Having premised these observations for the purpose of clearing the ground and avoiding confusion in the argument, we may now consider that Archbishop King's theory is in both its parts; for there are in truth two distinct explanations, the one resembling an argument a priori, the other an argument a posteriori. It is, however, not a little remarkable that Bishop Law, in the admirable abstract or analysis which he gives of the Archbishop's treatise at the end of his preface, begins with the second branch, omitting all mention of the first, as if he considered it to be merely introductory matter; and yet his fourteenth note (t. cap. I s. 3.) shows that he was aware of its being an argument wholly independent of the rest of the reasonings; for he there says that the author had given one demonstration a priori, and that no difficulties raised by an examination of the phenomena, no objection a posteriori, ought to overrule it, unless these difficulties are equally certain and clear with the demonstration, and admit of no solution consistent with that demonstration.

The necessity of a first cause being shown, and it being evident that therefore this cause is uncreated and self-existent, and independent of any other, the conclusion is next drawn that its power must be infinite. This is shown by the consideration that there is no other antecedent cause, and no other principle which was not created by the first cause, and consequently which was not of inferior power; therefore, there is nothing which can limit the power of the first cause; and there being no limiter or restrainer, there can be no limitation or restriction.

Again, the infinity of the Deity's power is attempted to be proved in another way.

The number of possible things is infinite; but every possibility implies a power to do the possible thing; and as one possible thing implies a power to do it, an infinite number of possible things implies an infinite power. Or as Descartes and his followers put it, we can have no idea of anything that has not either an actual or a possible existence; but we have an idea of a Being of infinite perfection; therefore, he must actually exist; for otherwise there would be one perfection wanting, and so he would not be infinite, which he either is actually or possibly. It is needless to remark that this whole argument, whatever may be said of the former one, is a pure fallacy, and a petitio principii throughout. The Cartesian form of it is the most glaringly fallacious, and indeed exposes itself; for by that reasoning we might prove the existence of a fiery dragon or any other phantom of the brain. But even King's more concealed sophism is equally absurd. What ground is there for saying that the number of possible things is infinite? He adds, "at least in power," which means either nothing or only that we have the power of conceiving an infinite number of possibilities. But because we can conceive or fancy an infinity of possibilities, does it follow that there actually exists this infinity? The whole argument is unworthy of a moment's consideration. The other is more plausible, that restriction implies a restraining power. But even this is not satisfactory when closely examined. For although the first cause must be self-existent and of eternal duration, we only are driven by the necessity of supposing a cause whereon all the argument rests, to suppose one capable of causing all that actually exists; and, therefore, to extend this inference and suppose that the cause is of infinite power seems gratuitous. Nor is it necessary to suppose another power limiting its efficacy, if we do not find it necessary to suppose its own constitution and essence such as we term infinitely powerful. However, after noticing this manifest defect in the fundamental part of the argument, that which infers infinite power, let us for the present assume the position to be proved either by these or by any other reasons, and see if the structure raised upon it is such as can stand the test of examination.

Thus, then, an infinitely powerful Being exists, and he was the creator of the universe; but to incline him towards the creation there could be no possible motive of happiness to himself, and he must, says King, have either sought his own happiness or that of the universe which he made. Therefore his own ideas must have been the communication of happiness to the creature. He could only desire to exercise his attributes without, or eternally to himself, which before creating other beings he could not do. But this could only gratify his nature, which wants nothing, being perfect in itself, by communicating his goodness and providing for the happiness of other sentient beings created by him for this purpose. Therefore, says King, "it manifestly follows that the world is as well as it could be made by infinite power and goodness; for since the exercise of the divine power and the communication of his goodness are the ends, for which the world is formed, there is no doubt but God has attained these ends." And again, "If then anything inconvenient or incommodious be now, or was from the beginning in it, that certainly could not be hindered or removed even by infinite power, wisdom and goodness."

Now certainly no one can deny, that if God be infinitely powerful and also infinitely good, it must follow that whatever looks like evil, either is not really evil, or that it is such as infinite power could not avoid. This is implied in the very terms of the hypothesis. It may also be admitted that if the Deity's only object in his dispensation be the happiness of his creatures, the same conclusion follows even without assuming his nature to be infinitely good; for we admit what, for the purpose of the argument, is the same thing, namely, that there entered no evil into his design in creating or maintaining the universe. But all this really assumes the very thing to be proved. King gets over the difficulty and reaches his conclusion by saying, "The Deity could have only one of two objects—his own happiness or that of his creatures."—The skeptic makes answer, "He might have another object, namely, the misery of his creatures;" and then the whole question is, whether or not he had this other object; or, which is the same thing, whether or not his nature is perfectly good. It must never be forgotten that unless evil exists there is nothing to dispute about—the question falls. The whole difficulty arises from the admission that evil exists, or what we call evil, exists. From this we inquire whether or not the author of it can be perfectly benevolent? or if he be, with what view he has created it? This assumes him to be infinitely powerful, or at least powerful enough to have prevented the evil; but indeed we are now arguing with the Archbishop on the supposition that he has proved the Deity to be of infinite power. The skeptic rests upon his dilemma, and either alternative, limited power or limited goodness, satisfies him.

It is quite plain, therefore, that King has assumed the thing to be proved in his first argument, or argument a priori. For he proceeds upon the postulates that the Deity is infinitely good, and that he only had human happiness in view when he made the world. Either supposition would have served his purpose; and making either would have been taking for granted the whole matter in dispute. But he has assumed both; and it must be added, he has made his assumption of both as if he was only laying down a single position. This part of the work is certainly more slovenly than the rest. It is the third section of the first chapter.

