God Manifest/Part 2/Chapter 1 Section 2
SECTION II.
THE POSSIBILITY OF EYIL, A NECESSARY CONSEQUUNCE OF MAN'S POSSESSING REASON AND MENTAL LIBERTY.
In the foregoing Section, we endeavoured to show what Evil, in fact, is; and to make it plain, that it is not a distinct substance or essence, but is simply an effect of the perversion of the proper order of man's mind: thus, that evil is not anything flowing from God, but is on the contrary a perversion, by man, of the good and happy life which does flow from Him: consequently, that God is not the author of evil, but man. But now, it might be said,—admitting that God is not the author of evil directly, yet might He not be considered as its author indirectly, since, in creating man, He gave him the power thus to pervert his own moral nature, and so to produce evil? Now^ this reasonable objection is to be met by showing that it could not possibly be otherwise; that the power to pervert his own nature, is necessarily inherent in a being possessed of reason or rationality and mental liberty. This point, then, we will now proceed to set forth.
God created first the inanimate universe. He set the sun in its place in the heavens, and thence produced the planets which were made to revolve around that centre in harmony and order. One of these revolving orbs, our earth, being at length, brought into a fit state, was caused to put forth from its soil, herbs, trees, and other varieties of the vegetable kingdom—a second step in the progress of creation, the production of the mineral kingdom having been the first. This was but preparatory to a third step, however, the creation of animate beings, capable of enjoyment, as well as possessing existence,—the fishes of the sea, the fowls of the air, the beasts of the earth. None of these could pervert the order of their natures—they had nothing wherewith to pervert it—they could merely follow and yield to the instincts of their being. But now God's love prompted Him to create a nobler being,—one who should be able to look up to the Author of His existence, and acknowledge Him, and also to love Him in return for His love; one, that should be not only organized, like the vegetables,—not only animate, like the inferior animals,—but an intelligent and conscious being,—one that should be able to know and to reflect upon, both himself and his God. Such a being was in a manner necessary to the Divine Nature; for Understanding longs to be understood,—Love yearns to be loved again.
Now, in order that man might possess such consciousness and intelligence, that is, the power of observing and knowing himself, and also of acknowledging and loving his God,—he was endowed with the faculty of reason or understanding, together with that of affection or will,—which two faculties, taken in their most comprehensive view, constitute the whole mind of man: for liberty is not, perhaps, to be considered so properly a distinct faculty, as a quality or condition of the faculties;—in fact, meontal liberty is simply the power of freely exercising the faculties of understanding and will.
What we call Reason, or the rational understanding, is peculiar to man, and distinguishes him from the brute creation. It is an effect of the peculiar constitution of man's mind. The human mind is composed of different ranges, or stories, as they might be called, one above another. These ranges or stories are the spiritual mind and the natural mind—the former being above, the latter beneath. And these divisions or compartments are quite distinct. By the latter, the natural mind, man looks downward and outward to the world of nature: by the former, the spiritual mind, man is able to look inward and upward to heaven and to God. Now this is the great and essential distinction between man and the lower animals. The latter have not two mental stories or regions, but only one, namely, the lower or natural mind. Hence they cannot look otherwise than outward and downward, never Upward or inward. Consequently, they are incapable of devotion or worship,—of knowing or loving God, their Creator. They merely look downward to earth, and have sufficient understanding, or instinct (as more properly called), to seek for food and such other things as are needed to supply their few animal wants. And for the same reason, their souls are not immortal, like man's, since they have no capacity of looking up to and loving and thus being conjoined with God; and it is conjunctLon of spirit with God, or the capacity for such conjunction, that gives immortality. Consequently, with the death of the body, their animal life is dissipated. But man, having a life above animal life,— having a spiritual mind above the natural, by means of which he has a capacity of conjunction with God his Creator,—continues to live,—and for ever, because God lives for ever.
