Good. If it is difficult to determine the origin of the beautiful , it is not any less difficult to find the origin of the good . Just as the beautiful is admired in the works of nature and art, the good is loved in those same works. But what is its origin and what is its nature? Do we have a precise notion, a true idea, and an exact definition? What is most troubling is that the word has numerous meanings according to the numerous contexts in which it is used. It can mean a goodness of being , an animal goodness , and even the reasoned goodness characteristic of a being that thinks. Let us try to develop these various meanings.

Goodness of being consists in a certain harmony of attributes, which makes a thing what it is. All beings, when thus considered, are necessarily good , because they possess that which constitutes them such as they are; and it is even impossible for them not to possess it. I further assert that all beings are equally good when we speak of this category of goodness . But in addition to internal connections, which constitute their absolute goodness , they also have external connections, from which issues their relative goodness . Relative goodness consists in the order, arrangement, connections, proportions, and symmetry that beings have with each other. This is the point of departure of that infinite variety of goodness that so clearly distinguishes all beings. They are not all equally noble and perfect: organized matter is no doubt preferable to a rough and shapeless mass. By the same reason, organized matter that is also animate is superior to that which is inanimate; and among animate beings, we understand that some are more perfect than others. One might say that for the perfection of this universe nature has arranged a kind of gradation, which confronts us with ever more perfect beings as we advance higher within the sphere that includes all of them. It is true, however, that these nuances, these imperceptible transitions, are no longer observed when we move from the material world to the spiritual. The passage from the one to the other is immense; but, once we arrive in the spiritual world, who could express the distance that separates the soul of animals from sublime celestial intellects? The nuances that distinguish the different kinds of minds are imperceptible and nevertheless very real. Nothing is slighter than the barrier between instinct and reason, and yet they never merge into one. See the article Mind [Esprit, V, 972] where we carefully characterized the various kinds and assigned, to the extent possible, the limits separating each from the other.

All the beings that compose this enormous whole that we call the universe are not thus equally good ; it is even necessary that they not be. The perfection of this universe results from the variable imperfection of its beings. We understand that the universe would be much less perfect if it included only beings of the same species, even if those beings were the most noble of all those that compose it. Too much uniformity is ultimately displeasing or at the least does not replace variety, which compensates for that which is lacking in finite beings. Would a universe composed of pure intellect be more perfect than it is now? Who does not see that the absence of the material world would leave a huge void in this universe? We could further extend this notion to the question of the simultaneous existence of virtues and vices, a phenomenon of this world in which we are both the spectacle itself and the spectators. A world from which all vices were banished would certainly not be as perfect as a world in which they exist. Virtue in itself is certainly preferable to vice, just as mind is by its nature more noble than body. But when we consider things in relation to the whole, of which they are a part, we easily see that the existence of imperfection in both the physical and the moral universe was necessary in order to achieve a greater perfection.

See the article Manichaeism [X, 22-31], where this argument is more completely developed.

Nothing is more admirable than all of these connections that the Creator's hand established among the different beings. These connections are more or less direct according to the greater or lesser variety of these beings. They are like truths, which are all interconnected by intermediate truths. The goodness of this universe consists in the gradation of the various beings that compose it. They are separated only by nuances, as we observed earlier; there is no gap in the transition from the mineral realm to the plant nor in the transition from the plant realm to the animal; otherwise, according to the illustrious Pope, there would be a void in creation, where, if one rung is removed, the great ladder would be destroyed. If one link is destroyed, the chain of nature is as well, and to the same extent, whether at the 10th or 10,000th link. At this point we would see, to continue the English poet's idea, the Earth lose its balance and deviate from its orbit, the planets and the sun traverse the heavens without any guiding principle, one being collide with another, one world collide with another, the whole of the heavens shaken to their very center, and nature shudder all the way to the throne of God; in a word, all the order of this universe would self-destruct and collapse.

We would have to be brutish and oblivious not to see the dependence and the subordination of all the beings that compose this whole so worthy of our admiration; but we would have to be even worse than brutish and oblivious to attribute this whole to blind chance. See Chance [VIII, 74-75] and Epicureanism [V, 779-785]. The mind cannot fail to admire this multiplicity of connections, these infinite combinations, this order, in a word, this arrangement that connects all the parts of the universe; and we may state that the more connections the mind sees, the greater the goodness of beings will be evident to it in a clear and striking way. God alone knows all the goodness He put in his works, because He alone is capable of completely knowing the precision that radiates in his works, the relations that exist among them, the harmony that makes of them a whole that is both constant and wisely organized, in a word, the order that has been established to preserve them. The chain that pulls together and connects all the parts is not in human hands, but in God's. Small parts of the whole that we are, how could we understand this whole?

We are required to unite the testimony of our reason to the blind testimony of inanimate and material creatures whose beauty, arrangement, and organization so highly proclaim the greatness of the one who made them. A sight worthy of God can be worthy of us as well. Moses recounts that when God had completed the first six days of creation, He looked at all beings at the same time and, having compared them to each other and to the eternal model used in their creation, found their beauty and perfection to be excellent. The universe appeared to His eyes like a painting that He had just finished and to which He had placed the finishing touches.

