God and Evil in the Best

Leibniz, Classical Theism, and the Problem of Evil - Chapter 3 (part 3)

Greetings, subscribers. As followers of Theological Letters know, I’m feverishly working to finish my forthcoming book on Leibniz and the problem of evil, and I have promised to post fresh installments of my progress every Sunday.

To date, I have posted the Introduction, Chapter 1, Chapter 2, and the first two parts of Chapter 3. Today, I post the third installment of Chapter 3, God and Evil in the Best.

If you have yet to read all that comes before, I recommend you do so for context. Links to all prior sections are below. Be watching for the next installment of Chapter 3 next Sunday. Enjoy!

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Chapter 3

God and Evil in the Best

Ivan Karamzov’s objection from evil (quoted in the previous chapter) is typical of the pessimist. He ushers forth a train of events, horrifying to the imagination, and demands an explanation for why God would permit such atrocities. The question is certainly fair, and Leibniz devotes ample attention to it. However, to begin here is to bypass a host of questions no less thorny, though virtually invisible to all except the metaphysician. So what are these questions? Daylight breaks on the answer when we begin with ontology. What is evil? And how does “it” come “to be” in our world? 

We brushed against such questions when discussing the Christian view that evil is a privation of goodness, not a substantial reality. As we saw, the concern is that Christianity firmly holds that God is Good and the Author of all things. To suggest that evil is a substantial reality requires a compromise in one of these two doctrines — an unthinkable proposition to the Christian mind. Hence, Christianity has always said that all of creation is good, and evil is introduced to the world by creatures, who turn away from goodness by choice, corrupting and twisting it. In short, creatures are authors of evil, not God.

Yet, such a response does not fully blot the name of God from the author page of evil. Consider, first, finitude. Leibniz recognizes that finitude is not a positive attribute but a negative one. Though our language identifies the “infinite” with a negation (not-finite), the inverse is true, ontologically speaking. God’s boundless perfection lacks nothing. Creatures are the ones in whom we find both positive and negative properties — having and lacking various perfections. Hence, Leibniz is forced to ask whether creation, lacking the infinite perfection of God, is innately privative, tainted by evil by some metaphysical necessity. 

Even if one can deny the point, he has not fully escaped the question of whether God has woven evil into the fabric of our world. Suffering is ubiquitous in the life of animals, including the rational animal, human. Yes, we can lay many instances of suffering at the feet of those who defy the will of God, but surely we cannot blame sinners for every instance of pain. Countless natural disasters, maladies, and infirmities befall man with the only oppressor being nature herself. By all appearances, such evils are part of the order of nature. If true, then in what sense is God not the Author of these natural evils?  

Should we escape these first two problems unscathed, a third follows on their heels. In accord with Christian tradition, Leibniz maintains that God does not simply create the world but upholds it moment to moment. That is to say, the contingency of creatures requires an ongoing supply of existence by the Author of reality. But granting the point, how is God not a direct participant in every sin? Evil may not be an additive property — fine — but the beings who perpetrate evil are certainly real. If God supplies their being, does he not participate in their deeds?

As I said, this trio of questions is in some ways thornier than those posed by Ivan. One can anticipate how the theist might reply to the pessimist by appealing to free will or future judgment, answers that go to the nature of things (the necessary indeterminacy of free beings) and the righting of wrongs (God rewarding and punishing by future judgment). But the metaphysical lens brings into focus God’s direct participation in evil, either in its production at creation or in his production of evil actors. 

Leibniz is all too aware of such issues. In fact, his taxonomy of evil serves to highlight these very problems. When speaking about the various types of evil, he names three — metaphysical, physical, and moral — which correspond to the aforementioned problems. He writes, “Metaphysical evil consists in mere imperfection, physical evil in suffering, and moral evil in sin” (G 6:115/H 136). So, before delving into the problem of divine permission, let us begin with the metaphysical side of evil and God’s role therein.

