FREE ESSAY ON BEYOND THE PROBLEM OF EVIL

BEYOND THE PROBLEM OF EVIL

evil 
Beyond the Problem of Evil Introduction: The problem of evil is, in my opinion, the best
point of departure for a fruitful dialogue between Christianity, traditionally conceived,
and those strands of modern philosophy which have been perceived--indeed, have sometimes
perceived themselves--as a threat to that tradition. As such, I will attempt first, to
outline the problem of evil in the starkest terms possible, presenting Augustine's
approach to its solution followed by a critical analysis; second, to present an
alternative approach to the questions which give rise to the problem--an approach derived
in large part from Spinoza and Nietzsche; and, third, to show how this more
philosophically acceptable alternative can be expressed in the categories of faith,
allowing us to reappropriate the tradition *beyond the problem of evil*. PART ONE:
Augustine's Approach to the Problem of Evil Simply put, the problem of evil resides in
the apparently unavoidable contradiction between the notion of God as omnipotent and
omnibenevolent, on the one hand, and the existence of evil (natural and moral), on the
other.{1} Indeed, granting that God is all powerful, it would seem impossible for us to
vouch for his benevolence, considering our first-hand experience of evil in the world.
Likewise, if we grant from the outset that God is the paradigm of goodness, then it would
seem that we must modify our conception of his power. However, Christian orthodoxy
remains unwilling to modify its conception of God's goodness or his power-- thus, the
persistence of the problem. St. Augustine was fully aware of this problem and spent
much-- perhaps most--of his philosophical energy attempting to come to terms with it. In
*De ordine*, he writes: Those who ponder these matters are seemingly forced to believe
either that Divine Providence does not reach to these outer limits of things or that
surely all evils are committed by the will of God. Both horns of this dilemma are
impious, but particularly the latter (1.1.1). His approach to a solution to this problem
is three-pronged: 1) he holds that evil is a privation and cannot be properly said to
exist at all; 2) he argues that the apparent imperfection of any part of creation
disappears in light of the perfection of the whole; and 3) he argues that the origin of
moral evil, together with that suffering which is construed as punishment for sin, is to
be found in the free choice of the will of rational creatures. As a Manachee, Augustine
believed that both God and the principle of evil were some sort of material substances,
neither deriving its existence from the other. Evil, although somehow *smaller* than God,
was, nevertheless, infinite and presented a real problem for God to overcome in the
course of his cosmic existence. He describes his motives for believing such things as
follows: piety (however bizarre some of my beliefs were) forbade me to believe that the
good God had created an evil nature (*Confessions* 5.10.20). Even after Augustine had
abandoned these bizarre beliefs of the Manachees and had, as a Christian, arrived at the
notion of God as an immutable, spiritual substance, the existence of evil still troubled
him for: Although I affirmed and firmly held divine immunity from pollution and change
and the complete immutability of our God, the true God . . . yet I had no clear and
explicit grasp of the cause of evil. Whatever it might be, I saw it had to be
investigated, if I were to avoid being forced by this problem to believe the immutable
God to be mutable. . . . I made my investigation without anxiety, certain that what the
Manichees said was untrue. With all my mind I fled from them, because . . . I saw them to
be full of malice, in that they thought it more acceptable to say your substance suffers
evil than that their own substance actively does evil (7.3.5). He began to arrive at a
solution to this difficulty after having been introduced to some books of the Platonists
(7.9.13). His exposure to the neo-platonic notions that existence is good and that evil
is a privation, led him to see that even the corruptible world is good: It was obvious to
me that things which are liable to corruption are good. If they were the supreme goods,
or if they were not good at all, they could not be corrupted. For if they were supreme
goods, they would be incorruptible. If there were no good in them, there would be nothing
capable of being corrupted. . . . all things that are corrupted suffer privation of some
good. If they were to be deprived of all good, they would not exist at all. . . .
Accordingly, whatever things exist are good, and the evil into whose origins I was
inquiring is not a substance, for if it were a substance, it would be good. . . . Hence I
saw and it was made clear to me that you made all things good, and there are absolutely
no substances which you did not make (7.12.18). For [God], he goes on to say, evil does
not exist at all (7.13.19). It would seem, then, that evil is an illusion of sorts. This
brings us to what we referred to above as his second approach to the problem of evil
which endeavors to explain this illusion. In *De Ordine*, speaking with respect to those
aspects of creation which, if not actually evil, are, nonetheless, disconcerting to human
beings, Augustine remarks that what delights in a portion of place or time may be
understood to be far less beautiful than the whole of which it is a portion. And
furthermore, it is clear to a learned man that what displeases in a portion displeases
for no other reason than because the whole, with which that portion harmonizes
wonderfully, is not seen, but that, in the intelligible world, every part is as beautiful
and perfect as the whole (328-9). Anticipating this conclusion at the beginning of that
same work, he criticizes those who think the whole universe is disarranged if something
is displeasing to them, comparing them to those who would criticize an artisan when they
had no concept of the whole project, having seen only a small portion of it (240-1).
