Previous essays on faith:
A reader once wrote to me about her husband, whom she had recently lost. He was a man some years older than she, who succumbed to multiple myeloma (a form of blood cell cancer) and Alzheimer’s disease. She, a Christian, struggled to make sense of his death and the difficult questions of why God allows suffering. She wrote, after giving me some details of his life, death, and fine character, and asked:
Why does God allow such terrible illnesses to such a kind person? I know there is really no answer as I know all about Job. The thing I am really afraid is that I prayed for his healing, and it did not happen. When I became a Christian back in the 80’s, the health and prosperity gospel was big at the time, and I guess it really influenced me more than I care to admit as I now know it is false. Even though I know it is false, I have become obsessed that God did not answer my prayer because of not being able to get rid of all the sin in my life (as if this were possible to do). One of the teachings of that movement was that if your prayer for healing went unanswered it was either because of lack of faith or sin in your life. I kept thinking that I don’t always put God first in my life, and that I spent more time reading secular magazines than reading my Bible and listening to more secular music than Christian music. These were my “main” sins, at least in my mind and thinking.
Can you shed some light on this for me? I would be very appreciative.
The problem of suffering and evil is an ageless one. It poses a particular challenge for Judaism and Christianity because of the seemingly insoluble tension between a world filled with suffering and evil and the belief in a God who is good and all-powerful. Solutions to this dilemma, both adequate and inadequate, abound. It is the desperate hope of the atheist that this logical incompatibility proves beyond dispute the nonexistence of God. Others, less willing to ditch a Divine order, have concluded that God is good but impotent, or that God is detached and uncaring, or capricious, or moody, or sadistic — and therefore not loving and righteous.
Answers to this paradox are neither simple nor entirely satisfactory. Both Christianity and Judaism have resolved this globally and theologically. Still, such lofty principles invariably break down when a solution is most needed: in times of crisis, when we experience the depths, hopelessness, and irrationality of suffering in our lives. C.S. Lewis, whose tightly reasoned treatise The Problem of Pain, provides an extraordinarily deep and thorough discussion of this dilemma. Yet later in life, he nearly repudiates his faith and sound theology after the death of his wife, a process painfully detailed in his diaries, A Grief Observed. It is unsettling to watch Lewis discard his carefully reasoned and theological comprehension of suffering in the brutal crucible of unbearable pain and loss. Nonetheless, he ultimately comes to terms with the paradox and embraces this profound dilemma far more deeply than by intellect alone as a result of his trial of fire.
At the heart of this complex issue lies the human heart. God undertook a vast and dangerous experiment when creating man: He wanted not merely another animal — of which there were countless — but an animal capable of something He alone understood: love. He gave this exalted animal vast intellect — but this was insufficient to engender love. He gave His creation powerful emotions, the capacity for creation and destruction, which He alone had possessed — but this also was insufficient. For love — the utter, uninhibited emptying of self for another — required that most dangerous license of all: free will. Having created us thus, designed with the capacity to love, we must, of necessity, be utterly free to choose — for choice is the heart and essence of love.
It was, by all visible measures, an experiment gone wildly awry. Having given this creature the extraordinary capabilities required to love fully — intellect, emotion, passion, empathy, the ability to feel intense pleasure and pain physically and spiritually — he set this creature free to love — first of all Himself, and then others of like kind. The first choice of this masterpiece of creation was to turn away and replace the intended objects of love with the sterile altar of self. Thus was unleashed the monstrous liability of a truly free creature: the ability to hate, to kill, to inflict pain, to destroy.
A world in which God eliminated evil would by necessity be emptied of all humanity.
If we are honest, much of the pain and suffering that comprise the evil of the world is due to nothing more than this: that man, having been given the ability to choose, chooses wrongly and uses the gifts and facilities given for love to instead elevate himself at the expense of others, often in ways stunningly malicious and utterly wicked. Look around you at the world, both near and far: pride, selfishness, greed, lust, rage, jealousy — all these things manifest themselves in our lives and those of others, causing great pain and endless suffering. The child molested; the wife abandoned; the drive-by shooting; the greedy CEO who bankrupts the company and leaves the stockholders impoverished; the serial killer and the rapist; genocide; wars of conquest; torture; senseless massacres: these are the actions of men and women putting self above others — and each of us does it, to a greater or lesser degree. However, we minimize our roles to justify our actions. We all wish for a world where God would eliminate evil — but assume that we alone would be left standing when His judgment is delivered. A world in which God eliminated evil would, by necessity, be emptied of all humanity.