It is certainly not from any reluctance to admit the existence of evil that the learned author and his able commentator have been led into this inconclusive course of reasoning. We shall nowhere find more striking expositions of the state of things in this respect, nor more gloomy descriptions of our condition, than in their celebrated work. "Whence so many, inaccuracies," says the Archbishop, "in the work of a most good and powerful God? Whence that perpetual war between the very elements, between animals, between men? Whence errors, miseries and vices, the constant companions of human life from its infancy? Whence good to evil men, evil to the good? If we behold anything irregular in the work of men, if any machine serves not the end it was made for, if we find something in it repugnant to itself or others, we attribute that to the ignorance, impatience or malice of the workman. But since these qualities have no place in God, how come they to have place in anything? Or why does God suffer his works to be deformed by them?"—Chap. ii. s. 3. Bishop Law, in his admirable preface, still more cogently puts the case: "When I inquire how I got into the world, and came to be what I am, I am told that an absolutely perfect being produced me out of nothing, and placed me here on purpose to communicate some part of his happiness to me, and to make me in some manner like himself. This end is not obtained—the direct contrary appears—I find myself surrounded with nothing but perplexity, want and misery—by whose fault I know not—how to better myself I cannot tell. What notions of good and goodness can this afford me? What ideas of religion? What hopes of a future state? For if God's aim in producing me be entirely unknown, if it be either his glory (as some will have it), which my present state is far from advancing, nor mine own good, which the same is equally inconsistent with, how know I what I have to do here, or indeed in what manner I must endeavor to please him? Or why should I endeavor it at all? For if I must be miserable in this world, what security have I that I shall not be so in another too (if there be one), since if it were the will of my Almighty Creator, I might (for aught I see) have been happy in both."—Pref. viii. The question thus is stated. The difficulty is raised in its full and formidable magnitude by both these learned and able men; that they have signally failed to lay it by the argument a priori is plain. Indeed, it seems wholly impossible ever to answer by an argument a priori any objection whatever which arises altogether out of the facts made known to us by experience alone, and which are therefore in the nature of contingent truths, resting upon contingent evidence, while all demonstrations a priori must necessarily proceed upon mathematical truths. Let us now see if their labors have been more successful in applying to the solution of the difficulty the reasoning a posteriori.

Archbishop King divides evil into three kinds—imperfection, natural evil and moral evil—including under the last head all the physical evils that arise from human actions, as well as the evils which consists in the guilt of those actions.

The existence of imperfection is stated to be necessary, because everything which is created and not self-existent must be imperfect; consequently every work of the Deity, in other words, everything but the Deity himself, must have imperfection in its nature. Nor is the existence of some beings which are imperfect any interference with the attributes of others. Nor the existence of beings with many imperfections any interference with others having pre-eminence. The goodness of the Deity therefore is not impugned by the existence of various orders of created beings more or less approaching to perfection. His creating none at all would have left the universe less admirable and containing less happiness than it now does. Therefore, the act of mere benevolence which called those various orders into existence is not impeached in respect of goodness any more than of power by the variety of the attributes possessed by the different beings created.

He now proceeds to grapple with the real difficulty of the question. And it is truly astonishing to find this acute metaphysician begin with an assumption which entirely begs that question. As imperfection, says he, arises from created beings having been made out of nothing, so natural evils arise "from all natural things having a relation to matter, and on this account being necessarily subject to natural evil." As long as matter is subject to motion, it must be the subject of generation and corruption. "These and all other natural evils," says the author, "are so necessarily connected with the material origin of things that they cannot be separated from it, and thus the structure of the world either ought not to have been formed at all, or these evils must have been tolerated without any imputation on the divine power and goodness." Again, he says, "corruption could not be avoided without violence done to the laws of motion and the nature of matter." Again, "All manner of inconveniences could not be avoided because of the imperfection of matter and the nature of motion. That state of things were therefore preferable which was attained with the fewest and the least inconveniences." Then follows a kind of menace, "And who but a very rash, indiscreet person will affirm that God has not made choice of this?"—when every one must perceive that the bare propounding of the question concerning evil calls upon us to exercise this temerity and commit this indiscretion.—Chap. iv. s. I, div. 7. He then goes into more detail as to particular cases of natural evil; but all are handled in the same way. Thus death is explained by saying that the bodies of animals are a kind of vessels which contain fluids in motion, and being broken, the fluids are spilt and the motions cease; "because by the native imperfection of matter it is capable of dissolution, and the spilling and stagnation must necessarily follow, and with it animal life must cease."—Chap. iv. s. 3. Disease is dealt with in like manner. "It could not be avoided unless animals had been made of a quite different frame and constitution."—Chap. iv. s. 7. The whole reasoning is summed up in the concluding section of this part, where the author somewhat triumphantly says, "The difficult question then, whence comes evil? is not unanswerable. For it arises from the very nature and constitution of created beings, and could not be avoided without a contradiction."—Chap. iv. s. 9. To this the commentary of Bishop Law adds (Note 4i), "that natural evil has been shown to be, in every case, unavoidable, without introducing into the system a greater evil."

It is certain that many persons, led away by the authority of a great name, have been accustomed to regard this work as a text-book, and have appealed to Archbishop King and his learned commentator as having solved the question. So many men have referred to the Principia as showing the motions of the heavenly bodies, who never read, or indeed could read, a page of that immortal work. But no man ever did open it who could read it and find himself disappointed in any one particular; the whole demonstration is perfect; not a link is wanting; nothing is assumed. How different the case here! We open the work of the prelate and find it from the first to last a chain of gratuitous assumptions, and, of the main point, nothing whatever is either proved or explained. Evil arises, he says, from the nature of matter. Who doubts it? But is not the whole question why matter was created with such properties as of necessity to produce evil? It was impossible, says he, to avoid it consistently with the laws of motion and matter. Unquestionably; but the whole dispute is upon those laws. If indeed the laws of nature, the existing constitution of the material world, were assumed as necessary, and as binding upon the Deity, how is it possible that any question ever could have been raised? The Deity having the power to make those laws, to endow matter with that constitution, and having also the power to make different laws and to give matter another constitution, the whole question is, how his choosing to create the present existing order of things—the laws and the constitution which we find to prevail—can be reconciled with perfect goodness. The whole argument of the Archbishop assumes that matter and its laws are independent of the Deity; and the only conclusion to which the inquiry leads us is that the Creator has made a world with as little of evil in it as the nature of things,—that is, as the laws of nature and matter—allowed him; which is nonsense, if those laws were made by him, and leaves the question where it was, or rather solves it by giving up the omnipotence of the Creator, if these laws were binding upon him.

It must be added, however, that Dr. King and Dr. Law are not singular in pursuing this most inconclusive course of reasoning.