Likewise, in Book Seven of his *Confessions*, he argues that things appear evil when
considered from a finite perspective, isolated from the totality of which they are a
part. Superior things, indeed, are self-evidently better than inferior, but sounder
judgment holds that all things taken together are better than superior things by
themselves (7.13.19). All things include corruptible things, the destruction of which
brings what existed to non-existence in such a way as to allow the consequent production
of what is destined to come into being (*City of God* 12.5). Most people would find this
explanation tenable when applied to conflicts which arise among non-human creatures; or,
as an explanation of our aesthetic displeasure in the face of some seemingly absurd, but
relatively trivial, natural phenomenon; or even, perhaps, with respect to human
suffering, conceived of as a temporary expedient to a greater good. This perspective
encourages us to trust divine omnipotence and to acknowledge the limits of human
wisdom--neither of which is ultimately repugnant. It falls short in most people's eyes,
however, if it is intended to convince them of the goodness of God in the face of human
suffering construed as retributive justice. The notion of eternal torment causes
particular difficulties. This aspect of the tradition might be overlooked as a mystery to
be lived with if orthodoxy permitted one to think that God, although infinitely good, is
of merely finite power. But it seems incomprehensible that omnipotent God could punish
human beings for something that he, by virtue of his omnipotence, seems (at first glance,
at least) ultimately responsible for. Does Augustine assert that this seemingly untenable
aspect of reality, which is implied by the conjunction of human perdition and divine
omnipotence, is nothing? Or that it merely *appears* evil when considered in isolation
from the totality of which it is a part? As we shall see, the answer is in one respect
no, but in another, yes. The answer is no, insofar as Augustine does not merely dismiss
those who raise this problem by referring them to the two approaches to the problem
already considered. Rather, addressing those who attempt to lay blame on God for the sin
of human beings and the punishment consequent to that sin, he takes a third approach,
arguing that the origin of moral evil and the punishment it entails is a consequence of
the free choice of rational creatures. Sin, Augustine argues, is voluntary, disrupting
the order of the universe, while the punishment is said (redundantly) to be penal,
restoring that order (*On Free Will* 3.9.26). The important point is that insofar as we
must talk of evil as if it were something, God is not responsible for it, rather his
creatures are. God is to be praised insofar as he is willing and able to harmonize the
dishonor introduced by the evil will of individual creatures with the honor intrinsic to
the whole (3.9.26). If we inquire as to the cause of the evil will, Augustine claims an
ignorance of sorts, consistent with his notion of evil as a privation: We cannot doubt
that [evil] movement of the will, that turning away from the Lord God [our aversion to
the unchangeable good], is sin; but surely we cannot say that God is the author of sin?
God, then, will not be the cause of that movement; but what will be its cause? If you ask
this, and I answer that I do not know, probably you will be saddened. And yet that would
be a true answer. That which is nothing cannot be known. . . All good is from God. Hence
there is no natural existence which is not from God. Now that movement of aversion, which
we admit is sin, is a defective movement; and all defect comes from nothing. Observe
where it belongs and you will have no doubt that it does not belong to God. Because that
defective movement is voluntary, it is placed within our power. If you fear it, all you
have to do is simply not to will it. If you do not will it, it will not exist (2.20.54).
Pressed further, he says that an evil will is . . . the cause of all evil wills,
indicating that no cause is to be found outside the will itself and suggesting that to
look further is itself evidence of an evil will (Cf. *The City of God* 12.7). Despite
this rather radical appeal to human freedom and his pious admonition that one ought not
to look further for the cause of an evil will, Augustine realizes that he is not yet off
the hook. He goes on to show that the necessity intrinsic to foreknowledge, *per se*, is
not inconsistent with the notion of free will (3.4.10). But considering the fact that
divine foreknowledge is coupled with omnipotence, how, in the final analysis, is the
creator to escape having imputed to him anything that happens necessarily in his creature
(3.5.12)? Augustine spends the next 20, or so, paragraphs attempting to defend God
against those who would cry foul. He begins by insisting that piety requires that we give
thanks to God--period (3.5.12). Then, he reaffirms his position that sin originates in
the free will of human beings and that we have no right to criticize God for not creating
us without the ability to turn away from him (3.5.14). He goes on to assert that even the
worst souls are, by virtue of their reason and their free will, superior to corporeal
things and that, as such, God should be praised for their existence, whatever defects
they exhibit (3.5.16). Then, after once again affirming that there is no conflict between
the necessity of sin and its voluntary origin, he describes unhappiness as the just
reward of ingratitude (3.6.18). Finally, to those who say they would prefer not to have
existed, he indicates that they are fooling themselves --that their desire to exist, even
in their misery, confirms that existence is the greatest boon (3.7.20). Indeed, he argues
that the suicidal person's desire for death actually reflects a desire for rest, not the
desire for non-existence (3.8.23). All this is highly interesting and very relevant to
those who are determined to come to terms with themselves and with God. Nevertheless, it
would be an understatement to say that it does not conclusively demonstrate that the
origin of every aspect of creation--including those wills which are called evil and those
creatures which are eternally damned--should not ultimately be attributed to the will of
God. Augustine senses this, but can only assert that while the human *ability* to
sin--together with the *possibility* of experiencing the misery that accompanies sin)--is
necessary to the perfection of the universe, actual sin and actual misery are not
(3.9.26). These assertions are correlative with second and third approaches presented
above--the former with his position that the imperfection of any part of creation
disappears in light of the perfection of the whole; and the latter with his insistence
that the origin of moral evil, together with that suffering which is construed as
punishment for sin, is to be found in the free choice of the will of rational creatures.