It is in consequence of this peculiarity of constitution,—the possession of two minds, so to speak, the spiritual and the natural,—that man has reason, or understanding proper, which brutes have not. Reason or reflection is simply the effect of the superior mind surveying and taking cognizance of the inferior. The brute cannot reason or reflect, because, possessing only one range of mind or thought (if thought it can be called), it has no power of surveying itself and of seeing its own thoughts. It has no standpoint, as it were, above its animal mind, whence it can look down and take a survey of that mind and its knowledges or ideas. Hence it has no power of observing, reflecting, comparing, judging: and it is this operation of mind which is called reason. It can, indeed, from its animal mind, look through its eyes into the outer world; and by a certain love or affection which every animated being has, and which constitutes its life,—together with a consequent perception of what will supply the wants of that love—it can seek and choose its own food. The dog, for instance, from the love which it has for its master, has a perception who is and who is not his master,—with other similar instincts. But this is very different from rational thought. Rational thought, or reason, is consequent upon possessing the faculty of self-observation. Man, from the upper story of his mind, the spiritual region, looks down upon the lower or natural mind, sees there the knowledges which are stored up in the chamber of the memory, sees the ideas whieh have been derived from those knowledges, and examines and compares them, and forms consequent deductions and conclusions. He is able, moreover, to observe the affections of his natural will, to note what he loves or hates, and then, by applying the test of Revealed truth, to judge whether his affection be good or evil; thus he is able to distinguish between right and wrong. In this manner he can form distinct intellectual ideas, arranged in a certain regular order, which condition of mind is termed rational thought, or understanding proper.
Hence, too, is derived his faculty of articulate speech. Such distinct ideas put themselves forth in distinct modifications or articulations of sound, arranged in an order corresponding to the order of his thoughts; which modifications of sound are called words, and an assemblage of such, arranged in a certain order, make a sentence,—and sentences combined make human language. But a brute has no such articulate speech, because he has no such distinct ideas, no rational thought derived from self-observation. For ideas, it is to be observed,—at least such rational ideas as produce articulate or distinct sounds—are formed in the superior degree of the mind: they are not mere impressions such as are made on the mind from without—but they are, as it were, distilled from such impressions—they are formed by reflection upon impressions and other knowledges. A brute, not possessing the higher degree or region of the mind, whence to look down and observe and reflect upon his impressions, is consequently unable to form any distinct or rational ideas, and thence is unable to utter any corresponding modifications or articulations of sound. It can merely express its general affection or feeling by a general sound,—as a cow when she lows for her calf, or a dog when he barks at an intruder.
Now, it is for tbe same reason—namely, from the want of the superior degree of the mind—that the lower animals have no power to change and pervert the proper order of their natures: that which is their humiliation, is also their protection; while that which is man's glory, is also his source of danger. The brute animal has no instrument with which to pervert his nature. Having but a single range or plane of thought, he has no power of reflection, and thence no capability (as man has) of forming erroneous judgments and conclusions, by which he may lead himself astray. The essence of his mental life is constituted of certain animal wants or inclinations, in accordance with which he has certain perceptions or instincts—and he has no range of thought beyond. When therefore he feels a certain impulse,—as the desire for food for instance,—he simply yields to it, having just light enough from his instinct to enable him to see the means to satisfy his want. Thus he blindly obeys the impulses of his nature, having no power of reflection by which he can observe them, nor consequently direct or guide them, either in, a right or wrong direction. As these impulses make up the order of his constituted nature therefore he merely follows the order of that nature, and cannot modify or change it, whether for better or for worse.
