November Rain

After I got back from the last 5 mile run before Saturday's race, I flipped on the outside lights.  Hair wrapped in a towel, boxer shorts and tank top a sportin', I shuffled across the front hallway only to be startled by zombies and a way too young fireman at my front door.

What the hell?  Isn't it raining out?  Isn't it fast approaching the 8:00 shut-this-thing-down-time?  I had half a bag of Sour Patch Kids and 2 bars of dark chocolate in the pantry, candy-wise, to my name, and the dark chocolate is off limits.  I'd grab that first if this place caught on fire.  Is the term "Scrooge" being juxtaposed as I write this?

Liv and I - standing with my wet hair like a live mannequin on display - were communicating through makeshift sign language as if we were sweeping the house for intruders. This, in turn, eventually caused the pint-sized Kurt Russell and clan to give up on our candy-free abode.  Thank goodness.  And to think all I really wanted to do this Halloween was dress up like a cougar.

Tomorrow is November.  Even though Fall officially started in September, I've only ever considered Fall to be here when it feels like it.  So, welcome my favorite season.  I feel you alright.  It's been way too long.  Your smell, your aura, your crisp breath of fresh air, and your ability to make me want to stay under the covers all morning until the piping fresh coffee hits my lips...

My little sister (as in the one who is four inches taller) text me earlier in the week and wanted to know what is on my Christmas list this year.  What a loaded question, I thought.  Asking me what I need makes me as silent as a Tibetan monk contemplating how he should style his hair. 

"Well, I could use a dust buster."

"WTF, are you our mother?  Give me something better than that."

I couldn't.  I can't.  I don't need anything.  Well, other than wine.  I could always use some Riesling. 

Christmas came early for me this year anyway.  Or maybe my surprise 40th present came a little late.  Either way, it arrived and has been the best gift ever so far.

No more refraining, and no more trick-or-treaters dressed up like fireman walkin' in the cold (almost) November rain.  Only cougars sitting in front of fires looking outside at the snow.

parenthetically whimsical

Time.  Where does it go?  People often wonder the question aloud flippantly.  Sometimes the question is posed whimsically.  As with all things, the consideration I have on a topic is pretty much (completely) dependent upon my mood (emotional state and/or is Griffin House or AC/DC playing...). 

On my drive back to the Fort from the D-train earlier today, in between lamenting over the Tribe's non-existence again in the ALC playoffs and someone slamming into my 2-month old car with a grocery cart full of ice picks, I began whimsically trying to locate the time.  Am I seriously already 40?  Is my baby girl really going to look at a college next week?  Are my parents of the age that I used to think was like, a HUNDRED?   

There was no complaining, only contemplation.  Just thinking about where things stand, as they say.  And after realizing in short order that I am simply thankful for life's current stance, I started reminiscing. 

Great.  Another one of these kind of posts, you ask all rightly so-ish?  In my defense, YOU try and box it out with those little bastards inside my head who undeniably know sentimentality is my biggest weakness, yet refuse to become hard-hearted, indifferent, or god forbid, pragmatic. 

When I care about something, or more accurately, someone, I can remember to a frightening extent all kinds of granular details.  I can tell you what they were wearing on a particular day, a sentence they uttered under their breath when I was pretending not to listen, an email exchange, the weather on any given day we spent together, etc. 

And so it was earlier this afternoon when I remembered “Chip” - (please) - a teddy bear Joe gave to Chels the day she got her wisdom teeth taken out and her entire, ginormous face looked exactly like a Chipmunk.  (We grew up with an Alvin, so she went straight for originality).

I remembered Chip because Liv is getting her wisdom teeth extracted this Friday.  Can’t wait.  The only other time she’s been under general anesthesia was when she was in second grade and had her tonsils (and adenoids, but I refuse to use the clearly man-derived acronym abbreviation) removed.  As my sweet baby girl was awakening, she flew into a fit of rage befitted for an angry, fire-breathing dragon protecting the castle’s virgin princess as she is moronically waiting for her stupid knight in that cliché of a freaking tower…wait, where was I going with this?  Oh, right.  I’m totally looking forward to it.

All of it.  When the time is right.  (Which is a good song by Griffin House.)

An Open Book

Admittedly, I find it cute and amusing when someone says the following to me: I know you, Beth.

As much as I wish this was not the case or will be viewed by anyone with seventh-grade mentality as immodest, I am a smidge complex. The layers that Blooming Onion appetizer thing at Outback boasts?  Child’s play.

Are there some people in the world who know me better than others? Rhetorical. Are there some who’ve only known a particular part of me, a part I purposefully chose to allow them to know? Rhetorical as well but I'll give you a clue: the majority.

We all conclude daily whether or not we know someone, particularly someone we just meet. We use "know" synonymously with I could hang with that person easily and go have a beer; they seem really cool.  Subsequently, we use THAT whole conclusion synonymously with man we have a lot in common. But how much do we really know about someone?  I mean really, truly know?

For example, I'm gonna go out on a limb here and say that my friends might use some quasi-nice adjectives to describe me (I said friends, not haters.)  Yet, who among men (or women – it’s a saying, people) would know that I relish bookstores and libraries? Honestly, I think most of them would argue  they know there's no way, that I'm just trying to somehow trick them into believing there’s another petal on that onion. But they'd be wrong and I'd be further amused.