But consistent with the first approach--evil as a privation--Augustine seems to be saying
that inasmuch as condemned souls are constituted by their evil wills, for which no cause
is to be found outside of their own freedom, they are in fact *nothing*. Nevertheless,
insofar as they actually *are*--existing eternally as immortal souls, however defective--
they must be considered good and we may attribute their origin to the divine will. If,
however, we ask why God, in his omnipotence, chose to create beings with the ability to
choose eternal self- destruction, Augustine can only a assert that creation is more
perfect by virtue of these seeming imperfections--i.e. the *ability* to sin, together
with the *possibility* of experiencing the misery that accompanies it (3.9.26). Thus, it
seems that Augustine, in the final analysis, depends more heavily on the first and second
approach, the appeal to the free choice of the will failing ultimately to eliminate the
problem. Having considered Augustine's approach to our problem, we are now in position to
articulate clearly what is at stake. The real *problem* in the problem of evil--the core
of it, as it were--is that granting God's omnipotence, there seems to be no way to avoid
the conclusion that God finds the perdition of an indefinite number of human souls
acceptable in light of the greater good which their perdition makes possible. Thus, even
if we grant that, it makes sense to talk of a rational creature freely choosing its own
perdition, and even if we hypothesize that God has in some sense limited his power with a
view to creating more glorious creatures by virtue of their free will,{2} it is
nevertheless the case, according to the tradition, 1) that, in the light of his eternal
existence, God knows the end from the beginning; and 2) that he had no need to create;
and even if he chose to create, he might have created differently. As such, we cannot
avoid placing full responsibility for existence--including every aspect of human
experience, whether in this life or the next--squarely on God's shoulders. Let us admit
that when we bow before God, it is not because his justice has been demonstrated to us.
It would seem more reasonable to say that we bow before his power. It is pointless to try
and defend God against those who cry foul. A more fruitful approach, as we shall see, is
to understand why we ought, indeed, to bow before his power.{3} Rather than attempting to
*justify the ways of God to man*, let us show those who would *reply against God* the
foolishness of their objections, admonishing them, in the Spirit of Augustine, to give
thanks.{4} But this can only be done if we let the dialectic of the problem take us
beyond the confines of orthodoxy and, finally, *beyond good and evil*.{5} PART TWO:
Spinoza & Nietzsche on Evil For Spinoza, evil presents no *problem* in the sense that it
does for Augustine. Not directly constrained by Christian dogma, he is free to modify the
traditional notions of God's goodness and power--both of which he does. What is
interesting is that many of his conclusions are strikingly similar to Augustine's.
Considered from a strictly philosophical perspective, Spinoza's position seems to
preserve and explain more fully that which is most philosophically defensible in
Augustine, while at the same time excluding that which is most philosophically
*offensive*. Preserved, in a sense, and more fully explained, is the neo- platonic
concept that evil is a privation which cannot be properly said to exist at all, as well
as the notion that the apparent imperfection of any part of creation disappears in light
of the perfection of the whole. Excluded is Augustine's assertion that the origin of
moral evil--together with the origin of that suffering which is construed as punishment
for sin--is to be found in the free choice of the will of rational creatures. A brief
review of Spinoza's metaphysics will allow us to explain this more clearly. For Spinoza,
there is one substance, God or Nature, which constitutes the whole of reality and which
has infinite attributes, only two of which we can know--extension and thought. He avoids
the mind/body problem by adopting a parallelism characterized by the notion that thoughts
relate causally only to thoughts and bodies relate causally only to bodies. An infinite
number of individual entities--modifications of the divine substance--proceed by
necessity from the divine nature. Our essence is the *conatus* with which we endeavor to
persist in our own being (*Ethics* 3, Pr. 7). Considered under the attribute of
extension, this *conatus* would be equivalent to (or at least analogous to) the genetic
code which governs the growth and development of our bodies. Considered under the
attribute of thought, this *conatus* is called *will* (E3,Pr9,Scol.). Since *virtue*, for
Spinoza, is *power*, an individual, acting according to its essence, endeavors to bring
about those conditions in which its power of activity is increased (See E3 Pref. and Def.