Let us take a simple case, for the sake of illustration. A brute feels a desire for food, and for a certain kind of food. This desire is impressed upon him by his Creator, and is therefore a moderate and proper one. He eats till that desire is satisfied; he wants no more, and therefore he eats no more; he goes to no excess. Not so with man. By the possession of a rational or reflective thought, he is able to look beyond his desire, and thus, as it were, to guide it. His thought does not, as with the brute, merely follow and serve his desire, but is able rather to go before and to lead, and even to force it. By his power of self-observation, he is able to note the pleasure he has in eating or in taste. He says to himself—"this is very good,—I must have some more of this. I must take care to have ta dinner of the same kind to-morrow; and—let me see—perhaps I can improve upon it, and make it still better. This turkey is very good, delicious—but perhaps a few side dishes and accompaniments would make it still more savory. I must look round me at the market, and choose something that will do. I must have a few friends, too, to share my dinner with me. We shall cheer and entertain one another." They meet accordingly. There are meats of various kinds served up. There are also sauces and condiments. There are spices, which man's energetic, industry has brought from distant parts of the earth. There are sweetmeats of various sorts, highly tempting to the sense of taste. Finally, there are pleasant drinks in abundance—wines from Portugal, and Sicily, and elsewhere. In a word, the appetite is so tempted and urged by the variety of agreeable things placed before it, that both the host and guests eat and drink to excess,—they disorder their physical natures, and by and by come pain and disease.
Now, by reflection on this simple instance (of every day's occurrence,) of the manner in which man is led astray from the proper order of his nature, and is tempted to violate its laws,—we may see to the bottom of the whole subject—yea, down to the very origin of evil itself. For the simple principle, here exhibited in action, is a key to the whole. Man's possession of a rational faculty, a power of thinking, of looking round about him, choosing this and rejecting that,—a power of observing his own inclinations, noting what he is pleased with, or what he dislikes—thus in a word, the faculty of forming judgments and conclusions, and then of leading himself according to such conclusions—herein lies man's power of perverting the order and laws of his own nature, physical or moral; and thus, while seeking to lead himself,—leading himself astray, and so falling into disorder, that is, evil. Hence came evil into the world. And not only did it come at the beginning, but it is coming every day. The Fall did not merely take place once, but it is continually taking place. Man is born, indeed, at present in a fallen and disordered state: the effect of the original fall is still with him; he inherits disorderly tendencies and inclinations from his parents and ancestors. But, from this general fallen state, he is falling into still lower individual states continually, by the abuse of his rational faculty; and, by a similar abuse, he confirms himself in the perverted courses to which natural inclinations tend. We have only to observe how man falls to-day,—how he brings himself into disorder or increased disorder now continually,—to understand how the fall took place in the beginning, and how the departure from the good order in which man was created, originally occurred. It was by the abuse of the rational or thinking faculty.
But it may be interesting now to inquire, what form of abuse could the rational faculty of man have fallen into, to bring him into such horrid depths of evil as we see now existing in the world. For it might be justly said, that the instance, just now adduced of abuse of reason in an excessive indulgence of the appetite,—though affording a plain illustration of the nature of such abuse,—yet is hardly sufficient to give an idea of the manner in which evil could originate,—such evil, as could lead to the sins and crimes of theft, revenge, blasphemy, murder. We will then go deeper, and strive to get at the first principle and root of all evil, and, so, seize the serpent by the head.
