the archive breathes,
indeed
I try my very best to remain tender to the tragedies of the world. It's not always convenient and I often fail at this, especially since I have a naturally avoidant personality and it is madly uncomfortable to look grief and despair in the eyes, all while knowing I often cannot do anything to fix it. But I firmly believe that evil is countered by the willingness to grieve alongside others, to see them and not turn away.
I often think of the story of Lazarus. Jesus wept at his grave, not because He lacked faith that Lazarus would rise from the dead, but because He felt the despair of Mary and Martha, and it brought Him to tears. I cannot help but think that God must also grieve alongside His children today in the midst of so much pain, and this gives me hope. Sometimes, all we can do is to acknowledge the suffering of others, and not allow ourselves to become hardened to the tragedies of the world. I am unsure how exactly to describe it, but there is something beautifully good about choosing to lament alongside others; it somehow dispels some of the evil. — Hannah (part 1)
The real question here is who are you? Who are you in all of this? This feeling you have of always being just a little bit dis-integrated wherever you go, take the time you need to grieve that. And once you’ve grieved it and you’ve accepted it as part of who you are, go out there and be that person. You may not change the world—in fact, you probably won’t—but you may be the exact kind of person that someone else needs, someone who is feeling that sense of disintegration for the first them when you are someone who feels it all the time. That is a gift. That is a calling. That is a reason to do good: because it’s part of your design. — Arun
Even if you are not sure of God, God is sure of you. — Meg
The worst way forward from the problem of evil, I think, is some sort of logical resolution--either that evil is a necessary, if regrettable, consequence of God's good intentions or that perhaps God is not so good or powerful after all, if he even exists. Both of these solutions rob the problem of its prayerful feel, which rests in its insistence that we both face the undeniable reality of evil in the world around us and confess, indignantly, that the world should not be so. This is the way in which theodicy resonates with Job's accusation against God or Mary's and Martha's lament over Jesus's failure to save Lazarus. Each of these cries refuses the world as it is, and in so doing evinces a faith that the world could be otherwise--that there is a good God to hold to account. — Mat
By bearing witness and then crying, lol.
It is important to have discernment, like is this a problem of injustice or is this evil an evil of immorality and inhumanity? With the evils of injustice, injustice committed against the marginalized body and livelihood I feel physical pain. I turn to music, music that tells these same stories of the marginalized by the marginalized. I turn to writing because these moments are so baffling that it is difficult to always find the words to verbally speak that I must instead manually write it out and type instead. I deal with the problem of evil, yes by crying, but also trying to pin point where we went wrong and also consider what is the music that came out of that point in history because that is a window into the soul of the suffering and society. The point is to listen to the stories of the marginalized, the disenfranchised, and try not to repeat those same injustices and instead being those stories to the front through writing, music, art, through participation and appreciation in the affordances of that culture. People need people, communities need us and we need them, that is the point of still choosing good. Marginalized folks need to be there for each other, we need each other as we are fighting intersectional battles. — Cam
1. Evil is a natural byproduct of free will.
2. God’s justice/judgement/reward/punishment will occur inevitably - in this life or the next.
3. Delaying the punishment of wrongdoers is evidence of God’s mercy.
4. The more good you do the larger God’s reward!
Perspective of a not-so-knowledgeable Muslim :) — Plaido
I actually think this is the only way that is livable. I think the other thing—the version of Christianity that is obsessed with rules and a strict moral code for living and a constant fear of the burning pits of hell—that is what is not livable. When you follow that way of living to its logical end, it is not livable at all. Because it is not livable to exist on this earth in hopes that you can be in complete control. But this thing, this unilaterally extended grace of God, this invitation to live in the creative freedom of our agency: this is the only livable way, for me. How else can I handle the weight of all that is broken in this world? It’s not up to me. It’s up to God. I do what I can, but it’s up to God. — Ted
It’s not all on you. It can’t be all on you. What this whole thing is actually about is community, embodied community. I see it every time I go to church on Sundays and I am with the people. Being with the people, that’s what it means to be with God. Doing life with the people, coming up alongside them, even when it’s inconvenient or uncomfortable, that’s what worship is to me. And knowing that fixing the whole world is not on us, but loving the people around us is. — Beth
It’s a tough question. It’s one worth asking. I think everyone I know who goes to seminary has a kind of crisis of faith of sorts. Especially right now, with everything that’s going on in the world, I think it makes sense to feel completely severed from God. Now is the time to lose God. I think that’s alright. But keep looking. Don’t let go of that still small voice of hope. Without it, you won’t survive. But with it, you will weather every storm of life; you will find your God again, even in all the evil. And when you do, your heart will choose Him. — Woo
This is not a serious question. All around the world, in the midst of great evil and instability, Christianity is thriving! Do not waste my time with such things. — Jehu
I cry. Like a lot.
