Chapter II: Part 2

One day Morven said unto himself, musing, “Am I not already equal with the king? nay, is not the king my servant? did I not place him over the heads of his brothers? am I not, therefore, more fit to reign than he is? shall I not push him from his seat?

“It is a troublesome and stormy office to reign over the wild men of Oestrich, to feast in the crowded hail, and to lead die warriors to the fray.

“Surely, if I feasted not, neither went out to war, they might say, ‘This is no king, but the cripple Morven;’ and some of the race of Siror might slay me secretly.

“But can I not be greater far than kings, and continue to choose and govern them, living as now at mine own ease?

“_Verily, the stars shall give me a new palace, and many subjects_.”

Among the wise men was Darvan; and Morven feared him, for his eye often sought the movements of the son of Osslah.

And Morven said “It were better to TRUST this man than to BLIND, for surely I want a helpmate and a friend.”

So he said to the wise man as he sat alone watching the setting sun:

“It seemeth to me, O Darvan! I that we ought to build a great pile in honor of the stars and the pile should be more glorious than all the palaces of the chiefs and the palaces of the king; for are not the stars our masters?

“And thou and I should be the chief dwellers in this new palace, and we would serve the gods of night, and fatten their altars with the choicest of the herd, and the freshest of the fruits of the earth.”

And Darvan said:

“Thou speakest as becomes the servant of the stars. But will the people help to build the pile, for they are a war-like race and they love not toil?”

And Morven answered:

“_Doubtless the stars will ordain the work to be done. Fear not_.”

“In truth thou art a wondrous man, thy words ever come to pass,” answered Darvan; “and I wish thou wouldest teach me, friend, the language of the stars.”

“Assuredly if thou servest me thou shalt know,” answered the proud Morven; and Darvan was secretly wroth that the son of the herdsman should command the service of an elder and a chief.

And when Morven returned to his wife he found her weeping much.

Now she loved the son of Osslah with an exceeding love, for he was not savage and fierce as the men she had known, and she was proud of his fame among the tribe; and he took her in his arms and kissed her, and asked her why she wept.

Then she told him that her brother, the king, had visited her and had spoken bitter words of Morven.

“He taketh from me the affection of my people,” said Siror, “and blindeth them with lies. And since he hath made me king, what if he take my kingdom from me? Verily, a new tale of the stars might undo the old.”

And the king had ordered her to keep watch on Morven’s secrecy, and to see whether truth was in him when he boasted of his commune with the Powers of Night.

But Orna loved Morven better than Siror, therefore she told her husband all.

And Morven resented the king’s ingratitude, and was troubled much, for a king is a powerful foe; but tie comforted Orna, and bade her dissemble and complain also of him to her brother, so that he might confide to her unsuspectingly whatsoever he might design against Morven.

There was a cave by Morven’s house in which he kept the sacred hawk, and wherein he secretly trained and nurtured other birds against future need, and the door of the cave was always barred.

And one day he was thus engaged when he beheld a chink in the wall, that he had never noted before, and the sun came playfully in; and while he looked he perceived the sunbeam was darkened, and presently he saw a human face peering in through the chink.

And Morven trembled, for he knew he had been watched.

Morven ran hastily from the cave, but the spy had disappeared among the trees, and Morven went straight to the chamber of Darvan and sat himself down.

Darvan did not return home till late, and he started and turned pale when he saw Morven.

But Morven greeted him as a brother, and bade him to a feast, which, for the first time, he purposed giving at the full of the moon, in honor of the stars.

And going out of Darvan’s chamber, he returned to his wife, and bade her hair, and go at the dawn of day to the king, her brother, and complain bitterly of Morven’s treatment, and pluck the black schemes from the breast of the king. “For surely,” said he, “Darvan hath lied to thy brother, and some evil awaits me that I would fain know.”

So the next morning Orna sought the king, and she said:

“The herdsman’s son hath reviled me, and spoken harsh words to me; stall I not be avenged?”

Then the king stamped his feet and shook his mighty sword.

“Surely thou shalt be avenged, for I have learned from one of the elders that which convinceth me that the man hath lied to the people, and the base-born shall surely die.

“Yea, the first time that he goeth alone into the forest my brother and I will fall upon him and smite him to the death.”

And with this comfort Siror dismissed Orna.

And Orna flung herself at the feet of her husband.

“Fly now, O my beloved!--fly into the forests afar from my brethren, or surely the sword of Siror will end thy days.”

Then the son of Osslab folded his arms, and seemed buried in black thoughts; nor did he heed the voice of Orna, until again and again she had implored him to fly.

“Fly!” he said at length. “Nay, I was doubting what punishment the stars should pour down upon our foe. Let warriors fly. Morven, the prophet, conquers by arms mightier than the sword.”