Thus Dr. J. Clarke, in his treatise on natural evil, quoted by Bishop Law (Note 32), shows how mischiefs arise from the laws of matter; and says this could not be avoided "without altering those primary laws, i. e., making it something else than what it is, or changing it into another form; the result of which would only be to render it liable to evils of another kind against which the same objections would equally lie." So Dr. J. Burnett, in his discourses on evil, at the Boyle Lecture (vol. ii. P. 201), conceives that he explains death by saying that the materials of which the body is composed "cannot last beyond seventy years, or thereabouts, and it was originally intended that we should die at that age." Pain, too, he imagines is accounted for by observing that we are endowed with feelings, and that if we could not feel pain, so neither could we pleasure (p. 202). Again, he says that there are certain qualities which "in the nature of things matter is incapable of" (p. 207). And as if he really felt the pressure of this difficulty, he at length comes to this conclusion, that life is a free gift, which we had no right to exact, and which the Deity lay under no necessity to grant, and therefore we must take it with the conditions annexed (p. 210); which is undeniably true, but is excluding the discussion and not answering the question proposed. Nor must it be forgotten that some reasoners deal strangely with the facts. Thus Derham, in his Physico-Theology, explaining the use of poison in snakes, first desires us to bear in mind that many venomous ones are of use medicinally in stubborn diseases, which is not true, and if it were, would prove nothing, unless the venom, not the flesh, were proved to be medicinal; and then says, they are "scourges upon ungrateful and sinful men;" adding the truly astounding absurdity, "that the nations which know not God are the most annoyed with noxious reptiles and other pernicious creatures." (Book ix. c. I); which if it were true would raise a double difficulty, by showing that one people was scourged because another had neglected to preach the gospel among them. Dr. J. Burnett, too, accounts for animals being suffered to be killed as food for man, by affirming that they thereby gain all the care which man is thus led to bestow upon them, and so are, on the whole, the better for being eaten. (Boyle Lecture, II. 207). But the most singular error has perhaps been fallen into by Dr. Sherlock, and the most, unhappy—which yet Bishop Law has cited as a sufficient answer to the objection respecting death: "It is a great instrument of government, and makes men afraid of committing such villanies as the laws of their country have made capital." (Note 34). So that the greatest error in the criminal legislation of all countries forms part of the divine providence, and man has at length discovered, by the light of reason, the folly and the wickedness of using an instrument expressly created by divine Omniscience to be abused!

The remaining portion of King's work, filling the second volume of Bishop Law's edition, is devoted to the explanation of Moral Evil; and here the gratuitous assumption of the "nature of things," and the "laws of nature," more or less pervade the whole as in the former parts of the Inquiry.

The fundamental position of the whole is, that man having been endowed with free will, his happiness consists in making due elections, or in the right exercise of that free will. Five causes are then given of undue elections, in which of course his misery consists as far as that depends on himself; these causes are error, negligence, over-indulgence of free choice, obstinacy or bad habit, and the importunity of natural appetites; which last, it must in passing be remarked, belongs to the head of physical evil, and cannot be assumed in this discussion without begging the question. The great difficulty is then stated and grappled with, namely, how to reconcile these undue elections with divine goodness. The objector states that free will might exist without the power of making undue elections, he being suffered to range, as it were, only among lawful objects of choice. But the answer to this seems sound, that such a will would only be free in name; it would be free to choose among certain things, but would not be free-will. The objector again urges, that either the choice is free and may fall upon evil objects, against the goodness of God, or it is so restrained as only to fall on good objects. Against freedom of the will King's solution is, that more evil would result from preventing these undue elections than from suffering them, and so the Deity has only done the best he could in the circumstances; a solution obviously liable to the same objection as that respecting Natural Evil. There are three ways, says the Archbishop, in which undue elections might have been prevented; not creating a free agent—constant interference with his free-will—removing him to another state where he would not be tempted to go astray in his choice. A fourth mode may, however, be suggested—creating a free-agent without any inclination to evil, or any temptation from external objects. When our author disposes of the second method, by stating that it assumes a constant miracle, as great in the moral as altering the course of the planets hourly would be in the material universe, nothing can be more sound or more satisfactory. But when he argues that our whole happiness consists in a consciousness of freedom of election, and that we should never know happiness were we restrained in any particular, it seems wholly inconceivable how he should have omitted to consider the prodigious comfort of a state in which we should be guaranteed against any error or impropriety of choice; a state in which we should both be unable to go astray and always feel conscious of that security. He, however, begs the question most manifestly in dealing with the two other methods stated, by which undue elections might have been precluded. "You would have freedom," says he, "without any inclination to sin; but it may justly be doubted if this is possible in the present state of things," (chap. v. s. 5, sub. 2); and again, in answering the question why God did not remove us into another state where no temptation could seduce us, he says: "It is plain that in the present state of things it is impossible for men to live without natural evils or the danger of sinning." (Ib.) Now the whole question arises upon the constitution of the present state of things. If that is allowed to be inevitable, or is taken as a datum in the discussion, there ceases to be any question at all.

The doctrine of a chain of being is enlarged upon, and with much felicity of illustration. But it only wraps up the difficulty in other words, without solving it. For then the question becomes this—Why did the Deity create such a chain as could not be filled up without misery? It is, indeed, merely restating the fact of evil existing; for whether we say there is suffering among sentient beings—or the universe consists of beings more or less happy, more or less miserable—or there exists a chain of beings varying in perfection and in felicity—it is manifestly all one proposition. The remark of Bayle upon this view of the subject is really not at all unsound, and is eminently ingenious: "Would you defend a king who should confine all his subjects of a certain age in dungeons, upon the ground that if he did not, many of the cells he had built must remain empty?" The answer of Bishop Law to this remark is by no means satisfactory. He says it assumes that more misery than happiness exists. Now, in this view of the question, the balance is quite immaterial. The existence of any evil at all raises the question as much as the preponderance of evil over good, because the question conceives a perfectly good Being, and asks how such a Being can have permitted any evil at all. Upon this part of the subject both King and Law have fallen into an error which recent discoveries place in a singularly clear light. They say that the argument they are dealing with would lead to leaving the earth to the brutes without human inhabitants. But the recent discoveries in Fossil Osteology have proved that the earth, for ages before the last 5,000 or 6,000 years, was left to the lower animals; nay, that in a still earlier period of its existence no animal life at all was maintained upon its surface. So that, in fact, the foundation is removed of the reductio ad absurdum attempted by the learned prelates.

A singular argument is used towards the latter end of the inquiry. When the Deity, it is said, resolved to create other beings, He must of necessity tolerate imperfect natures in his handiwork, just as he must the equality of a circle's radii when he drew a circle. Who does not perceive the difference? The meaning of the word circle is that the radii are all equal; this equality is a necessary truth. But it is not shown that men could not exist without the imperfections they labor under. Yet this is the argument suggested by these authors while complaining (chap. v. s. 5, sub. 7, div. 7), that Lactantius had not sufficiently answered the Epicurean dilemma; it is the substitute propounded to supply that father's deficiency.—"When, therefore," says the Archbishop, "matter, motion and free-will are constituted, the Deity must necessarily permit corruption of things and the abuse of liberty, or something worse, for these cannot be separated without a contradiction, and God is no more important, because he cannot separate equality of radii from a circle."—Chap. v. s. 5, subs. 7. If he could not have created evil, he would not have been omnipotent; if he would not, he must let his power lie idle; and rejecting evil have rejected all the good. "Thus," exclaims the author with triumph and self-complacency, "then vanishes this Herculean argument which induced the Epicureans to discard the good Deity, and the Manicheans to substitute an evil one." (Ib. subs. 7, sub. fine.) Nor is the explanation rendered more satisfactory, or indeed more intelligible, by the concluding passage of all, in which we are told that "from a conflict of two properties, namely, omnipotence and goodness, evils necessarily arise. These attributes amicably conspire together, and yet restrain and limit each other." It might have been expected from hence that no evil at all should be found to exist. "There is a kind of struggle and opposition between them, whereof the evils in nature bear the shadow and resemblance. Here, then, and no where else, mar we find the primary and most certain rise and origin of evils."

