1995, Apr, Tragedy and Theodicy a Meditation on Rousseau and Moral Evil

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Tragedy and Theodicy: A Meditation on Rousseau and Moral EvilAuthor(s): Mark S. CladisSource: The Journal of Religion, Vol. 75, No. 2 (Apr., 1995), pp. 181-199Published by: The University of Chicago PressStable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/1205317Accessed: 28/03/2009 10:02

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Tragedy and Theodicy: A Meditation

on Rousseau and Moral Evil*Mark S. Cladis / Vassar College

Alone, as radical solitaires, we are sheltered from much pain, yet can beneither truly happy nor moral; together, in the company of others, wehurt each other, yet can experience ambiguous moral progress and pre-carious human joy. These are the twin horns of Rousseau's depiction ofour dilemma. The solitaires in Nature's Garden-insular humans in thestate of nature-were not genuinely happy or virtuous; human efforts toachieve happiness and virtue inevitably led to avenues of sorrow and vice.The Fall, in Rousseau's view, was not from paradise but from simple inno-cence; and the ousted condition is not the human inability to throw off

the yoke of original sin, but the inevitable risk-risk of pain and corrup-tion-that accompanies the human pursuit of happiness and virtue. Thetragic passage from the Garden to the City leads from solitary invulnera-bility to vulnerable sociability. To escape the Fall into sociability is tododge our humanity; yet to yield to the Fall is to court public injusticeand personal pain. These are the broad strokes of the tragic vision thatguides Rousseau's thought.'

The following is an exploration of this tragic vision, especially insofaras it pertains to Rousseau on the issue of theodicy. Rousseau is often cele-brated or cursed as an exemplary Enlightenment philosophe who de-clared that although humans are naturally good, society tampers with usand thereby corrupts us. Although Rousseau's complex and even contra-dictory writings engender disagreement among his interpreters, all seemto agree that Rousseau spurned any notion of original sin-of innatecorruption-and that he blamed corrupt, irrational social institutions for

* For theirsupport

whileresearching

thisessay,

I would like toexpress my gratitude

tothe Franco-American Fulbright Agency, the National Endowment for the Humanities, andthe Vassar College Research Committee.

1 This vision permeates Rousseau's work; the earliest and clearest example is found inthe Discourse on the Origin of Inequality (1755), in The Social Contract and Discourses, trans.G. D. H. Cole (London: Dent, 1988). In the body of this article, I will refer to that text as"the second Discours."

? 1995 by The University of Chicago. All rights reserved. 0022-4189/95/7502-0001 $01.00

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The Journal of Religion

the majority of our miseries. Ernst Cassirer, for example, claims that "so-ciety has inflicted the deepest wounds on humanity; but society alone

can and should heal these wounds.... That is Rousseau's solution of theproblem of theodicy."2 I will argue, however, that the standard interpre-tation of Rousseau's account of evil is too facile. Rousseau positioned him-self at the crossroads of Enlightenment and Augustinian thought, andthis awkward position enabled him to produce a rich and complex viewon the nature of evil and human culpability. We will see that, in Rous-seau's view, humans naturally gather and court harm and that, in spite ofthis pessimism, Rousseau could also optimistically declare God's creationand human existence to be good.

WHOM OR WHAT TO BLAME?

We can describe sixteenth- and especially seventeenth-century Frenchthought as beset by two opposing traditions, Augustinian pessimism andhumanist optimism. The former held that humans cannot cure them-selves of sin or evil. The disposition to sin-an impaired will unable toorder one's loves properly-is acquired at birth and remains until death.Humanist

optimism,in

contrast,was

generally Pelagian, and hence, likePlatonism, it sustained the Enlightenment hope that humans can dosomething to improve themselves. The Enlightenment generation hadseen Europe ravaged by war and cruelty at the hands of superstition,fanaticism, and tyranny; it would cling tightly to the belief that the lightof Nature or Reason could guide Europe out of its darkness. If we were tocharacterize the contest between the Augustinian and the Enlightenmentpositions as answers to the question, What can we do to save ourselves?the Augustinian response would be "not a thing," the Enlightenment,"quite a bit." Rousseau, unlike most of his fellow philosophes, adherednot only to Enlightenment optimism but to Augustinian pessimism. Wres-tling with both traditions of thought, Rousseau can often be found at thecrossroads between Enlightenment optimism and Augustinian pessi-

2 Ernst Cassirer, The Question of Jean-Jacques Rousseau, trans. Peter Gay (New Haven,Conn.: Yale University Press, 1989), p. 76. A more recent example of this standard interpre-tation can be found in Jean Starobinski's work; he states categorically that in Rousseau'sview "evil is not in human nature but in social structures" (Jean Starobinski, Jean-JacquesRousseau: Transparency nd Obstruction, rans. Arthur Goldhammer [Chicago: University ofChicago Press, 1988], p. 295). Likewise, Ronald Grimsley, another superb scholar of Rous-seau, ascribes to Rousseau the belief that "evil is not a genuinely integral part of humannature, one of its original features.... The notion of 'original sin' is dismissed as quiteuntenable. The wicked man is ... the unfortunate victim of a society which makes it verydifficult for people to know and follow the inclination of their natural feelings" (RonaldGrimsley, Rousseau's Religious Thought [Oxford: Clarendon, 1968], p. 64).

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Tragedy and Theodicy

mism. From that juncture, he sought to remind us of both our responsi-bility for ourselves and our powerlessness to radically transform our-

selves.This location accounts for Rousseau's tensive stances on the nature ofevil and human moral accountability. In the Discourse on the Origin of In-equality, or second Discours, for example, Rousseau described humanscaught between moral freedom and fatalism. As the radical solitaires inNature's Garden-the state of nature-we were content and amoral; inhistory and society we are beings capable of morality who ineluctably suf-fer, gratuitously wounding ourselves. To become moral beings, we mustleave the Garden. A close reading of the second Discours reveals that weare no more victims of history or society than we are of morality itself;history and society are the conditions of our moral development, for bet-ter or worse. The tense structure of our moral existence is indicative ofour capacity for virtue and vice. While there is no such ontological neces-sity as original sin to account for our poor choices, we do suffer from suchalienating inclinations as the innate faculty of perfectibility that leads usinevitably to injure ourselves and those around us.