Nevertheless Morven was perplexed in his mind, and knew not how to save himself from the vengeance of the king.

Now, while Morven was musing hopelessly, he heard a roar of waters; and behold the river, for it was now the end of autumn, had burst its bounds, and was rushing along the valley to the houses of the city.

And now the men of the tribe, and the women, and the children, came running, and with shrieks to Morven’s house, crying:

“Behold the river has burst upon us!--Save us, O ruler of the stars!”

Then the sudden thought broke upon Morven and he resolved to risk his fate upon one desperate scheme.

And he came out from the house calm and sad, and he said:

“Ye know not what ye ask; I cannot save ye from this peril: ye have brought it on yourselves.”

And they cried: “How? O son of Osslah--we are ignorant of our crime.”

And he answered:

“Go down to the king’s palace and wait before it, and surely I will follow ye, and ye shall learn wherefore ye have incurred this punishment from the gods.”

Then the crowd rolled murmuring back, as a receding sea; and when it was gone from the place, Morven went alone to the house of Darvan, which was next his own: and Darvan was greatly terrified, for he was of a great age, and had no children, neither friends, and he feared that he could not of himself escape the waters.

And Morven said to him, soothingly:

“Lo, the people love me, and I will see that thou art saved for verily thou hast been friendly to me, and done me much service with the king.”

And as he thus spake, Morven opened the door of the house and looked forth, and saw that they were quite alone; then he seized the old man by the throat, and ceased not his grip till he was quite dead.

And leaving the body of the elder on the floor, Morven, stole from the house and shut the gate.

And as he was going to his cave he mused a little while, when, hearing the mighty roar of the waves advancing, and afar off the shrieks of women, he lifted up his head, and said proudly:

“No! in this hour terror alone shall be my slave; I will use no art save the power of my soul.”

So, leaning on his pine staff, he strode down to the palace.

And it was now evening, and many of the men held torches, that they might see each other’s faces in the universal fear.

Red flashed the quivering flames on the dark robes and pale front of Morven; and he seemed mightier than the rest, because his face alone was calm amidst the tumult.

And louder and hoarser came the roar of the waters; and swift rusted the shades of night over the hastening tide.

And Morven said in a stern voice:

“Where is the king; and wherefore is he absent from his people in the hour of dread?”

Then the gate of the palace opened; and, behold Siror was sitting in the hall by the vast pine-fire and his brother by his side, and his chiefs around him: for they would not deign to come amongst the crowd at the bidding of the herdsman’s son.

Then Morven, standing upon a rock above the heads of the people (the same rack whereon he had proclaimed the king), thus spake:

“Ye desired to know, O sons of Oestrich! wherefore the river hath burst its bounds, and the peril hath come upon you.

“Learn then, that the stars resent as the foulest of human crimes an insult to their servants and delegates below.

“Ye are all aware of the manner of life of Morven, whom ye have surnamed the Prophet!

“He harms not man or beast; he lives alone; and, far from the wild joys of the warrior tribe, he worships in awe and fear the Powers of Night!

“So is he able to advise ye of the coming danger--so is he able to save ye from the foe. Thus are your huntsmen swift and your warriors bold; and thus do your cattle bring forth their young, and the earth its fruits.

“What think ye, and what do ye ask to hear?

“Listen, men of Oestrich!--they have laid snares for my life; and there are amongst you those who have whetted the sword against the bosom that is only filled with love for you.

“Therefore have the stern lords of heaven loosened the chains of the river--therefore doth this evil menace ye.

“Neither will it pass away until they who dig the pit for the servant of the stars are buried in the same.”

Then, by the red torches, the faces of the men looked fierce and threatening; and ten thousand voices shouted forth:

“Name them who conspired against thy life, O holy prophet! and surely they shall be torn limb from limb.”

And Morven turned aside, and they saw that he wept bitterly; and he said:

“Ye have asked me, and I have answered: but now scarce will ye believe the foe that I have provoked against me; and by the heavens themselves I swear, that if my death would satisfy their fury, nor bring down upon yourselves, and your children’s children, the anger of the throned stars, gladly would I give my bosom to the knife. Yes,” he cried, lifting up his voice, and pointing his shadowy arm towards the hall where the king sat by the pine-fire--“yes, thou whom by my voice the stars chose above thy brother--yes, Siror, the guilty one! take thy sword, and come hither--strike, if thou hast the heart to strike, the Prophet of the Gods!”

The king started to his feet, and the crowd were hushed in a shuddering silence.

Morven resumed:

“Know then, O men of Oestrich, that Siror and Voltoch, his brother, and Darvan, the elder of the wise men, have purposed to slay your prophet, even at such hour as when alone he seeks the shade of the forest to devise new benefits for you. Let the king deny it, if he can!”

Then Voltoch, of the giant limbs, strode forth from the hall, and his spear quivered in his hand.