8). As rational animals, the highest good for human beings is achieved through the
intellectual love of God. The *intellectual* aspect of this love is important for two
reasons. First, insofar as our *understanding* of God (or Nature) according to the
attribute of extension increases, we are better able to produce those physical and
environmental conditions in which we can flourish; and, insofar as our understanding of
God according to the attribute of thought increases, we are better able to control our
emotions. Second, insofar as we find ourselves subject to adverse conditions that are
beyond our control, we find consolation in our understanding of the necessity of events
(see *APPENDIX B* which is attached to this paper). According to Spinoza, nothing is good
or evil in itself but only insofar as the mind is affected by it. Because our happiness
and unhappiness depends on the quality of that which we love, true blessedness is
attained by loving that which is infinite and eternal--viz. all that follows from the
eternal order and nature's fixed laws (*Treatise on the Emendation of the Intellect*
233-235, hereafter *TEI*). Our achievement of blessedness through the *intellectual love
of God* entails that we come to know and love ourselves as we are essentially. We sin, in
a manner of speaking, insofar as we desire or seem to desire that which is contrary to
our essence. I say seem to desire, because, for Spinoza, the self, considered as such,
cannot desire that which is contrary to its own advantage. And insofar as the self acts
according to reason--which for Spinoza is the only time human beings really act at
all--it will pursue its true advantage and be resigned in those circumstance that are
beyond its control. However, because human reason and power is limited, individual human
beings are sometimes controlled by passive emotions. Such emotions constitute our bondage
to external powers. Propositions 4 and 5 of Part Four of the *Ethics* state that: 4) It
is impossible for a man not to be part of Nature and not to undergo changes other than
those which can be understood solely through his own nature and of which he is the
adequate cause. 5) The force and increase of any passive emotion and its persistence in
existing is defined not by the power whereby we ourselves endeavor to persist in
existing, but by the power of external causes compared with our own power. We see, then,
that for Spinoza, unlike Augustine, evil is something which we suffer, not something we
actively choose. However, this seems quite consistent with Augustine's notion of evil as
a privation--a diminution of my ability to express my essence which is due, however, not
to the free choice of my will, but to the force of external powers which happen to
conflict with my essence.{6} I am free only insofar as I will my own essence, which, *a
priori*, expresses the will of God. The degree of my self knowledge and the extent to
which my essence finds expression in the world is dependent upon my environment. Insofar
as I seem to will that which is contrary to my essence, I am in bondage and am not,
strictly speaking, willing at all. Furthermore, because the power and will of God is
manifest only in activity, Spinoza would agree with Augustine that insofar as anything
*is*--insofar as it exists (endeavors to persist in its own being)--it derives its being
from God. In his *Tractatus Theologico-Politicus*, Spinoza formulates these ideas as
follows: Whatever man . . . acquires for himself to help preserve his being, or whatever
Nature provides for him without any effort on his part, all this is provided for him
solely by the divine power, acting either through human nature or externally to human
nature. Therefore whatever human nature can effect solely by its own power to preserve
its own being can rightly be called God's internal help, and whatever falls to man's
advantage from the power of external causes can rightly be called God's external help.
And from this, too, can readily be deduced what must be meant by God's choosing, for
since no one acts except by the predetermined order of Nature-- that is from God's
direction and decree--it follows that no one chooses a way of life for himself or
accomplishes anything except by the special vocation of God, who has chosen one man
before others for a particular way of life (89-90). The happiness and peace of the man
who cultivates his natural understanding depends not on the sway of fortune (God's
external help) but on his own internal virtue (God's internal help) [111]. This is hard
medicine, but in my opinion it constitutes the only philosophically consistent position
that still allows us to make sense out of the tradition. It remains for us to show how it
does so, but first we must relate Spinoza to Nietzsche. Despite significant
dissimilarities between Nietzsche and Spinoza--in both philosophy and
temperament--Nietzsche often takes positions that are strikingly similar to his
predecessor's.{7} In *Human, All Too Human*--written during his so called positivistic
period--we find Nietzsche taking the following positions: We don't accuse nature of
immorality when it sends us a thunderstorm, and makes us wet: why do we call the
injurious man immoral? Because in the first case, we assume necessity, and in the second
a voluntarily governing free will. But this distinction is in error (_102). The man who
has fully understood the theory of complete irresponsibility can no longer include the
so-called justice that punishes and rewards within the concept of justice . . . (_105).
If one were omniscient, one would be able to calculate each individual action in advance,
each step in the progress of knowledge, each error, each act of malice. To be sure, the
acting man is caught in his illusion of volition . . . [This illusion], his assumption
that free will exists, is also part of the calculable mechanism (_106). When a misfortune
strikes, we can overcome it either by removing its cause or else by changing the effect
it has on our feelings . . .(_108). There are elements in each of these texts--e.g., the
denial of free will, the rejection of the idea retributive justice, and the recognition
of possibility of overcoming our emotional reactions rather than our external
environment--which resonate with the sympathetic reader of Spinoza. And while, in later
years, Nietzsche loses some of his positivistic fervor, we shall see that significant
similarities are retained. They can be reduced to the proposition that *an unconditional
affirmation of existence is prerequisite to the fullest expression of our essence*.
Recall that Spinoza argues that the degree of blessedness which we attain is dependent on
the quality of that which we love, pointing out that Strife will never arise on account
of that which is not loved; there will be no sorrow if it is lost, no envy if it is
possessed by another, no fear, no hatred--in a word, no emotional agitation, all of
which, however, occur in the case of the love of perishable things . . . But love towards
a thing eternal and infinite feeds the mind with joy alone, unmixed with any sadness.
This is greatly to be desired, and to be sought with all our might (*TEI* 235). *From
Spinoza's perspective, then, if we are to achieve blessedness, we must learn to love
every aspect of that which *is*--which is, in the words of Kierkegaard, *the power that
grounds us*. This includes loving corruptible things, as such, together with the process
of becoming in general. Nietzsche expresses a very similar insight, in *Thus Spoke
Zarathustra*: Have you ever said Yes to a single joy? O my friends, then you said Yes too
to *all* woe. All things are entangled, ensnared, enamored; if ever you wanted one thing
twice, if ever you said, You please me, happiness! Abide, moment! then you wanted *all*
back. All anew, all eternally, all entangled, ensnared, enamored--oh, then you *loved*
the world. Eternal ones, love it eternally and evermore; and to woe too, you say: go, but
return! *For all joy wants--eternity* (*Portable Nietzsche* 435). Leaving aside
Nietzsche's notion of eternal recurrence, his position is quite close to that of Spinoza.