This yields the troublesome conclusion that we are accountable for

those lamentable choices and actions that were not necessary but whichoccur inevitably in a tangled web of moral evil (unnecessary harm) andphysical evil (unavoidable harm). This can be restated less vexatiously:we are culpable for making our inescapable fallen condition even worsethan it need be. To put it this way, however, is to risk understating themany obstacles that prevent us from escaping those circumstances thatlead us to inflict unnecessary harm. A more faithful portrayal of Rous-seau's account would keep us suspended, anxiously, between an Enlight-enment tradition that reminds us of our responsibility for ourselves andability to heal ourselves and an Augustinian tradition that reminds us ofour limits and inability to save ourselves. Between these views, Rousseaudepicted virtue as a cultivation of our powers and an appreciation of ourlimits that struggles against, but can never conquer, moral evil.

One might well wonder if Rousseau ever offered some sympathy forthe human race, in light of his depiction of the suffering endemic to thehuman fallen condition. Is there no solace for humans who find them-selves subject to an amalgam of moral and physical evil, to limited powers

and countless hopes, to tragic choices and the perpetual perfectibility ofvice and virtue? Rousseau offered little in the way of commiseration, per-haps because he feared that it might prove contrary to human responsi-bility for social and personal reformation. Moreover, he was convincedthat we make our inescapable difficulties worse than they need be. Hisattitude toward his own body can be seen as a metaphor of the human

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confrontation with pain. Jean-Jacques was fated with a frail, ailing body.Early on he was convinced that he would die young, and this fear, alongwith

physical suffering, led him to seek medical assistance. However, helater came to believe that the medical profession-the artificial tamperingwith natural, inevitable pain-tends to escalate, not diminish, our suffer-ing. His claim in the second Discours that the solitaires do not fear deathreflects his belief that the fear of death leads to the loss of life, at leastquality of life. Unlike the equanimity of the solitaires, we fight against theineluctable and thereby cause unnecessary pain.3 To accept that physicalevil and death are endemic to human existence is to turn toward thequietude of the Garden. Resigning to necessary pain in no way slackensour responsibility to counter unnecessary suffering, moral evil; rather,acquiescence, in this case, is an aspect of that responsibility.

Reading Jean-Jacques's body as a metaphor of how suffering is intensi-fied in society discloses a thin sympathetic thread in the tangle of Rous-seau's thought. It is similar to that theme which Starobinski, Grimsley,and especially Cassirer have identified: society harms individuals morethan nature does; thus, insofar as we are victims, we are ravaged princi-pally by society, not nature. Indeed, Rousseau insisted that "a man wholives ten

yearswithout doctors, lives more for himself and for

others,than

one who lives thirty years as their victim."4 Rousseau's sympathy, here, isexpressed in the vocabulary of victimization. Having hoped, innocentlyenough, that we might escape some pains in the hands of the doctors-in the comforts of the City-our pains were inadvertently multiplied. Yetmultiplied by whom or what? Cassirer and Grimsley, among others, holdthat Rousseau laid blame at the feet of "society," which in fact he on occa-sion did. Yet society, generalized, cannot satisfactorily be deemed the cul-prit of our misadventures, and Rousseau himself understood this. With-

out doctors, he observed, one lives more fully "for oneself andfor others."The full life is not juxtaposed to society, to the company of others; it iscontrasted to the medical profession, a particular social institution thatepitomizes the quest to defeat that which cannot be defeated. To fail torecognize our impotence, to disregard the lessons of the Augustinian tra-dition, is to court excessive suffering. And although the medical profes-sion encourages us to become forgetful of our limits, we ultimately haveno one to blame but ourselves, for we have allowed ourselves to be be-witched by doctors and all others who would teach us to assert ourselves

3See, e.g., Rousseau, Emile (1762), trans. Barbara Foxley (London: Dent, 1974), pp. 21-23, and (Euvres completes henceforth, simply O.c.), ed. Bernard Gagnebin and Marcel Ray-mond (Paris: Pleiade, 1959-69), 4:269-72. In the following citations, I provide reference toa translation whenever possible. When the French reference comes first, the translation ismy own.

4 Rousseau, O.c., 4:272, and Emile, p. 23.

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in those very circumstances when we need to yield. Again, then, we couldhave done better and spared ourselves much pain. Our quest for perfec-

tion, which includes a life free from suffering, has led us out of the poisedGarden and into the wobbly City.

THE JOURNEY TO LISBON

Voltaire thought that Rousseau failed to show the appropriate sympathyfor the unfortunate inhabitants of Lisbon, the city that wobbled and fellin 1755. From early on, after reading the first Discours (On the Arts andSciences, 1750) Voltaire formed the opinion that Rousseau, like Pascal, wassomething of a misanthrope. That opinion was confirmed after Voltaireread Rousseau's response to his poem on the disaster at Lisbon. To illus-trate moral evil, Rousseau had employed the example of the Lisbonquake that killed twenty thousand people. "Admit," Rousseau wrote toVoltaire, "that nature did not assemble there twenty thousand houses ofsix to seven stories high, and that if the inhabitants of that great city hadbeen scattered more equally, and housed more modestly, the damagewould have been a lot less, and perhaps none at all." To make matters

still worse, the inhabitants, instead of fleeing at the first tremble, "insistedon staying by the wreckage, exposing themselves to aftershocks, becausewhat is left behind is valued more than what one can take away."5 Theloss at Lisbon, then, counts as an instance of moral evil, because it was allso unnecessary. It could have been otherwise; much harm was avoidable.

