Definitions

Anthony’s life was unravelling. He was living a country and western song – his girlfriend had left him, his dog died, and he lost his job. In addition to all of this, Anthony was trying to finish his last semester of University, and although he worked hard to keep up with his studies, it was very difficult, and despite his best efforts, one morning he fell asleep in his philosophy class. After the class ended, the professor gently woke him, and asked if there was anything wrong.

“I’m sorry professor,” Anthony admitted. “I’ve been having a really difficult time these last few weeks…”

The professor nodded understandingly, and Anthony continued. “It’s hard for me to understand what this is all for. Is there any meaning? Is there a purpose?”

The professor thoughtfully rubbed his chin, and then asked, “Define ‘is’…”

It’s an old joke, and it is not very funny (particularly not when compared to that pun about the roller coaster) but it is accurate. Definitions are of critical importance in any philosophical discussion because they allow us a bit of common ground – we understand the questions that the opponent is asking, and we can avoid the difficulties that plagued Abbot and Costello’s famous inquiry into the identity of the first baseman. Seeking definitions can devolve into a stalling tactic: when a debate is not going well, I start asking my opponent to define things. Even if it is merely to avoid the stalling, it is useful to get definitions out of the way early on. When someone shakes their head and bemoans the proliferation of evil, I give a sly grin, try to look a little bit cocky, and say, “Well, of course that depends what you mean by ‘evil.’” It gives me some time to think.

Philosophical definitions try to balance two competing virtues: the ideal definition is general and exceptionless. Metaphorically, writing a philosophical definition is like describing to your ideal mate. If you ask a fourteen year old boy (or an engineer) to describe what he looks for in a girlfriend, they will invariably answer “A girl.” It’s a good answer, but in most cases, it is a little broad. (Ironically, if he likes short girls, his answer could be ‘a little broad’ and still be exact. That’s a joke.) It needs to be more specific. On the other hand, if you ask a philosopher what they are looking for, they will hem and haw, and then answer with excruciating specificity. “Her age cannot exceed 28.4 years, but she cannot be younger than 20.3 years old. She must drive a later model Corrola, enjoy the music of Bach, and vote Conservative federally and Liberal provincially.” That’s a description that gives you a good idea of what he is looking for, but unfortunately, it excludes most of the women that he is likely to meet. That, much more than a crippling lack of social skills, is why most philosophers die alone.

Although we can think of countless examples of evil, and we all know what we are talking about, it remains difficult to find a general and exceptionless definition of evil. A lot of times, we use ‘pain’ as a short of shorthand, asking “Why is there so much pain in the world?” But not all pain is bad. The athlete who disciplines his body might feel pride at his sore muscles, and even enjoy the stiffness that follows a difficult workout (I have no idea, because I have nothing in common with athletes). According to a well-known aphorism, chicks dig scars. Sometimes, things are pleasantly painful: we enjoy jumping into an icy cold lake, and as every person who has ever been a teenaged boy knows, there is something really ineffable and fun about a welt from a ping-pong ball thrown at your bare back. It would seem that pain and evil are not synonomous.

That said, there is pain that is not in any way enjoyable. Some have suggested that pain is the body’s early warning system, a way of alerting the owner of the body that there is a problem. Thus, a burn is God’s way of saying “If you don’t take your hand off the stove, you will damage yourself.” On the face of it, this seems reasonable, but the skeptic will ask, “Why does the burn have to hurt two days later? I already have my hand off of the stove.” A larger question looms: why did God make us out of such fragile stuff and then fill the world with things that burn/cut/damage? Similarly, the suffering of the athlete who endures pain toward a greater end raises difficult questions: why did God not make the world so that we could enjoy the benefits of exercise without the necessity of pain? Noted Philosopher Jerry Seinfeld asks this question in a roundabout way when he asks why exercise makes people smell so bad. “Why can’t our bodies help us? Why can’t sweat smell good?” Why did God make the world this way?

I think that the most honest answer, intellectually and scripturally, is the shoulder shrug. Any question that begins “Why does God…” is going to thwart attempts at an honest answer. “Why does God make puppies/sunsets/cabbages/shit?” Shrug. I simply do not know. Who can know the mind of God? Who can search his purposes? I believe that God has a purpose in these things, but philosophical conjectures about that purpose are sure to come up short, and are often less comforting and satisfying than a long hot bath. This answer is not satisfying to the philosopher or the suffering, but it is, I believe the most honest answer a believer can give.

Even if we fail to come up with a decent definition, no philosopher is going to be able to convince us that there is no evil. Perhaps the construction of a definition ought to return to our shared experiences, and when we consider Auschwitz, Pol Pot and tsunamis it is beyond arguing that this is a world aquainted with evil: irredeemable pain, extreme forms of moral wrong, and grotesque suffering. There is evil. The only question is if its existence impunes (or casts into doubt altogether) the character of God. Over the next week or so, I will approach this question from three perspectives, culminating in my final argument for the goodness of God: A baby dressed as a sunflower peeking impishly over the lip of a terra cotta pot.