I adore books. Not in the traditional "I like to read" sort of way; rather, in an "I am absolutely in love with them” sort of way.  Being a lover of language, I’m not sure if this is due to the adrenaline rush literally being surrounded and ensconced in books causes; or, from the mere idea of the endless possibilities they contain.   Maybe it’s simply because I know the story I want to write.  And how I (still stupidly) long for it to end...

I have a particular affinity for used bookstores. You know, the kind of stores that are bursting at the seams with so many books in racks and bins spilling out onto the sidewalk, beckoning me like dark chocolate and Riesling to come hither and have a look around. How can you not be immediately seduced by the countless titles calling out from the unsteady makeshift shelves haphazardly strewn outside? Stretched out are endless rows of real and imaginary tales beckoning to be discovered by just the right person; that one person with whom the story will resonate, their own life drawing an eerily similar parallel.

Because we MUST know how the story ends.

Once, I picked up a book about Tristan and Isolde.  When I stopped rolling my eyes, I noticed an inscription on the inside cover which read:  “1989 – To my dear friend JK, this needs no explanation.  Always, Anne”  Those words alone stirred up so many immediate emotions.  Where the hell was the dark chocolate and whiskey Riesling hiding in this place?  I had no idea who JK or Anne were, but I absolutely wanted to know their fate…how their story ended.  Come here and tell me, Anne.  That way, I can either rejoice with you or punch you in the head to knock some sense into you.

I've been this way for as long as I can remember. I used to ride my yellow Huffy down to the public library and just sit for hours, secretly wanting to be in charge of the Dewey Decimal System which seemed very Nancy Drew-ish in all its early mystique.  I finally got up the nerve and announced my selfless volunteer position to the Library Director a week after visiting regularly. She laughed; I was serious (her name badge was totally filed under “B” in that cataloguing system.)

The smell, the temperature, the rows and rows of knowledge kept me coming back for more. And as I grew up and found myself away at college, it was that Library anchoring "The Circle" just down from Mirror Lake where I'd go in the middle of the night to rehearse the plays I had written, providing me solace in a time of uncertainty.  Yes.  Yes, I was in control of those endings when I couldn’t even see what my beginnings looked like.

People who "know" me may think it’s silly that I consider such things about plain, old, used books. But I actually think it is because they are so ordinary, so unremarkable in their existence that they are of such unique value.  They are used books, hand-me-down narratives, second and third-time-around stories.  They’ve been beaten up, abused, laughed at, cried over, held tightly, and anxiously awaited. 

These books carry with them the indelible marks of everyday humanity. Much like the people who read them.  The end.

 

The Final Countdown

When I open my mailbox and see Runner's World nestled between all the junk, I immediately smile, bounce resolutely back down my driveway, and remember all the reasons running has enriched my life.  So many reasons for which to be thankful indeed.

This morning I finished reading the September issue (hey, the target audience always likes to be ahead).  Of course I started with the article entitled "Break The Rules," so it was of no surprise that one of my favorite lines was contained therein:

We are each an experiment of one.

Thank god, was the first thing I thought.  How could I deal with two of me?

Last evening, I echoed that same sentiment as Liv and I were at the High School registering for her Junior year, which is crazy enough in and of itself.  An extra $35 bucks so she could park in the "general lot."  Generally, this is costing me an arm and a leg and a whole lot of lost sleep.  She is a mini-me through and through, and coupled with my ability to remember the past in all its pegged-legged Guess jeans, Coca-Cola sweatshirt wearing, 1982 Dodge Challenger stick shift driving glory, I may have to revert to some of my late '80's-early '90's tactics to get through these next few years.

For some reason when Liv retrieved her student ID, there were two cards.  Puzzled, she shuffled down the hallway - pretending still not to know me - when she mumbled sideways and over her shoulder, "Wonder why I have two?"

"I don't know, but lemme tell ya, parenting one of you is all I got.  Love you, babe, but one is enough."

She appreciates the same kind of humor as well.  Real-world is always way funnier to me than forced Jim Carrey-esque efforts.  And in real-time, as Liv and I stood in the never-ending parking permit line, I sent Chels a text.

Were WE this stupid in high school?

She replied immediately, as if she could sense my pain 3 hours away:  I think we were dumber.

Her response made me laugh x2.  Her word choice always cracks me up, along with her (usually) spot on insights.

"Well, for what it's worth, I STILL loathe stupid, fake cheerleaders.  They are the dumbest."

"Same!  Some things haven't changed!"

As I am inside what Europe annoyingly sang back in those all important, moral-forming '80's, I'm especially thankful I know what I like.  And definitely what I don't.

How Much Can You Know About Yourself if You've Never Been In a Fight?

It was early February and I hadn’t laughed that hard in a long time.  My friend and co-hort, Angela, had sent me a simply stated text:  “Stopped at a light by a White Castle.  Sign says they’re taking Valentine’s reservations.”

She has a way about her, that one.

She also has another friend whom she tells me about once in a while.  I don’t quite remember, I think her name is Charlie or Rocky or…wait.  It’s Phoebe.  That’s right.  Angela insists upon sharing stories about this woman with me, mostly because we like to note the extreme plausibility of an alter-ego existing.  A bedazzling one, to be certain.

Since Angela and I are good friends, obvious line-quoters, and do everything in good taste, we immediately agreed to crown Phoebe’s alter ego, “Regina Phalange.”  In reality, however, when surrounded by the typical commoner, her majesty regularly goes by “Pheebs” for short.  Not that she’s short, mind you, but there’s something intimate about calling someone by a name other than their first one.  And we like Pheebs.

