The Problem of Evil and the Goodness of God (Part 1)

Lloyd Eby

Introduction: God and Evil

Many people seem to think that the question whether God exists is the most important
of the many philosophical questions connected with theology, with philosophy of
religion, and with religious practice. For quite a long time, however, I have felt
otherwise; it seems to me that a far more important question is whether the God who
exists is good. My having grown up within an overwhelming and oppressive religious
tradition -- Mennonitism -- has left me with an abiding fear that the God who I am
sure exists may not be good.

The question of the goodness of God has at least these parts: (1) is it really true that
God is the source or cause of the evils that seem to come from divine activity or from
religious systems, doctrines and practices; (2) can or could God do away with the
evils that befall mankind if He chose to do so, and if He has that ability, then why
does He choose not to use it, and (3) does God really sufficiently desire human
happiness and well-being, or does God overlook these things and sacrifice them in
favor of His own (supposedly superior) interest and will. I will not be able to answer
all those questions thoroughly here, but I will explore one of the most important
aspects of the problem, the abiding question of theodicy.

I. The Problem of Theodicy

The problem of the goodness of God in light of the evil in the world, known in
theology and philosophy as the problem of theodicy, can be expressed as a series of
assertions about God and the existence of evil. These assertions about God seem to be
components of an adequate doctrine of God -- adequate at least from the point of view
of the received tradition for monotheistic religions such as Judaism, Christianity and
Islam.

Thus if:

(A) God exists, and

(B) God is the Unique Creator or First Cause of the existing universe, and
(C) God is fully good and/or fully loving, and
(D) God is omnipotent or fully powerful and competent, then how can it be that:
(E) there is evil in the world.
It seems, intuitively at least, that logic requires that the conjunction of all those
clauses cannot be true, i.e. logic seems to require that at least one of those clauses is
false. (Note 1) Solutions to the problem of theodicy, then, have nearly always been
attempts to argue for the denial of at least one those clauses, coupled with an
argument that the denied clause is not really a necessary component of an adequate
doctrine of God or of the world.

One possible solution is atheism, the denial of clause A, and many people have
concluded on the basis of the existence of evil that God does not exist. This solution is
obviously not available to believers. Metaphysical dualism solves the problem by
denying clause B by claiming that there are indeed two sources of existence, a "good"
source and an "evil" source, or a principle of light and a principle of darkness. The
ancient Greeks and the Gnostics, for example, held that matter is evil, but that God did
not create the material world. But this solution too is unavailable to orthodox
monotheistic religions, especially Judaism, Christianity and Islam, all of which are
committed to the existence of just one Original Creator.

Another possible solution is to deny clause E by asserting that evil is not real; this
solution is adopted by Christian Science and by Vedanta Hinduism, which claims that
evil is maya, an illusion. But the monstrous crimes of the twentieth century, such as
wholesale mass murders of millions of people, seem to be clear evidence of the
existence of genuine evil, so I and most other people are convinced that evil is not just
an illusion and that clause E is true. In any case, claiming that evil is an illusion does
not solve the problem of our suffering brought about by the illusion.

It is clear from this that Judaism, Christianity and Islam cannot really deny clauses A,
B or E without denying basic foundations of their beliefs. The only other candidates
for denial are clauses C and D, which means denying either the goodness or the power
of God in some manner, and most theodicies connected with those religions have tried
to work out a solution in just that way. Because of that, the problem of theodicy is
often put in terms of a conflict between the goodness and the power of God.

Most Christian attempts to solve the problem of theodicy have attempted to deny or
weaken clause D in some way, claiming that God's power is in some way restricted,
curtailed, or self-limited. But theologies or philosophies which attempt to maintain
that there is a limitation of divine power, while at the same time asserting the doctrine
of divine creation of the universe, meet with a problem. The simultaneous assertion of
these two claims -- that God is the Creator of heaven and earth, and that God is
limited in power -- seems to lead to contradiction. The power to create in an absolute
way (which the received orthodox traditions in Judaism, Christianity and Islam all
imply or assert that God has) seems to imply that the Creator has the power to do
whatever He chooses to do. The doctrine of divine creation of time and the universe
seems to imply that God's power in the act of creation is an unlimited power.

