, Nature seems determined, suitably to her usual maxims, to bestow it on men with a very sparing hand; and rather to punish him severely for his deficiency in it, than to reward him for his attainments. She has so contrived his frame, that nothing but the most violent necessity can oblige him to labour; and she employs all his other wants to overcome, at least in part, the want of diligence, and to endow him with some share of a faculty of which she has thought fit naturally to bereave him. Here our demands may be allowed very humble, and therefore the more reasonable. If we required the endowments of superior penetration and judgement, of a more delicate taste of beauty, of a nicer sensibility to benevolence and friendship; we might be told, that we impiously pretend to break the order of Nature; that we want to exalt ourselves into a higher rank of being; that the presents which we require, not being suitable to our state and condition, would only be pernicious to us. But it is hard; I dare to repeat it, it is hard, that being placed in a world so full of wants and necessities, where almost every being and element is either our foe or refuses its assistance ... we should also have our own temper to struggle with, and should be deprived of that faculty which can alone fence against these multiplied evils.

To cure most of the troubles of human life, I do not ask that humans have the eagle’s wings. Nor do I ask for the stag’s speed, the ox’s strength, or the lion’s weapons. I do not ask for the protective covering of the crocodile or rhinoceros. Still less do I demand the wisdom of an angel or cherub. I would be content with an increase in just one mental power or ability. Give humans a stronger inclination to work, a more energetic and active mind, and a steadier commitment to their tasks. Let the whole human species naturally possess the diligence that many individuals achieve through habit and reflection. The greatest benefits would immediately and necessarily follow from this gift, without any accompanying harm. Almost all the moral evils and natural hardships of human life arise from idleness. Suppose our species were naturally free from this vice or weakness. The land would immediately be perfectly cultivated, arts and manufacturing improved, and every role and duty fulfilled exactly. Humans could at once fully achieve the social conditions that even the best-run government achieves so imperfectly. But diligence is an ability, and the most valuable of all. Nature seems determined, in keeping with her usual principles, to give humans very little of it. She seems more determined to punish people severely for lacking diligence than to reward them for developing it. She has made humans so that only the most desperate necessity can force them to work. She uses all their other needs to overcome, at least partly, their lack of diligence. Through those needs, she gives them some share of an ability she has chosen to deny them by nature. Our demands here may be considered very modest, and therefore all the more reasonable. Suppose we asked for greater insight and judgment, a finer appreciation of beauty, or a deeper capacity for kindness and friendship. We might be told that we irreverently seek to disrupt the order of Nature. We might be accused of wanting to raise ourselves to a higher level of existence. We might be told that these gifts, being unsuited to our condition, would only harm us. But it is hard, I dare to repeat, it is hard. We are placed in a world full of needs and necessities. Almost every creature and force of nature is either our enemy or refuses to help us ... Yet we must also struggle against our own disposition. We are denied the one ability that alone can protect us against all these troubles.

The fourth circumstance, whence arises the misery and ill of the universe, is the inaccurate workmanship of all the springs and principles of the great machine of nature. It must be acknowledged, that there are few parts of the universe, which seem not to serve some purpose, and whose removal would not produce a visible defect and disorder in the whole. The parts hang all together; nor can one be touched without affecting the rest, in a greater or less degree. But at the same time, it must be observed, that none of these parts or principles, however useful, are so accurately adjusted, as to keep precisely within those bounds in which their utility consists; but they are, all of them, apt, on every occasion, to run into the one extreme or the other. One would imagine, that this grand production had not received the last hand of the maker; so little finished is every part, and so coarse are the strokes with which it is executed. Thus, the winds are requisite to convey the vapours along the surface of the globe, and to assist men in navigation: but how oft, rising up to tempests and hurricanes, do they become pernicious? Rains are necessary to nourish all the plants and animals of the earth: but how often are they defective? how often excessive? Heat is requisite to all life and vegetation; but is not always found in the due proportion. On the mixture and secretion of the humours and juices of the body depend the health and prosperity of the animal: but the parts perform not regularly their proper function. What more useful than all the passions of the mind, ambition, vanity, love, anger? But how oft do they break their bounds, and cause the greatest convulsions in society? There is nothing so advantageous in the universe, but what frequently becomes pernicious, by its excess or defect; nor has Nature guarded, with the requisite accuracy, against all disorder or confusion. The irregularity is never perhaps so great as to destroy any species; but is often sufficient to involve the individuals in ruin and misery.