We like her because she is messy.  Not unkempt Zul seeks the Keymaster messy; experience messy.  Apparently, she’s been through a lot of crap in her life – of the usual and unusual variety alike – and remembers all of it.  Hell, she can even remember to turn the stove off in twenty minutes. 

Not only do I sit Indian-style with my hands clasped the moment Angela dials my extension and starts the conversation with, “You will LOVE this one,” I also cringe in anticipation, waiting to hear about Pheebs’ latest stalker-de-jour.  No matter how jacked up the story unfolds, I always end up channeling an incurable strain of sorority-cheerleader harpy.   I want to both laugh in Pheebs’ face and befriend her all in one fell swoop.   But mostly, I just want answers to questions.  There will be so many!

“He was how old?  What was she gonna wear, leotards, two-tanks, stilettos, and gold bangle bracelets adorning her entire radius and ulna?  Good god, like she even knows how to crack gum anymore.”

“She seriously threw a right hook when he wouldn’t leave her alone?  Like, Fight Club punch? Good thing she can run fast.”

The stories, while endless and requiring no caption of “You cannot make this s@!# up,” are wearisome.  They’ve quickly become exhausting to both Angela and me, so I can only imagine how Pheebs sometimes feels about all the feculence. 

Lately and admittedly, I’ve been letting Angela go into voicemail, even if I’m in the office when she calls.  Her delivery is more monotone, the stories more hackneyed, and my patience for platitudes has only ever been rivaled by one person.

“Really, that jerk face tried to impress her by talking about his Rolex, his place in Aspen, and the slew of Swiss models and vehicles he stores in his checkerboard floor-lined museum of a garage?  You and I both know she couldn’t care less about money, and that loser can’t tell time, ski, do it, or drive, so c’mon!  Tell me what Pheebs did next!”

“She didn’t do anything, didn’t say a word.   She was just deathly silent when I asked her about the whole thing.  And that’s when I knew she meant it.”

Pheebs giving up is like Moses devouring that pork chop he’s holding in his hairy palm.

Yet the elephant-like irony which Angela and I were grappling over was this:  don’t you have to try to accomplish something first, before actually waving the white flag?  Pheebs hadn’t given up, because she hadn’t been trying.  She’d been avoiding, ignoring, and once in a while appeasing just to keep her relentless friends off her back.

Why did she or anyone else have to adhere to some absurd societal standard anyway?  Her jerk friends know full well she doesn’t need some dude for any of the reasons those broke, wrinkly, perma-smile, sequin-wearing bamboozlers on the prowl at Chop’s need dudes.  Those Midwest floozies are the ones hanging on to every manther’s word which you know they can’t hear over everyone else’s fake laughter anyway.  They make total spectacles of themselves by tossing their fried hair back until an innocent, twirled up finger involuntarily catapults their head right back into place.  Or, conveniently, right smack dab into Richard Rich Sr.’s lap.  Hook.  Line.  Something.

Not to mention, one super-duper jaded Pheebs.

Yet, she had gotten to a place where she was totally fine with her new normal.  And I had selfishly accepted that no more jacked up stories would be coming my way, and Angela and I would be relegated to discussing only real business.

Enter the cliché.

“You will LOVE this one.”

“Nope, I can’t take hearing about it so what else you got?”

“Seriously, this is different.  She wasn’t looking.  It was this whole thing, totally on the up and up, she met him, he was kind of aloof so you know…she was immediately intrigued.”

“Whatever, we know how this story ends.”

I was in no mood to hear about how someone I thought I respected had relented.  How she was now two-timing her druthers in favor of some guy she met when she wasn’t looking.  Hey Nicole Kidman, I don’t give a flying you-know-what if he is Tom Cruise.  Open your eyes.  You have 8-ish inches on him. 

“Fine, I give, what’d she say?”

“Mostly it’s what she didn’t say.  I could tell by the embarrassingly annoying giggle-thing as she was trying to tell me.   I guess it’s easy and …

“Wait,” I interrupt.  “Can he keep up with her in ways that matter?”

“I asked her the exact same thing, because you and I both know what happens when they either can’t or refuse to try.” 

“And?”

“She told me begrudgingly, that was a rhetorical question.  Apparently, he isn’t one bit off-put by her sometimes smarts, mostly because he is smarter; but you and I also know hell will freeze over before she ever admits it to him.”

“Uh-oh.  She never says any of that.”

“I know.  And there was more, something along the lines of wanting to be with him when she wasn’t, thinking about him way more than she ever anticipated, kicking his ass at all-things Milton Bradley, haiku-writing, running, and a bunch of other Hot Pockety gooey kinda stuff that made me want to puke.”

“Yikes, Pheebs is in trouble,” I say to Angela.

And we both just hung up.  Nothing else needed to be said.

 

A Head in the Hood

Unequivocally, I am not a ZZ Top fan, but they did get one thing right:  Every girl's crazy 'bout a sharp dressed man.

Suits.  It's been my absolute favorite show since it came out 2 seasons ago.  Let the record state that I do not watch much TV and I've had my fill of lawyers over the years.  So admittedly, I am embarrassed for myself that I continue to be drawn to this show like a moth to a flame.

Last night, I was unable to watch the elitist smut real-time so DVR'd it was - patiently awaiting my return from an exhausting day at work along with a pair of well-loved cozy black sweats, a gray North Face zip up, one sturdy hair clip and a swig of Riesling.  No matter what craziness runs through my head during the course of a day, when I slide into those clothes and turn on any non-ZZ Top tunes, the burdens are eased; the thoughts quickly dissipated.