Rousseau claimed that his motive in holding humans culpable for themajority of their sorrows sprang not from a hatred of humanity, but froma wish that we might reform what we can, thereby avoiding some futuresuffering. Voltaire's response to the great quake, "Poem on the Disasterof Lisbon," did not assign blame as much as it attacked the moral andreligious view that had recently come to be known as "optimism." Thisview, usually associated with Leibniz's Theodicy and Pope's Essay on Man,alleged that we live in the best of all possible worlds. To those who wouldquestion the design of God's creation, Pope declared,

All Nature is but art, unknown to theeAll chance, direction, which thou canst not see;All discord, harmony not understood;

All partial evil, universal good;And, spite of pride, in erring reason's spite,One truth is clear, Whatever s, is right.6

5 Rousseau, "Lettre a Voltaire," O.c., 4:1061.6 Alexander Pope, An Essay on Man, in The Poetry of Pope (Arlington Heights, Ill.: AMH,

1954), p. 56, epistle 1, lines 289-95.

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To which Voltaire responded, whatever we know, this truth is clear, that"all is right today is illusion." Only "deceived philosophers cry out, all is

right" (tout est bien). Perhaps once optimistic in his youth, Voltaire nowcould only utter, "Someday ll will be right, that is our hope."7 From whatwe know of the social critic Rousseau, we might assume that he would beonly too willing to support Voltaire's emphatic rejection of any optimisticdoctrine that suggests "all is well."

Indeed, Rousseau had recently challenged the theological optimism ofCharles Bonnet, a Genevan philosopher who criticized his second Dis-cours on the grounds that it severed an essential link in "the vast chain ofbeing, which from God began"-to borrow a line from Pope.8 If, as Bon-net held, humans are the good creation of God, and society is the creationof humans, then Rousseau erred by portraying society as fundamentallydiseased. In his reply, Rousseau disputed Bonnet's interpretation of thestatement, "All that is, is good." Failing to distinguish between generaland particular evil, Bonnet wrongly applied Leibniz's and Pope's opti-mism to society itself.9 This application, Rousseau claimed, would yieldthe regrettable conservative position that we ought not to tamper withsociety: "The most perfect quietism would be the only remaining humanvirtue."10 Had Bonnet

distinguishedbetween

generaland

particular evil,he would have understood that humans encounter unavoidable particu-lar evils (like a flood or drought) and in turn generate a host of unneces-sary moral evils, thus compounding human suffering. The appropriateresponse to this entanglement is not inaction, but admitting our painfulmistakes and endeavoring to avoid them in the future. Escapism, how-ever, is not what Rousseau had in mind. On the contrary, in his reply toBonnet, Rousseau insisted that rather than desiring "to live in thewoods," "searching for happiness in the middle of nowhere," one oughtto live in "one's homeland in order to love and serve it." Apparently,Rousseau was eager to make it known that his pessimistic account of soci-ety does not recommend a retreat from society, but rather renewed ef-forts to establish flourishing societies "where humanity, hospitality, andkindness reign, . .. where the poor one finds friends, loving moral exem-plars, and reasonable guides that enlighten." 1

7 Voltaire, "Poeme sur le desastre de Lisbonne, ou examen de cet axiome, Tout est bien,"in (Euvres completes e Voltaire, ol. 1, Poesies (Paris: Delangle Freres, 1828),

pp.239, 246.

8 See Charles Bonnet, "Lettre de M. Philopolis," O.c., 3:1383-84. Bonnet published hisletter to Rousseau under the pseudonym Philopolis in the Mercure de France in October1755. See also Pope, Essay on Man, epistle 1, line 237; Arthur Lovejoy, The Great Chain ofBeing (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1936).9 In the previous section, optimism referred to Enlightenment hope in knowledge andprogress; in this section, optimism refers to the theological position, "All that is, is good."10Rousseau, "Letter a Philopolis," O.c., 3:234.

l Ibid., 3:235.

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A year later in 1756 when Rousseau read Voltaire's "Poem on the Disas-ter of Lisbon," he must have had a sense of deja vu. Had he not just seen

the same mistake made twice? Both Bonnet and Voltaire assumed thatthe optimism of Leibniz and Pope was meant to be applied to society,yet whereas Bonnet supported optimism, Voltaire challenged it. Voltairequestioned how one could remain confident that God's providence pro-vided "the best among things possible," if a single earthquake on AllSaints' Day could kill twenty thousand people, many of whom were inchurch. While Bonnet had pressed Rousseau to defend his pessimismconcerning society, Voltaire now roused him to justify his optimism inGod's providence. Rousseau was determined to defend God, if for noother reason than to establish that humans, not God, are responsible fortheir spoiled lives.

"The optimist," Rousseau claimed, never denied the existence of par-ticular evil, only general evil. The question is not "whether each of ussuffers; but if it were good that the universe exists, and if our pains wereinevitable given the constitution of the universe."12 To deny that an indi-vidual encounters particular evils would be absurd; yet equally absurdwould be to take particular evils as proof of a general evil that pervades

the universe. In order to safeguard against future misinterpretations ofthe doctrine of optimism, Rousseau suggested a modest revision thatwould render the optimist's maxim more precise: "In place of All is good[Tout est bien], it perhaps would be better to say, The whole is good, or Allis good for the whole." 3 Rousseau acknowledged that in order to justifysatisfactorily such optimism, one would need to have a perfect knowledgeof the constitution of the universe.

The impossibility of such a justification is, in fact, one of the principallessons Rousseau wished to convey to Voltaire: we cannot judge thatwhich is beyond our grasp; humility is warranted when making claimsabout overall goodness or evil in the universe.14 This is not only an episte-mological comment, but a moral one. Pride and an inordinate penchant

12Rousseau, "Lettre a Voltaire," O.c., 4:1068. It is perhaps worth noting that in this pas-sage, "our pains" (maux) could be rendered as our particular "evils." It is more common inFrench than in English to speak of evil in the plural. In both languages there are, however,some similar usages, e.g., "choose the least of two evils" (dedeux maux ilfaut choisir e moindre)or "to dodge the evils of life" (eviter es maux de la vie).

