aught
by suffering they are seldom proportionate to the conduct which cause
them, nor do those who suffer reap the alleged disciplinary benefit of
their suffering. Let us take a common case. A mother goes out and leaves
a child near an unguarded fire. The mother returns to find the child
burned to death. Where is the discipline here? Certainly the child
cannot have gained any. But there is, of course, the mother. The mother
has learned such a lesson that she will never forget it, and will never
again commit the same blunder. There we have it. A child is allowed to
die by a hideously cruel death in order that a mother may learn a lesson
in carefulness. It is good to learn from other sources that God's ways
are not our ways. A man who tried to imitate them, and who burned one of
his children in order to teach its mother how to look after the rest,
would soon find himself in the criminal court, or in an asylum. But what
would be insanity or criminal cruelty in the case of man, becomes, in
the alembic of religious apologetic, goodness and wisdom in God.

The theory that it is the function of pain to elevate and to discipline
is simply not true. One has only to look to see that in countless cases
the effect of pain is disaster. The world's best work is not born of
pain but of pleasure. There is no pain and no suffering, there is hardly
even toil, in the work of a genius. In all the higher walks of music, of
art, of literature, the work is perfect in proportion as the worker
finds himself in agreeable and pleasant surroundings. And what is true
of the higher aspect of art is true also of life in general. Life may be
lived in spite of pain, as good work may be done in spite of
discouraging circumstances, but one might as well talk of a plant
flourishing because of poor soil, or sharp frosts, as to speak of life
becoming better because of pain.

The normal function of pain is to depress, that of pleasure is to
heighten. As Spencer said, every pain lowers the tide of life; every
pleasure raises the tide of life. It is one of the commonest of sights
to see those suffering from illness becoming more self-centred, less
careful of others, and to see the disintegrating consequences of
disease on character. Here and there one may find a character that has
had its rough edges smoothed down by suffering, but for every case of
that kind one may find a score of an opposite order. It is not the
underfed, badly clothed, neglected child tha