But I choose good because good still exists. It won’t ease the pain caused by evil, but it’ll be a gentle reminder that there is still a light, a hope, SOMETHING. People, myself included, need that reminder, so I choose to do good. For my own sake and for those around me. — Bom
the problem of evil keeps me up at night, and has forced me into swampy thought-dilemmas that only leave me grim to the idea of God at all (if “free will” = the potential for willful, HUMAN trespasses against one’s neighbor, why natural disasters? Why childhood bone cancer? Why naturally-occurring chronic pain disorders? And still, in the cases of man-fueled injustice, why does God intervene selectively—leaving some with inspiring testimonies, and others toward deconstruction journeys?). I have no answer for reconciling evil. But I do know (from personal experience) that grappling with apologetics and philosophical questions too obsessively, if not balanced with spending time in your “quiet place” with God, can leave you closed off to the possibility that he might just have a perfect justice in store for the atrocities of our world. I think maybe…to question on our own is like asking the grass and dirt why our human world isn’t perfect, but to pray is to actually seek wisdom from the source. Maybe some of the answers we CAN get from the “dirt” (our own studies and discussion groups, like this one!) and others we get from God—even if all he can give us is the peace that justice will be served in his way, on his time. Why he doesn’t give us more than that….i don’t know. But we need a little bit of both. Otherwise, we close ourselves off to peace, love and light, forever stuck in the rabbit holes of our own understanding. — Lara
I doubt Lucy and Frodo wanted to charge into their respective battles. What could a young girl and a halfling possibly do to turn the tide? Turns out, they can change everything—not because of their physical strength, or battle expertise, or intelligent minds, but because of their proclivity to dive into the mess, knowing that it's just the right thing to do. They love their worlds and people deeply, and to them, that's enough to face the dark wilderness.
So, TLDR, I don't know! At times, especially now, God feels so removed from the tragedies that keep coming. But Jesus walks the journey with me, through the mud and grime and all, sharing tears and all that comes with being human. And Jesus is God, so what the hell does that mean? Again, I don't know, and I will never know. I just hope he never lets go of my hand. — shiwon (pt. 3/3)
I’ve recently come to find that grief might just be the most compelling theodicy. It does not give us answers for suffering. It does not tie tragedy into a nice bow, or ask us to accept it cheerfully. Nor does Grief let God off the hook. What it does however, is reaffirm our deep-seated knowledge that the tragedies we experience run against the original grain of the universe. Our tears, frustrations, and dissatisfaction are the result of splinters.
I believe grief is evidence, a spiritual embodied response to the brokenness of the world—a God given human impulse to recognize that this is not how our world should be. In this sense, the way I deal with the problem of evil is by not allowing myself to view my grief (or all grief) for that matter as meaningless. It must not be in vain. — Sergio
I'm going to agree with "Jehu" that this question is a waste of my time, but for very different reasons. As a pastoral abuse survivor that has witnessed frat-style hazing, force-feedings, and even child molestation in the church: I think theodicy is a very serious question. But I just don't have the brain cells (or time) to look for answers. And the people with the brain cells and time have been looking for 2000+ years and still cannot find an answer. So for me, hyperfixating on theodicy would only spiral myself into yet another depressive episode. (Spoiler alert: this has been my first year not being depressed, and I'd love to keep it that way.)
So I need to actively find reasons to believe in God's goodness. As a student of history, practicing Christian, and aspiring confessional theologian, I look for these reasons in church history. And while those reasons are far between, they are not few but many. I see God's goodness in my home church's sensory garden, which cultivates emotional healing and Asian-Latino solidarity. I see God's goodness in Dr. Tran's account of Redeemer Community Church, whose members' small business and private school enriches low-income communities of color. I even see God's goodness at my childhood church, where small group teachers quietly defied authoritarian leadership and even my hyper-Republican college pastor introduced me to Bonhoeffer.
So yes, I think theodicy is a waste of my time. I do think someone else (maybe you?) should look into it. But I’m much more interested in reminding the church that it is capable of goodness—and that it has been good before. — Jo
The following poem from Kate Bowler embodies this idea so perfectly:
"Blessed are you who glimpse reality and don't turn away.