He found that each part had its purpose, that each detail had its grace and beauty, that each figure was well placed and was pleasing, and that each color was intelligently applied, but especially that the whole was wonderful. He found that even the shadows added a contrast to the composition and that the background, as it faded discretely, caused the foreground to acquire additional force and that the most noticeable objects acquired greater beauty because of the contrast with the background, which in fact was merely the result of an imperceptible diminution of shades and colors.

Whoever should examine this painting more closely would see in this blueprint for creation the blueprint for redemption. If we notice occasional flaws in this immense painting, we should keep in mind that they are shadows that the Creator's hand deliberately added in order to give emphasis to the various elements and that the order and the position of these shadows confer a beauty that the painting would not otherwise have; and we should also keep in mind that to use these flaws as a pretext to criticize the universe and its creator would be similar to a mite whose eyes were focused on the shadows in a painting and who judged the painting to be defective because it reveals neither organization nor an appropriate use of color.

Animal goodness is an organization of the passions [2] that every sentient and well-crafted creature receives from nature. It is in this meaning of the word that we say that a hunting dog is good when it is neither cowardly nor stubborn; we also have this meaning in mind when we say that a man is well-constructed when there is exactly the kind of proportion in his limbs that will enable him to fulfill as well as possible the functions for which providence has destined him.

Animal goodness will be all the more perfect to the extent that well-proportioned limbs will conspire in a more advantageous way to fulfill their animal functions. In accordance with the laws established by God, the soul is the locus of various sensations that are occasioned by various impressions that have been made on our sensory organs. If these sensations were not stimulated there would be a physiological defect. We can see a very tangible example of this in people who are paralyzed. Physiological defects can also be seen in those who are subject to convulsions, which they can neither stop nor interrupt. We can say the same regarding those who are mad and intellectually deficient. The former have too many ideas and the latter not enough, due to a structural defect of the brain. There are some people who are born with no appreciation of music and others who find the most superb poetry to be like a useless noise. This defect in the organs of these individuals is, as we see, a physiological defect. We can say, in general, that this is the major defect of these dull and rudimentary minds whose intellectual capacity falls short of the simplest reasoning. The bodily organs, which veil and envelope these minds, are so thick and massive that it is scarcely possible for them to use their faculties for their intended functions. The greater the sensitivity of these organs, the greater is the intensity of the sensations that are stimulated. There are animals that surpass us in the sensitivity of their organs: the lynx's vision is sharper than ours; the eagle can stare into the sun while this would blind us; dogs have a more highly developed sense of smell than we; the spider's sense of touch is more subtle than ours; and the bee’s instinct is more refined and more certain than our own. But let us not envy in the least the advantage animals have in this domain. If we had the microscopic eye of the lynx, we would see mites, but our vision would not be able to embrace the heavens. If our sense of touch were more sensitive and more developed, we would be under constant attack from the surrounding physical environment; pain and illness would reach us through each pore. If we had a more acute sense of smell, the rose’s fragrance would make us feel unwell and would violently affect the brain’s neurons. If we had a more sensitive ear, the sounds of nature would always be like crashing thunder, and we would be deafened by the wind’s slightest rustle. Let us accept that the organs that nature has bestowed on us are proportioned to our place in the universe. If they were either less or more refined, we would no longer find ourselves adapted to our purely animal functions, which are a consequence of our constitution. After we have weighed everything in reason’s scale, we are obliged to recognize providence’s goodness and wisdom, not only in what it grants us, but also in what it denies; and, in spite of pride and reason, which go astray, we are further obliged to agree with Alexander Pope, concerning this obvious truth, that everything that is, is good . We consider ourselves to be debased because it was our creator’s wish that we be subject to our bodily organs; but, in examining this question more profoundly, we might find that this influence of the soul’s union with the body works perhaps more to the advantage of our intellectual faculties than to their detriment. See the articles : Soul [ Esprit , V, 972] and Resurrection [XIV, 196-197], where this question is debated.

Reasoned goodness , a quality characteristic of thinking beings, consists in the relations between customs and the essential, eternal and unchanging order, the rule and model of all reflective acts: it is the same thing as virtue. See this article Virtue [XV, 176-182].

Up to this point, we have examined the good only from the perspective of its connection with our mind. Understood in this sense, it is included in the idea of the beautiful , which is nothing more than the perception of relations ; see this article Beautiful [II, 169-181]. But there is another good , whose connections to us are more immediate, because they touch our heart more directly. The goodness that results from these connections is more intimately linked to our being and more proportionate to what is important to us; it alone is master of our heart and opens it to feeling. That first kind of goodness is, one might say, foreign to us. It hardly affects us; if it has any appeal, it is only for our mind. We admire the beings in which we see the first kind of goodness , but we love only those that manifest the second kind; and the love we have for them is measured by the different degrees of this relative goodness . The good , understood in this second sense, is indistinguishable from what is useful , in such a way that all the beings who are useful to us harbor this goodness that appeals to the heart, just as that other goodness, which is pleasing to the mind, is the privilege of all who are beautiful .