“Rightly hast thou spoken, base son of my father’s herdsman! and for thy sins shalt thou surely die; for thou liest when thou speakest of thy power with the stars, and thou laughest at the folly of them who hear thee: wherefore put him to death.”

Then the chiefs in the hall clashed their arms, and rushed forth to slay the son of Osslah.

But he, stretching his unarmed hands on high, exclaimed:

“Hear him, O dread ones of the night--hark how he blasphemeth.”

Then the crowd took up the word, and cried:

“He blasphemeth--he blasphemeth against the prophet!”

But the king and the chiefs who hated Morven, because of his power with the people, rushed into the crowd; and the crowd were irresolute, nor knew they how to act, for never yet had they rebelled against their chiefs, and they feared alike the prophet and the king.

And Siror cried:

“Summon Darvan to us, for he bath watched the steps of Morven, and he shall lift the veil from my people’s eyes.”

Then three of the swift of foot started forth to the house of Darvan.

And Morven cried out with a loud voice:

“Hark! thus saith the star who, now riding through yonder cloud breaks forth upon my eyes--‘For the lie that the elder hath uttered against my servant, the curse of the stars shall fall upon him.’ Seek, and as ye find him, so may ye find ever the foes of Morven and the gods.”

A chill and an icy fear fell over the crowd, and even the cheek of Siror grew pale; and Morven, erect and dark above the waving torches, stood motionless with folded arms.

And hark--far and fast came on the war-steeds of the wave--the people heard them marching to the land, and tossing their white manes in the roaring wind.

“Lo, as ye listen,” said Morven, calmly, “the river sweeps on. Haste, for the gods will have a victim, be it your prophet or your king.”

“Slave!” shouted Siror, and his spear left his hand, and far above the heads of the crowd sped hissing beside the dark form of Morven, and rent the trunk of the oak behind.

Then the people, wroth at the danger of their beloved seer, uttered a wild yell, and gathered round him with brandished swords, facing their chieftains and their king.

But at that instant, ere the war had broken forth among the tribe, the three warriors returned, and they bore Darvan on their shoulders, and laid him at the feet of the king, and they said tremblingly:

“Thus found we the elder in the centre of his own hall.”

And the people saw that Darvan was a corpse, and that the prediction of Morven was thus verified.

“So perish the enemies of Morven and the Stars!” cried the son of Osslah. And the people echoed the cry.

Then the fury of Siror was at its height, and waving his sword above his head, he plunged into the crowd:

“Thy blood, base-born, or mine.”

“So be it!” answered Morven, quailing not. “People, smite the blasphemer. Hark how the river pours down upon your children and your hearths. On, on, or ye perish!”

And Siror fell, pierced by five hundred spears.

“Smite! smite!” cried Morven, as the chiefs of the royal house gathered round the king.

And the clash of swords, and the gleam of spears, and the cries of the dying, and the yell of the trampling people, mingled with the roar of the elements, and the voices of the rushing wave.

Three hundred of the chiefs perished that night by the swords of their own tribe. And the last cry of the victors was, “_Morven the prophet_--MORVEN THE KING!”

And the son of Osslah, seeing the waves now spreading over the valley, led Orna his wife, and the men of Oestrich, their women and their children, to a high mount, where they waited the dawning sun.

But Orna sat apart and wept bitterly, for her brothers were no more, and her race had perished from the earth.

And Morven sought to comfort her in vain.

When the morning rose, they saw that the river had overspread the greater part of the city, and now stayed its course among the hollows of the vale.

Then Morven said to the people: “The star kings are avenged, and their wrath appeased. Tarry only here until the water have melted into the crevices of the soil.”

And on the fourth day they returned to the city, and no man dared to name another, save Morven, as the king.

But Morven retired into his cave and mused deeply; and then assembling the people, he gave them new laws; and he made them build a mighty temple in honor of the stars, and made them heap within it all that the tribe held most precious.

And he took unto him fifty children from the most famous of the tribe; and he took also ten from among the men who had served him best, and he ordained that they should serve the stars in the great temple: and Morven was their chief.

And he put away the crown they pressed upon him, and he chose from among the elders a new king.

And he ordained that henceforth the servants only of the stars in the great temple should elect the king and the rulers, and hold council, and proclaim war: but he suffered the king to feast, and to hunt, and to make merry in the banquet halls.

And Morven built altars in the temple, and was the first who, in the North, _sacrificed the beast and the bird, and afterwards human flesh_, upon the altars.

And he drew auguries from the entrails of the victim, and made schools for the science of the prophet; and Morven’s piety was the wonder of the tribe, in that he refused to be a king.

And Morven, the high-priest, was _ten thousand times mightier than the king_.

He taught the people to till the ground, and to sow the herb; and by his wisdom, and the valor that his prophecies instilled into men, he conquered all the neighboring tribes.