We begin with creation. Leibniz identifies metaphysical evil with imperfection. So defined, the term appears to echo the view that evil is a privation — defect or corruption being the primary trait of evil. But Leibniz’s remarks go further. Recognizing that God alone is infinite perfection, he concludes that finitude per se is metaphysical evil. He writes, “For we must consider that there is an original imperfection in the creature before sin, because the creature is limited in its essence” (G 6:115/H 135, bold added).¹ Such a conclusion naturally raises a question: Does Leibniz believe that creation is necessarily evil? If yes — and it certainly sounds that way — then his defense of God is off to a very rocky start. For his first premise is that finite beings are necessarily evil, and God actively produces an infinite number of them. One could hardly imagine a more explicit declaration that God is the source of evil!² 

To be fair, if Leibniz were to say that creation is inevitably flawed, he would not be the first to argue the point. Recall that in NeoPlatonism, evil is explained by the inherent instability of matter and its inability to perfectly replicate the Ideas of God.³ Though contrary to Christian tradition, such notions certainly persisted in Leibniz’s day.⁴ But is the philosopher of Leipzig in the ranks of these Christian divergents? 

For my part, I think such a reading would be uncharitable, and despite appearances to the contrary, Leibniz’s view is closely aligned with classical Christianity.⁵ Yes, Leibniz refers to metaphysical evil as an “original imperfection” that precedes the Fall of angels and of man (G 6:115/H 135). And as Rutherford points out, both physical evil (pain) and moral evil (sin) find their footing in this original imperfection — a fact we will discuss in due course.⁶ But it is not clear that Leibniz intends such claims to diverge from Christian tradition.

Let’s begin with the latter concept that physical evil (pain) and moral evil (sin) find a foothold in finitude. Such a claim is far from scandalous to historical Christianity. Standard in Christian metaphysics is the notion that creatures, having come from non-being, can return to non-being. The point was popularized in the Latin West by Augustine and echoes in later scholastics.⁷ But the position was also ubiquitous in the Christian East, taking confessional significance during the Arian dispute. One of the central charges against Arius was that if the Son of God is created, as Arius taught, then he is changeable and corruptible of metaphysical necessity. The charge laid bare the Christian metaphysics of creatureliness. Like Aristotle, Christians understood matter to be a substratum of potential. God produces matter and draws its potentialities into concrete reality, giving existence to possible beings. Yet, none of the properties that manifest within matter are native to it. So every property that matter acquires it can also release, returning to its primordial potential. Hence, every creature is inherently changeable (given its material nature),⁸ and such change can be for better or worse — which is to say, every creature is corruptible. The very potential that makes generation (coming to be) possible also underwrites corruption (ceasing to be). In short, to be created is to be corruptible, according to the pro-Nicenes.⁹

Unlike in NeoPlatonism, however, Christians did not see corruption as inevitable. Evil only enters the picture if free creatures choose to turn away from goodness. Evil is thus possible — and innately so in creatures — but not necessary. Yet, there can be no doubt that the possibility of moral evil finds its footing in creatureliness per se. On this point, Leibniz is far from an outlier. But again, moral evils are neither inevitable nor necessary, according to Christian tradition.¹⁰ Hence, if Leibniz equates “created” with “corrupt” — as opposed to “corruptible” — then this would mark a decisive break with Christian tradition. Yet, there is good reason to think this is not what Leibniz intends when branding “finitude” as “imperfection.”

To see why, let’s begin with those points where Leibniz plainly echoes Christian tradition. First, he insists that not even God can produce a creature without limitations. To do so, would be to produce a second God, not a creature (A 6.4:1683). The point is well-established in both Augustine (as Leibniz notes)¹¹ and in the pro-Nicene rejection of Arianism.¹² Second, Leibniz insists, with the pro-Nicenes, that every creature qua creature is changeable of metaphysical necessity (Mon. §10/E 706).¹³ Third, Leibniz recognizes the Christian connection between the innate traits of creatureliness and the possibility of creaturely corruption (G 6:286). And fourth, he locates corruption in the misuse of will by intelligent creatures (G 6:209-10, 261). In addition, we have already seen his affirmation of the Christian view that evil is a privation of good, not a substantive reality of its own (e.g., G 6:383). 