Reminiscent of Spinoza's *intellectual love of God*, Nietzsche posits *love of fate* as
his formula for greatness: My formula for greatness in a human being is *amor fati*: that
one wants nothing to be different, not forward, not backward, not in all eternity. Not
merely bear what is necessary, still less conceal it--all idealism is mendaciousness in
the face of what is necessary--but *love* it (*Ecce Homo* 258). This is not to say that
Nietzsche's *greatness* and Spinoza's *blessedness* are identical, but only that they are
closely related. *Greatness*, which we may provisionally define as *extraordinary success
in a finite context*, depends on conditions external to our essence (God's external
help/fortune), whereas *blessedness* depends on our internal virtue (God's internal
help). Having granted this distinction, I would argue that true greatness can only be
attributed to those individuals who, in addition to external success, are characterized
by the especially appropriate manner in which they relate to the power which grounds them
and, consequently, to their own essence. By virtue of their right relation to themselves
and to God, such people have, experienced true blessedness. To the extent that we say
*no* to any aspect of reality--that which is necessary--to that extent we cut ourselves
off from the only source of abundant life and have, in fact, negated that which
constitutes the conditions for the realization of our highest hopes and most noble
possibilities. Because our essence and our authentic possibilities are inextricably
intertwined with all that is and all that has been, Nietzsche's Zarathustra, in the
spirit of Spinoza, teaches that redemption is achieved when our will becomes harmonized
with the eternal necessity that governs the play of appearances: To redeem those who
lived in the past and to re-create all 'it was' into a 'thus I willed it'--that alone
should I call redemption (*Portable Nietzsche* 251). Redemption, in this sense, requires
that we take our stand *beyond good and evil* and seems to require that we embrace a kind
of determinism. We can, it seems, *do* what we will, but we can't *will* what we will.{8}
Our real project is to discover our essential will, from whence alone our lives derive
their meaning and purpose. Both Spinoza and Nietzsche seem to be saying that this
discovery is facilitated by our affirmation of those aspects of reality that are beyond
our control, which requires that we attempt, on the level of reflective consciousness,
not to be controlled by such passive emotions as guilt, fear, and regret.{9} This is
possible only insofar as we come to know, love, and (consciously) will ourselves as we
are essentially, all of which presupposes--or, constitutes!--a right relationship to the
power that grounds us. This right relationship to the power that grounds us is realized
to the degree that our reflective consciousness is characterized by Spinoza's
*intellectual love of God* and Nietzsche's *love of fate*, which are, practically
speaking, closely related, if not identical concepts.{10} We must not imagine, however,
that the breach between our empirical or conscious self and our essential self is to be
completely overcome--at least not in the course of this embodiment. Relative to
consciousness, our essential self will always retain a *transcendent* aspect--in fact, we
may refer to it as our *transcendent self*. However, despite the unavoidable dissonance
that exists between the two, we can hope to experience a narrowing of the chasm that
exists between them as we endeavor to stay attuned to our essential will, which is, in
fact, the will of God. To discover and exercise our essential will is to experience
authentic existence. If Spinoza is right, and the attribute of extension expresses my
essence as fully, in its own way, as the attribute of thought, it may one day be the case
that our knowledge of the human body will be complete enough to arrive at an experience
of authentic existence through the manipulation of our physical organism. At this point
however, such a possibility remains remote and the only realistic possibility of our
achieving the abundant life which both Nietzsche and Spinoza envision is to change the
way we think. In the past, this was achieved through the practice of religion. We studied
the Bible and entrusted ourselves to Christian ministers and mystics who functioned as
guides, helping us along on our pilgrimage. For many moderns, however, the implausibility
of the biblical narrative--particularly the gospel narratives (construed as a historical,
empirical reality)--together with the bad impression made by those who have promoted a
legalistic, provincial moralism as *the* way of salvation, have left them unable to
relate to the Christian tradition. This inability constitutes a great handicap to
individuals whose consciousness, in its most fundamental structures, has been informed by
that tradition. Even if it is possible for them to come to know and love their essential
selves apart from the categories of Christian faith, it is nevertheless rendered more
difficult by the resentment that they bear toward the tradition. At times, they come into
contact with elements of the tradition which really resonate with their essential
selves--i.e. with their *higher* or *transcendent* selves, in which they ceased to
believe when they rejected the tradition. Such moments are very disconcerting to those
whose conscience has-- perhaps for very good reasons--been turned against Christianity.
They imagine that to understand and identify with a part, implies the truth and, thus the
necessary acceptance of, the whole as a literal, historical reality. Their heart, for a
moment, leaps within them at the prospect of embracing again that which they forsook with
such agony, but a moments reflection suffices to recall their reasons for rejecting it in
the first place.{11} What they fail to realize is the possibility that a myth, however
false when taken at face value, is not merely a lie. Rather it is a story that is (or may
be) false on the outside, but true on the inside.{12} It is my opinion that the Bible in
general, and the New Testament in particular, conveys such a myth, and that insofar as
our consciousness, on a very fundamental level, has been informed by that myth, we would
do well to let go of our resentment, opening our minds to the possibility of learning
from it once again. In other words, let us not throw the baby out with the bath water. To
be sure, the water is dirty--at certain times and places extremely dirty. Nevertheless,
those who have a real affinity for this tradition--often reflected in their resentment
toward it--are doing violence to themselves by refusing to take another look. It is in
this spirit, then, that I offer in what follows an alternative approach to the Christian
myth--one which is intended, practically speaking, to captivate the imagination, bringing
it into the service of our essential self, without, however, violating our reason. Its
chief theoretical advantages are that it avoids the problem of evil; is not threatened by
modern philosophy, however positivistic; and it escapes Nietzsche's chief criticisms
Christianity.{13} {14} PART THREE: Reappropriating the Tradition In light of the
discussion in part two, we can now understand why Jesus said, The first of all the
commandments is, Hear O Israel; The Lord our God is one Lord: And thou shalt love the
Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy strength (Mk.