And the sons of Oestrich spread themselves over a mighty empire, and with them spread the name and the laws of Morven.

And in every province which he conquered, he ordered them to build a temple to the stars.

But a heavy sorrow fell upon the years of Morven.

The sister of Siror bowed down her head and survived not long the slaughter of her race.

And she left Morven childless.

And he mourned bitterly and as one distraught, for her only in the world had his heart the power to love.

And he sat down and covered his face, saying:

“Lo: I have conquered and travailed; and never before in the world did man conquer what I have conquered.

“Verily, the empire of the iron thews and the giant limbs is no more; I have found a new power, that henceforth shall sway the lands;--_the empire of plotting brain and a commanding mind_.

“But, behold, my fate is barren, and I feel already that it will grow neither fruit nor tree as a shelter to mine old age.

“Desolate and lonely shall I pass away unto my grave.

“O Orna! my beautiful! my loved! none were like unto thee, and to thy love do I owe my glory and my life.

“Would for thy sake, O sweet bird! that nestled in the dark cavern of my heart--would for thy sake that thy brethren had been spared, for verily with my life would I have purchased thine.

“Alas! only when I lost thee did I find that thy love was dearer to me than the fear of others.”

And Morven mourned night and day, and none might comfort him.

But from that time forth he gave himself solely to the cares of his calling; and his nature and his affections, and whatever there was left soft in him, grew hard like stone; and he was a man without love, _and he forbade love and marriage to the priest_.

Now, in his latter years, there arose OTHER prophets; for the world had grown wiser even by Morven’s wisdom, and some did say unto themselves:

“Behold Morven, the herdsman’s son, is a king of kings: this did the stars for their servant; shall we not, therefore, be also servants to the star?”

And they wore black garments like Morven, and went about prophesying of what the stars foretold them.

And Morven was exceeding wroth; for he, more than other men, knew that the prophets lied; wherefore he went forth against them with the ministers of the temple, and he took them and burned them by a slow fire: for thus said Morven to the people:

“_A true prophet hath honor, but I only am a true prophet!_”

“To all false prophets there shall be surely death.”

And the people applauded the piety of the son of Osslah.

And Morven educated the wisest of the children in the mysteries of the temple, so that they grew up to succeed him worthily.

And he died full of years and honor; and they carved his effigy on a mighty stone before the temple, and the effigy endured for a thousand ages, and whoso looked on it trembled; for the face was calm with the calmness of unspeakable awe!

And Morven was the first mortal of the North that made _Religion the stepping stone to Power_.

Of a surety Morven was a great man!

CONCLUSION

It was the last night of the old year, and the stars sat, each upon his ruby throne, and watched with sleepless eyes upon the world. The night was dark and troubled, the dread winds were abroad, and fast and frequent hurried the clouds beneath the thrones of the kings of night. But ever and anon fiery meteors flashed along the depths of heaven, and were again swallowed up in the graves of darkness.

And far below his brethren, and with a lurid haze around his orb, sat the discontented star that had watched over the hunters of the North. And on the lowest abyss of space there was spread a thick and mighty gloom, from which, as from a caldron, rose columns of wreathing smoke; and still, when the great winds rested for an instant on their paths, voices of woe and laughter, mingled with shrieks, were heard booming from the abyss to the upper air.

And now, in the middest night, a vast figure rose slowly from the abyss, and its wings threw blackness over the world. High upward to the throne of the discontented star sailed the fearful shape, and the star trembled on his throne when the form stood before him face to face. And the shape said: “Hail, brother!--all hail!”

“I know thee not,” answered the star: “thou art not the archangel that visitests the kings of night.”

And the shape laughed loud. “I am the fallen star of the morning.--I am Lucifer, thy brother. Hast thou not, O sullen king, served me and mine? and hast thou not wrested the earth from thy Lord who sittest above and given it to me by _darkening the souls of men with the religion of fear?_ Wherefore come, brother, come;--thou hast a throne prepared beside my own in the fiery gloom. Come.--The heavens are no more for thee.” Then the star rose from his throne, and descended to the side of Lucifer. For ever hath the spirit of discontent had sympathy with the soul of pride.

And slowly they sank down to the gulf of gloom. It was the first night of the new year, and the stars sat each on his ruby throne, and watched with sleepless eyes upon the world. But sorrow dimmed the bright faces of the kings of night, for they mourned in silence and in fear for a fallen brother.

And the gates of the heaven of heavens flew open with a golden sound, and the swift archangel fled down on his silent wings; and the archangel gave to each of the stars, as before, the message of his Lord; and to each star was his appointed charge.

And when the heraldry seemed done, there came a laugh from the abyss of gloom, and half way from the gulf rose the lurid shape of Lucifer, the fiend.