Such is this celebrated work; and it may safely be affirmed that a more complete failure to overcome a great and admitted difficulty—a more unsatisfactory solution of an important question—is not to be found in the whole history of metaphysical science.

Among the authors who have treated of this subject, a high place is justly given to Archdeacon Bulguy, whose work on Divine Benevolence is always referred to by Dr. Paley with great commendation. But certain it is that this learned and pious writer either had never formed to himself a very precise notion of the real question under discussion, namely, the compatibility of the appearances which we see and which we consider as evil, with a Being infinitely powerful as well as good; or he had in his mind some opinions respecting the divine nature, opinions of a limitary kind, which he does not state distinctly, although he constantly suffers them to influence his seasonings. Hence, whenever he comes close to the real difficulty he appears to beg the question. A very few instances of what really pervades the whole work will suffice to show how unsatisfactory its general scope is, although it contains, like the treatise of Dr. King and Dr. Law's Commentary, many valuable observations on the details of the subject.

And first we may perceive that what he terms a "previous remark," and desires the reader "to carry along through the whole proof of divine benevolence," really contains a statement that the difficulty is to be evaded and not met. "An intention of producing good," says he, "will be sufficiently apparent in any particular instance if the thing considered can neither be changed nor taken away without loss or harm, all other things continuing the same. Should you suppose various things in the system changed at once, you can neither judge of the possibility nor the consequences of the changes, having no degree of experience to direct you." Now assuredly this postulate makes the whole question as easy a one as ever metaphysician or naturalist had to solve. For it is no longer—Why did a powerful and benevolent Being create a world in which there is evil—but only—The world being given, how far are its different arrangements consistent with one another? According to this, the earthquake at Lisbon, Voltaire's favorite instance, destroyed thousands of persons, because it is in the nature of things that subterraneous vapors should explode, and that when houses fall on human beings they should be killed. Then if Dr. Balguy goes to his other argument, on which he often dwells, that if this nature were altered, we cannot possibly tell whether worse might not ensue; this, too, is assuming a limited power in the Deity, contrary to the hypothesis. It may most justly be said, that if there be any one supposition necessarily excluded from the whole argument, it is the fundamental supposition of the "previous remark," namely, "all other things continuing the same."

But see how this assumption pervades and paralyzes the whole argument, rendering it utterly inconclusive. The author is to answer an objection derived from the constitution of our appetites for food, and his reply is, that "we cannot tell how far it was possible for the stomachs and palates of animals to be differently formed, unless by some remedy worse than the disease." Again, upon the question of pain: "How do we know that it was possible for the uneasy sensation to be confined to particular cases?" So we meet the same fallacy under another form, as evil being the result of "general principles." But no one has ever pushed this so far as Dr. Balguy, for he says, "that in a government so conducted, many events are likely to happen contrary to the intention of its author." He now calls in the aid of chance, or accident.—"It is probable," he says, "that God should be good, for evil is more likely to be accidental than appears from experience in the conduct of men." Indeed, his fundamental position of the Deity's benevolence is rested upon this foundation, that "pleasures only were intended, and that the pains are accidental consequences, although the means of producing pleasures." The same recourse to accident is repeatedly had. Thus, "the events to which we are exposed in this imperfect state appear to be the accidental, not natural, effects of our frame and condition." Now can any one thing be more manifest than that the very first notion of a wise and powerful Being excludes all such assumptions as things happening contrary to His intention; and that when we use the word chance or accident, which only means our human ignorance of causes, we at once give up the whole question, as if we said, "It is a subject about which we know nothing." So again as to power. "A good design is more difficult to be executed, and therefore more likely to be executed imperfectly, than an evil one, that is, with a mixture of effects foreign to the design and opposite to it." This at once assumes the Deity to be powerless. But a general statement is afterwards made more distinctly to the same effect. "Most sure it is that he can do all things possible. But are we in any degree competent judges of the bounds of possibility?" So again under another form nature is introduced as something different from its author, and offering limits to his power. "It is plainly not the method of nature to obtain her ends instantaneously." Passing over such propositions as that "useless evil is a thing never seen," (when the whole question is why the same ends were not attained without evil), and a variety of other subordinate assumptions contrary to the hypothesis, we may rest with this general statement, which almost every page of Dr. Balguy's book bears out, that the question which he has set himself to solve is anything rather than the real one touching the Origin of Evil; and that this attempt at a solution is as ineffectual as any of those which we have been considering.

Is, then, the question wholly incapable of solution, which all these learned and ingenious men have so entirely failed in solving? Must the difficulty remain forever unsurmounted, and only be approached to discover that it is insuperable? Must the subject, of all others the most interesting for us to know well, be to us always as a sealed book, of which we can never know anything? From the nature of the thing—from the question relating to the operation of a power which, to our limited faculties, must ever be incomprehensible—there seems too much reason for believing that nothing precise or satisfactory ever will be attained by human reason regarding this great argument; and that the bounds which limit our views will only be passed when we have quitted the encumbrances of our mortal state, and are permitted to survey those regions beyond the sphere of our present circumscribed existence. The other branch of Natural Theology, that which investigates the evidences of Intelligence and Design, and leads us to a clear apprehension of the Deity's power and wisdom, is as satisfactorily cultivated as any other department of science, rests upon the same species of proof, and affords results as precise as they are sublime. This branch will never be distinctly known, and will always so disappoint the inquirer as to render the lights of Revelation peculiarly acceptable, although even those lights leave much of it still involved in darkness—still mysterious and obscure.[2]

Yet let us endeavor to suggest some possible explication, while we admit that nothing certain, nothing entirely satisfactory can be reached. The failure of the great writers whose works we have been contemplating may well teach us humility, make us distrust ourselves, and moderate within us any sanguine hopes of success. But they should not make us wholly despair of at least showing in what direction the solution of the difficulty is to be sought, and whereabouts it will probably be found situated, when our feeble reason shall be strengthened and expanded. For one cause of their discomfiture certainly has been their aiming too high, attempting a complete solution of a problem which only admitted of approximation, and discussion of limits.