The fourth source of misery and evil in the universe is the imprecise workmanship of nature’s great machine. All its mechanisms and operating principles share this flaw. We must admit that few parts of the universe seem to serve no purpose. Removing those parts would cause a visible flaw and disorder in the whole. All the parts are connected. None can be touched without affecting the others to some degree. But however useful these parts and principles are, none is adjusted precisely enough to stay within its useful limits. All tend, on every occasion, to swing toward one extreme or the other. One might imagine that this great creation had never received its maker’s finishing touches. Every part is so unfinished, and the workmanship is so rough. Winds, for example, are needed to carry moisture around the globe and help people navigate. But how often do winds become destructive storms and hurricanes? Rain is necessary to nourish all the earth’s plants and animals. But how often is there too little rain? How often too much? Heat is necessary for all life and plant growth, but is not always present in the right amount. An animal’s health and well-being depend on the mixing and secretion of its bodily fluids. But the body’s parts do not consistently perform their proper functions. What could be more useful than all the mind’s passions: ambition, vanity, love, and anger? But how often do these passions exceed their limits and cause the greatest upheavals in society? Nothing in the universe is so beneficial that too much or too little does not frequently make it harmful. Nor has Nature taken precise enough precautions against all disorder or confusion. Perhaps these irregularities are never great enough to destroy any species. But they are often enough to bring ruin and misery to individuals.

On the concurrence, then, of these four circumstances, does all or the greatest part of natural evil depend. Were all living creatures incapable of pain, or were the world administered by particular volitions, evil never could have found access into the universe: and were animals endowed with a large stock of powers and faculties, beyond what strict necessity requires; or were the several springs and principles of the universe so accurately framed as to preserve always the just temperament and medium; there must have been very little ill in comparison of what we feel at present. What then shall we pronounce on this occasion? Shall we say that these circumstances are not necessary, and that they might easily have been altered in the contrivance of the universe? This decision seems too presumptuous for creatures so blind and ignorant. Let us be more modest in our conclusions. Let us allow, that, if the goodness of the Deity (I mean a goodness like the human) could be established on any tolerable reasons a priori, these phenomena, however untoward, would not be sufficient to subvert that principle; but might easily, in some unknown manner, be reconcilable to it. But let us still assert, that as this goodness is not antecedently established, but must be inferred from the phenomena, there can be no grounds for such an inference, while there are so many ills in the universe, and while these ills might so easily have been remedied, as far as human understanding can be allowed to judge on such a subject. I am Sceptic enough to allow, that the bad appearances, notwithstanding all my reasonings, may be compatible with such attributes as you suppose; but surely they can never prove these attributes. Such a conclusion cannot result from Scepticism, but must arise from the phenomena, and from our confidence in the reasonings which we deduce from these phenomena.

All or most natural evil, then, depends on these four circumstances occurring together. If all living creatures were incapable of pain, evil could never have entered the universe. Nor could evil have entered if the world were governed by individual acts of divine will. Suppose animals had been given a generous supply of powers and abilities beyond what survival strictly requires. Or suppose the universe’s various mechanisms and principles had been designed precisely enough to maintain the right balance at all times. In either case, there must have been very little suffering compared with what we experience now. What, then, should we conclude? Should we say these circumstances are unnecessary and could easily have been changed in designing the universe? Such a judgment seems too presumptuous for creatures as blind and ignorant as ourselves. Let us be more modest in our conclusions. Suppose God’s goodness could be established on reasonably sound grounds independently of experience. By goodness, I mean goodness like our own. Then these observations, however troubling, would not be enough to overturn that belief. They might easily be reconciled with God’s goodness in some unknown way. But let us still insist on the following point. God’s goodness has not been established beforehand, but must be inferred from what we observe. So there can be no grounds for that inference while the universe contains so many evils. This is especially true when those evils might so easily have been remedied, as far as human understanding can judge. I am enough of a skeptic to admit that, despite all my arguments, these apparent evils may fit the attributes you suppose God possesses. But surely these apparent evils can never prove those attributes. Such a conclusion cannot come from skepticism. It must come from what we observe and from our confidence in the reasoning we base on those observations.