Yet there are also those evils called, somewhat ironically, “acts of God” — circumstances or events that cause pain and suffering, not directly engendered by human evil. Thus, the child is born with a severe birth defect; hurricanes, earthquakes, and tornadoes cause death and destruction; chronic and devastating diseases fall upon those who seemingly deserve a far better fate. With this seemingly capricious evil, we struggle most earnestly, straining to understand, yet to no avail.
Judaism and Christianity imply that some such evil may be consequential, the result of punishment or predictable repercussions for the malfeasance of man. A more robust theology is less accusatory — maintaining that such evil has entered the world because of the fall of man. Under such a design, our divine divorce has corrupted behavior, our very natures, and all of creation. Yet such theology is of little comfort to the objects of seemingly random evil; we demand to know of God, “Why? “— and in particular, “Why me?” Yet there is no answer forthcoming, and we are left assuming a God either powerless to stop this evil or unwilling to do so.
The problem of a good God, an omnipotent God, and an evil world of His creation is not entirely insoluble. Much lies in our projection of human frailty onto the nature of the Divine and the impreciseness of our definitions of good and omnipotent. When we say God is good, we tend to mean that God is “nice” — that he would never do anything to cause us pain or suffering. Yet, even in our limited experience, we must acknowledge that pain and suffering, while not inherently good, may be a means to goodness. We choose to have surgery or chemotherapy, though painful and debilitating, to cure our cancer. Men and women crowd the halls of Alcoholics Anonymous, having faced both personal and relational destruction, and begin using their former liabilities as a gateway to a new, more fulfilling life — one which could not have taken place apart from their harrowing journey through alcoholism. The discipline of a loving father is painful to an errant child. However, such correction is essential for developing personal integrity, social integration, and responsibility.
Our inability to discern the potential for good in pain and suffering does not necessarily deny its presence; there are many who, when asked, will point to painful, difficult, and unbearable times in life that have brought about profound, often unexpected, good in their lives, unforeseeable amidst their dark days. Much suffering defies our capacity to understand, even though we strive to find the goodness therein with every fiber of our being. However, that such inexplicable suffering exists and that answers are often lacking does not preclude the possibility that God is loving and good or that such suffering may ultimately lead to something greater and more noble than the pain endured.
We are … not merely imperfect creatures that need improvement: we are rebels that need lay down our arms
In our egocentricity, we often neglect to look for the benefit in our suffering, which comes not to us but to others. Caring for someone who is suffering unbearably provides an opportunity for the caretaker to experience selfless love, compassion, tenderness, patience, and endurance — character traits sadly lacking in our selfish world, which routinely turns its back on suffering to pursue an untroubled life of self-fulfillment and self-gratification. It is not inherently evil to be called to give beyond our means and ability — as caring for someone suffering always demands — for in the exhaustion and inadequacy thus revealed, we may discover unknown inner strengths and come to a richer and more fulfilling dependence on God. We are, as C.S. Lewis so accurately described, “not merely imperfect creatures that need improvement: we are rebels that need lay down their arms” — and finding how shallow our reserves of love, compassion, and strength, we may through this brokenness seek to acquire them, humbly, from their Source.
But assuredly, an omnipotent God has the power to stop suffering — is He not either impotent or evil when failing to use such power to remove our suffering? The omnipotence of God, like His goodness, is but dimly perceived. The power of God is in perfect harmony with the purpose of God and is thus used to advance these purposes for the greater good. Therefore, the good deed of creating man with free will — and thereby capable of love — by its very nature restrains the omnipotence of God to violate that free will. The world’s evil exists largely because this free will has been corrupted. Yet the abuse of free will must be permitted for a time, that the proper use of free will — laying down arms, surrendering to the sovereignty of a wholly good God — may take place, freely and unfettered, as required by love. God must tolerate the existence of suffering and evil so that all may have the freedom to choose the good — though tragically, many will refuse to do so.