It is admitted on all hands that the demonstration is complete which shows the existence of intelligence and design in the universe. The structure of the eye and ear in exact confirmity to the laws of optics and acoustics, shows as clearly as any experiment can show anything, that the source, cause or origin is common both to the properties of light and the formation of the lenses and retina in the eye—both to the properties of sound and the tympanum, malleus, incus and stapes of the ear. No doubt whatever can exist upon the subject, any more than, if we saw a particular order issued to a body of men to perform certain uncommon evolutions, and afterwards saw the same body performing those same evolutions, we could doubt their having received the order. A designing and intelligent and skillful author of these admirably adapted works is equally a clear inference from the same facts. We can no more doubt it than we can question, when we see a mill grinding corn into flour, that the machinery was made by some one who designed by means of it to prepare the materials of bread. The same conclusions are drawn in a vast variety of other instances, both with respect to the parts of human and other bodies, and with respect to most of the other arrangements of nature. Similar conclusions are also drawn from our consciousness, and the knowledge which it gives us of the structure of the mind.[3] Thus we find that attention quickens memory and enables us to recollect; and that habit renders all exertions and all acquisitions easy, beside having the effect of alleviating pain.

But when we carry our survey into other parts, whether of the natural or moral system, we cannot discover any design at all. We frequently perceive structures the use of which we know nothing about; parts of the animal frame that apparently have no functions to perform—nay, that are the source of pain without yielding any perceptible advantage; arrangements and movements of bodies which are of one particular kind, and yet we are quite at a loss to discern any reason why they might not have been of many other descriptions; operations of nature that seem to serve no purpose whatever; and other operations and other arrangements, chosen equally without any beneficial view, and yet which often give rise to much apparent confusion and mischief. Now, the question is, first, whether in any one of these cases of arrangement and structures with no visible object at all, we can for a moment suppose that there really is no object answered, or only conceive that we have been unable to discover it? Secondly, whether in the cases where mischief sometimes is perceived, and no other purpose appears to be effected, we do not almost as uniformly lay the blame on our own ignorance, and conclude, not that the arrangement was made without any design, and that mischief arises without any contriver, but that if we knew the whole case we should find a design and contrivance, and also that the apparent mischief would sink into the general good? It is not necessary to admit, for our present purpose, this latter proposition, though it brings us closer to the matter in hand; it is sufficient for the present to admit, what no one doubts, that when a part of the body, for instance, is discovered, to which, like the spleen, we cannot assign any function in the animal system, we never think of concluding that it is made for no use, but only that we have as yet not been able to discover its use.

Now, let us ask, why do we, without any hesitation whatever, or any exception whatever, always and immediately arrive at this conclusion respecting intelligence and design? Nothing could be more unphilosophical, nay, more groundless, than such a process of reasoning, if we had only been able to trace design in one or two instances; for instance, if we found only the eye to show proofs of contrivance, it would be wholly gratuitous, when we saw the ear, to assume that it was adapted to the nature of sound, and still more so, if, on examination, we perceived it bore no perceptible relation to the laws of acoustics. The proof of contrivance in one particular is nothing like a proof, nay, does not even furnish the least presumption of contrivance in other particulars; because, a priori, it is just as easy to suppose one part of nature to be designed for a purpose, and another part, nay, all other parts, to be formed at random and without any contrivance, as to suppose that the formation of the whole is governed by design. Why, then, do we, invariably and undoubtedly, adopt the course of reasoning which has been mentioned, and never for a moment suspect anything to be formed without some reason—some rational purpose? The only ground of this belief is, that we have been able distinctly to trace design in so vast a majority of cases as leaves us no power of doubting that, if our faculties had been sufficiently powerful, or our investigation sufficiently diligent, we should also have been able to trace it in those comparatively few instances respecting which we still are in the dark.

It may be worth while to give a few instances of the ignorance in which we once were of design in some important arrangements of nature, and of the knowledge which we now possess to show the purpose of their formation. Before Sir Isaac Newton's optical discoveries, we could not tell why the structure of the eye was so complex, and why several lenses and humors were required to form a picture of objects upon the retina. Indeed, until Dolland's subsequent discovery of the achromatic effect of combining various glasses, and Mr. Blair's still more recent experiments on the powers of different refracting media, we were not able distinctly to perceive the operation and use of the complicacy in the structure of the eye. We now well understand its nature, and are able to comprehend how that which had at one time, nay, for ages, seemed to be an unnecessary complexity; forms the most perfect of all optical instruments, and according to the most certain laws of refraction and of dispersion.

So, too, we had observed for some centuries the forms of the orbits in which the heavenly bodies move, and we had found these to be ellipses with a very small eccentricity. But why this was the form of those orbits no one could even conjecture. If any person, the most deeply skilled in mathematical science, and the most internally convinced of the universal prevalence of design and contrivance in the structure of the universe, had been asked what reason there was for the planets moving in ellipses so, nearly approaching to circles, he could not have given any good reason, at least beyond a guess. The force of gravitation, even admitting that to be, as it were, a condition of the creation of matter, would have made those bodies revolve in ellipses of any degree of eccentricity just as well, provided the angle and the force of projection had been varied. Then, why was this form rather, than any other chosen? No one knew; yet no one doubted that there was ample reason for it. Accordingly the sublime discoveries of Lagrange and La Place have shown us that this small eccentricity is one material element in the formula by which it is shown that all the irregularities of the system are periodical, and that the deviation never can exceed a certain amount on either hand.

But, again, while we are ignorant of this, perhaps the most sublime truth in all science, we were always arguing as if the system had an imperfection, as if the disturbing forces of the different planets and the sun, acting on one another, constantly changed the orbits of each planet, and must, in a course of ages, work the destruction of the whole planetary arrangement which we had contemplated with so great admiration and with awe. It was deemed enough if we could show that this derangement must be extremely slow, and that, therefore, the system might last for many more ages without requiring any interposition of omnipotent skill to preserve it by rectifying its motions. Thus one of the most celebrated writers above cited argues that, "from the nature of gravitation and the concentricity of the orbits, the irregularities produced are so slowly operated in contracting, dilating and inclining those orbits, that the system may go on for many thousand years before any extraordinary interference becomes necessary in order to correct it." And Dr. Burnett adds, that "those small irregularities cast no discredit on the good contrivance of the whole." Nothing, however, could cast greater discredit if it were as he supposed, and as all men previous to the late discoveries supposed; it was only, they rather think, a "small irregularity," which was every hour tending to the destruction of the whole system, and which must have deranged or confounded its whole structure long before it destroyed it. Yet now we see that the wisdom, to which a thousand years are as one day, not satisfied with constructing a fabric which might last for "many thousand years without His interference," has so formed it that it may thus endure forever.

