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We Cannot Wrap Our Head Around Evil

Friday afternoon I returned from a meeting to find number one daughter waiting at my office.

“What’s up, hon”?

“I just needed a daddy hug.”

“Anything in particular”?

“Yeah, mom and I were at the midnight premier of Batman at the Mills.  But I was thinking.  Mom lives just a few blocks from the Aurora 16.  She changed her plans when I invited her to drive out to see the movie with me.  If I hadn’t done that she would have been there for the shooting.”

As I wrapped my arms around my daughter and gave her a daddy hug, I said, “Well, God is looking out for you and her.”

But even as the words were leaving my mouth I began thinking.  Why didn’t God look out for the 12 dead people, the dozens of wounded, and their families?  I’ve been thinking about this question for a couple of days now, and about one thing I am certain — I don’t know the answer and I never will.  This is not a new lesson.  Several months ago I posted on the subject of senseless evil.  Below I reproduce that post in full:

 

A terrible thing happened to me some years ago.  I ached so badly I lay down on the floor and cried and cried great heaving sobs of anguish, and as I gasped for breath between my sobs I repeated one word over and over, “why? why? why?”

Why indeed?  When terrible things happen, whether a personal tragedy such as my own or a natural disaster in which hundreds of thousands perish, we seem compelled to ask, “Why did God let this happen?”  Before answering this question let me discuss two extreme and equally erroneous answers to the question from two opposite schools of thought.  One school I will call the “sadistic maniac” school and the other I will call the “amiable bumbler” school.

The sadistic maniac school asserts that God actually causes horrible things to happen in order to accomplish his purposes.  God, they say, is utterly sovereign, omniscient and omnipotent.  If he wanted to keep something from happening he surely could.  We can assume, therefore, that when he does not keep a thing from happening it is because he wants it to happen, and it follows every event that has ever happened or ever will happen is specifically desired by God.  When my heart is broken or a tsunami wipes out a quarter million people, God wanted those things to happen.  Indeed, the hyper-Calvinist goes so far as to say that God creates some people for the very purpose of damning them to hell.

The “amiable bumbler” school is repelled by the sadistic maniac school, and they go to the opposite extreme to avoid its implications.  God is love they say, and if this means anything it must mean he is omni-benevolent.  How can an omni-benevolent being be responsible for (far less specifically desire) personal tragedies or natural disasters?  He cannot.  It follows that God does not have absolute knowledge of and power to change future events.  Thus, open theists assert that God knows the future only in a probablistic, not an absolute, sense, and just like the rest of us he is waiting around to see how things are going to turn out.  And when bad things happen he slaps his forehead and says, “didn’t see that coming, hope no one blames me.”

Adherents of both schools would have benefited from Chesterton’s Orthodoxy.  Chesterton takes for granted the fact that we cannot understand the universe (far less the God of the universe) fully, and efforts to do so lead quite literally to a sort of madness.  Using poetry as a metaphor for mysticism, he writes:

Poetry is sane because it floats easily in an infinite sea; reason seeks to cross the infinite sea, and so make it finite. The result is mental exhaustion . . . The poet only desires exaltation and expansion, a world to stretch himself in. The poet only asks to get his head into the heavens. It is the logician who seeks to get the heavens into his head. And it is his head that splits.

Chesterton would be the first to admit that the internal logic of both the “sadistic maniac” and the “amiable bumbler” schools is unassailable, just as the internal logic of a madman’s arguments cannot be defeated:

If you argue with a madman, it is extremely probable that you will get the worst of it; for in many ways his mind moves all the quicker for not being delayed by the things that go with good judgment. He is not hampered by a sense of humor or by charity, or by the dumb certainties of experience. He is the more logical for losing certain sane affections. Indeed, the common phrase for insanity is in this respect a misleading one. The madman is not the man who has lost his reason. The madman is the man who has lost everything except his reason.

Chesterton concludes that only the ability to hold truths that appear to be contradictory keeps us sane:

Mysticism keeps men sane. As long as you have mystery you have health; when you destroy mystery you create morbidity. The ordinary man has always been sane because the ordinary man has always been a mystic. He has permitted the twilight. He has always had one foot in earth and the other in fairyland. He has always left himself free to doubt his gods; but (unlike the agnostic of to-day) free also to believe in them . . . Thus he has always believed that there was such a thing as fate, but such a thing as free will also . . . It is exactly this balance of apparent contradictions that has been the whole buoyancy of the healthy man. The whole secret of mysticism is this: that man can understand everything by the help of what he does not understand. The morbid logician seeks to make everything lucid, and succeeds in making everything mysterious. The mystic allows one thing to be mysterious, and everything else becomes lucid.

The sadistic maniac and the amiable bumbler schools are both wrong.  God is powerful enough to combine apparent contradictions in his person.  He is three, yet he is only one.  He is both immanent and transcendent.  He is sovereign, omniscient, omnipotent; yet despite the evil that exists in the universe he created, he is also omni-benevolent.  It never ceases to amaze me that skeptics are surprised when they are unable to fit God into neat human categories.  But if we could understand God completely, would we not be gods ourselves?  I know I am no god, so I am unsurprised to find that I cannot comprehend God in his fullness or understand fully how such contradictions can be combined in him.  Nevertheless, I am quite certain they are.

