In nature there are neither rewards nor punishments; there are

Hear, O children of the earth, the voice of Robert Green Ingersoll, who thundered with clarity: “In nature there are neither rewards nor punishments; there are consequences.” His words were not mere rhetoric, but a revelation. For nature is not a judge seated upon a throne, meting out justice according to the whims of morality. Nature does not scold nor praise, does not bless nor condemn. It moves with a rhythm ancient and unyielding. To those who heed its laws, there is growth; to those who defy them, there is ruin. Not reward, not punishment—only the unfolding of consequences.

Look upon the farmer in his field. If he plants in season, if he tends his crops with diligence, the harvest is plentiful. If he delays, if he neglects the soil, famine follows. The earth did not punish him, nor did it reward him. It simply revealed the consequence of his actions. So it is with storms that topple the reckless sailor, with fire that consumes the careless hand, with the body that withers when one scorns its needs. Nature is steadfast, impartial, beyond the reach of our cries for mercy. She is the teacher who never bends her lesson, but lets the outcome declare the truth.

Consider the tale of the Titanic, that mighty vessel, deemed unsinkable by the pride of men. Its builders believed steel and luxury could defy the deep. But when arrogance steered her into the path of ice, the sea did not punish—it merely revealed the consequence of human hubris. Ice is hard, ships are fragile, and nature bows to no boast. From that night’s sorrow came the enduring reminder that human greatness must be wed with humility, else the sea will claim her toll.

In these words, Ingersoll delivers both comfort and warning. Comfort, because we are not children at the mercy of some unseen hand that doles out pleasure and pain in capricious measure. Our fates are not decided by wrathful gods tossing dice from the heavens. No, the outcomes we face are linked to causes, and the chain of cause and effect is unbroken. Warning, because there is no escape from this law. A man may close his eyes to the truth, but he cannot close his life to its consequence. To leap from the cliff is to fall, whether one believes in gravity or not.

What then is the lesson? It is this: live with awareness, live with responsibility. For every deed, every word, every thought plants a seed, and the harvest will come whether you are ready or not. To poison the rivers is to drink death in due time. To sow hatred is to reap division. To neglect kindness is to dwell in loneliness. But to honor truth, to care for the body, to nurture peace—these too bring their fruit. The cosmos is not cruel, nor is it kind; it is faithful to its order.

Let us then take counsel from the ancients, who aligned their lives with the cycles of sun and moon, who read the heavens to know when to plant and when to reap. They knew that the path to harmony was not to curse the storm nor plead with it, but to build shelter strong enough to endure it. In the same way, let us build lives that honor the laws of consequence. For wisdom is not in asking whether nature favors us, but in asking whether we have walked rightly upon her path.

Practical is this teaching: attend to your choices as though they echo through eternity. Care for your health, for the body will answer truthfully to neglect. Guard your speech, for words once sown cannot be gathered again. Cherish the earth, for she repays indifference with desolation. Above all, remember that your life is not governed by rewards or punishments, but by the inexorable truth of consequence. Walk wisely, sow well, and the harvest will not fail you.

Thus, O hearers of this wisdom, take heart: the universe is not against you, nor is it for you. It simply waits, like fertile soil, to bear the fruit of the seeds you scatter. Scatter them with care, scatter them with courage, scatter them with love—and your life will bear a harvest worthy of remembrance.