This kind of seeing comes at a steep cost, and it is a cost you may not have paid intentionally, but here you are.
Seeing things clearly.
Blessed are you who have worked hard to keep your heart soft.
You who live with courage, fixing what is in your reach, praying about what is not, and loving, still." — Hannah (part 2)
Honestly, I don’t deal with the problem of evil. That’s not up to me and I don’t think I could really do anything about it. But the point of choosing to do good, to love, to serve, is really because of the love I have received from Jesus. Of what he did for me, us, on that cross. The point of choosing to do good is because I have tasted goodness. I know who is good and who is not. We are not good. No one is good. I love that question of if God is real, why is there evil? Well, we know who is evil and why there is suffering… if you wanted God to prove to you that he existed and told him to get rid of the suffering and evil in the world… truly…. Who should he start with? — Won
Speaking from my heart, God lately has felt much like the Emperor Beyond the Sea and Iluvatar, made distant by their holiness and sovereignty. Maybe God's ashamed of his creation and allows us to run amok because he no longer gives a fuck. We're too far gone, far too wicked.
But Lucy and Frodo always bring me back to Jesus (Aslan too, for obvious reasons, but he doesn't count here for the point I'm making)—my humble, gentle, and compassionate savior. He's not up in the sky or a faraway entity I have to stretch to reach constantly; he's always here. Even in the face of great fear, even when he really didn't want to die and knew his closest friends would leave him, and that challenging a cruel empire could only result in his death, he walked forward, one leg in front of the other, until he simply couldn't. — shiwon (pt. 2/3)
What is evil really... I think a lot of it is borne out of pure incompetence or willful ignorance which is something conscionable people have agency to overcome. But also there are the cold cruelties of chance and injustice like cancer that we can only sit and cope with. For the latter I'd like to believe the little wonders we see like a beautifully orange autumn tree are also born of chance so maybe in a weird way the universe balances it out.
Anyways I think you'd like the book For the Time Being by Annie Dillard !!!! — Jugal
I can not explain the theology behind why God is good nor its specific relevance in any religious text, outside of uninspired bible verses. Still, I believe God is good.
The world: genocidal, violating, depressing, and unforgiving. I can't ignore it. But when the slim glister of light meets my eye after a slightly too-long nap; when a surprise greeting comes from a long-ago friend; and when the wafted smell of an old-time home meal lingers around the house. I am sure God is good.
The life I experience is the point. I can not expect to control this storm we call the human condition nor can I fully understand the architect of its complexity. Yet, if the God who made this world is also the one who gave me the fractions of Joy in my life then he must be good. This belief is what makes me confident that I should choose good. I should try even in my insignificance to push against the barriers of evil so that others could experience our God given moments of joy. — D-Sung
Why did the Emperor Beyond the Sea allow the White Witch to take over Narnia, curse it with perpetual winter, then kill his son? If that allegory is too on the nose, why did Iluvatar allow the Numenorian civilization to crumble, and Sauron to (almost) conquer Middle-earth, destroying everything in his wake?
In both worlds, though, people like Prince Caspian and Lucy, Elendil and Frodo, come to mind—specifically the latter of each pair. It makes sense that Caspian and Elendil wanted to save the day; they held many lives in their hands. But Lucy and Frodo, what special characters! Small, unassuming, and often easily dismissed for their softness. They're some of the main heroes of their stories, specifically because of their simple goodness. — shiwon (pt. 1/3)
I have evil urges. Not even in the biblical sense. In the way society deems so not because of laws, but because of morals. For me it’s a matter of curiosity, of wanting to know and experience and take into my own hands. Is that to mean curiosity is evil? Of course not. It’s because of curiosity that we’ve accomplished great things, seek knowledge, and have also wrought destruction in our world. It just is, and exists the same as we all do.
But what is the point of still choosing good? Well, the science-y answer would be: criticality. Nature is smart. It can self sustain, has existed long before we were here, and will continue to exist long after we are gone. We are just a blip in the timeline of nature, and we have left our mark in the form of evil. As people, we have tipped so far past the point of criticality that I wonder if we can ever recover from it. Think of the climate clock—I’m sure you’ve heard of it—but on a much broader scale, applied to us as a society. Choosing good is a desperate appeal to self sustainment, but I’m not sure if we can ever recover from it. But we have to choose good if we want to be something that matters. Wanting to be something that matters, however, is a completely different can of worms. — e