If God is neither a maniac nor a bumbler, what are we to make of evil?  Shortly after the Indonesian tsunami David B. Hart addressed this question in an extraordinary article in First Things called “Tsunami and Theodicy.”

Hart notes that in the wake of the tsunami Christian writers had tried to “justify the ways of God to man, to affirm God’s benevolence, to see meaning in the seemingly monstrous randomness of nature’s violence, and to find solace in God’s guiding hand.”  Hart rightfully worries that efforts to discern how God might “use” evil to accomplish a “greater good” are bound to backfire:

Famously, Dostoevsky supplied Ivan [Karamazov] with true accounts of children tortured and murdered: Turks tearing babies from their mothers’ wombs, impaling infants on bayonets, firing pistols into their mouths; parents savagely flogging their children; a five-year- old-girl tortured by her mother and father, her mouth filled with excrement, locked at night in an outhouse, weeping her supplications to ‘dear kind God’ in the darkness; an eight-year-old serf child torn to pieces by his master’s dogs for a small accidental transgression.

But what makes Ivan’s argument so disturbing is not that he accuses God of failing to save the innocent; rather, he rejects salvation itself, insofar as he understands it, and on moral grounds. He grants that one day there may be an eternal harmony established, one that we will discover somehow necessitated the suffering of children, and perhaps mothers will forgive the murderers of their babies, and all will praise God’s justice; but Ivan wants neither harmony—’for love of man I reject it,’ ‘it is not worth the tears of that one tortured child’—nor forgiveness; and so, not denying there is a God, he simply chooses to return his ticket of entrance to God’s Kingdom. After all, Ivan asks, if you could bring about a universal and final beatitude for all beings by torturing one small child to death, would you think the price acceptable?

Hart responds to Ivan’s accusations by explaining that he has God all wrong.  God does not “use” evil to accomplish good.  Evil is a privation of the good.  It has no nature of its own and it plays no role in God’s determination of himself or purpose for his creation (though Hart does allow that, as everyone who has ever read the story of Joseph knows, God can bring good from actions men intend for evil).  As Christians, Hart argues, we are simply not allowed to take comfort from a “grand cosmic scheme” in which God balances out all of the good and the evil in the end, because that comfort would be purchased at an enormous price:  “it requires us to believe in and love a God whose good ends will be realized not only in spite of—but entirely by way of—every cruelty, every fortuitous misery, every catastrophe, every betrayal, every sin the world has ever known . . .”  We must not while trying to render the universe morally intelligible render God morally loathsome.

Hart concludes:

I do not believe we Christians are obliged—or even allowed—to look upon the devastation visited upon the coasts of the Indian Ocean and to console ourselves with vacuous cant about the mysterious course taken by God’s goodness in this world, or to assure others that some ultimate meaning or purpose resides in so much misery. . . . while we know that the victory over evil and death has been won, we know also that it is a victory yet to come, and that creation therefore, as Paul says, groans in expectation of the glory that will one day be revealed. Until then, the world remains a place of struggle between light and darkness, truth and falsehood, life and death; and, in such a world, our portion is charity.

As for comfort, when we seek it, I can imagine none greater than the happy knowledge that when I see the death of a child I do not see the face of God, but the face of His enemy . . . God will not unite all of history’s many strands in one great synthesis, but will judge much of history false and damnable; . . . He will not simply reveal the sublime logic of fallen nature, but will strike off the fetters in which creation languishes; and that, rather than showing us how the tears of a small girl suffering in the dark were necessary for the building of the Kingdom, He will instead raise her up and wipe away all tears from her eyes—and there shall be no more death, nor sorrow, nor crying, nor any more pain, for the former things will have passed away, and He that sits upon the throne will say, ‘Behold, I make all things new.’

Amen.  Evil never accomplishes some great cosmic purpose.  God hates it, and in no sense does he intend it so that he can use it to accomplish his purposes.  God did not intend for Joseph’s brothers to sell him into slavery.  He did not intend for Potipher’s wife falsely to accuse him of rape.  He hated the evil visited upon Joseph.  It is true that God worked in Joseph’s life to help him overcome the circumstances into which he had been thrust by the evil acts of others.  But most emphatically God did not “desire” those evil acts (or, far worse, specifically cause them to happen) to accomplish a greater good.  He accomplished the good in spite of those acts, not because of them.

Which brings us back to where we started.  After a while I stopped crying and picked myself up off the floor.  But I did not stop asking myself why? why? why?  Months passed.  At times I was half mad with grief and anguish as I wrestled with that question, sometimes literally groaning out loud as I tried to figure it all out.  I never did figure it out.  But quite unexpectedly I figured out something else entirely when I finally came to understand that I would never understand.  Evil is absurd and senseless, and my healing did not begin until I finally came to grips with the fact that I would never come to grips with what had happened, that I would never wrap my head around it and make sense of it all.  This realization was liberating.  Freed from the compulsion to figure it all out, I was able to get on with my life.