“Thou countest thy flock ill, O radiant shepherd. Behold! one star is missing from the three thousand and ten.”

“Back to thy gulf, false Lucifer!--the throne of thy brother hath been filled.”

And lo! as the archangel spake, the stars beheld a young and all lustrous stranger on the throne of the erring star; and his face was so soft to look upon, that the dimmest of human eyes might have gazed upon its splendor unabashed; but the dark fiend alone was dazzled by its lustre, and, with a yell that shook the flaming pillars of the universe, he plunged backwards into the gloom.

Then, far and sweet from the arch unseen, came forth the voice of God:

“Behold! _on the throne of the discontented star sits the star of hope; and he that breathed into mankind the Religion of Fear hath a successor in him who shall teach earth the Religion of Love._”

And evermore the Star of Fear dwells with Lucifer, and the Star of Love keeps vigil in heaven.

ON THE ORIGIN OF EVIL

By Lord Brougham

A DISSERTATION ON THE ORIGIN OF EVIL.

The question which has more than, any other harassed metaphysical reasoners, but especially theologians, and upon which it is probable that no very satisfactory conclusion will ever be reached by the human faculties, is the Origin and Sufferance of Evil.

Its existence being always assumed, philosophers have formed various theories for explaining it, but they have always drawn very different inferences from it.

The ancient Epicureans argued against the existence of the Deity, because they held that the existence of Evil either proved him to be limited in power or of a malignant nature; either of which imperfections is inconsistent with the first notions of a divine being.

In this kind of reasoning they have been followed both by the atheists and sceptics of later times.

Bayle regarded the subject of evil as one of the great arsenals from whence his weapons were to be chiefly drawn. None of the articles in his famous Dictionary are more labored than those in which he treats of this subject. _Monichian_, and still more _Paulician_, almost assume the appearance of formal treatises upon the question; and both _Marchionite_ and _Zoroaster_ treat of the same subject. All these articles are of considerable value; they contain the greater part of the learning upon the question; and they are distinguished by the acuteness of reasoning which was the other characteristic of their celebrated author.

Those ancient philosophers who did not agree with Epicurus in arguing from the existence of evil against the existence of a providence that superintended and influenced the destinies of the world, were put to no little difficulty in accounting for the fact which they did not deny, and yet maintaining the power of a divine ruler. The doctrine of a double principle, or of two divine beings of opposite natures, one beneficent, the other mischievous, was the solution which one class of reasoners deemed satisfactory, and to which they held themselves driven by the phenomena of the universe.

Others unable to deny, the existence of things which men denominate evil, both physical and moral, explain them in a different way. They maintained that physical evil only obtains the name from our imperfect and vicious or feeble dispositions; that to a wise man there is no such thing; that we may rise superior to all such groveling notions as make us dread or repine at any events which can befall the body; that pain, sickness, loss of fortune or of reputation, exile, death itself, are only accounted ills by a weak and pampered mind; that if we find the world tiresome, or woeful, or displeasing, we may at any moment quit it; and that therefore we have no right whatever to call any suffering connected with existence on earth an evil, because almost all sufferings can be borne by a patient and firm mind; since if the situation we are placed in becomes either intolerable, or upon the whole more painful than agreeable, it is our own fault that we remain in it.

But these philosophers took a further view of the question which especially applied to moral evil. They considered that nothing could be more groundless than to suppose that if there were no evil there could be any good in the world; and they illustrated this position by asking how we could know anything of temperance, fortitude or justice, unless there were such things as excess, cowardice and injustice.

These were the doctrines of the Stoics, from whose sublime and impracticable philosophy they seemed naturally enough to flow. Aulus Gellius relates that the last-mentioned argument was expounded by Chrysippus, in his work upon providence. The answer given by Plutarch seems quite sufficient: “As well might you say that Achilles could not have a fine head of hair unless Thersites had been bald; or that one man’s limbs could not be all sound if another had not the gout.”

In truth, the Stoical doctrine proceeds upon the assumption that all virtue is only the negative of vice; and is as absurd, if indeed it be not the very same absurdity, as the doctrine which should deny the existence of affirmative or positive truths, resolving them all into the opposite of negative propositions. Indeed, if we even were to admit this as an abstract position, the actual existence of evil would still be unnecessary to the idea, and still more to the existence, of good. For the conception of evil, the bare idea of its possibility, would be quite sufficient, and there would be no occasion for a single example of it.

The other doctrine, that of two opposite principles, was embraced by most of the other sects, as it should seem, at some period or other of their inquiries. Plato himself, in his later works, was clearly a supporter of the system; for he held that there were at least two principles, a good and an evil; to which he added a third, the moderator or mediator between them.