Where Leibniz diverges from Christian tradition is on the more subtle distinction between privation and negation. To avoid the very problem raised by Leibniz’s concept of metaphysical evil, scholastics drew a distinction between the privation of a native good and the absence or negation of a good that is not native to a being. To illustrate, sight is native to the eye. So an eye that suffers blindness suffers privation of a due perfection. An ear, by contrast, lacks sight, but not due to any corruption. For the nature of an ear does not include this perfection. To quote Aquinas, 

Because evil is the privation of good, and not a mere negation, … therefore not every defect of good is an evil, but the defect of the good which is naturally due. For the want of sight is not an evil in a stone, but it is an evil in an animal; since it is against the nature of a stone to see.¹⁴ 

Such is the distinction between privation, which is corruptive, and negation, which is a suitable absence.

The distinction captures a point made in the prior chapter about the Chain of Being in classical thought. When exploring our analogy of orchestral instruments, we pointed out that each instrument has a distinct nature, and some natures are more limited than others. The cello is more capable of carrying the voice of the composer than the timpani, and the timpani more capable than the triangle. Yet, this is not an indictment of either timpani or triangle. Each instrument plays a unique and indispensable role in articulating the voice of the composer, and each can be perfect for what it is. Such is the privation-negation distinction. The inherent limitations of a triangle or of a timpani are not privative. The perfections and capacities they have are suitable to their nature, and whatever is lacking is equally suitable. Hence, the hierarchy of beings in the Chain display a relative perfection — relative, that is, to the being’s nature.

Now, the natural question is this. If Leibniz does not believe evil is innate to finitude, then why not avoid such philosophical headaches by simply using the negatio-privatio distinction of the scholastics? Surely he knew of the distinction. I believe the answer is this. Leibniz displays an inclination toward emanationism.¹⁵ Yes, he uses the term “prime matter,” but as we saw in the prior chapter, his meaning is quite different than what we find in Aristotle or the early and medieval Christians. Leibniz has in mind instances of passivity in which monads change contrary to their good by confused perceptions, which is hardly the meaning of the term amongst his predecessors (Mon. §§18-19, 48-9/E 706, 708-9). This difference, I believe, explains his chosen language. 

In the classical conception of creation ex nihilo, properties are additive: God creates matter and draws its potentialities into being, a fact that Leibniz recognizes (e.g., G 6:286/H 300).¹⁶ When Leibniz speaks about creation, by contrast, he does not describe the production of a material substratum to which properties are added. Instead, he speaks of possibles within God straining for existence (e.g., G 7:194) and about the perfection of the universe as an emanation of God’s own perfection (G 6:109-10/H 228). The theory that seems to emerge is one in which God produces finite beings by applying various negations to his own infinite perfection, like a sculptor subtracting from marble. From this subtractive process follows the array of beings in our world, each displaying different types, degrees, and combinations of perfections — perfections that are God’s own but with limits.

Notice that Leibniz believes the building blocks of the cosmos are spiritual in nature, and he ascribes three central traits to every monad: the internal force toward change, perception, and spontaneity. These three traits correspond to the three “primacies” in God — power, knowledge, and will. As Rutherford observes, “In creation, God communicates his perfections to finite beings, thereby endowing them with an intrinsic force (the analogue of divine power), a faculty of perception (the analogue of divine knowledge), and a faculty of appetite (the analogue of divine will).”¹⁷ It seems, for Leibniz, this may not be mere analogy. Rather, it may well be that God produces a monad by giving it these three primacies in some measure, the creature being divine perfection paired with limit — essentially an ontological binary code.¹⁸ As he explains,

There are in [God] three primacies, power, knowledge and will; and from these there results the operation or creature, which is varied according to the different combinations of unity and zero, or rather of the positive with the privative, for the privative is nothing but the limit and there are everywhere limits in creatures…. However, the creature is something more than limits, for it has received some perfection or power from God. (Grua 126)

This, I think, is why Leibniz uses the language of “imperfection” (imperfection originale) when speaking of finitude (G 6:115). The term indicates precisely what Leibniz means: Perfection negated. And because he does not see creation as an additive process (adding properties to matter) but as a limiting process (negating God’s infinite perfection) the privatio-negatio distinction proves redundant. If a creature lacks a perfection, this is not because God withheld it in the additive process (negation), marking something distinct from the loss of a suitable perfection (privation). Rather, creation itself is a privative process, subtracting from infinite perfection whatever does not belong to the would-be creature in order to produce a finite being. Hence, Leibniz collapses the terms. 

