IX.

OF THE ECONOMY OF PAIN AND MISERY UNDER THE UNIVERSAL PROVIDENCE OF GOD.

HE HATH MADE NOTHING IMPERFECT.-ECCLESIASTICUS XLII. 24.

LAST Sunday I spoke of Providence in its most general form, as the universal execution of the perfect purposes of God by the perfect means He had originally devised. Closely connected with this are two things which demand. attention, namely, the phenomena which are called Evil and Sin, and the relation thereof to the causal and providential function of the Infinite God.

To understand this matter of Evil, to know its mode of origin and of operation, and the purpose it serves, considerable nicety of thought is necessary; and of course considerable precision in the terms which express and define thought.

The word Evil is ambiguous in its meaning, and has both a wide and a narrow signification. Sometimes it means something painful for which there is no adequate compensation to the sufferer. Sometimes it means something painful for which there is an adequate compensation to the sufferer. In this Sermon I will use the word Evil in its general and ambiguous sense, while the two special forms thereof, the uncompensated and the compensated, -I will call Absolute Evil and Partial Evil.

So much for the definition of these terms.

The phenomena called Evil may, for convenience, be distributed into two general forms, or modes :—

I. Evil which does not come from a conscious and voluntary transgression of a natural law of the Body or the Spirit; that is, Pain and Misery. This may be more minutely designated and distinguished by reference to the part through which we suffer as physical pain, suffering by the body; spiritual pain, suffering by what is not body.

II. Evil which comes from a conscious and voluntary

transgression of a natural law of the body or the spirit; that is Sin, meaning thereby the transgression with all its subjective and objective consequences.

So much also for the definition of these terms.

To-day I shall speak only of Pain and Misery; and of them chiefly in the form of Physical Evil.

In the world of mere Matter, there is no consciousness, no freedom, no will. It is subject wholly to statical and. dynamical laws in their various forms; and there is therefore no Pleasure and no Pain. That department of creation seems designed merely for a theatre on which animated beings are to find scope for action, and whence they may obtain their means of livelihood. I think no man pretends to find any evil there.

But there is the world of Animals and of Man conscious in higher or lower degrees, and with more or less of freedom, gifted with partial power of will. Here is the field for Pleasure and Pain-the elements of Happiness and of Misery, the two poles of life. Here occur the phenomena of Evil.

By Pleasure I mean the state which comes from the fulfilment of the natural conditions of animate existence; from the normal satisfaction of natural desires. By Pain I mean the state which comes from non-fulfilment of those natural conditions; from the absence of the normal satisfaction of those desires. Of course I include in that state not only the negative form of evil-lack of the desirable, but the positive form of evil-presence of the hateful. Happiness is prolonged pleasure; Misery is prolonged

pain.

Happiness is great in proportion to the greatness of the faculties which seek their natural satisfaction; and in proportion likewise to the completeness of the satisfaction itself. So there is a qualitative distinction, of the specific modes of Happiness-as it comes from satisfying high or low desires; and a quantitative distinction, of the particular degrees thereof the satisfaction being partial or total. On the other hand, Misery is great or little in proportion to the faculties and their satisfaction; and there is the same qualitative and quantitative distinction-of modes and degrees thereof.

Let us now look at some of the phenomena of Physical

Evil. And for clearness' sake let us attend first to the simplest forms thereof, and thence ascend up to the more complex and difficult.

In the Animal world happiness usually preponderates over misery. The two most powerful groups of instincts in the animal world are those which relate to the preservation of the individual and the perpetuation of the race. Those instincts are commonly satisfied. Hence comes the general aspect of happiness throughout this department of the universe. Not one mosquito in a million, it is probable, ever tastes of blood; and not one in a million ever suffers from hunger. You never saw a melancholy fly, or a wild squirrel that was unhappy; the elephant, the lion, the monkey, and the crocodile seem to have a good time in the world. Happiness is obvious in the young of animals; but it is just as actual in the old, only it assumes a graver form, and so is not so apparent to the careless or inexperienced eye:

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Thy creatures leap not, but express a feast,

Where all the guests sit close, and nothing wants."

Still some animals, it is obvious, suffer pain; all are capable of it; perhaps all the higher animals, some time in their lives, are made to suffer. It may be asked, "Is it possible that there shall be pain in the animal world which the Infinite God has created from perfect motives, of perfect material, for a perfect purpose, and as a perfect means thereto ?" I answer, Yes.