When I first began my courtship with Suits, the smitten was immediate.  Sure, the eye-candy abounds, but it was more than just the superficial which garnered my unadulterated praise and subsequent practice mouthing the words, "Yes!  Yes, of course I'll marry you, Harvey!" through tear-filled, Alice Coopery eyes. 

But it's different now when I watch.  Gone are my fantasy images, replaced instead by imagined impenetrable love barriers adorned with capriciousness.  No longer am I on the sidelines rooting for Mike and Rachel to go at it or Harvey to reciprocate Donna's unconditional love; I throw my North Face hood up in agreement when, as a united team, they forgo face sucking in favor of high-fiving.  Clearly, high-fiving always transcends the rest, signaling a much stronger win and a much less complicated future. 

On cue to some ass-kicking music, in strides Stephen from "the London office."  Blimey, I like how those little buggers talk.  Stephen tries his English woo on Donna (I promise, they actually do practice law on occasion) who immediately positions herself as totally un-woo-able even though, of course, she's already envisioning nothing but ivy, Daniel Craig, and live nutcracker men blowing trumpets on Abbey Road.  Should be wearing some cozy black sweats, girl.  Hardship savers that they are.  She kicks him out and dabs the beads of sweat on the back of her knees.

I continue to enjoy this episode and all its new charming and interesting characters until my doorbell rings and it's couple #1 coming back to check out the house (which is for sale).  If I hate being hugged and arm-stroked by close talkers, I hate strangers rummaging through my tortilla chip cupboard even more.  So I stare like I'm in a game of "whoever blinks first loses" at the TV screen.

Stephen.  In a convertible Aston Martin and dressed as sharply in a suit as any man should have license and legal authority to do, pulls up alongside a beautifully-dressed-herself Donna as she's walking the illuminated streets of New York on her way home after a rough day at the office.

Paraphrased:

"Do you think you can impress me this easily?  Do you really think I'll just get in?"

"No, but I think these tickets to Macbeth might do the trick."

"Ah, you didn't do your research quite well enough.  I've already seen Macbeth."

"Yes, but you haven't seen it with me.  In the front row.  With Daniel Day Lewis as Macbeth."  And Stephen speeds off into the night, leaving her there and the rest of us wishing we were.

"I'm in trouble," Donna mutters the clearly stolen line.

As the remote and last gulp of wine went down, all I wanted to do was hate Harvey.

Teddy

As you know, I try to stay away from political rants posts in the name of all things sane.  My blood pressure can only take so much during the course of any one day.  But I do look back sometimes, still wondering why I didn't bite the law school bullet that called my name more than United Dairy Farmer's Cookies-n-Cream milkshakes at the corner of 12th and High. 

Politics, arguing, passion, winning, black and white laws, precedents, and ice cream - I should have gone.

Hands down, some of my most favorite people are lawyers (excluding the ones who keep the stereotype alive and well), and without question, my favorite President of all time was Teddy Roosevelt.  Yep.  If I was born about 110 years sooner, T.R. would have been mine.

To say that guy was interesting and brilliant is a complete understatement.  He had an exuberant personality, scores of interests and accomplishments, and led the Progressive Movement.  But wait.  That's not even close to being all.  He won the Nobel Peace Prize when it still meant something to do so (I'm lookin' at you, Barry) and attended Harvard, ingrained in his studies on his continued quest to do more.

While there, Teddy took up boxing - rivaling the giant right hook I'm imagining with a giant interest in naval affairs.  His achievements as an author, hunter, explorer, and soldier were as much a part of his character as his political achievements - if not more.  I'd go so far as to say his mind was only outmatched in leading troops into battle by that of Joshua.  In fact, Teddy studied up on Joshua's tactics in the Old Testament, proving yet again that my 1860's born self would have stepped into any ring with that man....just speak softly, honey, and show me the rest of whatever it was you were saying...

Here's what he said that I love the most:  "Far and away the best prize that life has to offer is the chance to work hard at work worth doing." 

As we age, we begin to realize that we are perfectly happy and content without the things we thought we needed the most - even though we are much better positioned to obtain them.  It's not the "things" you can buy as a result of hard work; it's the work in and of itself that matters.  The work which makes you want to do more, become more, help more. 

The circle of life is a beautiful irony to me.  When you're a kid, you have no idea what work really is, let alone work worth doing.  Liv received her very first paycheck last night.  I watched her open it, hiding my own anxious anticipation behind a slight knowing grin, and could not have scripted either her look or her response any better:

[Eyes wide, jaw slowly returning to normal position]:  "Well that's a bunch of bullshit."

Welcome to life's Grand Old Party, sweets.

 

A Learned Ignorance

Officially, I have two unfinished written pieces - completely unrelated - and am in the middle of reading five books.  Yeah, I have no idea why I can't get to an outcome with anything either.  It is SUCH a mystery.  You'd think Liv and I would have been with Daphne and Velma this weekend instead of Tammy and Maddy...

So anyway, as I started to type and feign concern for my about-to-add-to-the-ongoing-adjectives-and-ailment-list, I remembered.  I remembered a paper I had written, in the most difficult class and graded by the most difficult professor (Read: A-, whatever.) The Autobiographical Statement and Bible Exam were actually my two favorite assignments, because they did not involve any extreme challenges, making it impossible for me to totally lose my cool in a grading situation from an excess of competitive fervor.

And in that I don't have the wherewithal right now to either read or write, here it is.  A paper which answers a very important question.