The root of all evil is simply Selfishness, self-love. ("The love of money," which the Apostle calls "the root of all evil," is one form of selfishness.) This principle, Self-love, is at the bottom of every evil of the human heart,—of every sin, and of every crime. Take any evil you will, and trace it to its source, and you will find it to be self-love,—the preferring of one's self to others. Let us examine a few of them. Envy, for instance—how plainly is it the effect of thinking unduly of ourselves, and wishing for ourselves what we see others have. Jealousy is of a kindred character. And observe, that envy includes anger and malice. It is not merely that the envious person would like to possess the supposed good, but he entertains a secret ill feeling towards another for having the good fortune which he has not; and this is often carried so far that he would gladly dash the cup of joy from the other's lips, though, it were broken in so doing, and the pleasant draught were enjoyed by no one. Here we see ill-will, bitterness, anger, even proceeding to violence,—all the effects of an undue and disordered self-love. Take next the evil of Revenge. The passion of revenge is simply wounded Self-love rising up in anger against one who has done, or is supposed to have done it an injury, and bursting out in fury against its enemy, burning to trample him under its feet, and sometimes even thirsting for his heart's blood. All anger, indeed, in any of its forms, is simply heated self-love rising up either in excited self-defence against whatever. offers an appearance of assault, or against whatever even innocent object may happen to stand in the way of accomplishing its wishes and designs. Thus, a tyrant burns with anger and fury against whomsoever he happens to hear of as offering any opposition to his ambitious purposes, or even breathing a wish for liberty. Behold Nebuchadnezzar casting into the fiery furnace, seven-times heated, the three innocent men, simply because they would not obey his will, and fall down before the image he had set up. Self-love is the whole root and source of this love of dominion,—one of the two great master evils that afflict humanity, and bring upon the world half it's miseries. The other of these two, namely, the excessive love of money, of property, which rules at the present day so great a part of mankind—springs from the same single root, self-love. Whether it take the form of avarice and meanness, or of fraud and knavery, or downright theft and robbery, it is but the same single principle in various garbs—Selfishness, and consequent indifference to the comfort and welfare of others, even to taking from them their last farthing, and leaving them to starve and die. Consider, next, murder and war. What are these but the effects of self-love in an aggravated form? Murder, if it be the work of rage and hate, is merely furious self self-love destroying what it thinks its enemy; and if it be done in connection with robbery, it is plainly the result of such intense Selfishness, that every spark of regard for another's good is extinguished, so that with perfect coolness it will trample out his very life, merely perhaps to obtain a little money to satisfy its wants or gratify its vicious inclinations. The same essential principle, self-love, is still at the bottom. And war—that is, war for mere conquest—is but national robbery and murder. What is it but national selfishness, which, in the pursuit of what it calls glory (but which should be called infamy), or in the desire of appropriating the territory of others, and of becoming their masters,—overruns and pillages lands, killing the inhabitants, and seizing upon their property? It is, in truth, only robbery and murder on a large scale, and therefore is traceable to the same root as private murder and robbery, namely, intense selfishness. Again, consider the sin of blasphemy—the utterance of words of contempt and defiance against man's very Maker, the Lord of Glory Himself,—or the denial of His existence altogether. What is this, in its origin, but self-love in the form of pride, intellectual pride, which thinks it knows all things and can account for all things; which scorns the idea of a Superior, and would gladly persuade itself that there is none, and which breaks out in rage and oaths at the very idea of such a Being? Self,—self, is at the bottom of the whole.
We have thus endeavoured, in a brief and rapid manner to trace evil to its root, and to show that that root is self-love. The next question, then, that will arise, is, how came self-love into existence? The question is not very hard to be answered. A certain degree of regard for self is plainly necessary to every being, in order to preserve its very existence. Without some thought or care for ourselves, we should starve, or freeze, or fall into a ditch and be drowned. An instinct of self-preservation and self-protection is necessarily given to every animate being. And from this no harm arises. For, in the Creator's good providence, there was provided, in the original and orderly state of being, enough and an abundance for all; so that self-preservation and proper self-care did not necessarily imply any injury to others, nor consequently any evil. Such self-regard, then, as is implanted by our Maker, is a very different thing from self-love, which has been pointed out as the root of all evil. It was, in fact, a pretty and needful plant—a hedge-flower, as it were, of £den; but by mis-cultivation and abuse, it was changed into that monstrous fungus growth, that organically diseased thing, which is called Self-love.