Whether this doctrine was, like many others, imported into Greece from the East, or was the natural growth of the schools, we cannot ascertain. Certain it is that the Greeks themselves believed it to have been taught by Zoroaster in Asia, at least five centuries before the Trojan war; so that it had an existence there long before the name of philosophy was known in the western world.

Zoroaster’s doctrine agreed in every respect with Plato’s; for besides Oomazes, the good, and Arimanius, the evil principle, he taught that there was a third, or mediatory one, called Mithras. That it never became any part of the popular belief in Greece or Italy is quite clear. All the polytheism of those countries recognized each of the gods as authors alike of good and evil. Nor did even the chief of the divinities, under whose power the rest were placed, offer any exception to the general rule; for Jupiter not only gave good from one urn and ill from another, but he was also, according to the barbarous mythology of classical antiquity, himself a model at once of human perfections and of human vices.

After the light of the Christian religion had made some way toward supplanting the ancient polytheism, the doctrine of two principles was broached; first by Marcion, who lived in the time of Adrian and Antonius Pius, early in the second century; and next by Manes, a hundred years later. He was a Persian slave, who was brought into Greece, where he taught this doctrine, since known by his name, having learned it, as is said, from Scythianus, an Arabian. The Manichean doctrines, afterwards called also Paulician, from a great teacher of them in the seventh century, were like almost all the heresies in the primitive church, soon mixed up with gross impurities of sacred rites as well as extravagant absurdities of creed.

The Manicheans were, probably as much on this account as from the spirit of religious intolerance, early the objects of severe persecution; and the Code of Justinian itself denounces capital punishment against any of the sect, if found within the Roman dominions.

It must be confessed that the theory of two principles, when kept free from the absurdities and impurities which were introduced into the Manichean doctrine, is not unnaturally adopted by men who have no aid from the light of revelation,[1] and who are confounded by the appearance of a world where evil and good are mixed together, or seem to struggle with one another, sometimes the one prevailing, and sometimes the other; and accordingly, in all countries, in the most barbarous nations, as well as among the most refined, we find plain traces of reflecting men having been driven to this solution of the difficulty.

It seems upon a superficial view to be very easily deducible from the phenomena; and as the idea of infinite power, with which it is manifestly inconsistent, does by no means so naturally present itself to the mind, as long as only a very great degree of power, a power which in comparison of all human force may be termed infinite, is the attribute with which the Deity is believed to be endued. Manichean hypothesis is by no means so easily refuted. That the power of the Deity was supposed to have limits even in the systems of the most enlightened heathens is unquestionable. They, generally speaking, believed in the eternity of matter, and conceived some of its qualities to be so essentially necessary to its existence that no divine agency could alter them. They ascribed to the Deity a plastic power, a power not of creating or annihilating, but only of moulding, disposing and moving matter. So over mind they generally give him the like power, considering it as a kind of emanation from his own greater mind or essence, and destined to be re-united with him hereafter. Nay, over all the gods, and of superior potency to any, they conceived fate to preside; an overruling and paramount necessity, of which they formed some dark conceptions, and to which the chief of all the gods was supposed to submit. It is, indeed, extremely difficult to state precisely what the philosophic theory of theology was in Greece and Rome, because the wide difference between the esoteric and exoteric doctrines, between the belief of the learned few and the popular superstition, makes it very difficult to avoid confounding the two, and lending to the former some of the grosser errors with which the latter abounded. Nevertheless, we may rely upon what has been just stated, as conveying, generally speaking, the opinion of philosophers, although some sects certainly had a still more scanty measure of belief.

But we shall presently find that in the speculation of the much more enlightened moderns, Christians of course, errors of a like kind are to be traced. They constantly argue the great question of evil upon a latent assumption, that the power of the Deity is restricted by some powers or qualities inherent in matter; notions analogous to that of faith are occasionally perceptible; not stated or expanded indeed into propositions, but influencing the course of the reasoning; while the belief of infinite attributes is never kept steadily in view, except when it is called in as requisite to refute the Manichean doctrines. Some observers of the controversy have indeed not scrupled to affirm that those of whom we speak are really Manicheans without knowing it; and build their systems upon assumptions secretly borrowed from the disciples of Zoroaster, without ever stating those assumptions openly in the form of postulates or definition.

The refutation of the Manichean hypothesis is extremely easy if we be permitted to assume that both the principles which it supposes are either of infinite power or of equal power. If they are of infinite power, the supposition of their co-existence involves a contradiction in terms; for the one being in opposition to the other, the power of each must be something taken from that of the other; consequently neither can be of infinite power. If, again, we only suppose both to be of equal power, and always acting against each other, there could be nothing whatever done, neither good or evil; the universe would be at a standstill; or rather no act of creation could ever have been performed, and no existence could be conceived beyond that of the two antagonistic principles.