Philosophy of Religion

The Problem of Evil

This seminar paper will reflect upon the problem of evil as a case against the existence of God.  While it may seem too beautiful a fall day to spoil with talk of evil, it is necessary for ongoing education in philosophy to face its reality as we continue to be surrounded by evil people and evil situations daily.

1.     The Hidden God 

One obvious challenge to ethical monotheism is the question of evil, or “the hidden God.”  Why doesn’t God just make God’s existence known in some definitive and spectacular way?  For instance, it would be a great deal easier for people to believe in God if He/She/It would simply deposit a billion dollars in a Swiss bank account in their name, or perhaps save them from some active and immediate peril, right?

 

Jesus once commented upon the apparent indifference of heaven to affairs of the earth when he observed, “the rain falls on the just and the unjust alike.”[1]  We should not, in other words, read too much into the significance of a drought or a flood.  Such things just seem to happen, and happen without any moral meaning.  This is consistent with the understanding of faith as arriving at its convictions based upon “things not seen.”[2]  Faith does not depend upon sight, and in the case of evil, it must operate despite sight. 

The ancient Greeks understood this mystery as well and erected a statue in the agora of Athens dedicated to “the unknown God.”  This became the basis for a sermon given by St. Paul to the skeptical philosophical crowd of Athens.[3]  And some think that in direct response to this sermonic attempt, St. Paul later wrote of God’s deliberate plan to “hide” the gospel from the wise of this world in the apparent weakness and foolishness of a crucified Christ.   

Luther made much of the distinction between the “hiddenness” of God, the Deus Absconditus, and the revealed God of Scripture.  He contrasted the hidden God with the revealed God and insisted that our knowledge of God must begin always with the revealed God within history and not from speculations arising out of the mystery surrounding the hidden God within history.  Despite all appearances to the contrary, we must trust God’s revelation even when, and especially when, history appears indifferent to our welfare.    

But the category of history as an arena of God’s providence certainly suffers as a result of this.  So much so that Luther speaks of history as merely God’s “sport,” and Shakespeare makes this even more pointed by saying of history that it is: “a tale, told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.”[4]

 

For classical theists, Jews, Christians and Muslims, the problem of the contradiction between the world as it ought to be and the world as it is, between the revealed will of God and the hidden will of God, must be addressed and an answer of some kind offered.   

2.     The Skeptic’s Challenge 

David Hume would phrase the challenge in this way: “Is God willing but unable?  Then God is impotent.  Is God able but unwilling?  Then God is malevolent.”  Thus he argues that God cannot be both omnipotent and beneficent at the same time.   

In its most succinct form, it can be stated as follows:  

“If God is “GOD,” then He is malevolent.

If God is “GOOD,” then He is impotent.

Otherwise, when cometh evil?” 

Similarly, the skeptic can turn the teleological argument for God’s existence on its head.  For instance, if God is the great designer of the world and the world supposedly then reflects His “order” and “purpose,” then does not the reality of evil represent a considerable fly in the ointment?  Is it not an insurmountable obstacle to belief in divine providence when God’s providence appears sublimely indifferent and callous to the moral problem of evil in history?  What kind of divine teleology can possibly justify such historical carnage? 

Does the character of such a dysteleological world reveal something of the character of God?  Given the way the world is, what must its designer be like?  We could even frame the question as a “product liability suit.”  Since we hold human manufacturers liable for their hazardous products, why not hold God liable?

This very complaint is brought forcibly home in Dostoevsky’s The Brothers Karamazov where Ivan tells his brother Alyosha “I do not accept God’s world,” because it is a world in which innocents must suffer.  Ivan then relates the story of a general who uses hounds to hunt down and tear to pieces an innocent boy, a serf.  He then asks Alyosha what should be done to such a man.  Alyosha says softly, “Shoot him.”  Thus, Ivan and Alyosha agree, one who knowingly permits the suffering of innocent children deserves to be shot.  Thus, Ivan and Alyosha agree:  any being, human or divine, who knowingly permits the suffering of innocent children deserves to be shot.  Isn’t God just such a being?!  This is the protest of moral atheism. 

Thus, the problem of evil represents the most compelling argument against ethical monotheism’s concept of an all-powerful and all good God.  This is more than just an existential problem, though it is certainly that.  It must be taken seriously as an intellectual challenge to consistent theism. 

Our text takes up the problem of evil on two fronts, as a logical problem and as an evidential problem.

1.     The Logical Problem of Evil

As a logical problem, it is asserted that the existence of God is logically inconsistent with the existence of evil.  It is logically impossible for an omniscient and omnipotent good being to continence evil.  Evil’s existence is not necessary. 

But Alvin Plantinga argues in his Free Will Defense that human freedom necessarily entails the possibility of evil.  Evil is a necessary corollary to human freedom.  You can’t have one without the other.  God can only forestall the occurrence of moral evil by excising the possibility of moral goodness.   

But why cannot God create free creatures who always do what is right, whose moral character is fixed?  Plantinga argues that freedom requires a real ability to choose otherwise, i.e., an objective choice must exist.  This is the incompatibilist view of freedom, namely that freedom is incompatible with determinism.  God cannot determine the actions of free persons.   

But others argue for a compatibilist view of freedom, that freedom and determinism are not in conflict.  Freedom does not require the actual ability to choose otherwise, but only a subjective perception of choice must exist.  So, even if we really cannot do otherwise, so long as we believe that a real choice lies before us, we are free, even if all of our choices are predetermined to be good choices.  