Yet, this collapse does not tell us whether this original “imperfection” is evil in the privatio sense. Yes, infinite perfection is negated in the production of a creature, and creation is thus inherently privative, but the creature is not due infinite perfection, nor could it be. For to produce a being of infinite perfection is to produce a second God, not a creature. So, does this original “imperfection” indicate an evil? Or can Leibniz still maintain that there is a difference between a suitable absence and corruptive absence? 

Despite Leibniz’s problematic language (i.e., metaphysical evil), I think there is good reason to think he essentially arrives at the privatio-negatio distinction. Recall in our discussion of the Chain of Being, finitude is an articulation of the divine nature by means of a diversity of intelligible properties, or “being.” Such intelligible properties are not possible without boundaries or limits. But Leibniz, like his Christian forbearers, sees being as good. Were finitude an evil, then every intelligible property would also be an evil, and the diversity of the Chain of Being would thus be a proliferation of evil, not goodness. Yet, Leibniz identifies the diversity of being, which results from varied negations, as good. For example, he writes, 

One does not include among the disorders inequality of conditions, and M. Jacquelot is justified in asking those who would have everything equally perfect, why rocks are not crowned with leaves and flowers? why ants are not peacocks? And if there must needs be equality everywhere, the poor man would serve notice of appeal against the rich, the servant against the master. The pipes of an organ must not be of equal size. (G 6:263/H 278). 

On this point, Maria Rosa Antognazza observes that Louis Bourguet presses Leibniz on this question in his May 15, 1713 letter, asking whether the diversity of being that follows from finitude is in fact an evil. Leibniz tacitly admits the answer is “No.” He thus draws a distinction between finitude, on the one hand, and moral and physical evils, on the other — the latter being corruptions that mark a divergence from goodness as a result of sin. His comments, for all intents and purposes, concede the distinction between privatio (corruptive privation) and negatio (suitable absence), ascribing the latter to pre-Fall creation, not the former.¹⁹

In addition, Leibniz’s distinction between physical and moral evil, which we will discuss momentarily, reflects the Christian notion that creation begins good. Evil (in all its manifestations) scars creation only after and as a result of the Fall of intelligent beings (e.g., G 6:261). Such a claim can only be maintained if our original finitude reflects suitable limits (negatio), distinct from the corruptions (privatio) that befall creation because of sin. In other words, Leibniz’s terms are only coherent if finitude (or “metaphysical evil”) is not truly evil.²⁰

One further point of note, Leibniz ascribes his chosen terminology to Augustine. For example, “[Augustine] states that from the substance of God only a God can proceed, and that thus the creature is derived from nothingness. That is what makes the creature imperfect, faulty and corruptible” (G 6:285-6/H300).²¹ Leibniz cannot possibly mean that Augustine believes creatures were created evil. For Leibniz goes on to acknowledge the point in the very next sentence: “Evil comes not from nature, but from evil will. God can command nothing that would be impossible. ‘Firmissime creditur Deum justum et bonum impossibilia non potuisse praecipere’ [‘It is firmly believed that a just and good God could not command impossible things’]” (G 6:286/H300).²² Hence, “imperfect” and “faulty” in such contexts cannot mean corrupt or sinful. Rather, it indicates only limitations (negatio) suitable to creatures — suitable because such limits are what distinguish us from God, him being limitless perfection and we being limited perfection. Yes, evil (privatio) is possible because of such limits, but such corruption is neither necessary nor inevitable. For it comes not from nature but from will. 

The bottomline is this. While Leibniz’s peculiar metaphysics lead him to collapse the negatio-privatio distinction (e.g., G 6:383),²³ and thus to problematically brand finitude “metaphysical evil,” his position is conceptually aligned with the Christian commitment to the original goodness of creation. Even if the Chain of Being is produced by a privative process, the original limits of creation are suitable to the nature of the things made — each link in the Chain displaying a relative perfection suitable to its station. The diversity of the cosmos is not, then, a corrupt deprivation of goodness but a chorus of intelligible, finite expressions of otherwise infinite and ungraspable perfection. In short, all that God makes is good, and there is no “fault” in him for having produced finite beings. Fault resides solely in the free creatures who turn away from their Maker by choice, corrupting what he has made.

