theodicy

the·od·i·cy \thē-ä-de-sē\, noun, (modification of French théodicée, from théo- the- (from Latin theo-) + Greek dikē judgment, right): defense of God’s goodness and omnipotence in view of the existence of evil.
(http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/theodicy)

The issue of theodicy means grappling with evil and innocent suffering in the world, even as you want to believe that God is all-knowing, all-powerful, and all-good. This is the main problem of all theology. If it seems that good people suffer (and bad people get away with it), how can we say that God is a very good God? If God knew what was happening, wouldn’t God stop it? Doesn’t God have the power to do something?

There are a many answers people that people have offered since the Hebrew Bible, ("Evil", January 18, '08), but the simple truth is that any theodicy is easier to say when you live in a generally good world, and evil is relatively rare, or at least far off. That is, I’m safe in my suburban home, and even though my 37 year-old friend has leukemia, and I know about the genocide in WWII, it’s not affecting me every moment of every day. Even my experience of suffering when I was in the Peace Corps in Cameroon was sufficiently insulated not to rock my theology too much. We can look at evil as something limited that we just need to “solve” for those exceptional cases. If we can make the suffering of Sudan fit into our safe lives going to work and to church, then we’ve squared the circle of theodicy. And it doesn’t require truly re-ordering our perspective about God to make it work.

Working as a chaplain at an urban hospital takes away my detachment. Every day, I’m confronted regularly with gun-shots, cancer, sexual assault, illegal migration and grinding poverty and homelessness. There’s no way to view it as “out there” because it’s in my own city, just across town. And what I see is that evil and suffering are not exceptions - they’re thoroughly wrapped up in life. It wasn’t that my friend got this unlucky cancer and then died young, it’s that cancer is part of living each day. So are torture, floods, and gang violence. We can’t be here, or anywhere for that matter, without suffering. In a way, it’s not suffering at all; it’s a natural by-product of living. Death is the back on the coin of birth.

So, what do I do with God?

I’m experimenting with something new. I’m willing to say that God isn’t all-powerful. God and God’s universe are very, very wonderful, and generally very good, but not perfect. We live in a “pretty good” universe, and the Master of the World is flawed, strong but not all-strong. My bet is that God is very powerful, the most powerful part of the universe, but has some weaknesses. God is competent, supreme, but not ultimate. God couldn’t make a perfect universe. Not one that worked, anyway. The astronomic evidence seems to support this. A “perfect” universe, where all the matter was evenly distributed, wouldn’t have stars, planets, or people. It would be a residue of dust. God’s universe has to be uneven for anything to be at all.

So, God isn’t perfectly powerful. God is generally a well-meaning God, but doesn’t always have the ability to stop every bad thing. Does this make God still worth praying to? I think so. It’s like ants in an ant farm. Don’t you imagine those ants think their human minder is god-like? Isn’t little Timmy incomprehensible to that ant colony? Don’t they think of him as supremely more powerful, awesomely bigger than they are? I bet they pray every day that Timmy doesn’t forget to feed them again. Maybe having a less than all-powerful God implies that there are other powers beside God. Here, I don’t think so. Maybe there just isn’t enough power in the universe to perfectly manage all the ions, plasma and quarks that started with the big bang.

We’re living in an imperfect world, ruled by an imperfect deity. It’s not so scary. Being here is a nice thing. For example, every single person at the beach yesterday was in gleeful awe watching dolphins play in the surf at sunset. Once you realize that your suffering isn’t personal, just a regular part of getting to be here, then it’s actually a relief.