And what a life it has been.  For, as he has done for countless others before me, God has redeemed me from the terrible evil that brought me low.  As the prophet wrote, he has given me beauty for ashes and joy for mourning.  But please.  None of this (often well meaning but wrong nevertheless) cant about how God uses all things to work together for the good of the called.  The evil that happened to me was senseless and absurd.  God never intended that I should suffer that evil.  Yes, he redeemed my life and I am in a better situation today than I was in before the evil happened.  But let us never confuse God’s redemption with his original purpose.  He does not intend evil to happen that good may result.  To me, the very thought is absurd.

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9 Responses to We Cannot Wrap Our Head Around Evil

  1. Barry,

    I ask not, “Why evil?” I ask, “Why good?” Selfishness, narcissism, self-preservation, lies, stealing, and all the rest come naturally. No effort is required to instill these anti-virtues.

    I call it moral entropy. Do nothing concerning moral and ethical edification, and you’ll get worse and worse.

    I’m not a basically good person, and never have been. That’s why I go to church every Sunday. Church for me is the equivalent of AA for a sinner, which I know I am and always have been. I’ll never be completely cured in this life, but my faith and my church family helps to keep me on the right path.

    I pray that more people would become involved with and serve in a community of faith that promotes good ethics, and be held accountable to such standards.

  2. @GilDodgen

    Well said GD, very well said..

  3. Gil: I endorse, and indeed I think a Christian form of the 12-step programme is a relevant step/phase in sound discipleship. KF

  4. Thanks, Barry.

    I imagine that had Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. considered that the plight of America’s people of color was to just be accept as God’s intention and had the many who followed in his lead not done so, there never would have been a civil rights movement.

    But of course, he and many, many others didn’t accept that. They saw racism, hatred, bigotry and discrimination for the evil that they are, and made no mistake that it was somehow God’s intention for their good. And that is the reason why they were willing to stand up against it.

    The Chesterton quote regarding arguing with a madman is a classic. Every time I think I’ve read everything from him, another bit of his wisdom and wit passes my way.

    Thanks again.

  5. Barry: Why didn’t God look out for the 12 dead people, the dozens of wounded, and their families?

    Whether you take it a face value, or think it is an allegorical story, the Bible, Genesis, in particular, indicates that somehow a rebellion took place that plunged the earth and all humans into a dangerous, “fallen” world where very bad things can happen to us. And, yes, it’s a shocking tragedy that these people at the theater were massacred in such a manner. But whether you die, in a nice comfortable bed, at some rich retirement villa in your 80s, or whether you are killed by some abortionist in the web before you take your first breath, the bottom line is, we are die. Death gets us all in the end.

    I try to keep a few things in mind:

    1. We don’t know who we really are, with respect to who we are and what we did prior to our human incarnation. The Bible doesn’t say anything explicit about it (there are hints) but all of us may have had a prior existence, and earth is sort of a prison. Perhaps a prison for some and a place to learn for others. Bottom line, there are plausible scenarios for what is happening here.

    2. The rebellion that caused us and our world to be cursed was so horrendous that it took God himself to incarnate into a human body and allow himself to be brutally beaten and killed, and somehow this effects a reversal for the consequences of the rebellion. Jesus asked to be relieved of this as he prayed in the garden, but there was no other way.

    I think in the west, and America in particular, we tend to think we have some birthright to be protected and to avoid the harsh realities that have plagued most of the world since it began. There have always been horrendous things going on, and Yahweh himself ordered some it direct. “Go and kill the Midianites.”

    Jesus said to Peter, don’t look at the waves, look at me. In the end, all will be well. Some of us have to suffer greatly before we get out of here. The Son of God himself suffered the worst.

  6. And to continue,

    I think I would generalize your title to something like, “We Cannot Wrap Our Head Around Existence.” Evil is a subset of the totality of existence. The productions of good and evil are the result of that totality. And nobody has a clue about what that actually is.

  7. I think that while God is maximally potent he is not technically omnipotent. I mean, does anyone believe that God has the power to lie? To sin? One thing that perhaps He cannot do is teach us about evil, I mean ALL about it, without us having to experience it first hand. And perhaps that is something that we need to know for the next life. I think there is a lot we don’t know about the next life and I think we need to know the evil to fully appreciate the good.

  8. GilDodgen said this: “Church for me is the equivalent of AA for a sinner, which I know I am and always have been.”

    Eh? Your religious belief is the result of an addiction?

  9. TA: FYI AA is an addiction recovery programme that focuses on taking responsibility, owning up and working on a sustained basis with other recovering addicts. Drunkenness is a prototypical life dominating sin and GD is drawing a parallel where church is a broader recovery programme from the addictive lifestyles of sin. KF

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