But how came that abuse? is the next question. What was its starting-point, and first moving principle? We reply, that it was a consequence (though not a necessary consequence) of that power of self-reflection, which, as before shown, is implied in the possession of the faculty of rationality or reason. For, observe, the inferior animals have no self-love (that is, the good and gentle animals:-— how the bad and fierce animals came into existence, will be considered here-after). A horse, for instance, however swift or beautiful, has no vanity, at least none such as will make him offensive or haughty to his fellows. While in the heat of the race, indeed, he may feel himself roused by the shouts and sights around him, as well as by his rider's urgings,—to do his utmost, and pass, if he can, his competitor. But what he does, is but the effect of momentary excitement, or is, at most, an instinct urging him to press on: it is not the result of any proper consciousness of his own powers, or of any comparison between himself and his rival. Consequently, when, after the race, both horses are brought up to the stand, the winner, though he may look excited, shows no pride, or consciousness of superiority, nor does he look askance and contemptuously at his rival. Both horses stand innocently together, champing their bits in unison, the one as content as the other,—and this is as it should be, for each has done his best. Why has the winning horse no pride or vanity, no self-love? Plainly, because he has no, power of self-observation or self-reflection—no power of observing and reflecting upon his own good qualities, and comparing them with the inferior points of his neighbour. He has no faculty of self-reflection, because, as before shown, the inferior animals have only a single range of thought—only one degree or region of mind; they have not, as man has, a spiritual mind, a second or higher range or plane of the mind, from which they can look down upon the lower, and thus see and observe themselves, and note their own thoughts and feelings, and so form judgments and conclusion—in a word, carry on that operation of mind, which is called reasoning. This different constitution, then, of the animal-mind is the cause that the inferior animals have not and can not have that self-love, which has been described as the root of all evil. But man, by the superior constitution of his mind, having the faculty of rationality and the power of reflection and self-observation, is exposed, at the same time, to the danger of self-admiration, vanity, pride,—in a word, self-love, with the manifold evils to which it gives rise.
But there is another way, also, in which the reason of man was capable of producing evil,—namely, by its liability to error: and error, when acted upon, produces disorder, mental and physical, or, in other words, evil; for disorder, derangement, or perversion of mind is, as shown in the preceding Section, the immediate cause of what we term evil. Man's reason is liable and very liable to error—and this, chiefly by mistaking appearances for realities. This is a most important truth, and deserves to be carefully considered. Both in the world without us, and in the mental world within us, things appear very differently from what they are. For illustration, take an obvious case. The Sun appears to rise in the East in the morning, ascend the sky, descend again and go down in the West. This appearance is so palpable, and so regularly occurring, that a very advanced state of science, and ages of scientific investigation, were necessary, to show its fallacy, and to demonstrate that it was only an appearance, and that that appearance was caused by the earth's turning on its own axis. Suppose, then, that the human reason, taking this appearance for a truth, should attempt to build upon if a system of astronomy—would not such a system be fundamentally erroneous? And this, we know, was actually done: the Ptolemaic system, which was generally received before the time of Copernicus, was of this very character. Here, then, is a simple yet striking instance of the manner, in which an appearance, mistaken for a reality, leads to error, and to a wbole system of errors. This error, however, being only of an external and purely scientific character, was not of a nature to lead directly to moral evil,—although we may recollect that the whole painful story of the persecution of Galileo, was an effect of this error existing in the minds of his persecutors; still, it would not have produced that effect, had there not been there the spirit of persecution also: in this case, the error was only the occasion, not the cause, of that persecution. But there are errors, founded on appearances, mistaken for realities, of a much deeper nature than this, and such as do and did lead directly to moral evil. Of this class of errors, we shall adduce at once a fundamental one—one that not only assisted in originating evil at first, but which is also still originating or confirming evil in man's heart daily. This is the error, founded on the appearance that man lives of himself and not from God; and in connection with it, the appearance that God does not exist, because He is not visible. Let us examine this point with attention.