Now if such be the grounds of our belief in the universal prevalence of Design, and such the different lights which at different periods of our progress in science we possess upon this branch of the divine government; if we undoubtingly believe that contrivance is universal only because we can trace and comprehend it in a great majority of instances, and if the number of exceptions to the rule is occasionally diminished as our knowledge of the particulars is from time to time extended—may we not apply the same principle to the apprehension of Benevolent purpose, and infer from the number of instances in which we plainly perceive a good intention, that if we were better acquainted with those cases in which a contrary intention is now apparent, we should there, too, find the generally pervading character of Benevolence to prevail? Not only is this the manner in which we reason respecting the Design of the Creator from examining his works; it is the manner in which we treat the conduct of our fellow-creatures. A man of the most extensive benevolence and strictest integrity in his general deportment has done something equivocal; nay, something apparently harsh and cruel; we are slow to condemn him; we give him credit for acting with a good motive and for a righteous purpose; we rest satisfied that "if we only knew everything he would come out blameless." This arises from a just and a sound view of human character, and its general consistency with itself. The same reasoning may surely be applied with all humility and reverence, to the works and the intentions of the great Being who has implanted in our minds the principles which lead to that just and sound view of the deeds and motives of men.

But let the argument be rested upon our course of reasoning respecting divine contrivance. The existence of Evil is in no case more apparent than the existence of Disorder seems to be in many things. To go no further than the last example which has been given—the mathematician could perceive the derangement in the planetary orbits, could demonstrate that it must ensue from the mutual action of the heavenly bodies on each other, could calculate its progress with the utmost exactness, could tell with all nicety how much it would alter the forms of the orbits in a given time, could foresee the time when the whole system must be irretrievably destroyed by its operation as a mathematical certainty. Nothing, that we call evil can be much more certainly perceived than this derangement, of itself an evil, certainly a great imperfection, if the system was observed by the mind of man as we regard human works. Yet we now find, from well considering some things which had escaped attention, that the system is absolutely free from derangement; that all the disturbances counterbalance each other; and that the orbits never can either be flattened or bulged out beyond a definite or very inconsiderable quantity. Can any one doubt that there is also a reason for even the small and limited, this regular and temporary derangement? Why it exists at all, or in any the least degree, we as yet know not. But who will presume to doubt that it has a reason which would at once satisfy our minds were it known to us? Nay, who will affirm that the discovery of it may not yet be in reserve for some later and happier age? Then are we not entitled to apply the same reasoning to what at present appears Evil in a system of which, after all we know of it, so much still remains concealed from our view?

The mere act of creation in a Being of wisdom so admirable and power so vast, seems to make it extremely probable that perfect goodness accompanies the exertion of his perfect skill. There is something so repugnant to all our feelings, but also to all the conceptions of our reason, in the supposition of such a Being desiring the misery, for its own sake, of the Beings whom he voluntarily called into existence and endowed with a sentient nature, that the mind naturally and irresistibly recoils from such a thought. But this is not all. If the nature of that great Being were evil, his power being unbounded, there would be some proportion between the amounts of ills and the monuments of that power. Yet we are struck dumb with the immensity of His works to which no imperfection can be ascribed, and in which no evil can be traced, while the amount of mischief that we see might sink into a most insignificant space; and is such as a being of inconsiderable power and very limited skill could easily have accomplished. This is not the same consideration with the balance of good against evil; and inquirers do not seem to have sufficiently attended to it. The argument, however, deserves much attention, for it is purely and strictly inductive. The divine nature is shown to be clothed with prodigious power and incomparable wisdom and skill,—power and skill so vast and so exceeding our comprehension that we ordinarily term them infinite, and are only inclined to conceive the possibility of limiting, by the course of the argument upon evil, one alternative of which is assumed to raise an exception. But admitting on account of the question under discussion, that we have only a right to say that power and skill are prodigiously great, though possibly not boundless, they are plainly shown in the phenomena of the universe to be the attributes of a Being, who, if evil-disposed, could have made the monuments of Ill upon a scale resembling those of Power and Skill; so that if those things which seem to us evil be really the result of a mischievous design in such a Being, we cannot comprehend why they are upon so entirely different a scale. This is a strong presumption from the facts that we are wrong in imputing those appearances to such a disposition. If so, what seems evil must needs be capable of some other explanation consistent with divine goodness—that is to say, would not prove to be evil at all if we knew the whole of those facts.

But it is necessary to proceed a step further, especially with a view to the fundamental position now contended for, the extending to the question of Benevolence the same principles which we apply to that of Intelligence. The evil which exists, or that which we suppose to be evil, not only is of a kind and a magnitude requiring inconceivably less power and less skill than the admitted good of the creation—it also bears a very small proportion in amount; quite as small a proportion as the cases of unknown or undiscoverable design bear to those of acknowledged and proved contrivance. Generally speaking, the preservation and the happiness of sensitive creatures appears to be the great object of creative exertion and conservative providence. The expanding of our faculties, both bodily and mentally, is accompanied with pleasure; the exercise of those powers is almost always attended with gratification; all labor so acts as to make rest peculiarly delicious; much of labor is enjoyment; the gratification of those appetites by which both the individual is preserved and the race is continued, is highly pleasurable to all animals; and it must be observed that instead of being attracted by grateful sensations to do anything requisite for our good or even our existence, we might have been just as certainly urged by the feeling of pain, or the dread of it, which is a kind of suffering in itself. Nature, then, resembles the law-giver who, to make his subjects obey, should prefer holding out rewards for compliance with his commands rather than denounce punishments for disobedience. But nature is yet more kind; she is gratuitously kind; she not only prefers inducement to threat or compulsion, but she adds more gratification than was necessary to make us obey her calls. How well might all creation have existed and been continued, though the air had not been balmy in spring, or the shade and the spring refreshing in summer; had the earth not been enamelled with flowers; and the air scented with perfumes! How needless for the propagation of plants was it that the seed should be enveloped in fruits the most savory to our palate, and if those fruits serve some other purpose, how foreign to that purpose was the formation of our nerves so framed as to be soothed or excited by their flavor! We here perceive design, because we trace adaptation. But we at the same time perceive benevolent design, because we perceive gratuitous and supererogatory enjoyment bestowed. Thus, too, see the care with which animals of all kinds are tended from their birth. The mother's instinct is not more certainly the means of securing and providing for her young, than her gratification in the act of maternal care is great and is also needless for making her perform that duty. The grove is not made vocal during pairing and incubation, in order to secure the laying or the hatching of eggs; for if it were as still as the grave, or were filled with the most discordant croaking, the process would be as well performed. So, too, mark the care with which injuries are remedied by what has been correctly called the vis medicatrix. Is a muscle injured?—Suppuration takes place, the process of granulation succeeds, and new flesh is formed to supply the gap, or if that is less wide, a more simple healing process knits together the severed parts. Is a bone injured?—A process commences by which an extraordinary secretion of bony matter takes place, and the void is supplied. Nay, the irreparable injury of a joint gives rise to the formation of a new hinge, by which the same functions may be not inconveniently, though less perfectly, performed. Thus, too, recovery of vigor after sickness is provided for by increased appetite; but there is here superadded, generally, a feeling of comfort and lightness, an enjoyment of existence so delightful, that it is a common remark how nearly this compensates the sufferings of the illness. In the economy of the mind it is the same thing. All our exertions are stimulated by curiosity, and the gratification is extreme of satisfying it. But it might have been otherwise ordered, and some painful feeling might have been made the only stimulant to the acquisition of knowledge. So, the charm of novelty is proverbial; but it might have been the unceasing cause of the most painful alarms. Habit renders every thing easy; but the repetition might have only increased the annoyance. The loss of one organ makes the others more acute. But the partial injury might have caused, as it were, a general paralysis. 'Tis thus that Paley is well justified in exclaiming, "It is a happy world after all!" The pains and the sufferings, bodily and mental, to which we are exposed, if they do not sink into nothing, at least retreat within comparatively narrow bounds; the ills are hardly seen when we survey the great and splendid picture of worldly enjoyment or ease.