Archbishop Tillotson’s argument, properly speaking, amounts to this last proposition, and is applicable to equal and opposite principles, although he applies it to two beings, both infinitely powerful and counteracting one another. When he says they would tie up each other’s bands, he might apply this argument to such antagonistic principles if only equal, although not infinitely powerful. The hypothesis of their being both infinitely powerful needs no such refutation; it is a contradiction in terms. But it must be recollected that the advocates of the Manichean doctrine endeavor to guard themselves against the attack by contending, that the conflict between the two principles ends in a kind of compromise, so that neither has it all his own way; there is a mixture of evil admitted by the good principle, because else the whole would beat a standstill; while there is much good admitted by the evil principle, else nothing, either good or evil, would be done. Another answer is therefore required to this theory than what Tillotson and his followers have given.

_First_, we must observe that this reasoning of the Manicheans proceeds upon the analogy of what we see in mortal contentions; where neither party having the power to defeat the other, each is content to yield a little to his adversary, and so, by mutual concession, both are successful to some extent, and both to some extent disappointed. But in a speculation concerning the nature of the Deity, there seems no place for such notions.

_Secondly_, the equality of power is not an arbitrary assumption; it seems to follow from the existence of the two opposing principles. For if they are independent of one another as to existence, which they must needs be, else one would immediately destroy the other, so must they also, in each particular instance, be independent of each other, and also equal each to the other, else one would have the mastery, and the influence of the other could not be perceived. To say that in some things the good principle prevails and in others the evil, is really saying nothing more than that good exists here and evil there. It does not further the argument one step, nor give anything like an explanation. For it must always be borne in mind that the whole question respecting the Origin of Evil proceeds upon the assumption of a wise, benevolent and powerful Being having created the world. The difficulty, and the only difficulty, is, how to reconcile existing evil with such a Being’s attributes; and if the Manichean only explains this by saying the good Being did what is good, and another and evil Being did what is bad in the universe, he really tells us nothing more than the fact; he does not apply his explanation to the difficulty; and he supposes the existence of a second Deity gratuitously and to no kind of purpose.

But, _thirdly_, in whatever light we view the hypothesis, it seems exposed to a similar objection, namely, of explaining nothing in its application, while it is wholly gratuitous in itself. It assumes, of course, that creation was the act of the good Being; and it also assumes that Being’s goodness to have been perfect, though his power is limited. Then as he must have known the existence of the evil principle and foreseen the certainty of misery being occasioned by his existence, why did he voluntarily create sentient beings, to put them, in some respects at least, under the evil one’s power, and thus be exposed to suffering? The good Being, according to this theory, is the remote cause of the evil which is endured, because but for his act of creation the evil Being could have had, no subjects whereon to work mischief; so that the hypothesis wholly fails in removing, by more than one step, the difficulty which it was invented to solve.

_Fourthly_, there is no advantage gained to the argument by supposing two Beings, rather than one Being of a mixed nature. The facts lead to this supposition just as naturally as to the hypothesis of two principles. The existence of the evil Being is as much a detraction from the power of the good one, as if we only at once suppose the latter to be of limited power, and that he prefers making and supporting creatures who suffer much less than they enjoy, to making no creatures at all. The supposition that he made them as happy as he could, and that not being able to make them less miserable, he yet perceived that upon the whole their existence would occasion more happiness than if they never had any being at all, will just account for the phenomena as well as the Manichean theory, and will as little as that theory assume any malevolence in the power which created and preserved the universe. If, however, it be objected that this hypothesis leaves unexplained the fetters upon the good Being’s power, the answer is obvious; it leaves those fetters not at all less explained than the Manichean theory does; for that theory gives no explanation of the existence of a counteracting principle, and it assumes both an antagonistic power, to limit the Deity’s power, and a malevolent principle to set the antagonistic power in motion; whereas our supposition assumes no malevolence at all, but only a restraint upon the divine power.

_Fifthly_, this leads us to another and most formidable objection. To conceive the eternal existence of one Being infinite in power, “self-created and creating all others,” is by no means impossible. Indeed, as everything must have had a cause, nothing we see being by possibility self-created, we naturally mount from particulars to generals, until finally we rise to the idea of a first cause, uncreated, and self-existing, and eternal. If the phenomena compels us to affix limits to his goodness, we find it impossible to conceive limits to the power of a creative, eternal, self-existing principle. But even supposing we could form the conception of such a Being having his power limited as well as his goodness, still we can conceive no second Being independent of him. This would necessarily lead to the supposition of some third Being, above and antecedent to both, and the creator of both--the real first cause--and then the whole question would be to solve over again,--Why these two antagonistic Beings were suffered to exist by the great Being of all?

