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Showing posts with label Theodicy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Theodicy. Show all posts

Tuesday, October 30, 2018

David Bentley Hart’s Inconsistent Triad (3): Theodicy


In my final post on the inconsistent triad found in David Bentley Hart’s essay “God, Creation, and Evil: The Moral Meaning of creatio ex nihilo”, I’d like to talk about theodicy.

Let me say up front that, I don’t want to talk about “theodicy” as if it’s a fancy academic issue.  The word "issue" makes it seem optional, a subject for discussion within the safe confines of an ivory tower, as if we can choose when and wear to engage with it.  But we can only talk about "theodicy" in the context of a suffering and evil that humanity cannot seem to avoid, whether it be self-inflicted or not.  It is not academic or abstract.  It’s with that in mind that I hope to proceed.

Hart’s inconsistent triad:
  1. God freely created all things out of nothingness
  2. God is the Good itself
  3. It is certain or at least possible that some rational creatures will endure eternal loss of God
In the previous post, I paralleled Hart's triad with Tom Talbott's triad.  Here, I'd like to do the same thing with a well-known triad involving the troubling question of theodicy.

The theodicy triad in its simplest form:
  1. God is omnipotent
  2. God is the omnibenevolent
  3. Evil exists
The question is, can all 3 of these propositions be true?

As with Talbott, there are some distinct parallels between DBH’s triad and the theodicy triad.  (Note that Talbott touches on some of the differences and similarities between his triad and the theodicy triad in his Reply to Michael J. McClymond).   

If (as I proposed) Hart's 1st proposition (God freely creates out of nothingness) is an articulation (or at least closely related to) the matter of God's creative sovereignty, then we have a parallel with the first proposition in the theodicy triad (God is omnipotent).

Hart's 2nd proposition is, again, closely related to the 2nd proposition found in the theodicy inconsistent triad.  God is the Good itself is, at a bare minimum, close related to the statement that God is omnibenevolent.

But here’s the thing.  Theologians of all stripes and theological persuasions don't hesitate to pick apart this theodicy triad in ways that seek to demonstrate that the triad isn't actually inconsistent.  They argue that all 3 can be true.  If these 3 theodicy propositions can all be true, and these 3 are closely related in form to Hart's proposed inconsistent triad, is Hart’s triad not actually inconsistent?  Can the same arguments that make the theodicy triad not inconsistent be applied to Hart?  If not, what differentiates them? 

The forms that these theodicy arguments take may vary in their level of sophistication and intended audience, but they generally come back to the same thing: we can only answer the theodicy question in terms of the end, eschatologically.

In other words, God may permit certain evils for a time, but this temporal “permission” does not necessarily disprove God’s sovereign love and goodness.  While temporal evil is tragically real, it is temporal.  Evil is not eternal.  It is not permanent.  Given the reality of suffering and evil, any talks of its impermanence risks sounding trite and dismissive.  As true as that may be, what remains is that only the possible impermanence of evil saves the triad.  Only the possibility of the redemption of what evil and suffering have destroyed opens the possibility that the triad is consistent. 

Now this issue of permissive power may trip up those who possess a meticulous interpretation of divine sovereignty.  In the meticulous view, all things are the outworking of God’s will.  There can be no meaningful distinction between what God wills and what God permits.  So in this view, there is no difference between God permitting a child to die of cancer and willing a child to die of cancer.  They are one and the same, and it would be foolishness for humanity to judge God's "goodness" here based on our finite standards of goodness.  There is some truth to this of course, but the argument ultimately undermines God-talk and the possibility of faith.  Hart, having no sympathy for the argument, does not mince words:
But, when any meaningful difference between will and permission has been excluded, and when the transcendent causality of the creator God has been confused with the immanent web of causation that constitutes the world of our experiences, it becomes impossible to imagine that what God wills might not be immediately convertible with what occurs in time; and thus both the authority of Scripture and the justice of God must fall before the inexorable logic of absolute divine sovereignty.
(The Doors of the Sea, p 90)
The fact is, while (obviously) believing his own triad to be inconsistent, Hart also paints the theodicy triad as not inconsistent.  All 3 in the theodicy can be true.

How so?