 

Plantinga responds by arguing that significant (i.e., not trivial) moral freedom be defined as follows:  “A person is free with respect to an action A at a time t only if no causal laws and antecedents conditions determine either that he performs A at t or that he refrains from so doing.”  If that is the case with freedom, then morally significant freedom is not compatible with any form of determinism.

So, it was not a fundamental error for God to create free creatures, creatures free to sin, free to rebel, free to despair, free to turn against God.  Otherwise God would have created creatures so determine in their moral character that they cannot rebel, so that they can only choose the good, the true and the beautiful.  And if that were the case, then what kind of a world would result?  What kind of creatures would we be?  Is the choice between being a rebel or a robot?  

John Locke states that God puts us into a world in which the challenges of life, including evil, exist because God is good.  If God had placed us in an antiseptic and anesthetic world without pain, if God were to hand us all we need and preserve us from any dire consequences of our own choices, then we would lack all incentive to cultivate our mind and talent.  We would, so to speak, live like pigs and just contentedly wallow in the muck.  Without pain and suffering, in other words, mankind “would be a very idle, inactive creature, and pass his time only in a lazy lethargic dream.” 

Socrates made a similar point in Plato’s Symposium.  Since only the gods are wise and have everything they need, we humans are necessarily erotic and needy creatures, longing for wisdom and plenty.  And because we lack perfection, we must, therefore, strive for it.  Thus, philosophers both ancient and modern have understood that suffering is part of the price we pay for freedom and as a goad to human excellence.

 

In fact, wealthy societies tend to be at grave risk of becoming soft, of degenerating because things are too easy.  In this respect, soft times are hard times.  This is not to romanticize evil as really something intrinsically good, or to become positively giddy about human suffering and pain.  But it is to put evil into a coherent metaphysical context.  And because suffering and evil can never be abolished, this helps to mitigate and curb, to confine evil and suffering to more bearable proportions. 

2.     The Evidential Problem of Evil 

While Plantinga’s Free Will Defense may withstand logical arguments about the incompatibility of belief in God and evil, others argue that belief in God is implausible given the facts of evil.  Here the challenge is to square belief in a good God with the evidence of evil in the world and history.  It may be logically possible for God to exist, but is it plausible given the actual state of affairs as we know it? 

Statistically speaking, given the amount of evil present in the world, is this the kind of world one would antecedently expect from a being who is extremely intelligent, benevolent and powerful?  But such an inductive approach to the question of evil would require an alternative world with which to statistically compare, of which we have none.  And the worlds we otherwise create for ourselves as theoretical models, are mere caricatures, and defined by our own presuppositions which thus prejudice the experiment.

To use the prima facie evidence of evil as an argument against the existence of God is to treat theism as a kind of large-scale metaphysical hypothesis for which we anticipate certain specific consequences of how things are suppose to be.  If theism is true, then we expect a certain kind of world will naturally follow.  Pointless or gratuitous evil simply should not exist, and if it does, then it is unlikely that God exists.

A theistic response might challenge the notion of “pointless or gratuitous evil” by arguing that evil serves a purpose, albeit hidden from our view.  This is typical of arguments that attempt to justify evil in the plan of God, arguments otherwise known as “theodicy,” a justification of God.   

While it may be specious to claim knowledge of God’s hidden purposes in allowing evil, it is reasonable to believe that God may indeed have such a purpose and that we do not have access to it.  This is called “The Cognitive Limitation Defense,” and it holds that, as Calvin would put it, “our thimble full of wit does not entitle us to judge the ways of God.”  

This claim of the inscrutability of divine purposes brings this question to a stalemate of sorts.  One either puts their trust in God despite the evidence, as in the case of Job, or one curses God and dies, as so advised by Job’s wife.[5] 

Thus, a choice is to be made in life.  Pain can either drive us towards heaven or towards hell.  It can produce character and hope within us or it will produce a nihilistic loss of all meaning and all hope.  Helen Keller observed that: “Although the world is full of suffering, it is full also of the overcoming of it.” 

Both humans and animals feel pain, but only humans find meaning in pain, be it positive or negative.  While suffering has little inherent value, its presence in our life challenges us to overcome its meaninglessness.  It can be therapeutic to suffer in so far as suffering forces us to face life’s mysteries.   

The real anguish in suffering and pain is its apparent randomness and meaninglessness.  It crushes as often as it ennobles.  Like the rain, it falls upon the deserving and the undeserving alike.  But in his book, Man’s Search for Meaning, Viktor Frankl noted that “suffering ceases to be suffering in some way the moment it finds meaning.”   

So, while we cannot choose the circumstances of life in which we are placed, we can choose how we view such circumstances.  This power of choice, this ability to rise above the dehumanizing effects of evil, reflects the spiritual freedom and nobility of the human person in the face of suffering. 

3.     Defense and Theodicy

 

The two (2) types of responses to the argument from evil are either a defensive one or a more positive one.  Defense aims at establishing that a given formulation of an argument against theism from evil fails to achieve its purpose, while theodicy aims to offer a positive explanation of why God might allow suffering and evil in the first place.

 

The defense approach regards theodicy as unnecessary in as much as the theist is entitled to their belief and nothing the non-theist argues categorically undermines their basic belief.  This is the line taken by Plantinga et al.   

Whether or not a positive theodicy is a viable enterprise is subject to debate.  History is replete with examples of theodicy, all of which have been subjected to intense criticism.  Gottfried Leibniz (1646 – 1716) is one such example in his argument that “tout est bein!,” and Voltaire’s Candide is the withering criticism in the form of a devastating lampoon. 