The Manichean doctrine, then, is exposed to every objection to which a theory can be obnoxious. It is gratuitous; it is inapplicable to the facts; it supposes more causes than are necessary; it fails to explain the phenomena, leaving the difficulties exactly where it found them. Nevertheless, such is the theory, how easily soever refuted when openly avowed and explicitly stated, which in various disguises appears to pervade the explanations, given of the facts by most of the other systems; nay, to form, secretly and unacknowledged, their principal ground-work. For it really makes very little difference in the matter whether we are to account for evil by holding that the Deity has created as much happiness as was consistent with “the nature of things,” and has taken every means of avoiding all evil except “where it necessarily existed” or at once give those limiting influences a separate and independent existence, and call them by a name of their own, which is the Manichean hypothesis.

The most remarkable argument on this subject, and the most distinguished both for its clear and well ordered statement, and for the systematic shape which it assumes, is that of Archbishop King. It is the great text-book of those who study this subject; and like the famous legal work of Littleton, it has found an expounder yet abler and more learned than the author himself. Bishop Law’s commentary is full of information, of reasoning and of explication; nor can we easily find anything valuable upon the subject which is not contained in the volumes of that work. It will, however, only require a slight examination of the doctrines maintained by these learned and pious men, to satisfy us that they all along either assume the thing to be proved, or proceed upon suppositions quite inconsistent with the infinite power of the Deity--the only position which raises a question, and which makes the difficulty that requires to be solved.

According to all the systems as well as this one, evil is of two kinds--physical and moral. To the former class belong all the sufferings to which sentient beings are exposed from the qualities and affections of matter independent of their own acts; the latter class consists of the sufferings of whatever kind which arise from their own conduct. This division of the subject, however, is liable to one serious objection; it comprehends under the second head a class of evils which ought more properly to be ranged under the first. Nor is this a mere question of classification: it affects the whole scope of the argument. The second of the above-mentioned classes comprehends both the physical evils which human agency causes, but which it would have no power to cause unless the qualities of matter were such as to produce pain, privation and death; and also the moral evil of guilt which may possibly exist independent of material agency, but which, whether independent or not upon that physical action, is quite separable from it, residing wholly in the mind. Thus a person who destroys the life of another produces physical evil by means of the constitution of matter, and moral evil is the source of his wicked action. The true arrangement then is this: Physical evil is that which depends on the constitution of matter, or only is so far connected with the constitution of mind as that the nature and existence of a sentient being must be assumed in order to its mischief being felt. And this physical evil is of two kinds; that which originates in human action, and that which is independent of human action, befalling us from the unalterable course of nature. Of the former class are the pains, privations and destruction inflicted by men one upon another; of the latter class are diseases, old age and death. Moral evil consists in the crimes, whether of commission or omission, which men are guilty of--including under the latter head those sufferings which we endure from ill-regulated minds through want of fortitude or self-control. It is clear that as far as the question of the origin of evil is concerned, the first of these two classes, physical evil, depends upon the properties of matter, and the last upon those of mind. The second as well as the first subdivision of the physical class depends upon matter; because, however ill-disposed the agent’s mind may be, he could inflict the mischief only in consequence of the constitution of matter. Therefore, the Being, who created matter enabled him to perpetrate the evil, even admitting that this Being did not, by creating the mind also give rise to the evil disposition; and admitting that, as far as regards this disposition it has the same origin with the evil of the second class, or moral evil, the acts of a rational agent.

It is quite true that many reasoners refuse to allow any distinction between the evil produced by natural causes and the evils caused by rational agents, whether as regards their own guilt, or the mischief it caused to others. Those reasoners deny that the creation of man’s will and the endowing it with liberty explains anything; they hold that the creation of a mind whose will is to do evil, amounts to the same thing, and belongs to the same class, with the creation of matter whose nature is to give pain and misery. But this position, which involves the doctrine of necessity, must, at the very least, admit of one modification. Where no human agency whatever is interposed, and the calamity comes without any one being to blame for it, the mischief seems a step, and a large step, nearer the creative or the superintending cause, because it is, as far as men go, altogether inevitable. The main tendency of the argument, therefore, is confined to physical evil; and this has always been found the most difficult to account for, that is to reconcile with the government of a perfectly good and powerful Being. It would indeed be very easily explained, and the reconcilement would be readily made, if we were at liberty to suppose matter independent in its existence, and in certain qualities, of the divine control; but this would be to suppose the Deity’s power limited and imperfect, which is just one horn of the Epicurean dilemma, _“Aut vult et non potest;”_ and in assuming this, we do not so much beg the question as wholly give it up and admit we cannot solve the difficulty. Yet obvious as this is, we shall presently see that the reasoners who have undertaken the solution, and especially King and Law, under such phrases as “the nature of things,” and “the laws of the material universe,” have been constantly, through the whole argument, guilty of this _petitio principii_ (begging the question), or rather this abandonment of the whole question, and never more so than at the very moment when they complacently plumed themselves upon having overcome the difficulty.

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.