It’s the distinction between the temporal/finite and the eternal.  Perhaps some answer can be offered to make sense of history, but the theodicy triad would not fare so well if evil and it's effects were given the last word.
We can all appreciate, I imagine, the shattering force of Vanya’s terrible question to Alyosha in The Brothers Karamazov.  If universal harmony and joy could be secured by the torture and murder of a single innocent child, would you accept that price?  But let us say that somehow, mysteriously – in, say, Zosima’s sanctity, Alyosha’s kiss, the million-mile march of Vanya’s devil, the callous old women’s onion – an answer is offered that makes the transient torments of history justifiable in the light of God’s everlasting Kingdom.  But eternal torments, final dereliction?  Here the price is raised beyond any calculus of relative goods, and into the realm of absolute – or infinite – expenditure.  And the arithmetic is fairly inflexible.
(God, Creation and Evil, p 12)
There may yet be an answer for these “transient torments of history”.  For now, however, no answer has been given.
every death of a child, every chance calamity, every act of malice; everything diseased, thwarted, pitiless, purposeless, or cruel; and, until the end of all things, no answer has been given.(God, Creation and Evil, p 5)
I have to confess, I want an answer.  I want reason.  Justification.  And yet, independent of want I think I want, a “bare choice” remains, one that strikes me as profoundly true:
As soon as one sheds the burden of the desire for total explanation -as soon as one has come to see the history of suffering as a contingency and an absurdity, in which grace is ever at work but upon which it does not depend, and has come also to see the promised end of all things not as the dialectical residue of a great cosmic and moral process, but as something far more glorious than the pitiable resources of fallen time could ever yield -one is confronted with only this bare choice: either one embraces the mystery of created freedom and accepts that the union of free spiritual creatures with the God of love is a thing so wonderful that the power of creation to enslave itself to death must be permitted by God; or one judges that not even such rational freedom is worth the risk of a cosmic fall and the terrible injustice of the consequences that follow from it. But, then, since there can be no context in which such a judgment can be meaningfully made, no perspective from which a finite Euclidean mind can weigh eschatological glory in the balance against earthly suffering, the rejection of God on these grounds cannot really be a rational decision, but only a moral pathos.     (The Doors of the Sea, p 68)
 So in the end, the final consistency of the theodicy triad (all 3 can be true) is contingent upon the non-finality of evil, the non-finality of all that is not well.  Hart’s inconsistent triad simply draws upon the implications of the hope of that proposition, the hope of the Gospel:
Rather than showing us how the tears of a small girl suffering in the dark were necessary for the building of the Kingdom, he will instead raise her up and wipe away all tears from her eyes – and there shall be no more death , nor sorrow, nor crying, nor any more pain, for the former things have passed away, and he that sits upon the throne will say, “Behold, I make all things new.”     (The Doors of the Sea, p 104)

Tuesday, November 21, 2017

“God isn’t here yet. Why can’t I see him?” (A 4 year old asks)


“God isn’t here yet.  Why can’t I see him?”

My 4 year old daughter uttered these words a few nights ago.

She lacks the vocabulary to describe it in these terms, but it was the first time I've heard her speak of God's perceived absence in a way that was inextricably linked with anxiety.

The days and nights leading up to Halloween provided new and imaginative ways for her to be scared.  TV shows (especially the kids shows), commercials, decorations, store displays – all of it seeped into her mind.  It’s made our bedtime routine a little tricky….and quite long.  She’s scared, and it can take her awhile to settle down.

Her primary nemesis is “Birthday Man”.  Birthday Man has sharp teeth and he eats your birthday cake.  He comes at night.  Possibly from her closet. 

I mean, it’s cute in a way.  This is about the scariest thing that her 4 year old mind can come up with. 

The thing is, this genuinely terrifies her.  Forget about the birthday cake part.  Think of a man with sharp teeth who shows up at night, emerging from your closet.  I can see why it scares her.

So bedtime has been a little rough.  We check her closet.  We’ve said prayers with her and for her.  We make fun of birthday man, arguing that he can’t have teeth because all of that cake would have rotted them and they’d fall out (we get to plug the benefits of brushing your teeth here).  We’ve convinced her that her blanket makes her invisible which seems to have worked the best.  She crawls deep underneath her blanket, just a few inches of her face exposed.  Just enough to breathe.  Again, somewhat cute.  But imagine being so scared that you wanted to be invisible.  I can relate.  It makes me sad that she’s experiencing this fear.

She wants the fear to go away before my wife or I leave the room.  God is supposed to be nice.  God is supposed to always be watching and protecting.  When we leave God should stay with her.

