real for me?” And “How does it appear in my life?” is a different question entirely. So, it is very important to keep those two unconfused. Otherwise, Augustine sounds like a cockeyed optimist: “Oh, evil isn’t real; don’t worry about it.” He was deeply sensitive to it.
Q: My question is in two parts. The first one is this. James said, “[C]ount it all joy when you [fall into] divers temptation, knowing [this], that the trying of your faith worketh patience” [James 1:2–3, King James Version]. How do we look at and rationalize every attempt by man to eliminate human suffering, knowing that suffering is part of what life is all about? The second part of the question is this: Since we know that suffering is not something that man actually created in himself, should we believe that, instead of helplessness, the Lord is trying to alleviate these problems?
A: The practical answer to that question is very clear. Certainly, if you’re a Christian, you believe that Jesus healed people from diseases and sufferings. He had great compassion and pity on suffering. He was completely human and showed us not just who God was but who the ideal man was. So, the Stoic attitude of indifference to suffering or the withdrawn attitude or even the Buddhist attitude of rising above it by being insensitive to it by transforming your consciousness, that is definitely not the Christian answer to suffering.
But your first question is a deep paradox. On the one hand, suffering is blessed. Count it as a joy when you go through manifold tribulations. On the other hand, we are supposed to relieve it— like poverty. Blessed are the poor— and yet the relief of poverty is one of the commandments of Christianity. Death, which is the fishnet that catches all the fish of poverty and every other suffering in itself, is the worst thing. It is the last enemy. Jesus comes to conquer it through resurrection.
On the other hand, death is glorious. There is an old oratorio that has this hauntingly beautiful line: “Thou hast made death glorious and triumphant, for through its portals we enter into the presence of the living God.”
Q: I have two questions that maybe you can expound on a little bit. The first is, isn’t there a difference between suffering and evil? And the second is, wouldn’t it be the case that evil is either the opinion of an infinite, perfect God or just every individual’s random opinion in that without God evil can’t really exist, and if somebody speaks of evil, it has to be in the context of an almighty and perfect God?
A: On the first question, you are clearer than I was. I accept your correction. On the second question, I am clearer than you were, and I hope you accept my correction. First of all, I have been talking so much about suffering that I virtually identified it with evil, and that is a mistake. There is the evil that you do, and there is the evil that you suffer. The evil that you do is much worse.
The evil that you do is, broadly speaking, sin. That is evil to your self, your character, your soul. Suffering is just evil to your body; that is the distinction Socrates played on when he said, “No evil can happen to a good man.” But on the other question, evil is not an opinion. Evil is not a point of view; evil is not psychological perspective. Evil is real; it is not a thing, but it is real. We can make mistakes about it. We argue about it. The fact that everybody argues about good and evil— “That’s good.” “No, it is evil”— means that we act as if we believe that evil is objectively real and not just a matter of opinion. We don’t argue about mere opinions. We can, but not really. I love the Red Sox; you love the Yankees. We don’t argue about that. We argue about facts. Will the Red Sox ever win a single World Series until the end of the world? We who are wise know the answer is “No, they’re under a curse.” Those who are not wise might say, “Yes.”
So, what is true and false has to have reference to an objective truth. But a mere opinion or point of view is not just true and false. Evil is not just a point of view; evil is not subjective. If you believe that evil is a subjective point of view, well, I don’t think most New Yorkers believe that anymore after 9/11. In the babble of voices that we heard after that horrendous event, one voice was conspicuously silent: psychobabble.
Q: I want to come at you from a ruthlessly pragmatic angle, being a New Yorker.
A: Wonderful.
Q: Pascal’s bet works for me, except— and this is something Pascal addressed— he said that living by faith will not damage your life; you will live a better life. You will practice the virtues, and in the end you will have a happier life. Therefore, it is not really such a risk. But what about Ignatius and his three degrees of humility? The first degree is the willingness to renounce mortal sin for the sake of salvation. The second one is an indifference toward suffering and having a happy life or sad life, long life or short life, so long as you are doing the will of God. I am getting queasy here. The third level of humility is to actively prefer a short, unhappy life because it is more similar to Jesus’s life on earth. Now, it seems to me that if your faith actually entails the third degree of humility, Pascal’s bet ceases to make sense. This is something that has been vexing me for years so I would really appreciate your response.
A: I think Pascal would say that the bet still works in the long run, even if you are up to this third level. That means that in the long run, that is, in heaven, you will have more joy. You have hollowed out your soul by these ascetic exercises so much that you can see, appreciate, and enjoy more of God than others can. So, it is worth it, even in the long run.
Q: It is worth it even on earth?
A: Yes, even on earth, because the saints are terribly happy. The two groups of people that haunt my memory and stand out as incredibly happy, truly happy, deeply happy, are the two most ascetical groups that I know. One is a group of Carmelite nuns in Danvers, Massachusetts, who live in almost perpetual silence. I was asked to give a talk to them; they gave a talk to me by their silence. And most of all, Mother Teresa’s Missionaries of Charity. They have a house in Roxbury, which is the worst slum of Boston, and they pick up the pieces of the worst neighborhood, with the worst families, and they just do what they can. I was asked to give a talk to them, and they were just radiantly happy. They get up at four a.m., they each have one piece of clothing and almost no private property, and they eat very simply. They are radiantly happy. It works.
Q: I have a question I would like to limit to evil, rather than suffering. You mentioned that in the Bible, God doesn’t give us a reason for the existence of evil. He didn’t give Job a reason; he doesn’t give us a reason for his reason. In your tremendous study and the amount of thought that you have put toward the subject, have you personally found an answer for this, and if so, where? And if not, does that lead you somewhere else?
A: Let me just give you a partial answer to that question. As a philosopher, I was always bothered by the book of Job. I knew it was a classic— I felt it was a classic— but I was bothered by the fact that God didn’t answer any of Job’s questions. I said, “Yes, God has the right to do that, but I don’t like that.” Job cops out too easily: “Yes, God, anything you say.” I don’t like slimy, pious worms who say, “Okay, anything, step on me.” I guess I’m too much of a New Yorker, and Job is such a New Yorker— until the end. He shakes his fist in God’s face and says, “You bloody butcher, how can you get away with this? I demand some explanations.” That is kind of impious maybe, but we can identify with that. Then, at the end, what a disappointment— all of these great questions are not answered.
So, I said that is a failure of dramatic art. The character of Job changes too
