That is also what Thomas Aquinas says, not precisely of God, but of “good”, that “being” and “good” are the same, and one can be said of the other. In Latin, “Ens et bonum convertuntur”, Being and Good may be converted into each other. In other words, whatever is, is good. Or, there is nothing that isn’t good. Light is good, as we read in the first day of creation, but so, too, is darkness. We don’t read of any creation of darkness, but the darkness comes out of the creation of light, and in relation to light it is likewise good. There are even mystics who say, “There is in God himself a deep but dazzling darkness.” Even in Psalm 139 we read, “The darkness and the light are both alike to thee.”
Then what about the mosquito? How can so manifestly evil an insect have been created by the good God? Mustn’t we conclude that by the side of the good God there is an evil God? No, no, a thousand times no! In all creation there is only good. All creatures are good. So even the mosquito is good. Even in the mosquito we may recognize the presence of such virtues as humility, delicacy, patience and perseverance. When he stings us and draws blood from us, leaving an unpleasant itch behind him, that may be painful for us, but at least he may be said to be exercising us in the precious virtue of patience.
After all, what we have to recognize in all creatures as creatures, is that the good in them in not an absolute but a relative good. In some respects they may be good, but in other respects they may be deficient in good, and that is what we mean when we call them “bad”. We don’t like the mosquito to sting us, and so we call him a “bad insect”. But when we try to take our revenge and kill him, then he may call us “bad”. It is all on the level of particular causes that creatures are said to be variously good and bad in various respects – like the proverbial “curate’s egg”, which is said by the kind curate to be “good in parts”, though bad on the whole. That is what Aquinas explained about the “badness” of beings, that we call them “good” in view of the whole but “bad” in view of partial defects.
Well, it may be objected, that may be the case with the mosquito. Even if I can’t appreciate its good qualities, I have to admit the insect has them. I may even admit that he possibly looks on me, if I try to kill him, as “bad”. But now, what about the devil? Isn’t he totally evil? Isn’t he almost the wicked god (I hesitate to give him a capital letter) in contrast to the good God?
No, even the devil was once a good angel, even one of the greatest, named Lucifer, or “light-bearer”. As such he was created by the good God. Only, like all the angels, he was gifted with the powers of understanding and will, and these he abused in his original rebellion against God. And so he was thrust down into hell, with all his followers. But always there remains this interior contradiction in him between the goodness of his angelic nature and his disobedient will, and that is no doubt the cause of his continual suffering. As the devil says in Marlowe’s Faust, “Why this is hell, nor am I out of it.” He can’t escape from himself.
Then there is the story of the little old woman, who always said charitable things about everyone. So someone tested her by asking her this very question, “What about the devil? Surely you can’t say anything good about the devil?” But she wittily replied, “Well, you have to admit he does his job very efficiently.” So one can say even of the devil what I have just been saying of the mosquito. It is also what Shakespeare’s Henry V says, “There is some soul of goodness in things evil.” And it is what his Isabella says when pleading for her enemy Lord Angelo, “They say best men are moulded out of faults.”
Here the very mention of “faults” reminds me of the golden paradox at the heart of the Catholic liturgy for the Easter Vigil, at the climax of the solemn hymn chanted by the deacon at the beginning of the ceremony, leading up to the phrase, “O felix culpa”, O happy fault of Adam, which merited to have such a Savior! Even the sin of Adam is said to have been happy, as it was more than counterbalanced by the salvation of Christ – and so the old Adam is revived and renewed by the new Adam.
So for the time being, as we wake up each morning and read the daily newspaper, we feel that the world is steadily, increasingly, inevitably drawing to its apocalyptic end. Yet, as Hamlet comes to realize, “there’s a divinity that shapes our ends, rough-hew them how we will.” And then somehow, though how we don’t know, all will be well.
On Truth
“What is truth? said jesting Pilate, and would not stay for an answer.” These are the words of Sir Francis Bacon, in his essay “Of Truth”. But I wonder if what he says about Pilate is true. Was Pilate really jesting? Or wasn’t he being serious? After all, what is truth? That is no easy question to answer.
Anyhow, what was the context of Pilate’s question? What prompted him to ask it? In the course of his trial of Jesus, he naturally wanted to know why the Jews were accusing him. Then it was that Jesus came out with the strange statement, according to John’s Gospel, “For this was I born, and for this came I into the world, to bear witness to the truth.”
Then it was that Pilate came out with his question. Why did he ask it? As a man of education, he knew that this was a question discussed at length by the philosophers of Greece and Rome. He knew that in their pursuit of an answer to this question they had “found no end, in wandering mazes lost”. He was also aware that the enemies of Jesus were outside, waiting impatiently for an end to this interview with Jesus. How, he may have wondered, could he expect Jesus to answer in a moment what all the philosophers of Greece and Rome had been unable to answer for years?
Then all he could say was, “What is truth?” At least, for him as a practical Roman, unaccustomed to the subtleties of Greece, there was the practical answer, as he went on to give it to the Jews waiting outside, “I find no fault in this man.” They had accused Jesus of seeking a kingdom, but on interviewing Jesus he had found that the kingdom Jesus had in mind wasn’t a kingdom of this world, like the Roman Empire, but merely a kingdom of truth – whatever that truth might be. Jesus might be serious about it, or he might simply be a lunatic, but he was no danger to the Roman state. There was no reason for the Romans to put Jesus to death, however he may have offended against the law of the Jews. So let them look to it! It was no concern of his as governor.
If only Pilate wasn’t such a busy man! If only he wasn’t governor of Judea! If only he wasn’t acting as judge of Jesus in a matter of life and death, with all the accusers of Jesus shouting impatiently outside! If only he had the leisure, over cups of wine, to ask Jesus, “Now tell me, what in your opinion is the truth in which you say you were born and for which you came into this world? Or rather, to begin with, what were the circumstances of your birth? And how was it that you came into this world?”
It could have been such an interesting interview, such as we read in many magazines and newspapers nowadays. Famous people are always giving interviews, and some news of Jesus’ fame had no doubt come to the ears of Pilate. After all, he wasn’t governor of Judea for nothing. He must have known what was going on. But now, alas, he had no time. He couldn’t even wait for an answer. Or rather, what answer Jesus had given was enough to convince him that here was an innocent man, who had done nothing wrong deserving of death. That much was surely the truth of the matter.
But now we can discern a difference between the truth of Pilate and the truth of Jesus. The only truth with which Pilate as governor is immediately concerned was, “Is this man guilty or not? Does he deserve to die or not? Are the accusations of the Jews against him valid or not?” Then, on the strength of this necessarily brief interview Pilate comes to the conclusion that Jesus isn’t guilty, he doesn’t deserve to die, and the Jewish accusations against him aren’t valid at least according to Roman law. That is what he considers to be true. That is for him the truth about Jesus.
But is that the truth in the meaning of Jesus? No, it isn’t. The truth which Jesus has been proclaiming from the time of his baptism by John in the Jordan, and all through his public life, right up till the present moment, is, as he has just told Pilate, the kingdom of God, which is the truth of God, the goodness of God, the love of God.
Pilate is only interested, as Roman governor, in the truth of this world,