The Problem of Evil

I was 17 when I gathered all my dreams into an ancient carpetbag with a tricky handle and set out for University. I had endured an idyllic childhood, cosseted in a loving Baptist church as close to me as my own family, but I was excited to see the real world, a world where the best minds of a generation were routinely destroyed by madness. (Or so I had read.) I wasn’t scared, I was ready: ready to have my faith challenged and my stalwart character tempted by the cosmopolitan delights of Lethbridge, Alberta.

I knew almost immediately that I was unprepared. My classes were not difficult, and my marks were good, but my peers and even some of my professors were openly antagonistic toward the faith of our fathers. I remember my logic professor quickly diagramming “Jesus loves me, this I know, for the Bible tells me so” on the blackboard, mockingly asking if it was a valid argument (it isn’t). I had thought that I was part of a respected community; it turned out that we were barely tolerated. I tried my best to defend the faith I loved, as if Jesus would have been ashamed to learn that I was confused and intellectually outclassed. I argued even when I could see no hope, as if it was my duty to the members of the Baptist church to unleash my ignorance at every turn. My efforts at apologetics were only occasionally embarrassing, but it was always an uphill battle, and I learned to wear a confident smirk even when I was sure that I was beaten.

It was no comfort to learn that I was not alone – the Christians I encountered seemed either blithely unaware or transfixed, continually organizing box socials and hayrides. Of course, these were not the only believers on campus, but those who did not remind me of panicked rabbits were just as distressing: wolfish, menacing and intimidating, ostentatiously intellectual, often smoking pipes and always ready to give an answer to anyone foolish enough to spout the calming theology I was familiar with. I had never met Calvinists before, and they impressed me, and always left me with a quiet feeling of dread. I sometimes wondered if I preferred an utterly oblivious, cheerful ignorance to a sour, intellectually respectable faith; I was not anxious to make the choice.

I wish that there were a tidy end to this story, a character introduced in the third act who lived a quiet, penitent, orthodox faith and taught me to respect my mind without sacrificing my heart. There was no such deus ex machina available to me; I will not invent one here. I have struggled, and I continue to struggle, with the intellection that has destroyed the finest souls of my generation. I continue to struggle, but I have made progress. These questions do not cut through me the same way they used to; I have learned to handle my own weapons better and I have learned to accept (and expect) defeat. I have become comfortable, and even rejoice in my own fallibility. I don’t have the answers to the questions that haunt me, but I am called to trust, not to know. It is liberating experience to realize that losing an argument does not mean that I am constrained to doubt or discard my faith – the God that the philosophers are content to prove or disprove is not the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. When I am confused, God does not cease to exist any more than the sky ceases to exist when I close my eyes.

When I first encountered the Problem of Evil, I felt as though my faith was collapsing. My philosophy of religion professor, Dr. Woods, was a considerate, learned and generous scholar. He did not present the problem as a means to enlightening my ignorance, and neither did he dismiss it as an ancient question, long since solved and no longer pertinent. He set the problem before us, and let us contemplate it. It was an example of philosophy as it is meant to be done – thoughtful, respectful, fascinating and (if we are to be honest) incredibly difficult.

As I read Jacob’s recent entries on the Problem of Evil, I realized that I want to go through it too, not as a response (at least not directly) to Jacob’s questions, just as an account of my own experience and thoughts with regard to one of the central philosophical arguments that is put to theists. I feel somewhat guilty, because I know that philosophical posturing does not have wide appeal, and I do not have Dr. Woods's wisdom. I will try to make the discussion accessible and enjoyable; I’m so confident that you will enjoy this that I am willing to offer a ‘money back guarantee.’ (It’s kind of a joke, because you didn’t pay anything to read this, so even if you were dissatisfied, all you would get back is… never mind.) And I’ll try to augment the philosophy stuff with some other stuff, maybe a story or some such, and maybe some jokes, or something, or maybe sports analysis and gossip, for people that don’t really like philosophy. And also, the promised pictures of babies dressed up as potted plants (no, I haven’t forgotten).

“We are talking about God. What wonder is it that you do not understand? If you do understand, then it is not God.” ~ Augustine