12:29). If we love God, we love his sovereign will and the eternal order that he has
decreed. To the degree that we love him we become one with him and will be no more
confounded by the turn of events than our heavenly Father is. We are partakers of his
divine nature, and, as such, experience eternal life. Becoming conscious of ourselves as
incarnations of God, we begin to participate in the life of God, and his image begins to
shine through in our lives. This is not a reason for pride, however, but for joy and
thanksgiving! We are his workmanship, created in Christ Jesus, . . . who is the image of
the invisible God, the first born of every creature: for by him were all things created,
that are in heaven, and that are in earth, visible and invisible, whether they be
thrones, or dominions, or principalities, or powers: all things were created by him and
for him . . . in whom all the building fitly framed together growth unto an holy temple
in the Lord (Eph. 2:10; Col. 1:15-17; Eph. 2:21). We, as members of his body, share in
this eternal purpose. We are, in him, builded together for an habitation of God through
the Spirit (Eph. 2:22). This is why all things work together for good to them that love
God, to them who are the called, according to his purpose (Rom. 8:28). This is why we can
have no life apart from Christ. But the name of Christ does not refer merely to Jesus of
Nazareth. Indeed, the truth or falsity of the legends surrounding the life of Jesus is
irrelevant to the reality of Christ which we can experience first-hand inasmuch as he
represents the concept and actualization (in the Hegelian sense) of our true self. He is
our *formal cause* or essence (in the Aristotelian sense), as well as our *final cause*
or ultimate goal. He is our freedom and our destiny. Because our essence is the essence
of a for itself, and not merely an in itself, we may approach that essence as a *Thou*,
rather than an *it*--the term of our transcendence; the Self toward which we are
transcending; an incarnation of God. Our essential self stands in an absolute relation to
the absolute--that is, our relationship to the power that grounds us (God) is mediated
absolutely and exclusively by our essential self (Christ in us). As such, a right
relationship to our essential self implies a right relationship to the power that grounds
it and vise versa; and, insofar as human beings share a common essence, a right relation
to our Self and God implies a right relation to our neighbor, as well.{15} Suffering and
death are intrinsic to life and must be affirmed (insofar as they are necessary)--Christ
is the lamb slain from the foundation of the world. Despairing in the face of that which
this seemingly harsh truth demands (the garden of Gethsemane, Golgotha, the tomb), we
flee our essential self and, as such, are automatically in a disrelation to the power
that grounds us--cut off from the possibility of an abundant life. To the extent,
however, that we come to know and love ourself as we are *essentially*, the disrelation
we experience is rectified and we are able to realize our highest potential (Christ in
us, our hope of glory). We begin at once to realize this potential when in the depths of
our despair, we make the movement of infinite resignation, and choose to bear our cross,
like Christ, freely and innocently and without the spirit of revenge (Father forgive
them, for they know not what they do).{16} When this movement is made-- completely and
without reservation, holding nothing back--our resignation is transformed into faith and
the world of which we despaired a short time before is vivified and we experience the
very life and power of the Son of God--this is resurrection power. Thus, the passion of
Christ is, or at least can be, a symbol of the essence of life--death and
resurrection--rather than a symbol of our despair, reflecting our dissatisfaction with
ourselves and with existence. The true Christian is one who does not flee life, imagining
that existence is refuted by suffering and death, but rather bears with patience the
problematic aspects of our existential experience, understanding that these aspects, too,
constitute, in part, the conditions necessary to the highest expression of life. When we
embrace this faith, we put off the old man, Adam, who risks eternal torment by virtue of
his unfortunate preoccupation with the polar opposition of good and evil (and who
experiences suffering as punishment for sin), and put on the mind of Christ, who
experiences abundant life, beyond good and evil (whose suffering is redemptive). Like
Paul, who admonishes us to present our bodies a living sacrifice (Rom. 12:1), we are
crucified with Christ (Gal. 2:20) and we fill up that which is behind of the afflictions
of Christ (Col. 1:24). From this standpoint, we begin to see that [Each human being]
represents a unique and valuable experiment on the part of nature . . . the very special
and always significant and remarkable point at which the world's phenomena intersect,
only once in this way and never again. That is why every [person's] story is important,
eternal, sacred; that is why every [person] as long as [he or she] lives and fulfills the
will of nature is wondrous and worthy of every consideration. In each individual the
spirit has become flesh, in each [person] the creation suffers, within each one a
redeemer is nailed to the cross. Each [person's] life represents a road toward [himself
or herself], an attempt at such a road, the intimation of a path. No [person] has ever
been entirely and completely [himself or herself]. Yet each one strives to become
that--one in an awkward, the other in a more intelligent way, each as best [he or she]
can (From the prologue to *Demian*, by Hermann Hesse). CONCLUSION At the end of Part One,
we came to the conclusion that as orthodox Christians, we bow(ed)--albeit, more or less,
unconsciously--not to the justice of God, but to his power. Unable to think this thought,
however, we insisted (as orthodox believers) on affirming the contradiction intrinsic to
judgement that one can conjoin omnipotence and human perdition without attributing evil
to God. But of all the evils that we can imagine, this conjunction is, perhaps, the only
one which it is absolutely impossible to dispel by an appeal to our finite perspective.
