The Problem of Evil

Those of us who have experienced profound suffering often struggle with the question, "How can there be a God," or, "How can a God who allows this to happen to me be a good God?" Whether we know it or not, by asking those questions we are participating in a vibrant philosophical debate.

The Problem of Evil is the biggest logical threat to the existence of an omniscient, omnipotent, and omnibenevolent god. If a god knows there is evil in the word, is powerful enough to stop it, and is good, how can she allow evil to exist? Theists can choose between two major responses. One is the free will defense: humans cause suffering and evil through their free will, but God knew when he created the world that a world with free will and evil is better than a world without free will. This option does not easily address evils not caused by humans, such as natural disasters.

I will call the other response the "redemption defense" (I am sure there are better names for it elsewhere). The argument of this defense is based on the premise that good comes out of suffering. Maybe it is a "better story" when the characters are brought by Christ out of their sin and suffering; maybe this forms them and makes their respective eternities meaningful. Philosopher Marilyn Adams argues that suffering through horrific experiences brings us closer to Christ and each other and is therefore worth it. For many (including Adams), this is only enough to solve the problem of evil if all of us go to heaven.

I have a love-hate relationship with my free will; I guess most of us do. It is hard to know who to blame for my suffering. I doubt I will reconcile my freedom with my well-being during my lifetime, or ever decipher which of my sufferings is my fault. In his novel, The Brothers Karamazov, Dostoevsky argues through one of his characters that to understand the "solution" to the problem of evil, you must love others and form a brotherhood with all of humanity through radical empathy. Although I will always seek philosophical solutions to the problem of evil, Dostoevsky's recommendation seems just as worthwhile. I don't know if I can enter into brotherhood as a woman, but I can try to be a better sister to humanity. I can allow the stories of others to penetrate me, and I can love the storytellers. Considering my epistemic limitations, I don't have much to lose.

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