But the existence of considerable misery is undeniable: and the question is, of course, confined to that. Its exaggeration, in the ordinary estimate both of the vulgar and of skeptical reasoners, is equally certain. Paley, Bishop Sumner, as well as Derham, King, Ray and others of the older writers, have made many judicious and generally correct observations upon its amount, and they, as well as some of the able and learned authors of the Bridgwater Treatises, have done much in establishing deductions necessary to be made, in order that we may arrive at the true amount. That many things, apparently unmixed evils, when examined more narrowly, prove to be partially beneficial, is the fair result of their well-meant labors; and this, although anything rather than a proof that there is no evil at all, yet is valuable as still further proving the analogy between this branch of the argument and that upon design; and in giving hopes that all may possibly be found hereafter to be good, as everything will assuredly be found to be contrived with an intelligent and useful purpose. It may be right to add a remark or two upon some evils, and those of the greatest magnitude in the common estimate of human happiness, with a view of further illustrating this part of the subject.

Mere imperfection must altogether be deducted from the account. It never can be contended that any evil nature can be ascribed to the first cause, merely for not having endowed sentient creatures with greater power or wisdom, for not having increased and multiplied the sources of enjoyment, or for not having made those pleasures which we have more exquisitely grateful. No one can be so foolish as to argue that the Deity is either limited in power, or deficient in goodness, because he has chosen to create some beings of a less perfect order than others. The mere negation in the creating of some, indeed of many, nay, of any conceivable number of desirable attributes, is therefore no proper evidence of evil design or of limited power in the Creator—it is no proof of the existence of evil properly so called. But does not this also erase death from the catalogue of ills? It might well please the Deity to create a mortal being which, consisting of soul and body, was only to live upon this earth for a limited number of years. If, when that time has expired, this being is removed to another and a superior state of existence, no evil whatever accrues to it from the change; and all views of the government of this world lead to the important and consolitary conclusion, that such is the design of the Creator; that he cannot have bestowed on us minds capable of such expansion and culture only to be extinguished when they have reached their highest pitch of improvement; or if this be considered as begging the question by assuming benevolent design, we cannot easily conceive that while the mind's force is so little affected by the body's decay, the destruction or dissolution of the latter should be the extinction of the former. But that death operates as an evil of the very highest kind in two ways is obvious; the dread of it often embitters life, and the death of friends brings to the mind by far its most painful infliction; certainly the greatest suffering it can undergo without any criminal consciousness of its own.

For this evil, then—this grievous and admitted evil—how shall we account? But first let us consider whether it be not unavoidable; not merely under the present dispensation, and in the existing state of things; for that is wholly irrelevant to the question which is raised upon the fitness of this very state of things; but whether it be not a necessary evil. That man might have been created immortal is not denied; but if it were the will of the Deity to form a limited being and to place him upon the earth for only a certain period of time, his death was the necessary consequence of this determination. Then as to the pain which one person's removal inflicts upon surviving parties, this seems the equally necessary consequence of their having affections. For if any being feels love towards another, this implies his desire that the intercourse with that other should continue; or what is the same thing, the repugnance and aversion to its ceasing; that is, he must suffer affliction for that removal of the beloved object. To create sentient beings devoid of all feelings of affection was no doubt possible to Omnipotence; but to endow those beings with such feelings as would give the constant gratification derived from the benevolent affections, and yet to make them wholly indifferent to the loss of the objects of those affections, was not possible even for Omnipotence; because it was a contradiction in terms, equivalent to making a thing both exist and not exist at one and the same time. Would there have been any considerable happiness in a life stripped of these kindly affections? We cannot affirm that there would not, because we are ignorant what other enjoyments might have been substituted for the indulgence of them. But neither can we affirm that any such substitution could have been found; and it lies upon those who deny the necessary connection between the human mind, or any sentient being's mind, and grief for the loss of friends, to show that there are other enjoyments which could furnish an equivalent to the gratification derived from the benevolent feelings. The question then reduces itself to this: Wherefore did a being, who could have made sentient beings immortal, choose to make them mortal? or, Wherefore has he placed man upon the earth for a time only? or, Wherefore has he set bounds to the powers and capacities which he has been pleased to bestow upon his creatures? And this is a question which we certainly never shall be able to solve; but a question extremely different from the one more usually put—How happens it that a good being has made a world full of misery and death?

