"For many are accustomed to arguing in this way: ‘If
all things have followed from the necessity of God’s most perfect nature, why
are there so many imperfections in nature?
Why are things corrupt to the point where they stink? So ugly that they produce nausea? Why is there confusion, evil, and sin?’ As I have just said, those who argue in this
way are easily answered. For the
perfection of things is to be judged solely from their nature and power; things
are not more or less perfect because they please or offend men’s senses, or
because they are of use to, or are incompatible with, human nature. But to those who ask ‘Why God did not create
all men so that they would be governed by the command of reason?’ I answer only
‘Because he did not lack material to create all things, from the highest degree
of perfection to the lowest:’ or, to speak more properly, ‘Because the laws of
his nature have been so ample that they sufficed for producing all things which
can be conceived by an infinite intellect.’”
Such was the statement by my favorite philosopher
(Spinoza) regarding perhaps my favorite philosophical question. It can be framed as, “How can we reconcile
the existence of God with the existence of evil?”
Evil has been on the mind of most of us lately. Just think back to this past Tuesday, when a man
shouting “Allahu Akbar” drove a truck into a well-traveled cycleway in lower
Manhattan. Or think back a month to when
a gambler in a Las Vegas hotel shot hundreds of people who were attending a
country music concert. Every time one of
these mass killings occurs, we become a nation of criminal investigators. Why, we ask, did this happen? Have we found co-conspirators? Plans of additional attacks? Clues as to how the killer was
radicalized? A history of mental illness?
In short, we become obsessed. And we bring this same singular focus to
stories about plane crashes or such natural disasters as hurricanes. Whenever, in fact, large numbers of people
lose their lives, limbs or even property in a manner that flies in the face of
our sense of fairness, we are shocked to the core. We experience similar emotions when hearing
about individuals who are struck down prematurely by cancer, crib death, or
some other seemingly unjust cause. Our
hearts, you see, are wired to expect happiness to accompany virtue and tragedy
to accompany vice. Otherwise, what’s
the point of behaving ourselves? What’s
the point of “living right”?
It should be obvious by now that the word “evil”
when used in the context of the initial theological question I raised in this
blog post is not confined to so-called “moral” evil, such as the type exhibited
in Manhattan or Vegas. Philosophers also
use the term “natural” evil in reference to hurricanes, earthquakes, tsunamis
and other “acts of God” that can’t simply be blamed on human misconduct. Arguably, these latter acts are even more of
a challenge to theology than is human-induced suffering.
It was the Lisbon Earthquake of 1755 that allowed
Voltaire to lampoon the Abrahamic apologists to such a devastating degree that
the Lord’s reputation on earth has never fully recovered. How
could any omnipotent, omnibenevolent force seize the lives of tens of thousands
of seemingly innocent people, often in the most excruciatingly painful manner imaginable?
Many have attempted to satisfactorily
answer that question, but in my opinion, nobody has yet succeeded, not even
Spinoza. What’s more, to reflect on the
events of two centuries after Lisbon -- where Hitler, Stalin, Mao and Pol Pot
butchered tens of millions – is to realize that our planet faces one disaster
of Biblical proportion after another, after another, after another. And these disasters are not interrupted by
manna flowing down from the heavens, or by prophets walking through seas that
have been parted. Indeed, for me,
whether I’m reflecting on Lisbon or Auschwitz, I get the sense that the
ultimate power broker is one and the same.
And if I can’t blame Hitler for Lisbon, how then can we blame anyone but
God for Auschwitz? By the same token, if
can blame God for Auschwitz, then what room is there in my world for the Devil?
These are the kinds of questions that make me want
to get up in the morning. These are
kinds of questions that make me feel lucky to have been born to human
parents. The beauty of the human
condition is that we can ask them.
Other species can’t.
Some might tell you that grappling with such
questions is a waste of time. We should
concern ourselves only with “practical” matters – questions that can be answered,
and answered “profitably.” Oh, how “rich”
is that word, “profitably”?
Well, for my money, the most practical questions
imaginable are precisely the ultimate questions of philosophy, none of which
can be conclusively answered by any of us or contribute much to anyone’s bank
book. The questions are as easily asked
as they are impossible to resolve. There
is nothing practical in merely framing the questions and then, just as quickly,
moving on to something else. But when we
seriously grapple with them – when we struggle with what our common sense tells
us, or with what happens when we follow the logic of each of the leading schools
of thought, or with how our previously held notions stand up in light of
rigorous questioning – that’s when the magic happens. That’s when we find ourselves changing our
lives on the basis of our philosophies.
Do you want a really practical suggestion? The next time you hear about a mass murder or
a natural tragedy, don’t spend the next week reading press reports on the who,
what, when, where and why of this latest act of “evil.” Instead, pick up a copy of Susan Neiman’s
award-winning classic, “Evil in Modern Thought.” It won’t shed any light on whether some
lunatic acted alone. But it will help
you figure out what to make of this concept known impersonally as “divinity” or
personally as “God.”
No comments:
Post a Comment