Some theologians attempt to understand or explain God's creation by reference to the

model of human creativity, and explain limitations of divine power by analogy to
limitations in human power, but this hardly works. God's creative power cannot be
compared with any human power exercised in a human act of creation. Human
creation operates only within limitations -- human creativity makes something from
other things, or generates children, or performs other creative acts, none of which are
absolute creations, but only creative acts within the parameters of existence and
creativity already established. But God's creation of the universe (according to the
received doctrines of creation held to by Judaism, Christianity, and possibly Islam) is
absolute in that there is no previous existence or universe which it operates "inside"
of; it brings existence out of non-existence (this is asserted, at least, in the doctrine of
creation ex nihilo), and at the same time it makes the rules and parameters of time and
existence itself.

We can express this contradiction between creation and limitation of power in terms
of our clauses given above. To do this we should note that clause B really contains
two claims: that there is only one Creator God or First Cause, and that this Creator
God brought the universe into existence out of nothing, i.e. that God by His action
caused the absolute beginning of time and the universe and gave the universe its
characteristics. It is the second of those claims contained within clause B that we are
concerned with here. Clause B, understood in this way, seems to imply clause D (i.e.
creation by God implies that God is all-powerful). But then, by the logical principle of
modus tollens, the negation of clause D (i.e. the assertion that God's power is limited
or curtailed in some way) implies the negation of clause B (i.e. that it is in some way
false that God by His action created the universe).

It seems, therefore, that if God is indeed the creator in the way Judeo-Christian
monotheistic religions claim, then God's not changing things (i.e. His failure to
eliminate evil by a divine act) must be due not to his lack of power to do so, but to His
interest in having the evil condition or situation exist. This divine interest may operate
without regard for human interest; in other words God's interest may be a selfish
interest.

Interestingly enough, in the most pointed discussions of the problem of theodicy in the
Bible -- the discussions in Job and Romans -- the power of God as manifested in
creation is given as the (non)answer to the problem. When God finally deigns to
respond to Job, instead of answering Job's questions, God refers to the mysteries of
creation as demonstrating God's power and as showing human (Job's) insignificance
and unworthiness to question divine action and purpose. (Job 38:1 to 42:6) So Job is
forced to fall mute before divine assertion and action. Therefore Job does not really
answer the question of theodicy except negatively, holding that God as sovereign
creator is of surpassing power and is not subject to any requirements of having to
answer human (Job's) questions about his activities.

In the Epistle to the Romans Saint Paul likewise asserts that God's activity is both
decisive and beyond human question. (Romans 9:14-26) God shows mercy to
whomever He wishes, "So it depends not upon man's will or exertion, but upon God's
mercy." (Romans 9:16 RSV) Paul appeals to God's activity in creation as justifying
this and as compelling human silence and acquiescence: "But who are you, a man, to
answer back to God? Will what is molded say to its molder, 'Why have you made me
thus?' Has the potter no right over the clay, to make out of the same lump one vessel
for beauty and another for menial use?." (Romans 9:20-22 RSV)

One quasi-Christian theological movement that has had a great deal of influence in
recent years (at least in America) is process theology, developed by Charles
Hartshorne, John Cobb, Jr., David Ray Griffin and many others, based on the
philosophy of Alfred North Whitehead, especially as developed in Whitehead's major
work, Process and Reality. Process theology explicitly denies divine omnipotence,
and therefore has little trouble developing a theodicy. (Note 2) But also, interestingly
enough, process theology gives up the traditional doctrine of divine creation in favor
of a doctrine with a very curtailed or weak notion of creation (if it indeed has a
doctrine of creation at all), differing very much from the traditional Christian creation
ex nihilo view.

