Problem of Evil
Been reading for this huge paper I have to write for my religion class and the topic has to be about the problem of Evil. We're mainly focusing on the story of this one man, Elie Wiesel, and his experience as a Jewish boy who lost his faith in God during the Nazi rule. Seeing his friends and family killed around him he begins to wonder where God is when innocent human beings suffer. How can a God of love permit such evil in the world?
I've been struggling with this. I mean, I know evil exists. Yet, have I truly witnessed it? How am I going to write a paper if I can only rely on what others have gone through? When this man questioned God's existence because of what he witnessed. It is so easy for me to fall back on theodicy and say, "Well, God was there. Why didn't He do anything? I don't know, but it's not like it's a new thing. I mean, look at the Bible. People were oppressed, treated as slaves, for thousands of years. Perhaps it is atonement for some sin. Or that it is a judgment of God." Weak arguments, but for a while, I actually believed them.
I had always detached myself from the past but was otherwise knowledgeable about it. I’m not unaware that evil exists in the world. By turning on the News or reading the Paper I can’t avoid it. However, it never really touched me in my safe little bubble.
At least, I didn’t think it had.
Not to get completely off topic but my sister was assigned to write a paper about someone she missed. She chose our grandma. A couple of years ago our grandma died of lung cancer. The breast cancer we had thought she defeated had merely moved on to a different location and by the time the doctors caught it, there was little hope of recovery. So, my sister wrote her paper and read it aloud to me. She talked how she was holding our grandma’s hand and remembering all the times they had spent together. Memories of Christmas and other holidays spent at Grandma and Grandpa’s.
She then talked about how she wished our grandma could have been there to see her graduate. To be there on her wedding day. To be there…
I thought of this paper I have to write. The theodicy of evil. How this little boy had to witness the deaths of his friends around him. How he knew that his mother and sisters had been thrown into the furnace because they couldn’t work. He watched his once healthy father dwindle away into a weak man who became so ill he couldn’t leave his bed. How the boy still fought for him, gave his father the small rations of food to him instead of feeding himself.
No wonder while going through this (and much more) he began to question God.
I remember asking God why He would take away grandma. Why would He make her suffer?
My sister remembered the good memories while I could only remember the ones leading up to her death. The sickly way she looked. The light that had gone out in her eyes. Flesh hanging from bone from rapid weight loss due to the kemo and pain killers taking away her appetite. The long night when grandpa was putting her to bed for the night and she begged him to just let her go. She didn’t want to live any more.
Why?
Why?
Why?
It made me question. Why, God? Why her? Why anyone? Why do we have to sit back and listen to our loved ones suffer? Is this some sort of test of faith? It is so easy to answer that when you are the one sitting in the back row, watching unattached and unfeeling. Separating yourself from what is going on.
The boy lost everything and I was quick to answer, “Oh, there’s a God. This was probably a test of faith for the boy. This stuff has happened before in the past. More lives were lost then than what he’s experiencing now…”
How foolish am I? How blind and unfeeling I am! How unchristian were my thoughts and reactions to his story.
It’s easy to come up with answers when you yourself aren’t the one experiencing the pain and hurt of death.
I’m no longer angry at God. I never questioned His existence, but I did ask “Why?” I shouted at Him in my mind. Raged against Him. Hated Him. However, what I experienced is nothing compared to what Elie did. I’m sorry to say, but I can’t say I blame him for questioning God’s actions (or lack thereof) during that time. I also can’t help but question myself where God was…
So, there are my thoughts.
I've been struggling with this. I mean, I know evil exists. Yet, have I truly witnessed it? How am I going to write a paper if I can only rely on what others have gone through? When this man questioned God's existence because of what he witnessed. It is so easy for me to fall back on theodicy and say, "Well, God was there. Why didn't He do anything? I don't know, but it's not like it's a new thing. I mean, look at the Bible. People were oppressed, treated as slaves, for thousands of years. Perhaps it is atonement for some sin. Or that it is a judgment of God." Weak arguments, but for a while, I actually believed them.
I had always detached myself from the past but was otherwise knowledgeable about it. I’m not unaware that evil exists in the world. By turning on the News or reading the Paper I can’t avoid it. However, it never really touched me in my safe little bubble.
At least, I didn’t think it had.
Not to get completely off topic but my sister was assigned to write a paper about someone she missed. She chose our grandma. A couple of years ago our grandma died of lung cancer. The breast cancer we had thought she defeated had merely moved on to a different location and by the time the doctors caught it, there was little hope of recovery. So, my sister wrote her paper and read it aloud to me. She talked how she was holding our grandma’s hand and remembering all the times they had spent together. Memories of Christmas and other holidays spent at Grandma and Grandpa’s.
She then talked about how she wished our grandma could have been there to see her graduate. To be there on her wedding day. To be there…
I thought of this paper I have to write. The theodicy of evil. How this little boy had to witness the deaths of his friends around him. How he knew that his mother and sisters had been thrown into the furnace because they couldn’t work. He watched his once healthy father dwindle away into a weak man who became so ill he couldn’t leave his bed. How the boy still fought for him, gave his father the small rations of food to him instead of feeding himself.
No wonder while going through this (and much more) he began to question God.
I remember asking God why He would take away grandma. Why would He make her suffer?
My sister remembered the good memories while I could only remember the ones leading up to her death. The sickly way she looked. The light that had gone out in her eyes. Flesh hanging from bone from rapid weight loss due to the kemo and pain killers taking away her appetite. The long night when grandpa was putting her to bed for the night and she begged him to just let her go. She didn’t want to live any more.
Why?
Why?
Why?
It made me question. Why, God? Why her? Why anyone? Why do we have to sit back and listen to our loved ones suffer? Is this some sort of test of faith? It is so easy to answer that when you are the one sitting in the back row, watching unattached and unfeeling. Separating yourself from what is going on.
The boy lost everything and I was quick to answer, “Oh, there’s a God. This was probably a test of faith for the boy. This stuff has happened before in the past. More lives were lost then than what he’s experiencing now…”
How foolish am I? How blind and unfeeling I am! How unchristian were my thoughts and reactions to his story.
It’s easy to come up with answers when you yourself aren’t the one experiencing the pain and hurt of death.
I’m no longer angry at God. I never questioned His existence, but I did ask “Why?” I shouted at Him in my mind. Raged against Him. Hated Him. However, what I experienced is nothing compared to what Elie did. I’m sorry to say, but I can’t say I blame him for questioning God’s actions (or lack thereof) during that time. I also can’t help but question myself where God was…
So, there are my thoughts.