13

Ibid.,"Au lieu de Tout est

bien,il vaudroit

peutetre mieux dire:

Le tout est bien, ou Toutest bienpour le tout."14 Rousseau was aware that if nothing definitive could be established about general evil,

then the same holds true of general good. He claimed that "one does not prove the exis-tence of God by the system of Pope, but the system of Pope by the existence of God," andmoreover, that the existence of God is "not something that can be demonstrated." Some tryto coerce belief, saying, "You should believe this, because I believe it." Yet that approach isclearly irreligious. Others, like the philosophers, attempt to advance definitive argumentsfor or against belief in providence. Yet the "sentiments" that support religious belief cannot

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to see the world from our own limited self-interest prevents us from locat-ing our hopes and loves, our aches and pains, in a larger more inclusive

context. We lack perspective, and perspective, in Rousseau's view, is oneof God's chief advantages over humans. "The common good" is a contex-tual term. We can talk of the common good of the family, the local congre-gation, the town, the society, or, as Rousseau invites us to consider, of theworld-indeed, the common good of the universe. From God's perspec-tive, a natural disaster in Portugal might be necessary for the survival of"all the inhabitants of Saturn" 15 n any case, some private pains can bepalliated in the context of ever-enlarging concentric circles of a common,or general, good. One could explore in The Social Contract 1762) an anal-ogy between, on the one hand, private goods in relation to God's generalgood for the universe (le biengeneral) and, on the other hand, the citizen'sprivate will in relation to a society's general will (volontegenerale). For ourpurposes, it is enough to note that Rousseau's theodicy suggests that God,perhaps as the ultimate utilitarian Governor, permits private goods, likean individual's life, to be sacrificed for the sake of overall goodness.16Such loss, however, is the result of what we might call a second-order, nota first-order, causality. That is to say, God does not directly will that this

buildingfall and that individual

die; rather,God established the

generalsprings and gears of the universe, and these, on occasion, strike andcrush an individual here and there.17

be verified by proofs. Rousseau was content to believe in the existence of a benevolent God,and he offered to Voltaire a rather pragmatic reason for his belief: "That optimism that you[Voltaire] find so cruel, consoles me yet in regard to the same miseries that you describedto me as insufferable. The poem of Pope eases my pain and brings me patience" (O.c.,

4:1060). Rousseau concluded his letter to Voltaire with an ardent apologetic: "I have suf-fered too much in this life not to look forward to another one. All the subtleties of metaphys-ics will not make me doubt for a moment the immortality of the soul and a benevolentProvidence. I feel it, I believe it, I want it, I hope for it, I will defend it until my last breath"(Rousseau, "Lettre a Voltaire," O.c., 4:1075).

15See ibid., O.c., 4:1067.6 Jean-Pierre Dupuy has made a similar argument about the role of theodicy in the

thought of Adam Smith: "In Smith's system it is not mankind that is utilitarian, there beingsomeone else to assume this role on its behalf: God. Instead of simply enlightening men,reason works in devious ways and harnesses nature to its ends" (Jean-Pierre Dupuy, "AReconsideration of Das Adam Smith Problem," Stanford French Review 17 [1993]: 55).17Lest someone question God's goodness in the face of such random tragedies, Rousseauimmediately restated his belief in "the immortality of the soul." Presumably, God can com-pensate such unfortunate individuals. In Rousseau's view, then, providence and the afterlifeare deeply and conveniently related. In Emile, Rousseau wrote, "If the soul is immaterial,... if it survives the body, Providence is justified. If I had no other proof of the immaterialityof the soul than the triumph of the wicked and the oppression of the just in this world, thatalone would prevent me from doubting it" (Rousseau, O.c., 4:589, and Emile, p. 245). Whatof "eternal punishment"? "None thinking well of God would ever believe in that" (Rous-seau, "Lettre a Voltaire," O.c., 4:1070).

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Rousseau worried that between the superstitions of the priests and thewhining of the philosophers, God had become an object of ridicule. The

superstitious interpret most events as the result of God's direct divineintervention, and thereby deny the ironclad operations of the universe;whatever happens is right and fitting, for it is the will of God-a volitionthat the priests, luckily, can interpret better than others. Being less pious,the philosophers, in their turn, either blame God for their toothachesand lost luggage, or else, in the face of profound suffering, mock the veryidea of God's providential care.18 Both the priests and the philosophershave failed to appreciate the epistemological and moral limits of theirjudgments; that is, both lack a universal point of view and habitually formjudgments about God that reflect their own self-interests. Both havefailed to see that by creating a universe designed for overall good, Godlimited himself. Creation is as much an act of surrender as it is an act ofpower, for by empowering creation, including humans, God relinquishedhis position as the sole power. The universe is granted autonomy, at leastin the form of its own necessity. Physical evil, then, is the human experi-ence of the sovereignty of nature that causes us to suffer when necessitycollides with human goals, hopes, and desires. To have one's house swept

away in a lava flow, to lose the crops to a drought, to have your spousedie by cancer: these are some of the ways that necessity can foil our de-sires and cause suffering.

Rousseau's account of moral evil requires this image of a God who haslimited himself by empowering a creation outside himself. In his letterto Voltaire, he attributed the source of moral evil to "man, free . . . yetcorrupted." A few years later, in Emile, Rousseau would reflect on therelation between providence, human freedom, and moral evil. God, de-siring to empower humans and make them in his own image, endowedthem with the gift of freedom. When humans abuse their freedom theycommit moral evil. Hence Rousseau could write, "It is the abuse of ourfaculties that makes us unhappy and wicked. Our sorrows, our cares, oursufferings come to us from ourselves. Moral evil is incontestably our ownwork.... Man, seek no longer for the author of evil; that author is youyourself." 9 God does not check this abuse, for that would demean hu-man nature, depriving it of that which makes it like God. To strip free-dom from humans, then, would be more lamentable than to permit the

evil humans freely choose, for in the absence of freedom there can be nomorality: "To murmur about God's not preventing man from doing evilis to complain ... that God gave him the right to virtue." Morality andmoral evil, then, require the same condition: freedom. Physical evil-

18See Rousseau, "Lettre a Voltaire," O.c., 4:1068-69.'9 Ibid., p. 1061; Rousseau, O.c., 4:587, 588, and Emile (n. 3 above), p. 244.