Various themes show up in theodicy, such as “all’s well that ends well,” which is to say, it will all be shown to be for the best once we reach the end.  This is a utilitarian argument, namely, the ends justify the means.   

Another way to illustrate this argument is to compare history to a musical score and to say that the ultimate harmony of the universe’s music requires a minor note or two in history.  Or to change the analogy to cooking, you can’t make an omelet without breaking a few eggs.  (I must TOTALLY have salmonella by now...just sayin').

 

Again, this kind of argument stresses that the music or recipes may not make much sense to us at any particular moment in the process of playing or cooking, but that’s because we cannot hear the whole score or see the end from the beginning.  And since it is eternity’s music being played out slowly through time, it only makes sense for those ears that are finely tuned to the cadence of eternity.

Needless to say, theodicy is a tenuous project at best, but three (3) general approaches deserve our review. 

4.      Global Theodicies 

The three (3) theodicies deserving of more extended treatment are 1) Augustinian theodicy, 2) Irenaean theodicy, and 3) Process theodicy. 

• Augustinian Theodicy

Augustinian theodicy traces itself back to St. Augustine (354 – 430), a major theologian in western Christianity.  The universe is the creation of God and is, therefore, essentially good.  Evil has no metaphysical standing and is, therefore, essentially only a privation of the good. 

Thus evil lives off the good parasitically.  It cannot exist on its own.  Evil has no metaphysical rights or intrinsic meaning except as a demonstration of the privation of goodness. 

How evil got its start is wrapped up in the mystery of the fall of creation and the perversity of human freedom and finitude, and it cannot be explained otherwise. 

Or, as St. Athanasius would put it, “What is evil is not, but what is good is.”  Evil is the lapsing of being back to nothingness.  This theodicy reflects the metaphysical understanding of western culture, summarized nicely in the following six words:

      “Being before truth.

        Truth before goodness.” 

Working backwards, moral goodness is rooted in a life that is lived in accordance with knowledge of the truth of things, and the epistemic truth of things is derived from their being, from their ontological relationship to God as their creator.   

Evil, therefore, is not only epistemic falsehood, it is ontologically non-existent.  It is only a mirage within history, and so it will not abide the test of eternity. 

• Irenaean Theodicy

This metaphysical theodicy of Augustine from western Christianity is complemented by another form of theodicy, namely, the Irenaean theodicy, derived from St. Irenaeus (130 – 202), a major theologian in eastern Christianity.   

Irenaeus begins with original creation, and he argues that it is an error to equate original innocence with original perfection.  For there to be moral maturity, we must grapple with temptation over time.   

Thus, evil is a necessary ingredient to moral maturation, and marks out a specific stage in the spiritual evolution of all humanity.  Paradise was not lost per se, for it ever remains before us as the goal of our spiritual quest.

John Hick calls this “soul-making theodicy,” and goes so far as to say that it is important for such spiritual growth that the world appear to us as meaningless as possible.  This atheistic appearance of the world is critical to the rise of real faith, similar to the test of Abraham.   

•  Process Theodicy

Finally, process theodicy is more radical still, while being based upon a similar understanding of the moral evolution of the world.  In process thought the relationship between God and the world is one of organic becoming as opposed to crystallized being.  Change, development, evolution, contingency, growth, are all embraced as the process by which the divine being works out His will. 

Continuing along this line, process theology denies that God’s power is as arbitrary as it is usually conceived.  They would argue that God, by virtue of the act of creation itself, has freely limited His own power and submitted Himself to a plan that allows for the contingencies of history to direct its progress.  The life of the world and the life of God are inextricable.  

Historical contingency, an inherent by-product of our being morally free to choose alternatives, is understood as compatible with God’s determinate will in as much as the process will lead us back to God eventually.  And in this journey through time God’s divine power is experienced as persuasive and not coercive.  Thus, God’s being is now so joined with creation that God is involved in a prolonged process of self-actualization through history, of realizing His true nature through the redemption of our often misguided moral choices. 

The future is open, but it need not be seen as a threat.  Rather, it is to be viewed as an opportunity.  Yet, the risk of creation’s future is real, and the process of moral evolution is costly.  God’s self-giving love, which gives to us our very being, with all of its possibilities for good or ill, defers its power to “letting being be,” leaving us to work out our own precarious existence through time.  In this process, evil is a necessary risk, and it is the risk the Creator must be willing to pay for creating free creatures at all. 

      To summarize these efforts to justify God in the face of evil:

• Augustinian theodicy works from a metaphysical argument about the ontological meaninglessness of evil per se. 
• Irenaean theodicy works from a moral argument about the utilitarian purpose of evil. 
• And process theodicy works from both a metaphysical argument about the intrinsic nature of God’s relationship to creation, as well as the moral evolution of history as God continually redeems us from the consequences of our own moral choices.

5.     Horrendous Evil and Theodicy

 

By now it should be clear that the challenge of all theodicy is the presence of horrendous evil, be it natural or moral, within history.  Can theism withstand such a repeated assault upon our existential moral sensibilities?  Does not the cumulative evidence of repeated barbaric instances of evil begin to tilt the scale of history away from theism eventually? 

The Christian answer is the gospel, namely, the incarnation of God in Christ and thereby the identification of God with all our experience of evil in the godforsaken experience of Christ on the cross.  God meets us in the world and in our own suffering, not in majestic power, but in the form of a servant, one who himself became obedient unto death, even the death of a cross. 