In the necessary ignorance wherein we are of the whole designs of the Deity, we cannot wonder if some things, nay, if many things, are to our faculties inscrutable. But we assuredly have no right to say that those difficulties which try and vex us are incapable of a solution, any more than we have to say, that those cases in which as yet we can see no trace of design, are not equally the result of intelligence, and equally conducive to a fixed and useful purpose with those in which we have been able to perceive the whole, or nearly the whole scheme. Great as have been our achievements in physical astronomy, we are as yet wholly unable to understand why a power pervades the system acting inversely as the squares of the distance from the point to which it attracts, rather than a power acting according to any other law; and why it has been the pleasure of the almighty Architect of that universe, that the orbits of the planets should be nearly circular instead of approaching to, or being exactly the same with many other trajectories of a nearly similar form, though of other properties; nay, instead of being curves of a wholly different class and shape. Yet we never doubt that there was a reason for this choice; nay, we fancy it possible that even on earth we may hereafter understand it more clearly than we now do: and never question that in another state of being we may be permitted to enjoy the contemplation of it. Why should we doubt that, at least in that higher state, we may also be enabled to perceive such an arrangement as shall make evil wholly disappear from our present system, by showing that it was necessary and inevitable, even in the works of the Deity; or, which is the same thing, that its existence conduces to such a degree of perfection and happiness upon, the whole, as could not, even by Omnipotence, be attained without it; or, which is the same thing, that the whole creation as it exists, taking both worlds together, is perfect, and incapable of being in any particular changed without being made worse and less perfect? Taking both worlds together—For certainly were our views limited to the present sublunary state, we may well affirm that no solution whatever could even be imagined of the difficulty—if we are never again to live; if those we here loved are forever lost to us; if our faculties can receive no further expansion; if our mental powers are only trained and improved to be extinguished at their acme—then indeed are we reduced to the melancholy and gloomy dilemma of the Epicureans; and evil is confessed to checker, nay, almost to cloud over our whole lot, without the possibility of comprehending why, or of reconciling its existence with the supposition of a providence at once powerful and good. But this inference is also an additional argument for a future state, when we couple it with these other conclusions respecting the economy of the world to which we are led by wholly different routes, when we investigate the phenomena around us and within us.

Suppose, for example, it should be found that there are certain purposes which can in no way whatever—no conceivable way—be answered except by placing man in a state of trial or probation; suppose the essential nature of mind shall be found to be such that it could not in any way whatever exist so as to be capable of the greatest purity and improvement—in other words, the highest perfection—without having undergone a probation; or suppose it should be found impossible to communicate certain enjoyments to rational and sentient beings without having previously subjected them to certain trials and certain sufferings—as, for instance, the pleasures derived from a consciousness of perfect security, the certainty that we can suffer and perish no more—this surely is a possible supposition. Now, to continue the last example—Whatever pleasure there is in the contrast between ease and previous vexation or pain, whatever enjoyment we derive from the feeling of absolute security after the vexation and uncertainty of a precarious state, implies a previous suffering—a previous state of precarious enjoyment; and not only implies it but necessarily implies it, so that the power of Omnipotence itself could not convey to us the enjoyment without having given us the previous suffering. Then is it not possible that the object of an all powerful and perfectly benevolent being should be to create like beings, to whom as entire happiness, as complete and perfect enjoyment, should be given as any created beings—that is, any being, except the Creator himself—can by possibility enjoy? This is certainly not only a very possible supposition, but it appears to be quite consistent with, if it be not a necessary consequence of, his being perfectly good as well as powerful and wise. Now we have shown, therefore, that such being supposed the design of Providence, even Omnipotence itself could not accomplish this design, as far as one great and important class of enjoyments is concerned, without the previous existence of some pain, some misery. Whatever gratification arises from relief—from contrast—from security succeeding anxiety—from restoration of lost affections—from renewing severed connections—and many others of a like kind, could not by any possibility be enjoyed unless the correlative suffering had first been undergone. Nor will the argument be at all impeached by observing, that one Being may be made to feel the pleasure of ease and security by seeing others subjected to suffering and distress; for that assumes the infliction of misery on those others; it is "alterius spectare laborem" that we are supposing to be sweet; and this is still partial evil.

As the whole argument respecting evil must, from the nature of the question, resolve itself into either a proof of some absolute or mathematical necessity not to be removed by infinite power, or the showing that some such proof may be possible although we have not yet discovered it, an illustration may naturally be expected to be attainable from mathematical considerations. Thus, we have already adverted to the law of periodical irregularities in the solar system. Any one before it was discovered seemed entitled to expatiate upon the operation of the disturbing forces arising from mutual attraction, and to charge the system arranged upon the principle of universal gravitation with want of skill, nay, with leading to inevitable mischief—mischief or evil of so prodigious an extent as to exceed incalculably all the instances of evil and of suffering which we see around us in this single planet. Nevertheless, what then appeared so clearly to be a defect and an evil, is now well known to be the very absolute perfection of the whole heavenly architecture.

Again, we may derive a similar illustration from a much more limited instance, but one immediately connected with strict mathematical reasoning, and founded altogether in the nature of necessary truth. The problem has been solved by mathematicians, Sir Isaac Newton having first investigated it, of finding the form of a symmetrical solid, or solid of revolution, which in moving through a fluid shall experience the least possible resistance. The figure bears a striking resemblance to that of a fish. Now suppose a fish were formed exactly in this shape, and that some animal endowed with reason were placed upon a portion of its surface, and able to trace its form for only a limited extent, say at the narrow part, where the broad portion or end of the moving body were opposed, or seemed as if it were opposed, to the surrounding fluid when the fish moved—the reasoner would at once conclude that the contrivance of the fish's form was very inconvenient, and that nothing could be much worse adapted for expeditious or easy movement through the waters.

Yet it is certain that upon being afterwards permitted to view THE WHOLE body of the fish, what had seemed a defect and an evil, not only would appear plainly to be none at all, but it would appear manifest that this seeming evil or defect was a part of the most perfect and excellent structure which it was possible even for Omnipotence and Omniscience to have adopted, and that no other conceivable arrangement could by possibility have produced so much advantage, or tended so much to fulfill the design in view. Previous to being enlightened by such an enlarged view of the whole facts, it would thus be a rash and unphilosophical thing in the reasoner whose existence we are supposing to pronounce an unfavorable opinion. Still more unwise would it be if numerous other observations had evinced traces of skill and goodness in the fish's structure. The true and the safe conclusion would be to suspend an opinion which could only be unsatisfactorily formed upon imperfect data; and to rest in the humble hope and belief that one day all would appear for the best.

THE END.



FOOTNOTES:



[Footnote 1: The "light of revelation," as well as the "light of the Christian religion," has not dispelled the darkness of ignorance. The torch of reason is a surer guide.—Pub.]

[Footnote 2: The human race has from time immemorial been afflicted with so-called revelations, all claiming inspiration, all conflicting, and all being equally "mysterious and obscure." The wars arising among these sectarians have retarded civilization, and deluged the earth in blood. The revelations of science, founded upon reason and demonstration, have proved the only safe and beneficent guide.—Pub.]

[Footnote 3: While it is true that the argument of Design, here given, places the subject one step in advance, it is still unsatisfactory, because it fails to explain to us who designed the designer, and the mystery of creation still remains unsolved.

"What think you of an uncaused cause of everything?" is the pertinent question which Bishop Watson, in his Apology for the Bible, asked, and vainly asked, of the celebrated deist, Thomas Paine.—Pub.]

THE END