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collisions with nature-is allowed by God, for the beauty of nature con-sists in its autonomy; likewise, moral evil is permitted, for the beauty ofhumans consists in their moral

autonomy. Hence,Rousseau insisted that

God has made us in his image that we might be "free, good, and happy"like God himselfi20

Free, good, and happy? Can these three describe anyone besides God?These three, and all the friction between them, bring to mind the tragicjourney that led humanity out of the Garden. Freedom is that gift fromGod that enabled us to become moral creatures and to experience happi-ness in goodness, yet freedom is also that curse that permitted us to be-come wicked and profoundly unhappy. Outside the Garden-the state

of nature-we are mangled by both the necessity of physical evil (rootedin nature's autonomy) and the inevitability of moral evil (rooted in hu-man autonomy).21 Of course Rousseau hastened to add, with characteris-tic exaggeration, that "physical evil would be nothing without our vices."This line of thought led him to reflect still again on the solitaire. "Howfew evils exist for the one living in primitive simplicity " Lacking fore-sight, passions, and the fear of death, the solitaire does not seek, as dowe, "an imaginary well-being" that actually brings "a thousand real ills."If

onlywe could

possessthe

equanimityof the solitaires and

experiencethe goodness of the world as do they: "Take away our fatal progress, takeaway our errors and our vices, take away the work of man, and all is good"(tout est bien).22Here we are, then, back to Pope, back to optimism, backto the Garden, yet with the provision that we turn back progress-thattragic outcome of freedom and perfectibility, those twin gifts of God.

We can now make some sense of a rather baffling association Kantmade between Rousseau and Newton: "Newton was the first to see orderand regularity combined with great simplicity, where hitherto disorder

and multiplicity had reigned, and since then comets move in geometricpaths. Rousseau first discovered beneath the diversity of human shapesthe deeply hidden nature of man and the latent law according to whichProvidence is justified by Rousseau's observations.... Since Newton andRousseau, God has been justified and Pope's thesis has come true."23 AsNewton had discovered that nature, abiding by its own inherent laws, isautonomous and intrinsically intelligible, free and apart from God, so

20 See Rousseau, O.c., 4:587, and Emile, 243-44.21 InJulie, or the New Eloise (1761), Saint Preux tries to show "the origin of physical evil in

the nature of matter, and of moral evil in the liberty of man" (Rousseau, La nouvelle Heloise,in O.c., 2:595).

22 Rousseau, O.c., 4:588, and Emile, pp. 244, 245 (emphasis added).23 Kant, Werke, d. Gustav Hartenstein (Leipzig, 1867-68), 8:630; cited in Ernst Cassirer,

The Philosophy f the Enlightenment, rans. Fritz Koelln and James Pettegrove (Princeton, N.J.:Princeton University Press, 1968), pp. 153-54.

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Rousseau discovered that humanity, abiding by its own nature, is self-directing. Since both nature and humans experience autonomy, physical

and moral evil ought not to be attributed to God, for God has consentedto permit freedom outside God's self, a freedom that accounts for thewonder of nature and the excellence of humanity. God is justified, Popewas right: for without autonomy, the universe and human existence issimply unimaginable; whereas with freedom, although there is undeni-able risk, there is the possibility of splendor, moral happiness, and love.

To Rousseau, more than to Kant, freedom appeared as an ambiguousgift. While Kant was preoccupied with how to carve out a realm for moralfreedom in a Newtonian, deterministic universe, Rousseau wrestled withthe equivocal nature of freedom itself.24 Increasingly, Rousseau came tosee freedom as a necessary condition for goodness and happiness thatinevitably brings us corruption and sorrow. It is this awkward belief ofRousseau's that gives me pause in the face of Cassirer's interpretation ofKant's remark about Rousseau and Newton. Cassirer takes the commentto refer to a novel solution, proposed by Rousseau, to the problem of evil:the source of evil is neither God nor the individual, but society.25 Cassirermaintains that this solution allowed Rousseau to escape his own dilemma,

namely, his featuring human corruption while adamantly rejecting anyand all notions of original sin or an Augustinian fall. The difficulty, then,was to discover the source of human corruption, and Cassirer insists thatRousseau's solution entailed exonerating the naturally good individualand benevolent God by assigning blame to society. Rousseau, of course,did on occasion seem to state as much. Yet there is another current run-ning in Rousseau's thought: humans have undergone an inevitable fall,and freedom, a natural faculty granted by God, was one of the principalculprits, exposing humans to risk and harm, jeopardizing human good-ness and happiness.

We discover that the facile interpretation of Rousseau's position onevil-namely, that society has corrupted otherwise naturally good hu-mans-slights too much of the bothersome yet provocative ambiguitythat besets Rousseau's actual account. His pessimism is extensive and can-not be directed at society alone, for Rousseau held that the movement ofthe Fall springs, in part, from the individual's breast-from the faculty offreedom and perfectibility, and from the resulting amour propre, exces-

sive preoccupation with self-interest. We should be cautious, however, not

24 Yet, see Gordon Michalson's excellent work, Fallen Freedom (Cambridge: CambridgeUniversity Press, 1990), pp. 53-69, for a more nuanced and novel view of Kant, freedom,and radical evil as found in Kant's Religion within the Limits of Reason Alone.

25 See Cassirer, The Philosophy of the Enlightenment, pp. 154-57, or The Question of Jean-Jacques Rousseau (n. 2 above), pp. 72-77.

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to speak dualistically of individualistic versus social determinants of evil.Evil arose naturally from individuals in society-a natural location for

humans. By "natural" I refer to the ease, depicted in the second Discours,that marked the human journey out of the Garden to the City. The pathto Lisbon was fairly smooth. Ironically, it began with natural disasters,such as earthquakes, that inspired the first humans to gather together, infact, to become the first humans. The innate faculty of freedom allowedthis gathering, and the innate faculty of perfectibility encouraged it. Togather, then, is natural; tragically, it is also to court harm.