Yet God does not merely tolerate the presence of suffering but provides for its very redemption: that suffering, though itself evil, may ultimately produce good. Thus, pain, suffering, death, and evil need not triumph: they may provide the means that some may turn toward the good or bring forth further good for themselves or others. This is redemption: to buy back what is destructive, worthless, of no value or evil, and make it worthwhile, valuable, even priceless.
Throughout its history, Christianity has struggled with and largely resolved the problem of pain within the confines of the mystery of God. Yet Christianity, in its many doctrinal eddies, has sometimes chosen the wrong path and the wrong answers to this challenge. Such errors generally fall into two broad categories: the concept of suffering as punishment or retribution from God and the manipulation of God for man’s gratification. The first of these runs counter to the core doctrine of the cross: that God has chosen to provide in Christ a sacrificial lamb — that Christ, through his suffering, bears the justice and judgment of God so that we may see the mercy of God. Our suffering is not a punishment for sin, as such punishment negates the purpose of the cross. Correction, it may be; discipline, it often is; opportunity, it always is; punishment, it never is.
The countering position — that of God as a divine opiate, ever present to kill our pain — is a variant of the faith that has become perniciously widespread, feeding on a culture of ease and self-gratification that creates God in its own image. Thus, God becomes a font of wealth, health, prosperity, trouble-free materialistic lifestyle, a divine vending machine whose coinage is faith. However, in such a worldview, faith is no longer a profound trust in a God who is beyond understanding and infinitely wise. Instead, it becomes a means of buying from God all we demand. Hence, we will be wealthy if we are generous to the ministry; we will be healed if our trust is sufficient; we will not suffer if we have sufficient faith. Our faith must be perfect, lest our pleas go unheard. The strength of faith matters more than our humble submission; we charge the gates of heaven with the bludgeon of self-will.
The perniciousness and destructiveness of this perversion of historical Christian faith lie in removing from the hands of God decisions of life and death, health and illness, wholeness and suffering while burdening us with the hopeless demand that we steel our faith to impossible heights to coerce and manipulate His will. That such efforts are typically fruitless seems self-evident: God most surely is capable of healing — and does indeed do so often, even dramatically at times — but most surely does so by his divine wisdom and will. Should His wisdom dictate that suffering, poverty, brokenness, even death, and despair would better draw men to Himself, what measure of human obstinacy and recalcitrance will change this will? Should not the perfect triumph over the good? When such “faith” proves futile, it destroys trust in God and not infrequently leads to utter loss of belief, a bitter agnosticism born in false expectations and misplaced hope.
We demand of God that which we alone deem to be good, then blame Him when He pursues a greater good beyond our understanding.
We demand of God that which we alone deem to be good, then blame Him when He pursues a greater good beyond our understanding. This is the dilemma with which my reader struggled, as she questions the goodness of God in failing to heal her husband, blaming her own “sins” for his untimely demise. To us, such healing appears only good — as it mitigates our pain, loss, and that of those we love — but like the surgeon’s knife, sometimes such pain must not be withheld that good may conquer evil. Were he healed and restored to full health, would he not face death on yet another day? Our lives have a purpose and a proper time: we live for that purpose and die when that purpose is fulfilled. That those left behind struggle to grasp or accept that purpose — and appropriately suffer profound pain and loss at this separation—does not negate that purpose nor impede its fulfillment.
We live in a time when our expectations of health, prosperity, and a pain-free life are increasingly met in the physical realm. At the same time, we progressively become sickly, impoverished, and empty in the realm of the spirit. Despite our longer lives, we live in dread of death; despite our more excellent health, we obsess about our ills; despite our comfortable lives, we ache from an aimlessness and purposelessness that eats at our souls and deadens our spirits. Though we have at our command the means to kill our pain — to a degree never before seen in the history of the world — we have bargained away our peace in pursuit of our comfort and pleasure. The problem of pain has never been an easy one; in our day, it has not been solved but instead worsened by our delusions of perpetual ease and expectations of a trouble-free life.