Look round this universe. What an immense profusion of beings, animated and organised, sensible and active! You admire this prodigious variety and fecundity. But inspect a little more narrowly these living existences, the only beings worth regarding. How hostile and destructive to each other! How insufficient all of them for their own happiness! How contemptible or odious to the spectator! The whole presents nothing but the idea of a blind Nature, impregnated by a great vivifying principle, and pouring forth from her lap, without discernment or parental care, her maimed and abortive children!

Look around this universe. What an immense abundance of living beings, organized, capable of feeling, and active! You admire this astonishing variety and fertility. But look a little more closely at these living creatures, the only beings worth considering. How hostile and destructive they are to one another! How incapable all of them are of securing their own happiness! How contemptible or repulsive they seem to an observer! Taken together, they suggest nothing but a blind Nature, made pregnant by a great life-giving force. From her lap she pours out her maimed and malformed children, without judgment or parental care!

Here the MANICHAEAN system occurs as a proper hypothesis to solve the difficulty: and no doubt, in some respects, it is very specious, and has more probability than the common hypothesis, by giving a plausible account of the strange mixture of good and ill which appears in life. But if we consider, on the other hand, the perfect uniformity and agreement of the parts of the universe, we shall not discover in it any marks of the combat of a malevolent with a benevolent being. There is indeed an opposition of pains and pleasures in the feelings of sensible creatures: but are not all the operations of Nature carried on by an opposition of principles, of hot and cold, moist and dry, light and heavy? The true conclusion is, that the original Source of all things is entirely indifferent to all these principles; and has no more regard to good above ill, than to heat above cold, or to drought above moisture, or to light above heavy.

Here the MANICHAEAN system offers a suitable explanation for the difficulty. In some respects, the system is certainly very plausible, and more likely than the usual explanation. It plausibly accounts for the strange mixture of good and evil found in life. But consider, on the other hand, the perfect uniformity and harmony among the parts of the universe. We find no signs of a struggle between an evil being and a good one. Creatures capable of feeling do indeed experience opposing pains and pleasures. But does not all of Nature work through opposing principles, such as hot and cold, wet and dry, light and heavy? The true conclusion is that the original source of all things is entirely indifferent to all these principles. This source favors good over evil no more than heat over cold, dryness over moisture, or lightness over heaviness.

There may four hypotheses be framed concerning the first causes of the universe: that they are endowed with perfect goodness; that they have perfect malice; that they are opposite, and have both goodness and malice; that they have neither goodness nor malice. Mixed phenomena can never prove the two former unmixed principles; and the uniformity and steadiness of general laws seem to oppose the third. The fourth, therefore, seems by far the most probable.

We may propose four hypotheses about the first causes of the universe. First, these causes are perfectly good. Second, they are perfectly malicious. Third, they oppose one another and include both goodness and malice. Fourth, they have neither goodness nor malice. A mixture of good and bad effects can never prove either of the first two, wholly good or wholly malicious causes. And the consistency and stability of general laws seem to count against the third hypothesis. The fourth, therefore, seems by far the most probable.

What I have said concerning natural evil will apply to moral, with little or no variation; and we have no more reason to infer, that the rectitude of the Supreme Being resembles human rectitude, than that his benevolence resembles the human. Nay, it will be thought, that we have still greater cause to exclude from him moral sentiments, such as we feel them; since moral evil, in the opinion of many, is much more predominant above moral good than natural evil above natural good.

What I have said about natural evil applies to moral evil with little or no change. We have no more reason to think the Supreme Being’s moral goodness resembles ours than that his kindness resembles ours. Indeed, some will think we have even stronger reasons to deny that he has moral feelings like ours. For many believe moral evil outweighs moral good far more than natural evil outweighs natural good.

But even though this should not be allowed, and though the virtue which is in mankind should be acknowledged much superior to the vice, yet so long as there is any vice at all in the universe, it will very much puzzle you Anthropomorphites, how to account for it. You must assign a cause for it, without having recourse to the first cause. But as every effect must have a cause, and that cause another, you must either carry on the progression in infinitum, or rest on that original principle, who is the ultimate cause of all things...