It appears to man that He lives of Himself, and that the spring of life is within his own bosom. He does not see the golden cords that link, his spirit to its Maker, along which the vital spark is ceaselessly passing, and which, if snapped, would let him drop dead to the ground,—dead, not only for time, but for eternity. Man has no fountain of life within himself; God alone is life; He alone is the great Fountain, whence the streams of life perpetually flow into the bosoms of all living creatures; and were that stream for a moment to be cut off, they would fall instantly dead. It is "in Him" that "we live, move, and have our being." No created being is or can be, properly speaking, endowed with life. By an endowment, we understand a gift which the receiver holds in a manner separately from the giver,—something which, once bestowed, the receiver holds in his own possession. All that man can be said to be endowed with (though indeed he can hold nothing in absolute separation from his Maker) is faculties,—organs mental and physical, so formed as to be capable of receiving life, as it is ceaselessly communicated from Him who is its sole fountain. An image of this great spiritual truth may be seen in nature. The earth, for instance, receives light and heat perpetually from the Sun: there is no such thing as endowing the earth with light and heat: it is merely endowed with organisms,—material faculties, so to speak—capable of receiving the light and heat as they flow in from the sun. So there is no such thing as endowing man's eye with light: the eye is merely an organism, so formed as to be able to receive the light as it flows in. Now, in a manner precisely analogous,—man's mental eye, his understanding, has no light of truth in itself; it is merely a spiritual organism, so formed as to be capable of receiving such light as it flows in, each instant, from God. So, his will is a spiritual organism, so made as to be capable of receiving spiritual heat or love from God: the will has no warmth or love or feeling, in or of itself, any more than the earth has heat of itself without the sun. And just as the earth, by turning away from the sun, makes its own night and its own winter, so man, by averting his mind and heart from God, creates his own mental darkness and cold, produces his own states of falsity and evil. We thus perceive, that man is entirely and momentarily dependent upon God, his Creator, for all he has or enjoys. Without the power given continually from above, he would not be able to move or breathe or think or feel: all his physical life is from his mental life, and all his mental life is derived perpetually from God.
Now, this great truth, made known to us from Revelation, and confirmed by all right reason, and by all the analogies in the natural universe, is a fundamental and most vital one. Upon the knowledge and acknowledgment of it, depends all true humility of spirit, all sense of dependence on our Maker and heavenly father,—in a word, all true religion. Yet this truth is contrary to the appearance. It appears to man as if his life were his own, bubbling up from a fountain within him, instead of being derived from a Being out of and above him. It appears to man as if his thoughts and intellectual powers, his ardor of feeling, his physical energies, were all his own and self-derived. Now, were man to take this appearance for a truth,—were he to give way to this persuasion, and confirm himself in this fallacy, what would be the effect? The effect would be pride, self-dependence, self-admiration, denial of God,—in a word, self-love of the deepest die; self-love, going on increasing and rifting and swelling itself up, till man would at length believe himself to be a god. It was a sin of this nature that was represented by eating of the forbidden tree: "the serpent said. In the day ye eat thereof, then your eyes shall be opened, and ye shall be as gods knowing good and evil."[1] Such a belief, when carried out by degrees to its natural results, tends to destroy the very first principles of religion in the soul, separates man in thought and heart from his God, makes him a god to himself, a self-worshiper. Thence springs pride, contempt of others, enmity, hatred, revenge, and manifold other evils; for, as already shewn, self love is the root of all evil.