The good then has two branches, one of which is the good that is beautiful and the other the good that is useful . The first is pleasing to the mind alone, and the second appeals to the heart; for we have only feelings of esteem and admiration for the former, while we reserve all of our affection for the latter. A being we considered to be only beautiful would be esteemed and admired by us, but nothing more. God, mighty as He is, would in vain display to our mind all the perfections that make Him infinite; He would never find the path to our heart if He did not reveal Himself to us as benevolent . His goodness for us is the only attribute that can wrest homage from our heart. And what value would the sight of His divinity have for us if it did not make us happy?

We can thus see how mistaken are those pious visionaries who, extravagantly in love with a chimerical perfection, imagine that they can love in God something other than His benevolent goodness . What selflessness! They want their love for God to be so pure, so generous, so disinterested, and so independent of all selfishness that even regarding God they are content with the pleasure of loving Him, without expecting and without hoping to receive anything from Him. This is not the place to combat these impious excesses, which are contrary to natural law and which dishonor religion via the false appearance of a chimerical perfection that destroys its foundations. See the articles Charity [III, 205-07] and Quietism [XIII, 709-10], where these absurdities, as impious as they are insane, are refuted; they are, however, the necessary result of an absolute selflessness.

A being can be useful to us in two ways, either in and of itself or through something that is separate from it. That which is useful to us only as a means is something we do not love for itself but only for the thing that it helps us reach; thus, we do not love wealth for itself but rather for the pleasures that it enables us to procure; I except, however, misers, for whom possession of wealth is a true good. Misers find happiness just by looking at gold, while others find happiness only in the use they make of it. But let us consider a being useful to us just in and of itself. When such is the case, we love it for itself, and our heart embraces it; either this being pleases our conscience and our reason, and the result is a solid and durable good, not subject to an unfortunate reversal, and thus we call this an honest good ; or, rather, this being pleases only our cupidity and, consequently, becomes subject to disgust and anguish; and in that case it is simply called a pleasing good to distinguish it from honesty .

After having considered the good in natural beings, it is normal to examine it in those we call artificial ; they have been based on nature's model. I conclude from this that their perfection depends more or less on their imitation of nature. But just as there exists in the works of nature that which is both good and beautiful , which depends on neither chance nor caprice, in the same way there exist immutable laws in artistic endeavors, which guide us in our knowledge and in our preferences; and it is impossible to violate these laws inscribed with such radiance in nature's works without one’s mind and sense of taste being revolted.

As we previously said, there are two kinds of goodness in nature's works; one of these is included in the definition of beauty and for this reason pleases the mind alone; the other kind, which we call goodness , appeals to the heart. When an object combines these two kinds of goodness , that is to say, when it extends and perfects our ideas on the one hand and on the other hand presents us with interests that are dear to us, whose goal is the preservation or the perfection of our being and that cause us to be pleasantly aware of our existence, we say that such an object is good ; and it is all the more so when it possesses these advantages to a higher degree. Similarly, a work of art, in which the good united with the beautiful includes all the qualities necessary to exercise and perfect both our mind and our heart, will be all the more perfect to the extent that it can agreeably capture our mind and vigorously appeal to our heart.

Among nature's works, there are some that are only beautiful and that please the mind alone. The same phenomenon can be seen in works of art; thus, a given geometric theorem that is difficult but without practical application is only a beautiful theorem. See Beautiful [II, 169-181]. But, just as there are works of nature that are both good and beautiful , because they are able to stimulate ideas that attract and interest us, there are also works of art that produce in us the same effect but always in such a way that they are subordinate to nature, because nature surpasses art in everything: In omni re procul dubio vincit imitationem veritas [Truth, without doubt, conquers imitation in every matter]. [1] The heart is affected by objects only when it perceives some advantage; this is what rules its love or its hate. The heart can expect greater advantage from natural objects than from those that are artificial . What art offers the heart is only a phantom, just a semblance; and thus it cannot offer the heart anything that is real. What is even more poignant for us are depictions of human passions and behavior, for these passions and this behavior are like mirrors in which we see others with their similarities and differences. This suggests a beautiful problem, which is this: between Corneille and Racine, who was more successful in painting human passions? Was it the former, who depicted us better than we are; or the latter, who depicted us with all our natural flaws? See Tragedy. [3]

Notes

1. [Brenda Fineberg, Knox College, translated the two passages in Latin found in this article; her translations are used here with permission.]

2. [I have used the English cognate to translate the original French ( passions ) as it seems to me that any attempt to decipher the meaning here of one of the most problematic of French words risks distorting what the author intended to convey. Readers interested in eighteenth-century meanings of this word should consult the article, PASSIONS [XII, 142-49]. ]

3. [I am grateful to Jerry Miner, Knox College, for his useful and intelligent suggestions regarding style.]