While I suspect few would find it objectionable that there is nothing evil about finitude, the notion that there is nothing inherently evil about creation is more challenging. Even granting a world void of sin, what of pain? Suffering is no doubt an evil. Were the world void of wrongdoing, the quantity of evil in our world would radically decrease — no doubt — but can we really say evil would disappear? What of disasters, accidents, malities, and deformities? Are not these physical evils (to use Leibniz’s term) part of the order of nature? If so, then God is not absolved of evil. For moral evil may belong to his creatures, but physical evil is his invention. 

On this point, Antognazza has rightly observed a connection between Leibniz’s views and those of Augustine. Leibniz’s distinction between physical and moral evil echoes the Augustinian distinction between the “evil of sin” (malum culpae) and the “evil of punishment” (malum poenae) — a distinction that, once again, echoes in scholastics with whom Leibniz was well acquainted, such as Thomas Aquinas and Francisco Suárez.²⁴

Taking Suárez as our guide, he echoes Augustine by suggesting there are only two types of evil in the world: The evils committed by intelligent beings due to some lack and the evils that come upon creatures as a punishment for sin.²⁵ The dichotomy may seem simplistic, but we can see why it naturally follows from the Augustinian mind. Because evil has no place in the founding of creation, sin is first ushered into the world by free choice (malum culpae), and the Fall of rational beings carries consequences (malum poenae), not only for the sinner but also for the world — sickness, abnormalities, miseries, disease, death, and even “natural” calamities. Some such evils are part of the general punishment of creation for sin, while others are inflicted more directly by God as punishment for particular wrongdoings. But either way, any evil we might name is traceable to either sin or the consequences of sin. In short, though we are accustomed to a world with disasters, disease, and death, the Augustinian position is that these are not part of the original fabric of creation. In a word, the world is Fallen. 

Leibniz more than echoes this sentiment. He employs these same terms when explaining physical and moral evil. In his 1702 Tractatio de Deo et homine (Treatise on God and Man), he writes, “Physical good and evil is usually taken to be the conveniences and inconveniences of intelligent creatures, obviously insofar as something pleasing or annoying befalls them and to this pertains the malum poenae. Finally Moral Good and Evil is a virtuous or a vicious action, and to this pertains the malum culpae.”²⁶ Here, Leibniz follows the Augustinian tradition, deeming physical evil (pain) to be punishment for moral evil (sin) (G 6:261/H 276; also 6:443). As he states in his Theodicy,

Thus also I am justified in restricting myself here to the evil of guilt to account for the evil of punishment, as Holy Scripture does, and likewise well-nigh all the Fathers of the Church and the Preachers…. For God, having found already among things possible, before his actual decrees, man misusing his freedom and bringing upon himself his misfortune, yet could not avoid admitting him into existence, because the general plan required this. (G 6:274-5/H 289-90)

With the Augustinian tradition, then, Leibniz offers a twofold denial. First, neither moral evil nor physical evil are native to our world. Second, neither moral evil nor physical evil are necessary features of the world. Why? Because moral evil enters the story as a misuse of freedom, and physical evil follows as a consequence for sin. Yes, God foreknows that such things will attach to the best, and their attachment does not stay the Creator’s hand. But the fact remains. The presence of both moral and physical evil in our world is a contingent phenomenon, which originates with us, not God. Or to quote Leibniz, “physical evil, that is, sorrows, sufferings, miseries, will be less troublesome to explain, since these are results of moral evil” (G 6:261/H 276). 

Now, the difficulty with such a solution is this. When attributing sin to free beings, the evil is handed fully to the creature who misuses his freedom — he sins, not God. But the language of “punishment” (poena) implies an activity of God. Yes, the creature may occasion punishment by his own free choice, and yes, such punishment would never occur in our world if all creatures obeyed God’s laws. But on this explanation, God is not passive in physical evil. He inflicts it upon his creatures as punishment — punishment that is not part of the original goodness of creation, certainly,  but as punishment nonetheless.