We attempted to make this contradiction explicit so as to permit the dialectic of the
problem to carry us beyond it. In Part Two, we found that we were able to avoid the
contradiction by jettisoning the notions of free will and moral responsibility (to any
heteronomous law), and by modifying our conception of God's goodness and power, in favor
of a more comprehensive view. We realized instead that our only duty is to will our own
essence. Furthermore, we saw that God is, indeed, infinitely good, but can be percieved
as such only by those who love him with all their heart, mind, soul, and strength. His
power, too, is infinite, but *he is*, in fact, *that which he is*, and cannot be
otherwise. We are justified in bowing before his power because it is the power which
grounds us. Our unconditional love of God constitutes perfect self-love. This is not the
kind of self-love which leads to self-destruction, but that which, for the tradition, is
characteristic of the life of Christ. By bringing this thought to consciousness, we bring
before ourselves the possibility of consciously and deliberately choosing to enter into
that life, or consciously and deliberately refusing that life. Saying yes to life is
giving conscious assent to that which, as Augustine pointed out (*On Free Will* 3.7.20),
we already choose, viscerally, as it were, on a pre-reflective level. However, the
ability to say yes to life remains a grace. We admonish people to choose it because it
pleased God by the foolishness of preaching to save them which believe. Insofar as we
recognize the choice and reject the life which is proffered, we suffer the
penalty--unhappiness, Augustine said, is the just reward of ingratitude (*On Free Will*
3.6.18). In my opionion, the tradition has permitted its adherents to make this choice
only on an unconscious level. It is only by letting the dialectic of the problem carry us
beyond good and evil that we have become fully conscious of that upon which our life
depends. In Part Three, we presented an alternative approach to the Christian myth--one
which was intended, practically speaking, to captivate the imagination, bringing it into
the service of our essential self, without, however, violating our reason. Its chief
theoretical advantages were said to be that it avoids the problem of evil; is not
threatened by modern philosophy (however positivistic); and it escapes Nietzsche's chief
criticisms of Christianity. It remains for the reader to decide whether or not this
dialogue between the tradition and those opposed to the tradition has been fruitful. For
me, its fruitfulness is confirmed by the renewed relationship I have experienced with my
Self and my God. END NOTES 1. This contradiction is presented poetically in *The Rubaiyat
of Omar Khayyam*--see Appendix A, below. 2. This is C.S. Lewis's approach to the problem
in *Mere Christianity*. See Book Four, Chapter 3, Time and Beyond. Cf. *The Screwtape
Letters*, Letter XXVII. 3. *Apropos* of justice and power, the following text from *On
Free Will* is quite interesting: If you are not in your own power, then someone must have
you in his power who is either more powerful or less powerful than yourself. If he is
less powerful the fault is your own and the misery just. But if someone, more powerful
than you are, hold you in his power you will not rightly think so rightful an order to be
unjust (3.6.19). 4. The Apostle Paul dealt with such objections, not by defending the
justice of God--and especially not by appealing to free will --but by pointing out the
absurdity of the creature passing judgment on the creator: Therefore hath he mercy on
whom he will have mercy, and whom he will he hardenth. Thou wilt say then unto me, Why
doth he yet find fault? for who hath resisted his will? Nay but, O man, who art thou that
repliest against God? Shall the thing formed say to him that formed it, Why hast thou
made me thus? Hath not the potter power over the clay, of the same lump to make one
vessel unto honour, and another unto dishonour? (Romans 9:18-21). There are elements of
this in Augustine's approach, but his extreme discomfort with the core of the problem is
evident--a discomfort which is not evident in the writings of St. Paul. 5. At this point,
I beg those staunch defenders of orthodoxy who truly know and love the Lord their God to
bear with me. Despite the seeming harshness of my criticism, I assure you that I am not
your enemy. And, despite their reputations, neither are Spinoza and Nietzsche, to whom I
now turn. 6. Such external powers are not essentially opposed to me. In another context,
the same power might work to my advantage. 7. Nietzsche himself calls Spinoza his
precursor (Portable Nietzsche 92). His discovery of Spinoza seems to have come after the
publication of the Human, All To Human. 8. By will, here, I indicate our desire to do
that which is within our power, not a mere whim or wish. 9. It would not be desirable to
eliminate such emotions insofar as each has a positive function. 10. I have emphasized
the practical similarity of these concepts. For a more detailed theoretical analysis that
emphasizes their differences, see Spinoza and Nietzsche: *Amor dei* and *Amor fati* in
Volume Two of Yeimiyahu Yovel's *Spinoza and Other Heretics*, Princton Univ. Press, 1989.