But suppose this is not accepted, and human virtue is acknowledged to far outweigh human vice. Even so, as long as any vice exists in the universe, you Anthropomorphites will struggle greatly to explain it. You must identify a cause for vice without appealing to the first cause. But every effect must have a cause, and that cause must have another. So you must either follow this chain forever or stop at that original being, the ultimate cause of all things...

Hold! hold! cried DEMEA: Whither does your imagination hurry you? I joined in alliance with you, in order to prove the incomprehensible nature of the Divine Being, and refute the principles of CLEANTHES, who would measure every thing by human rule and standard. But I now find you running into all the topics of the greatest libertines and infidels, and betraying that holy cause which you seemingly espoused. Are you secretly, then, a more dangerous enemy than CLEANTHES himself?

Stop! Stop! cried DEMEA: Where is your imagination taking you? I joined forces with you to prove that the Divine Being is beyond our understanding, and to refute CLEANTHES. He would measure everything by human rules and standards. But now I find you taking up all the arguments of the most extreme freethinkers and unbelievers. You are betraying the holy cause you seemed to support. Are you secretly, then, an even more dangerous enemy than CLEANTHES himself?

And are you so late in perceiving it? replied CLEANTHES. Believe me, DEMEA, your friend PHILO, from the beginning, has been amusing himself at both our expense; and it must be confessed, that the injudicious reasoning of our vulgar theology has given him but too just a handle of ridicule. The total infirmity of human reason, the absolute incomprehensibility of the Divine Nature, the great and universal misery, and still greater wickedness of men; these are strange topics, surely, to be so fondly cherished by orthodox divines and doctors. In ages of stupidity and ignorance, indeed, these principles may safely be espoused; and perhaps no views of things are more proper to promote superstition, than such as encourage the blind amazement, the diffidence, and melancholy of mankind. But at present...

And have you only just noticed? replied CLEANTHES. Believe me, DEMEA, your friend PHILO has been amusing himself at both our expense from the beginning. And we must admit that the poor reasoning of our popular theology has given him ample grounds for ridicule. Human reason is utterly weak. God’s nature is completely beyond our understanding. Human misery is great and universal, and human wickedness is even greater. Surely these are strange ideas for orthodox theologians and religious scholars to cherish so fondly. In ages of stupidity and ignorance, such principles may indeed be safely embraced. And perhaps no views are better suited to promoting superstition than those encouraging humanity’s blind amazement, self-doubt, and melancholy. But today...

Blame not so much, interposed PHILO, the ignorance of these reverend gentlemen. They know how to change their style with the times. Formerly it was a most popular theological topic to maintain, that human life was vanity and misery, and to exaggerate all the ills and pains which are incident to men. But of late years, divines, we find, begin to retract this position; and maintain, though still with some hesitation, that there are more goods than evils, more pleasures than pains, even in this life. When religion stood entirely upon temper and education, it was thought proper to encourage melancholy; as indeed mankind never have recourse to superior powers so readily as in that disposition. But as men have now learned to form principles, and to draw consequences, it is necessary to change the batteries, and to make use of such arguments as will endure at least some scrutiny and examination. This variation is the same (and from the same causes) with that which I formerly remarked with regard to Scepticism.

Do not put so much blame on these reverend gentlemen’s ignorance, PHILO interrupted. They know how to change their language with the times. Once, a very popular theological theme was that human life was empty and miserable. Religious teachers would exaggerate all the ills and pains people suffer. But in recent years, we find that religious teachers have begun to take back this claim. They now argue, though still with some hesitation, that even in this life, good outweighs evil and pleasure outweighs pain. When religion depended entirely on temperament and upbringing, encouraging sadness was thought appropriate. Indeed, people are never so ready to turn to higher powers as when they feel sad. But people have now learned to develop principles and draw conclusions from them. So religious teachers must change tactics and use arguments that can withstand at least some scrutiny and examination. This change is the same as the one I noted earlier concerning Scepticism, and arises from the same causes.

Thus PHILO continued to the last his spirit of opposition, and his censure of established opinions. But I could observe that DEMEA did not at all relish the latter part of the discourse; and he took occasion soon after, on some pretence or other, to leave the company.

So PHILO kept up his spirit of opposition and his criticism of established opinions to the very end. But I could see that DEMEA did not at all enjoy the latter part of the discussion. Soon afterward, DEMEA found some excuse or other to leave the group.