In the second Discours, Rousseau offered his account of how increasedneeds and desires of the early individuals in society led to a heightenedinterdependency, especially as people sought to satisfy the demands ofamour propre. Lisbon was the natural result of the tangled web of psy-chological, sociological, and economic interdependence. A glance at thefrieze, View of Lisbon, an early-eighteenth-century sixty-five-foot pan-oramic of the city, reveals the intricacy of such mutual dependence. Eachlovely blue-and-white painted tile bears the lines that connect the heightsand depths, the wealth and poverty, the generosity and greed of Lisbon.26In the beginning, it was an earthquake-a manifestly natural act-thatbroke off a

segmentof the continent and

compelledthe solitaires to face

each other and develop language-a manifestly social act.27 From oneearthquake, then, Lisbon arose, and from another it fell. The flights anddrops of humanity, I am arguing, are as natural as those quakes, and associal as the acquisition of language and the construction of tall buildings.If the first quake illustrates the natural procession to the City, the secondquake illuminates the failures of the City. We naturally became social, andsocially we-as individuals and as communities-failed.

It would seem that once again Rousseau stood at the crossroads of opti-mism and pessimism, this time at the intersection of the heartening Leib-niz and the cynical Voltaire. This site explains why the relentless socialcritic, Jean-Jacques Rousseau, could insist to Voltaire, optimistically, thatall things considered the universe is well crafted: a truly excellent cre-ation designed to promote the general good and even, with respect tohumans, "freedom, goodness, and happiness"; that, in spite of our prodi-gious suffering, to have lived is better than not to have lived at all, because"the sweet feeling of existence" defies measurement by any utilitarian

ledgerof

pleasureand

pain;and that,

thoughwe

necessarilyencounter

physical evil and inevitably meet and commit moral evil, we are free to

26 Viewof Lisbon, fresco from the first quarter of the eighteenth century, Museu Nacionaldo Azulego, Lisbon.

27 See Rousseau, the second Discours (n. 1 above), p. 89, and O.c., 3:168-69.

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accept the former patiently and to combat the latter vigorously. Theseare the broad and bold strokes of Rousseau's optimism.

Note, however, that this optimism does not hold that someday historywill disclose that all misfortune so-called had actually complied with amarvelous, detailed plan of providence. This instrumental view, oftenassociated with Leibniz and Pope, lacks the tragic cast of Rousseau'sthought. Like Voltaire, he could not countenance attempts to rationalizethe largest portion of our suffering; how could unnecessary harm bejusti-fied? Perhaps he came close to offering such ajustification by maintainingthat the social and psychological conditions of goodness and happinessare the same as those of vice and misery. Yet he never went so far as tolink, logically or ontologically, human happiness and suffering. We donot need to experience pain in order to comprehend happiness; and thefreedom that permits goodness does not require evil. It is his perceptionof the gratuitous nature of our pain that curbs Rousseau's optimism andhighlights the tragic visage of his pessimism.

Knowing that we could have done much better is the counterweightto "the sweet feeling of existence."28 Rousseau lamented bitterly thoseneedless human works that mutilate the goodness of creation-defacing

beauty, corrupting innocence, shredding equality. Moreover, his pessi-mism outstripped the Enlightenment environmental view of evil, namely,the view that evil is fundamentally the product of social prejudice, igno-rance, and superstition. The depths of Rousseau's pessimism reacheddeep into the human soul. Although he would not assert, with Augustine,that sinfulness is a necessary condition of humanity, he nonetheless re-jected the Enlightenment optimist's view that evil is as corrigible as thesocial structures and prejudices that produced it. If evil were solely theresult of unfortunate social conventions, we could have unlimited hopein future designs, having learned from past mistakes. Rousseau, however,could not look sanguinely to the future because of the regularity of mis-takes made in the past. On occasion, he even depicted the Fall and, dueto its ubiquity, the serpent-amour propre-to be as natural as humangoodness itself.

This is surely the nadir of Rousseau's pessimism. Starobinski hasclaimed that Rousseau's view is that "evil is produced by history and soci-ety without altering the essence of the individual." Evil, in this view, is

"relegated to the periphery of being."29 I have argued, however, thatRousseau's position is bleaker. The journey out of the Garden was moreof an inevitable departure than an accidental aberration. In the second

28 See Rousseau, "Lettre a Voltaire," O.c., 4:1062-63.29 Starobinski (n. 2 above), pp. 20-21.

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Discours, one discovers Rousseau's grim principle: alone, in the Garden,we were neither happy nor good; together, in the City, we suffer and arewicked.

Freedom,our

giftand

curse,shares the same natural status

as"man's natural goodness." That is our predicament. Rousseau had nointerest in the metaphysical problem, "How are we to account for moralfreedom, given Newtonian necessity?" He wrestled instead with themoral and political difficulty, "How are we-as individuals and as a soci-ety-to govern freedom, given that it leads to our grandeur and ourdepravity?" The universe may be fair and existence per se may be sweet,yet city dwellers have consistently chosen to erect injustice and burythings lovely and beautiful.

Nonetheless, to Voltaire Rousseau concluded his letter as the optimist:"Hope makes everything beautiful." In contrast to the comfortable andsuccessful Voltaire who can "find only evil on earth," Rousseau, in spiteof his sundry griefs, finds that "all is good."30 His abiding hope in provi-dence, that is, in the goodness of the universal arrangement of things,survived his bitter pessimism. Ironically, this hope was nourished in partby his engagement with the pessimistic Augustinian tradition, for thattradition affirms both the considerable depravity of humanity and the

unequivocal goodnessof God's creation. This

tradition,which

beganin

opposition to the Manichaean dualism between Good and Evil, insistedthat evil does not exist alongside goodness as an independent principleor entity; rather, evil is the absence of good, as darkness is the absence oflight. Evil results from disordered loves, the outcome of the will placinglower goods above higher ones. Food and sex, for example, are goodsworthy of love, yet they can lead to gluttony and licentiousness if lovedexcessively.