11. What many find unacceptable in Christian thought (or at least in some, not
insignificant, strands of it) is that 1) In the name of piety, attempts are made to limit
freedom of speech and thought; 2) the body, and the temporal order in general, is
disparaged as intrinsically flawed or evil; 3) it is demanded that one accept mythic and
religious imagery as scientific/historical explanations of phenomena; 4) various
prevailing cultural norms are accepted as absolute moral imperatives, not subject to
rational criticism; and 5) particular texts are idolatrously accepted as the essential
foundation rather than the creative expression of religious faith. 12. I came across this
definition of myth in a Jungian analysis of medieval romance, the title and author of
which escapes me at the moment. 13. I am merely asserting the last of these three
theoretical advantages and do not attempt to defend it explicitly in this paper. 14. At
this point, I feel somewhat like Paul, whose gospel was, to the Jew, a stumbling block,
and to the Greek, foolishness. Orthodox Christians imagine (understandably) that the
legitimacy of their faith depends on the historical truth of the gospel narratives. They
stumble at the notion that countless millions, past and present, have had a similar
experience of faith and salvation--people who never heard the name of Christ, or have
rejected the name because of that which they associate with it; people who, despite their
ignorance of Jesus of Nazareth, or their repugnance to traditional Christianity, may,
nonetheless, know Christ--in the Spirit, as it were--just as intimately as any orthodox
believer. Atheists, on the other hand, tend to consider all god-talk to be foolishness.
Preoccupation with such things, they might say, is a vestige of a more primitive (or
perhaps infantile) stage of human development--something that one should cast aside in
maturity. 15. The right relation to our neighbor is more accurately construed as the
effect, not the cause of our right relationship to God, although it may be the case that
the two are inseparable. 16. Zarathustra teaches, *that man be delivered from revenge*,
that is for me the bridge to the highest hope, and a rainbow after long storms (*Portable
Nietzsche* 211). Works Cited Augustine, Saint. *The City of God*. Trans. Henry Bettenson.
New York: Penguin Books, 1984. __________. *Confessions*. Trans. Henry Chadwick. Oxford:
Oxford University Press, 1991. __________. *De ordine. The Fathers of the Church*, Vol.
5, Ed. Ludwig Schopp (New York: CIMA Publishing Co., 1948) 226-232. __________. *On Free
Will*. Augustine: Earlier Writings, ed. J. H. S. Burleigh (Philadelphia: Westminister
Press, 1953) 102 - 217. Nietzsche, Friedrich. *Ecce Homo*. Trans. Walter Kaufmann. New
York: Vintage Books, 1967. __________. *Human, All Too Human: A Book for Free Spirits.*
Trans. Marion Faber. Lincoln, NE: Univ. of Nebraska Press, 1984. __________. *The
Portable Nietzsche.* Trans. Walter Kaufmann. New York: Penguin Books, 1982. Spinoza,
Baruch. *Ethics, Treatise on the Emendation of the Intellect, and Selected Letters.*
Trans. Samuel Shirley. Indianapolis: Hackett Publishing Co., 1992. __________. Tractatus
Theologico-Politicus. Trans. Samuel Shirley. New York: E. J. Brill, 1989. WORKS CONSULTED
Burns, J. Patout. Augustine on the Origin and Progress of Evil. *The Journal of Religious
Ethics*. Vol. 16, No. 1, Spring 1988, 9 - 27. Burt, Donald X. Courageous Optimism:
Augustine on the Good of Creation. *Augustinian Studies*. Vol. 21, 1990, 55-66. Evans,
G.R. *Augustine on Evil*. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1982. Stewart, Melville.
O Felix Culpa, Redemption, and the Greater Good Defense. *Sophia*, Vol. 25, No. 3, Oct.,
1986, 18-31. APPENDIX A Selections from *The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam* [all selections
from the 5th edition, unless bracketed, in which case they are from the 2nd edition]:
[108] Ah, Love! could you and I with Fate conspire To grasp this sorry Scheme of Things
entire, Would not we shatter it to bits--and then Re-mould it nearer to the Heart's
Desire! 29 Into this Universe, and Why not knowing Nor Whence, like Water willy-nilly
flowing; And out of it, as Wind along the Waste, I know not Whither, willy-nilly blowing.
30 What, without asking, hither hurried Whence? And, without asking, Whither hurried
hence! Oh, many a Cup of this forbidden Wine Must drown the memory of that insolence! 78
What! out of senseless Nothing to provoke A conscious Something to resent the yoke Of
unpermitted Pleasure, under pain Of Everlasting Penalties, if broke! 79 What! from his
helpless Creature be repaid Pure Gold for what he lent him dross-allay'd-- Sue for a Debt
he never did contract, And cannot answer--Oh the sorry trade! [86] Nay, but for terror of
his wrathful Face, I swear I will not call Injustice Grace; Not one Good Fellow of the
Tavern but Would kick so poor a Coward from the place. 80 Oh Thou, who didst with pitfall
and with gin Beset the Road I was to wander in, Thou wilt not with Predestined Evil round
Enmesh, and then impute my Fall to Sin! 81 Oh Thou, who Man of baser Earth didst make,
And ev'n with Paradise devise the Snake: For all the Sin wherewith the Face of Man Is
blacken'd--Man's forgiveness give--and take! APPENDIX B [Spinoza] But human power is very
limited and is infinitely surpassed by the power of external causes, and so we do not
have absolute power to adapt to our purposes things external to us. However, we shall
patiently bear whatever happens to us that is contrary to what is required by
consideration of our own advantage, if we are conscious that we have done our duty and
that our power was not extensive enough for us to have avoided the said things, and that
we are a part of the whole of Nature whose order we follow. If we clearly and distinctly
understand this, that part of us, will be fully resigned and will endeavor to persevere
in that resignation. For in so far as we understand, we can desire nothing but that which
must be, nor in an absolute sense, can we find contentment in anything but truth. And so
in so far as we rightly understand these matters, the endeavor of the better part of us
is in harmony with the order of the whole of Nature (E4, Appendix, item 32). _