IV. Our monism fails, namely, to establish itself on any ground of experience. Absolute refutation is indeed not yet thus attained, for the defender of the hypothesis of an infinite reason always has at his disposal the suggestions of the ancient theodicy, modified to suit his needs. He can say: "The partial evil is, somehow, we cannot see how, universal good." Or, again, "Evil results from the free-will of moral agents, who have to suffer for their own chosen sins." The latter answer, a very plausible one in its own sphere, is for the general problem insignificant. That there is free-will we do not dispute, and that free-will, if it exists, is a cause of much mischief is undoubted. Yet if the universe is so made that the free-will of the slave-driver, or of the murderer, or of the seducer, or of the conqueror, works untold ill to innocent victims, then the fault of the suffering of the victims rests not wholly with the evil-doer, but partly with the order of the world, which has given him so much power, such a wide freedom to do the mischief that he desires. The world in which such things happen must justify its religiously inspiring nature in some other way. The other answer, that partial evil is universal good, we have to regard as a much deeper answer, shallow as have been the uses often made of it in the past. But if it is to be a valid answer, it must take a particular form. The words are usually spoken too glibly. Their meaning, if they are to have any, we must very carefully consider, ere we can dare to accept them. Only from a higher point of view shall we in fact be able to apply them. In the world of the Powers they find no resting-place. How can a partial evil be an universal good? Only in certain cases. The notion plainly is that the evil in the external world of popular thought is, as known to us, only a part of the whole, and the whole, it is said, may be in character opposed to the part. This must indeed be the case, if the world as a whole is to be the work of an Infinite Reason. For if so, the evil must be, not merely a bad lesser part that is overbalanced by the goodness of the larger half of the world, but non-existent, save as a separate aspect of reality, so that it would vanish if we knew more about the truth. This is what the saying asserts: not that evil is overbalanced by good (for that would leave the irrational still real), but that evil is only a deceitful appearance, whose true nature, if seen in its entirety, would turn out to be good. One could not say of a rotting apple, however small the rotten spot as yet is, that the partial rottenness is the universal soundness of the apple. If I have but one slight disorder in but one of my organs, still you cannot say that my partial disorder must be universal health. The old optimists did not mean anything so contradictory as that. They meant that there is no real evil at all; that what seems to me to be evil, say toothaches, and broken households, and pestilences, and treasons, and wars, all that together is but a grand illusion of my partial view. As one looking over the surface of a statue with a microscope, and finding nothing but a stony surface, might say, how ugly! but on seeing the whole at a glance would know its beauty; even so one seeing the world by bits fancies it evil, but would know it to be good if he saw it as a whole. And the seeming but unreal evil of the parts may be necessary in order that the real whole should be good. Such is the position of our optimists. This is the PlatonicAugustinian doctrine of the unreality of evil. The logical possibility of all this we do not for the first either dispute or affirm. But we are dealing with a world of difficulties, and we can only point out the antecedent difficulty of this theory. If the world of experience simply lacked here and there interest, or positive signs of rational perfection, then one might well compare it to the statue, that seen only piecemeal, and through a microscope applied to its surface, would wholly lack the beauty that appears when all is viewed at once. Then one might say, with great plausibility, that if perceptible harmony is simply lacking to our partial view, the great whole may still be a grand harmony. But the trouble lies in the seemingly positive character of evil. Not simple lack of harmony, but horrible discord, is here. How the tortures of the wounded on a field of battle can anyhow enter into a whole in which, as seen by an absolute judge, there is actually no trace of evil at all, this is what we cannot understand. It seems very improbable. Only absolute proof will satisfy us. And of course, as has been indicated, by some of our examples above, it is not the quantity of any evil (if an evil be a quantity at all), but the quality of it, that makes us urge it in opposition to the claims of reason to be the ruler of all things. Any evil will do, if it seems to be a real and positive evil. For then it seems positively at war with reason. Actually, however, theodicies and kindred efforts, whether monistic or not, in trying to vindicate the rational in the world have seldom consistently maintained this high and slippery ground of the theory of Plato and of St. Augustine. Far from declaring that all physical evil is and must be apparent, the popular theodicies have often consented to accept the reality of this positive evil, and to minimize its significance by certain well-worn, and, for the purposes of this argument, contemptible devices. They have pointed out that the evil in the world, though a reality separate from the good, exists as a means to good. Or, again, they have said that evil is necessary as something outside of the good, setting it off by way of contrast. Both devices, if applied to a world in which good and evil are conceived as separate entities, are unworthy of philosophic thinkers. For consider the first device. "Evil is a reality, not an illusion, but it is a means to good. Therefore in the world as a whole, good triumphs. Therefore reason, which desires the good, is the One Ruler." But first, to mention a lesser objection, the basis in experience for this view is surely very narrow. Much evil exists whose use as a means we cannot even faintly conceive. But grant this point. Then the real evil is a means to a separate and external good end. But if the end was good, why was it not got without the evil means? Only two answers are possible to this, in case the evil is separate from the good. Either the One Reason was driven to take just this way, and could take no less expensive one; or the One Reason, not being bound to this road, still arbitrarily chose to take it instead of a better. But either answer is fatal. Was the One Reason unable to do better? Then it is not the only power at work. The Monism fails. The Reason was bound. But he who binds the strong man is stronger than he. If, however, the One chose this way rather than a better, then the One chose evil for its own sake. The dilemma is inevitable. To exemplify: If pain is an evil, and if the evil of the pain caused you by a burn, or cut, or bruise is justified by saying that all-wise nature makes your skin sensitive to the end that you may be helped in keeping it whole; then the obvious answer is, that if nature is all-wise and all-powerful and benevolent towards you, it was her business to find a way of keeping your skin in general whole, without entailing upon you the tortures of this present injury. If a machine that we make runs poorly, we are not disposed to blame ourselves, in case we are sure that we have done our very best with it. But the machines of all-wise nature must not run with destructive friction, unless all-wise nature intends destructive friction. The same remark applies to all the eloquent speeches about the educative value of our sufferings. If nature could make us perfect without suffering, and if suffering is not itself an organic part of our perfection, but only an external means thereto, then it was nature's rational business to de |