I remember, at the time of the terrible catastrophe in Martinique, due to the eruption of Mont Pelée, asking a lady: "Do you think this wholesale slaughter and awful suffering has any connection with the wickedness of the afflicted people?" "Certainly," she replied; "they must have been very wicked people." It just so happened that the only man who escaped scatheless was a murderer who had been imprisoned in a cell below ground. So the theory she and I had been brought up to believe in would not work, whichever way you looked at it. The apologist has usually a number of strings to his bow; and, as the Old Testament teaching concerning bad men descending "quick into the pit" would not suit, he might argue that the criminal was given an opportunity for repentance. In that case, we must suppose that all the others who perished had no need of repentance. Again, with regard to the terrible tortures that many endured, it could be argued that those "whom the Lord loveth He chasteneth"; but what possible object could there be in this chastening during the last moments of their life upon earth? The agony of the death-struggle, suffered by the good and the bad alike, has yet to be shown to be in accord with the theory of a benevolent Deity. The old-fashioned idea that catastrophes, plagues, famines, etc., were sent as punishments for our misdoings is gradually being modified. Dr. Flint says distinctly: "I cannot agree with those who think there is no mystery in mere pain--that it is sufficiently accounted for by moral evil." [218] It seems a pity that his advocacy for benevolence in the Deity should lead him afterwards to qualify this sensible statement by an amazing assertion which begs the whole question. "The character of pain itself," he says, "is such as to indicate that its author must be a benevolent being--one who does not afflict for his own pleasure, but for his creatures' profit." [219] The profit consists, we are told, in the fact that we are prevented through fear of pain from running into danger. How peculiarly appropriate and consolatory such a view of pain must be to, let us say, a person crippled with rheumatoid arthritis! Man's highly sensitive and delicate organisation inevitably entails pain when no useful purpose of this kind can possibly be served; yet we are to suppose that an Omnipotent Being devised this crude and cruel method for teaching us to avoid the perils with which He Himself has surrounded us! One of our greatest living surgeons, Sir Frederick Treves, assures us [220] that "the symptoms of disease are marked by purpose, and the purpose is beneficent." "The processes of disease," he goes on to explain, "aim not at the destruction of life, but at the saving of it." Here, indeed, is more grist for the mill of the apologist. But what does this special pleading amount to? To this: Because through suffering we may survive a dangerous disease, we should be grateful to the Supreme Intelligence who created the preservative as