That this was one of the great origins of evil in the human heart—and, indeed, the chief one—is manifest from what we see around us at this day; for the same principles that operated to produce evil in the beginning, are still and ever operating; for the mind of man is essentially the same, now as then, with the difference, that the tendency to evil is now far greater, because he inherits through his parents and ancestors a distorted and perverted nature and disposition. What is the source of all atheism, at the present day, but the fact that God is invisible, and that it appears to man as if his powers and faculties of mind and body were all absolutely his own, and that his very life is self-derived? He sees no God with his material eyes, and therefore he affirms that there is no God; he perceives no Divine Fountain above him, whence the stream of life is flowing into his bosom, and hence he asserts that there is no such Fountain, but that the spring of life is within himself: Hence he denies the existence of God, and becomes a god to himself: he plunges into the Stygian abyss of materialism and self-worship. But the amount of practical, is far greater than of theoretic, atheism. Every man who is wrapped up in his own self-conceit, is a practical atheist. Whatever he may believe in theory and in the abstract, he does not truly acknowledge God in daily thought and feeling, for he loves and worships himself. "These are my talents!" he says to himself; "behold my power of thought, and feeling, and fancy, and language; I ask none to take care of me—I can take care of myself, and carve out my own fortune, and create my own destiny!" How can there be any real acknowledgment of God in heart (whatever may be the confession of the lips,) with one who is thus puffed up with pride and self-conceit and self-dependence? It is only from the altar of a humble heart, that the flame of true worship ascends to Heaven.
Here, then, we see the grand error, by falling into which the human understanding led man on to pride, self-conceit, self-love, denial of God, and hence into all evils,—namely, the taking for a reality the appearance that he lived of himself, that his faculties, abilities, feelings, and energies, were all his own and self-derived. This appearance, thought of, dwelt upon again and again, and at length confirmed in the mind into a belief, produced the deepest spirit of self-adulation and self-love, whence sprung all evil.
Now, we may observe, that this result was an effect of man's possessing a rational or thinking faculty, a power of reflection and self-observation; in the exercise of which faculty, being liable to form erroneous judgments and conclusions, mistaking appearances for realities, he did, in this case, fall into a fatal error, which, in course of time and by degrees, produced dire evil. We, may thus perceive that the possibility of evil was necessarily attached to man's being endowed with the faculty of reason and observation,—while the brute animals, not possessing this faculty, could not lead themselves astray, and thus could not pervert the order of their natures.
But now, the question may be asked, why did the Creator put such an obstacle in man's path, and dig for him such a seeming pitfall? Why did He permit any appearances to exist in His creation, different from realities? and especially, such an appearance as could so lead man astray? To these inquiries, it may be replied, in the first place, that such appearances could not but be, in the very nature of things. That things appear differently from what they are, is an effect of man's having a finite, not an infinite, mind. The great Creator, being Infinite, produced all things from His own infinite Mind: they therefore exist according to an infinite order and plan, which only such a Mind can see and exactly comprehend. Man's mind, being finite, can take in, with its survey, only a small part of the creation, and consequently cannot see things in their due relation to each other, and consequently cannot have a complete understanding of their true nature and state. Thus, nothing can appear to him just as it appears to the Divine Mind, or, in other words, just as it is. Every thing, in fact, which man sees, either with the eye of the body or with the eye of the mind, is in some degree an appearance, different from the realty: God alone sees the perfect reality of things,—God alone knows or can know absolute truth.