I do not pretend that I can clear up all the difficulties in this matter by the inductive mode-of studying the details, and thereby learning their law and showing how each particular form of evil turns into good;-I shall be obliged to refer to the idea of God as Infinite, and from that deduce the value of the function of the special forms of pain and misery. This will often happen. The wisest man is only a child as yet. Philosophy has read but few pages of this great book of Nature, whereof all must be known fully to understand a part. When I know there is an Infinite God, I am sure that His purpose is good and His means adequate. I spontaneously trust therein.

This instinctive trust outruns the reflective demonstration of science. Still it is both pleasant and satisfactory to

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learn the use and function of things by themselves, by an inductive study of the facts, and not be constrained to deduce the conclusion merely from the idea of God. some instances this is not difficult; nay, in the present condition of science, it is not hard to learn the general tendency of things in Nature, and thence get the analogy of the whole to help explain particular parts. But no man I think as yet has been able to explain all these cases by the purely inductive process. To do that he must know all the powers and consequent actions and history of each thing in the universe.

All finite things must needs be conditioned; the Infinite alone is absolutely self-conditioned. Thus the bodies of animals must needs depend on the world about them; wherein are things helpful-meant for the animals they serve, and things harmful-not meant for the animals they hurt. Continued use of the harmful things would destroy the individual and so the race.

Accordingly the animal frame is made susceptible of Pain from the use of the harmful Substances, and of Delight from the use of the helpful.

Sometimes this pain comes before the consummation of the use: thus poisonous plants are commonly odious to the eye, or nauseous to the smell, or hateful to the taste of the creature they would injure. Here the momentary pain, the transient disgust, comes as a forewarning against a foe. Poisonous plants, it is said, have somewhat in their structure which warns off the animals they would else destroy, some special ugliness telegraphing to the senses the unfitness of the thing for use. "The Devil," says a chemist, "is always chained." If not he is painted black, to scare away the creatures he would molest. How nicely the sheep and horses avoid all noxious things. Lobelia would kill horses; the pungent plant reads the riot-act of Nature as soon as it is tasted and warns the offenders of their transgression. The benevolent motive and purpose of this form of pain is obvious at once.

Then there are Modes of Action which are possible to an animal, but which would be fatal if persisted in these also are attended by pain. A young rabbit heedlessly running through briars tears his tender skin and smarts;

and so avoids this rending of his coat. If the pain did not warn him, he would tear his skin to pieces and lose his life in seeking to save it. A dog running over sharp stones would soon wear out his feet; the pain warns him of the peril before it is too late. If he were to lose a limb he must go limp and lame all his life, for another leg will not shoot out to take the place of the one he has wasted and used up. The suffering makes him careful; he keeps his feet, and goes four-legged all his days.

The lobster and the crab have a thick and nearly insensible shell, for protection against ravenous enemies; but such is the nature of their covering that their limbs are brittle and easily rent off, another soon taking the place of that which is lost. The animal suffers but little pain from that injury. With him it is no great hardship to lose a limb which is so easily supplied anew. But the lobster cannot bear any great change of temperature, such is his constitution; it would destroy his life. So his shell is a good conductor of heat, and he is keenly sensitive to the alternations of heat and cold. This sensitiveness and the pain it brings if he goes out of his proper temperature, keep him always in such places as suit his organization, in a temperature congenial to his nature, in waters which also supply his food. The dog can bear a great range of temperature, clad in his non-conducting coat, which also accommodates itself to the changes of climate. Variations of heat and cold are not painful to him. The dog's sensitiveness of touch and the lobster's sensitiveness to heat and cold bring pain to both; but the suffering keeps the lobster in his place, and preserves the limbs of the dog safe and sound. Give the dog the lobster's insensibility to pain from the sense of touch, he would run, or fight, till he wore his legs off of his body; give the lobster the dog's sensitiveness to this form of pain, and living as he does in the ceaseless wash of the waters, with brittle limbs, his life would be a torment while it lasted, and in torment would it soon end. Give the dog the lobster's sensitiveness to heat and cold, he would be miserable most of the time and soon die; give the lobster the dog's indifference to temperature, the currents of the sea would soon sweep him away from his food, from his natural position, and he and his race