Dmitry Chernikov’s Blog

After a rather inauspicious beginning — and middle, and end — William L. Rowe comes up with a real gem in the last paragraph: “There are,” he says, “four different things a theodicy might aim at doing, each more difficult than its predecessor. First, a theodicy might seek to explain why [God] would permit any evil at all. Second, a theodicy might endeavor to explain why there are instances of the various kinds of evil we find in our world — animal pain, human suffering, wickedness, etc. Third, a theodicy might endeavor to explain why there is the amount of evil (of these kinds) that we find in our world. And, finally, a theodicy might endeavor to explain certain particular evils that obtain.” (The Improbability of God, 273) He considers the theodicy of soul-making through natural law and argues that it is “successful on the first level, and perhaps the second.” (273) But not further than that. Very well, let’s consider his levels. Clearly, from level 2 it follows that there will be some evils which serve the purpose of ordered soul-making. So, some — in fact, most (because soul-making must work as a rule not as some rarely happening near-miraculous event) — particular evils are justified or absorbed by various higher-order goods. The questions are, (1) are all evils ultimately absorbed (Rowe’s level 3)? And (2) how, precisely, are they absorbed for any given evil E (level 4)?

My view is that the answer to (1) is yes, and I think that this answer is an article of Christian faith. Or, anyway, it should be. As St. Catherine of Sienna said to “those who are scandalized and rebel against what happens to them”: “Everything comes from love, all is ordained for the salvation of man, God does nothing without this goal in mind.” (Catechism, §313) And not just God’s love, for if your suffering is used in a utilitarian manner for the sake of another, then if you love that other, then you will, perhaps if you had known the situation in full, perhaps in heaven during your life review, approve of God’s choices.

As an example of what at first glance appear gratuitous unjustified evils Rowe considers two cases. The first one concerns the ordeal of a fawn trapped in a forest fire, who is “horribly burned, and lies in terrible agony for several days before death relieves its suffering.” The second is the real story of a little girl Sue who was “severely beaten, raped, and then strangled early on New Year’s Day of 1986.” (263)

I think that William P. Alston critiques Rowe brilliantly in his “The Inductive Argument From Evil and the Human Cognitive Condition,” which you can find on JSTOR, by biting the bullet and considering if not all than at least most known theodicies. Rowe himself calls Alston’s job “masterful” (292), yet in replying he fails to grasp his opponent’s point about free will and the lawlike structure of reality. God cannot interfere into nature (save by grace), for fear of setting a dangerous precedent. God does not even stop suicides, the ultimate (though not necessarily the worst) sin. There cannot be found out any general pattern of God’s activities, lest humans will use it for their own ends (or evade God’s purposes) and in so doing nullify God’s interventionist rule. There cannot be anything mechanical, any clockwork-like predictability in God. It is beside the point that stopping Sue’s murderer would justifiably diminish his free will; indeed, I could’ve stopped him by shooting him dead, and that would be the end of all free will in the guy. But, again, this would be my job or job for human beings not for God. He won’t fight our battles for us, even if some of these battles are lost miserably. Furthermore, in my “For Christians Who Are Mocked” I outline some last words that the girl could say to her torturer. And, as Alston argues, the sight of great moral evil energizes the rest of us to make sure that it happens “never again.” Is that not a good?

The free will theodicy, Alston says, has been subjected to “radical criticisms,” one of which is that free will is not “of such value as to be worth all the sin and suffering it has brought into the world.” With all due respect, that is just nuts. Free will is the capacity of choice, of ranking goals on a scale from most to least urgent. Its absence means that you do not examine alternatives of acting for their utility. Hence, also because the will and the free will are one and the same power, you have no feelings, you do not love. And if you have no love of concupiscence, you can’t have love of friendship, because what goods (none of which you yourself value) are you willing to your friends? But if no feelings, then no thoughts of how to achieve your goals. Nor is contemplation possible without enjoyment of it. Hence you are a stone, and if you would rather be that, then you have no business philosophizing.

The suffering of the fawn can also be justified as an unfortunate byproduct of a lawlike world. Alston goes into some detail contemplating alternative worlds without predation, animal suffering, natural disasters, etc. It’s an impressively conducted exercise. In the end he confesses his own powerlessness as an architect of creation. As do I, now that I have read him; all such ruminations are vain and far beyond our capacities for dealing with complexity. And, perhaps more important, as should Quentin Smith, in the previous post.

To emphasize the point, this is our world, and we can do in it as we please, even if it is evil. I am actually quite jealous of my autonomy, and though I may pray for certain goods, perhaps spiritual, perhaps temporal, I can’t let God tell me what to do. He gave me prudence and charity and other virtues, so that I can make my own decisions. (Sir 15:14) If God wants to influence me, He’ll have to do it via grace, enriching nature “naturally.” And it is an open question whether the murderer was receptive to any kind of grace at that fateful moment.

Alston’s attack on our presumption to know all of God’s ways should also be noted. Theology is not a stagnant discipline, and new discoveries may well be forthcoming. Further, some of God’s ways may be forever beyond our comprehension, as long as we are wayfarers.