Pascal and Malebranche, among others, had introduced Rousseau to

this peculiarity in the Augustinian tradition, namely, that its pessimisticassessment of humanity is matched by its optimistic view that evil essen-tially is nothing. Still, practically speaking, such Augustinian optimismdoes not amount to much. Because of an impaired will, humans, sur-rounded by the good gifts of God, inevitably deform them. It is this para-dox in Augustinian thought that inspired Rousseau to claim, often withinthe same paragraph, that there is no general evil, only humans endlesslybegetting particular evils as they go about disarranging an otherwisegood, orderly universe.31 Augustinian "optimism" thus

palesin the face

of Enlightenment optimism, for while the former holds that creation isessentially good (barring the certain pain and wickedness introduced byan invariably chaotic human will), the latter claims that the phrase "All s

30 Rousseau, "Lettre a Voltaire," O.c., 4:1074.31 See, e.g., Rousseau, O.c., 4:588, and Emile (n. 3 above), p. 244.

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good" should be substituted with "All will be good someday"-that is,when even the human will shall be healed through education and otherreformed social institutions. Such

thoroughgoing redemptionin the Au-

gustinian view, in contrast, arrives only on death. Even our best reformsare limited by human frailty and degeneracy; radical liberation cannot beachieved in human history. Not surprisingly, Rousseau maintained thesame, both in Emile and to Voltaire: order returns only on death; at death,everything becomes truly beautiful, truly good.32 From this hope, Rous-seau secured much metaphysical comfort, and with it he abandonedmuch, though not all, of his peers' confidence in future reforms.

AT THE CROSSROADS AGAIN

Contrary to the standard interpretations of Rousseau, our investigationreveals that he depicted evil-like sociability, like history-as an inevi-table and eradicable feature of human moral existence. Nothing less thanmoral evil can be expected from creatures naturally endowed with thegift of freedom and perfectibility. This pessimism, we have seen, Rous-seau appropriated from a French Augustinian tradition. We have alsonoted, however, that Rousseau refused to grant evil an independent sta-tus: evil is essentially the absence of good, a disruption wrought by freewill of God's good and orderly creation. Predictably, theologians havemeticulously surveyed, delineated, and cataloged the assorted ways thathumans sin against the divine order; typically, pride-exalting love ofself above all other loves, especially love of God-is ranked as the princi-pal sin. The French Augustinian tradition was no different, for there wefind Pascal, among others, depicting pride (amour propre) as that incor-rigible disposition that opposes God's general will.33Yet this same tradi-

tion frequently maintained that humans originally possessed, like Godhimself, a wholesome self-love (amour de soi). This salutary love of self,however, toppled with the Fall, and thereby at length fell from the sightand comment of the theologians. Rousseau, in contrast to the theolo-gians, never lost sight of the laudable love of self, amour de soi.

His distinctive contribution to both Augustinian and Enlightenmenttraditions springs from his preoccupation with the two loves, amour desoi (innocuous self-love) and amour propre (excessive self-regard). Theattention Rousseau gave to the two loves is relevant now as we ask ourfinal question of Rousseau, namely, What would count as unmitigatedevil? In light of Rousseau's depiction of the Fall and of the human fallen

32 See Rousseau, "Lettre a Voltaire," O.c., 4:1075, Emile, O.c., 4:589-90, and Emile (Englished.), pp. 245-46.

33 See, e.g., Pascal, Pensdes, ed. Leon Brunschvicg (Paris: Le Livre de Poche, 1972), pp.216-17 (pars. 473-76).

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condition, it would seem that the fundamental perversion of the goodresults from the metamorphosis of amour de soi to amour propre and fromthe concomitant transformation of

compassion to callousness. Put some-what differently, insofar as we can identify something that would qualifyas unmitigated evil-the principal source of all other evils-we could de-scribe it as the unnecessary opposition to the solitaires' natural maxim,"Do good to yourself with as little evil as possible to others."34 The cor-ruption of amour de soi, gentle self-love, leads to the envy, contempt, andinequality that flow from amour propre; the corruption ofpitie, uncom-plicated compassion, leads to the social negligence, personal parsimony,and ubiquitous cruelty that spring from indifference to grief and suffer-

ing. To abide by the natural maxim is to endure, in every situation, thegoodness of creation; to work against the maxim is to obstruct or evadethat goodness. If elemental evil is to oppose salutary self-love and pity,then the prospect of reversing or even curbing this epidemic is faint, be-cause the march away from the Garden's maxim and toward the City'scorruption, while not logically necessary, was practically inevitable. Forthis reason, all things considered, Rousseau's stance is profoundly pessi-mistic. Moreover, the departure from the Garden also led to the opportu-

nityfor human moral

existence,and for this reason Rousseau's

thoughtis profoundly tragic.What, then, can we say of the dispute between Voltaire and Rousseau

occasioned by the earthquake that leveled Lisbon? In most ways, theirarguments missed more than they clashed with each other. They werefighting different battles. Voltaire attacked the optimistic theological doc-trine that held that all things happen for a reason, for a good reason-God's. Rousseau, for his part, attacked those who would blame God ornature for the woes that humans had brought on themselves. There is

here much common ground between them, if they had cared to notice it(a regard that, with age, both would increasingly fail to practice). Bothcombated the belief that all painful events are in fact disguised blessings;both resisted the consolation that our past and current sorrows are stonespaving the way to a more glorious future; both refused to justify, in thename of a divine plan, corrupt human deeds.

Still, differences separated them. Rousseau held that moral evil is aninescapable result of that providential gift, freedom, and that humanmoral existence, without freedom, is

unimaginable.This is not to

saythat

he excused moral evil as simply the price of freedom and the moral life;his lifelong infatuation with the untroubled, mostly amoral solitaires ex-emplifies his conviction that moral development cannot be deemed un-

34 Rousseau, the second Discours, and O.c., 3:156.

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ambiguous progress. Nonetheless, he avowed that in spite of the chaosand sorrow caused by freedom, life is still worth living: our grief is

trumped by that "sweet feeling of existence." This optimistic belief was,in part, theologically required of Rousseau. He was determined to defendGod against Voltaire and others who seemed, at least implicitly, o mockGod's good creation. Rousseau's main apologetic was to demonstrate hatit was not God but humans who author the particular evils tormentingtheir lives. Yet he wanted his defense to go further, est some should claimthat God's creation of humans was an unequivocal botch and that Godnever should have enabled humans to hurt themselves so.35With this inmind, he asserted to Voltaire hat, all things considered, "it is better forus to be than not to be ... even if we would expect no compensation forthe evils we have suffered."36 his avowal was not a testimony to humantenacity but to the abiding goodness of God's creation. If Rousseau hadbeen a poet he could have written these lines of Gerard Manley Hopkins:

All is seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil;And wears man's smudge and shares man's smell ...And for all this, nature is never spent.37

To assert, however, that creation and human existence per se remainpreferable to nothingness is hardly the height of optimism. Unlike Vol-taire, who was rather surprised by the message delivered by the Lisbonquake, "life really is hard," Rousseau's response to the quake was alongthe lines, "Well, what did you expect? Isn't this what has been happeningall along? This is what humans do: they make their lives shaky and unsafeand then blame anyone but themselves when it all comes down." Whennot being rhetorical, Rousseau would not have questioned the genuineachievements of Lisbon; nor, however, would he have been astonishedthat those achievements were accompanied by certain sorrow. Again, thisis not to say that there is a necessary nexus between our accomplishmentsand sorrows; while freedom allows us to move both upward and down-ward, it never requires us to plunge. We ourselves do that, even if we doit predictably.