“God isn’t here yet.  Why can’t I see him?”

Where is God?  Why can't I see him?  Are you seeing something that I'm not?  Is something wrong with me?

I wonder if any of those questions darted around in her mind.

All I said was, “I don’t know”.

I was really hoping that, as a parent, I would have good answers for questions like these.  Answers that would be age-appropriate but also honest and true.  Answers that would grow and expand as she grew.  But I didn’t.  And I don’t.  A few days to process this hasn’t made much of a difference.

I’ve tried to think through it theologically, but basically everything that I think up seems like a way to explain away her dilemma.  Answers seems empty.  It’d basically be: Don’t expect God to be here or to “see him’ in any way that resembles what you mean by the words “see him”.  It becomes a game of words.  Redefine them until you can use them.

Sometimes the best “answers” just cloak our pain and disappointment.  I want to be truthful.  I don’t want her faith-world to be a fiction, a house of cards.

“God isn’t here yet.  Why can’t I see him?”

She’s asking about God’s absence.  I must speak to her.  I must start somewhere.

How do you answer this question for a 4 year old?  (Or for a 37 year old for that matter)?!

Saturday, April 15, 2017

Theodicy, Death, and the Laws of Nature II (Thomas Lynch)



The set of events (rather pointless to call them "unlikely") that resulted in the death of a young girl named Stephanie are provided on p 55, just prior to this section.  To briefly summarize, the family was driving through Kentucky on their way to Georgia for vacation.  Some local Kentucky boys, mischievous but not malevolent, were messing around in a local cemetery for fun.  They stole a headstone.  Getting tired of carrying it, they decided to toss it off the overpass.  It was at just this moment that Stephanie's van passed under:
The stone shattered the windshield, glanced off Stephanie's father's right shoulder, woke her mother riding in the passenger seat and, parting the space between the two front seats, struck Stephanie in the chest as she lay sleeping in the back seat.  She had just traded places with her younger brother who cuddled with his two sisters in the rear seat of the van.  It did not kill Stephanie instantly.  Her sternum was broken.  Her heart bruised beyond repair.
Words provide little comfort.  No explanation can dull the reality of it (I assume the story is true).  But Lynch cannot help but cycle through the various explanations:
Sometimes it seems like multiple choice.
    A: It was the Hand of God.  God woke up one Friday the 13th and said, "I want Stephanie!"  How else to explain the fatal intersection of bizarre events.  Say the facts slowly, they sound like God's handiwork.  If the outcome were different, we'd call it a miracle.
    Or B: It wasn't the Hand of God.  God knew it, got word of it sooner or later, but didn't lift a hand because He knows how much we've come to count on the Laws of Nature - gravity and objects in motion and at rest - so He doesn't fiddle with the random or deliberate outcomes.  He regrets to inform us of this, but surely we must understand His position.
    Or C: The Devil did it.  If faith supports the existence of Goodness, then it supports the probability of Evil.  And sometimes, Evil gets the jump on us.
    Or D: None of the above.  Shit happens.  That's life, get over it, get on with it.
    Or maybe E: All of the above, Mysteries - like decades of the rosary - glorious and sorrowful mysteries.
Each of the answers leaves my inheritance intact - my father's fear, my mother's faith.  If God's will, shame on God is what I say.  If not, then shame on God.  It sounds the same.  I keep shaking a fist at the Almighty asking 'Where were you on the morning of the thirteenth'?  The alibi changes every day.
The Undertaking: Life Studies from the Dismal Trade by Thomas Lynch, p 56

Sunday, March 26, 2017

Theodicy, Death, and the Laws of Nature (Thomas Lynch)


I'm reading Thomas Lynch's The Undertaking for Lent this year.

No way around these haunting realities:
But my father had seen, in the dead bodies of infants and children and young men and women, evidence that God lived by the Laws of Nature, and obeyed in statues, however brutal.  Kids died of gravity, and physics and biology and natural selection.  Car wrecks and measles and knives stuck in toasters, household poisons, guns left loaded, kidnappers, serial killers, burst appendices, bee stings, hard-candy chokings, croups untreated - he'd seen too many instances of His unwillingness to overrule the natural order, which included, along with hurricanes and meteorites and other Acts of God, the aberrant disasters of childhood.
The Undertaking: Life Studies from the Dismal Trade by Thomas Lynch, p 45-46
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