So, the classic Christian answer to all arguments from evil is Jesus Christ crucified.  God does not stand idly by, coolly observing the suffering of his creatures.  He enters into and shares our suffering in order to save us from ourselves.

6.     A ‘Learned Ignorance’ 

Finally, it should also be noted that belief in God’s benevolence is intellectually reasonable even when one does not understand God’s reasons for allowing evil.  We may have a reason for our belief even if we do not know what that reason is because there is a difference between having a reason and knowing a reason.  I am, for example, justified in believing that there is a prime number larger than 3.096 x 10¹⁹ even though I don’t know what that number is.  

 

So, if my answer to the problem of evil is “I don’t know,” why should that be a problem for belief?  Is it not often the case that I have a good reason for believing that a certain person (a physician, a parent, a boss, a President of the United States, etc.) has a justification for some action or another even though I may not know what the justification is?

So the fact that we don’t know why God permits evil does not change the fact that we do know that God was prepared to suffer on our behalf to overcome it.  Even though evil is the greatest objection to the existence of God, at the end of the day, God is the only solution to the problem.  And if God does not exist, then we are locked in a world without hope, a world filled with gratuitous and unredeemed suffering.  Only faith in a God who suffers with us and for us can withstand such despairing nihilism.

Therefore, from a Christian perspective, “I don’t know” may sound like a lame answer to the question of evil; yet, Calvin called this response "the pious cultivation of the 'learned ignorance' of faith." 

Far be it from me to argue against Calvin.  Or especially, God.

---

[1] Cf. Matthew 5:45

[2] Cf. Hebrews 11:1

[3] Cf. Acts 17:16 – 34

[4] Macbeth Act 5, Scene 5

[5] Cf. Job 1, 2:9, 13:15.

MK to Mensa

Dear Dear Friend Who I Know Checks This Thing As You Begin Your Pretend Workday:

You said two things to me yesterday which resoundingly resonated. 

The bit about me entering into an obvious mid-life crisis - and it being the BEST time in anyone's life solely because we're old enough to know better but young enough to still do it?  Brilliant.

Secondly, the advice you gave me as I was waffling over a sizable purchase and directional change? Spot on. Especially the part concerning most people thinking otherwise about what I do and why, but you know better.

Indeed you do. 

Dammit, I hate when you're right.

Smells Like Teen Spirit

I hate roller coasters.  Truly.

Sure, to some it may seem counterintuitive - especially given my love of zorbing and most things extreme and dangerous.  But roller coasters suck.

Perhaps it's due to the ambiance that surrounds the likes of The Beast, The Claw Hammer, The Wing-Ding, or whatever the hell marketing geniuses everywhere unite in some dark pit to appropriately name those monstrosities.  I want to puke before I even get on the things.  Even though I've given it an honest effort over the years, my feelings remain.

Speaking of ambiance, at her request, I took Liv shopping yesterday.  It's been a rather tough first week back, so I was beyond pleased to spend one-on-one time with the girl.  Shopping?  Sometimes.  A mall?  Ick.  I'd almost rather go hang out in an airport.  Or, an amusement park.

She was on a mission. 

"Mom, I need some shirts.  Can we please go to Glenbrook instead of JP," she asked in her best you-know-you-love-me-even-though-I'm-killing-you-lately voice.

"Um, sure, why not?  Maybe it's not as bad as I remember it," I replied in my best I-am-so-trying-to-do-the-best-I-can-with-your-mini-me-ass-but-would-rather-stick-hot-pokers-in-my-eyes voice.

She drives.  Nothing like staging the mood.  I ask her, proactively, where she's thinking about parking in that a) I like to have a game plan and b) the closer we are to finding some shirts, the fewer number of years get shaved off my life like LeBron's stupid imposter Amish beard should have been before The Decision.

In we walk.  Now mind you, I was totally taken to task this weekend about having a penchant for self-defeating prophecies in certain situations.  So, I became extra focused and mindful as I walked through the double doors which were not held open for me by a nice Mohawk-sporting youngster.  Far be it for me to ruin a perfectly good trip to the mall before we're even out of the vestibule.

I know the stores Liv typically prefers.  At least, I used to know.  No surprise, she sauntered into Victoria's Secret immediately.  That sentence alone is wrong; the store is even more whacked. 

First of all, it's been around forever.  Secrets always come out.  Victoria is pissing me off.

Moreover, the place is so grossly overpriced that I don't care WHO sports the ill-fitting crap - it's not worth it.  Everyone knows nothing in that hell hole will turn you into a goddess, regardless the side of the bed, cellar, warehouse or boxing ring ropes you are on.  The Angels who bless us every year on national TV as they stride a shimmery white runway (that secretly just once, I wish was lubed with whatever they sell for $12.99 in the bins by the counters) are very sweet women, I'm sure.  However, let's be honest:  they are not representative of any female population I've encountered in the last 40 years.  Yet inexplicably, those are the exact women who shop in that godforsaken store.

And don't even get me started on VS's hiring practices.  It is the equivalent of filling sportscaster positions with individuals who think a sack, back, and flexbone formation is something to include in their match.com profile.

Maybe Tom Brady's wife was watching over me, because we left empty-handed.  See, me?  See, you little know-it all-who-thought-it-would-turn-out-disastrous-but-it-hasn't?  HA-freaking-HA.  What do you have to say about that, 'lil miss?

"Hey, Mom - let's go into that store.  It's way cooler."

Because why wouldn't a store named Nirvana not be?  Smell me the way, honey.  I'm just along for the ride.