We have seen Rousseau at the crossroads more than once now. First,he stood at the intersection of Enlightenment optimism and Augustinian

35This is precisely the issue Voltaire would later raise in Candide,where Pangloss andCandide, reflecting on human misery, ask the best philosopher in Turkey "why such astrange animal as man had been formed" (Voltaire, Euvres ompletes e Voltaire, d. Theo-dore Besterman Oxford: Voltaire Foundation, 1980], 48:257), and Candide, rans. RobertM. Adams, in The Norton Anthology of World Masterpieces New York: Norton, 1979], p. 299).

36Rousseau, "Lettre a Voltaire," O.c., 4:1063.37Gerard Manley Hopkins, "God's Grandeur," in The Norton Anthology of Poetry, ed. Alex-

ander Allison et al. (New York: Norton, 1975), p. 424. Compare to Rousseau, "Lettre aVoltaire," O.c., 4:1063, 1067-68.

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pessimism. From that position, he reminded us of our responsibility forourselves as well as our impotence to save ourselves. Now we see him ata

nearby intersection,located within the

Augustiniantradition. It is

ajunc-ture from which Rousseau could declare "all is beautiful," "all is good,"while at the same time insist that humans inevitably obstruct or evadebeauty and goodness. He seems to have once again sought a crosswayfrom which he could depict our powers and obligations as well as ourfated helplessness. As creatures made in the image of God, we share inthe abiding goodness of creation and have the capacity to be "good, free,and happy."38 We are born with gentle amour de soi and pitie, with heav-enly freedom and perfectibility, and with that enduring "sweet feeling of

existence." From the same crossway, however, Rousseau could glance theother way and report on our prodigious penchant to sabotage our oppor-tunities for goodness, freedom, and happiness. It is this predictable yetgratuitous nature of our failures that renders Rousseau's account of theFall and the exiled condition both pessimistic and tragic.

This juncture, which underscores both the goodness of creation andthe depravity of humans, pervades Christianity and was inherited by oneof its proudest children, the culture of Enlightenment. That heir affirmedthe

goodnessof Nature as well as the

corruptionof

pastand

presentcivilizations that have departed decisively from Nature. Yet the Enlight-enment escaped the strains of this juncture by issuing an assuring proph-ecy: from yesterday's darkness and superstition Europe is marching intolight and knowledge; saving scientia is on the horizon. Many even heldthat past miseries and errors were necessary for future felicity and en-lightenment. This cheery forecast is one of the principal differences be-tween Augustinian pessimism and Enlightenment optimism. The Au-gustinian tradition, to be sure, also promises a bright future for the saved,

but this future arrives only after history. On this question, the questionof redemption, Rousseau would once again position himself tenselybetween the two traditions.

The question of restoration dominated much of Rousseau's thought.He posed two different, even contrary, remedies: the public path to re-demption found most notably in The Social Contract and The Government fPoland (1771); and the private path found most notably in The New Eloise(1761) and Reveries of the Solitary Walker 1776-78). The public path pre-scribes

redemption bymeans of the reformed

society;the

private path bymeans of an escape into solitude. Rousseau developed his public and pri-vate remedies at the crossroads of Augustinian pessimism and Enlighten-ment optimism. The public path reflects the Enlightenment hope that

38 Rousseau, O.c., 4:587, and Emile, p. 244.

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superstition, fanaticism, and tyranny-the chief sources of evil-can beovercome by reforming society in the light of reason; the private path

reflects the Augustinian conviction that humans, because of their inwardfallen condition, cannot cure themselves of sin or evil. The one recom-mends that individuals ensconce themselves snugly within the enlight-ened, educative community; the other that individuals extricate them-selves from commitments and other social entanglements hat exacerbatethe human propensity to inflict harm. At the crossroads, n one directionRousseau beheld humans able to transform their societies humanely; nthe other, he perceived humans destined for immense suffering-suffer-ing that to a degree could be restricted by dodging social involvement.Rousseau never managed to rectify his vexing, double vision. Ultimately,he insisted on the necessity of both community and solitude, the publicand private, even as he detailed the inevitable conflict between them. Asit turns out, then, the public and private paths and any attempt to medi-ate the two cannot save us from our propensity to hurt ourselves. Allremedies, Rousseau came to realize, are partial. There are no absolutecures.

Did Voltaire ever reply to Rousseau's engthy letter on the disaster of

Lisbon? Rousseau believed that Candide was his response.39At the end ofthat book Voltaire, hough ironically t could have been Rousseau, con-cluded with the advice, "We must cultivate our garden."40 This, too, isRousseau's counsel to those who left the Garden for the City.

39Rousseau told the Prince of Wirttemberg in 1764, "My letter gave birth to Candide;Candide as his answer o it. I wanted to philosophize with Voltaire; n return he made funof me" (MS R285, fol. 123, Bibliotheque Publique t Universitaire, Neuchatel; cited in, andtranslated by, Maurice Cranston, TheNobleSavage Chicago: University of Chicago Press,1991], p. 31).

40 "II aut cultiver otre ardin"; ee Voltaire, Euvres ompletes e Voltaire, d. Besterman,48:260, and Candide, . 301.

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Documents

1995, Apr, Tragedy and Theodicy a Meditation on Rousseau and Moral Evil