But, secondly,—in regard to the particular appearance or fallacy, which has been described as leading man astray and originating evil, namely, the appearance that man lives of himself,—it is to be observed, that this appearance was permitted to man, for a most wise and necessary end, namely, that he might be man, and not a mere automaton. Suppose that a man had God visibly before or above him, and beheld the stream of life issuing from the great Fountain, and distinctly perceived and felt himself to be, what he really is, a mere recipient of everything, thought, feeling, life itself,—what would he do? He would stand still, with his bands hanging down, like an image, waiting to see what wire would be pulled next,—what thought or feeling or act would next be given him. In fact, he would not be a man, but a mere machine. A universe of such beings would be but a universe of statues, and therefore they would be objects quite unworthy of God's love or regard. But by the simple yet wonderful contrivance of causing the appearance to man that he lives of himself, thus hiding as it were the machinery from his view, lo! from a statue he becomes a man; acting, thinking, feeling, as if entirely of and from himself,—looking to the right or left, up or down, receiving impressions, forming conclusions, following those conclusions, and so by degrees bringing himself into a habit of mind, and thus at length forming a character, an individuality. By this process and in this way, we have men in God's creation—human beings, and not a world of mere machines; men, in different stages of knowledge and wisdom, in different degrees of goodness and love,—and some even abusing this liberty and forming false notions of themselves and of their relation to their Creator, and so falling into pride and self-love, and thus into evil. Still, God saw that it was better that there should be some human beings, who, abusing their liberty, should pervert their natures, and derange the proper order of their being—in a word, should fall into evil—than that there should be no human beings at all. And this was the alternative: there was no other. Either it was necessary that there should be a created universe, consisting merely of inanimate objects, as planets and trees and stones, or of animate yet irrational beings, as the lower animals, who for want of reason could have no comprehension of their Maker or of His glorious creation, and which consequently could make Him no return of thought or love,—or, on the other hand, that, together with the creation of rational, thinking beings, having a quasi independence of their Maker, a possession of faculties seemingly their own, with the liberty of using them in any manner they might choose—(all which was needed to constitute them men,) there should be at the same time what was necessarily implied in these conditions, a possibility of perverting and deranging those faculties,—in other words, a possibility of evil.
These were the altonatives: and, of these, the All-wise Creator chose, it seems, the latter. Of the two alternatives. He saw it to be the better, that there should be some human beings who should disorder and pervert their natures, than that there should be no human beings at all. He saw it to be better,—infinitely better, taking into consideration, the whole of existence,—that there should be created men—beings formed after His own image and likeness, endowed with powers of thought and feeling, together with the full liberty of using those powers at will (without which they would have been possessed in vain)—and also with the appearance that those powers were their own, (without which they would have been not human rational powers, but mere brute impulses or mechanical forces,)—He saw that this was the better alternative— even with the possibility, or, even, to His foreknowledge, the certainty, that some would abuse those powers to their own injury and unhappiness. For what was the picture presented, on the other side? We cannot see, as the Divine Mind sees, nor have any but a most remote conception of the glorious eternity that stands pictured before His view. But even we can see enough to pronounce with certainty on the wisdom of that decision; for He Himself, in His revealed Word, has given us glimpses of the magnificent future that yet awaits the race of man even on this earth—not to speak of the eternal blessedness of the good in heaven. After wandering, for the first few thousand years, through a dark valley into which they early descended. He saw that mankind would at length emerge, warned, instructed, and purified by that hard experience; and, ascending by a gradual activity, would come at length to a glorious mountain-top, as it were, of light, love, and happiness, on which they would dwell for ever; or rather, on which they would go forward, still and ever ascending, from point to point and from peak to peak, making a perpetual and ever nearer approach to the Most High Himself;—receiving more and more of His wisdom, more and more of His love, and with these, higher and higher joys,—coming continually into a more perfect image and likeness of God, their Creator. Thus would earth become, what it was meant to be, a lower heaven: and then would all the "former troubles be forgotten, and no more come into mind." The human race, reformed and regenerated, would then look back upon the dark periods of its early history, as a wise old man looks back upon the trials of his youth,—which were to him the means of experience, warning, and wisdom; experience, the basis of a purified and settled character,—the rock, on which, with Divine support, he stands strong in truth and goodness forevermore. Thus would humanity, as a collective man, having passed through the fiery furnace of affliction—into which it was brought by its own errors and evils,—come forth, at length, purified and humbled, acknowledging and worshiping its God, and receiving with childlike thankfulness His gracious gifts and blessings. And thus will it yet be, on this earth. And then will "peace flow as a river, and righteousness as the waves of the sea." "Violence shall be no more heard in thy land, wasting nor destruction within thy borders; but thou shalt call thy walls Salvation, and thy gates Praise.—Thy sun shall no more go down, neither shall thy moon withdraw itself; for the Lord shall be thine everlasting light, and the days of thy mourning shall be ended."[2]