In the process view, there is no unique, divinely-willed act that brings into existence
time and the universe. Process theology therefore avoids the logical problem
mentioned above, because it gives up both clauses B and D. (The problem, as we saw
above, is that if clause B implies clause D -- and it seems to do so -- then it is
contradictory to simultaneously assert the truth of clause B and the negation of clause
D. But if clauses B and D are both denied, then no contradiction arises.) The adequacy
of process theology on other points, however, must be left for other discussions.

One of the best and most thorough accounts of theodicy as it has been developed in
(traditional) Christian theology has been given by John Hick. (Note 3) Hick divides
Christian theodicies into two types, which he calls Augustinian (after St. Augustine)
and Irenaean (after Irenaeus). The Augustinian-Latin answer has been adopted by the
majority of Christian thinkers, but Irenaean theodicy, which was developed by
Irenaeus and the Greek fathers prior to the work of Augustine, has had its (smaller)
share of adherents.
Augustine, after his conversion to Christianity, abandoned his earlier Manichean
dualism, and asserted that the universe (including matter) and its Unique Creator
(God) are unambiguously good. Evil, according to Augustine, is the privation,
corruption or perversion of something that was (previously or otherwise) good. Evil
has no substantial being in itself, but is always parasitic upon good. Evil, then, entered
the universe through the culpable free actions of otherwise good beings -- angels and
humans. Sin consisted not in choosing evil (because there was no evil, as such, to
choose), but in turning away from the higher good of God to a lower good. Natural
evils (which will be discussed more thoroughly later) are held by Augustine to be
consequences of the fall, and thus also consequences of (human or angelic) free will.
When we ask what caused man to fall, Augustine answers through his doctrine of
deficient causation. There is no positive cause of evil will, but rather a negation of
deficiency. Augustine seems to mean by this that free volitions are, in principle,
inexplicable -- free willing is itself an originating cause, with no prior cause (or
explanation).

In addition to that, Augustine has another theme, which we can call the aesthetic
conception of evil. According to this view, what appears to be evil is such only when
seen in an isolated or limited context; when viewed in the context of the totality of the
universe it is good because it is a necessary element in that good universe. This view
comes from the principle of plenitude (derived from Plato's Timaeus, 41 bc) which
holds that a universe in which all the various possibilities of being are realized -- a
universe containing lower and lesser, as well as higher and greater beings -- is greater
than a universe which contains only the highest type of beings. In other words, the
universe, to be as great as possible, must contain a hierarchy of forms of created
beings, each good in its own place in the scheme of things. Lower beings are not,
therefore, evil, but merely different goods. As an application of this principle,
Augustine holds that the universe must contain mutable and corruptible beings. It is
better that the universe contain free beings who can (and do) fall, than that it should
fail to have them. Augustine, therefore, brings even moral evil within the scope of the
aesthetic conception of evil. (The distinction between moral and natural evil will be
discussed later.)

The two principle theses of Augustine's view (evil as privation and the aesthetic
conception of evil) were adopted by Thomas Aquinas in the Summa Theologica (I,
47-49), and by Leibniz in his Theodicee. Employing these concepts, Leibniz argued
that this is the best of all possible worlds, by which he means the best of all possible
universes -- a view which Voltaire satirized mercilessly in Candide. It is the best not
because there is no evil in it, but because any other possible universe would not be as
good (i.e. would contain fewer possibilities, which means more evil). Since all the
possibilities of existence are eternally present to the Divine Mind, God surveys all
these possibilities and selects the best, and then brings those particular possibilities
into existence.

This traditional (Augustinian) theodicy has been criticized on primarily two points: its
accounts of the origin of evil and of the final disposition of evil. According to the
Augustinian view, a finitely perfect being willfully fell into evil. But that seems to be
self-contradictory. If a being is indeed perfect, then it seems that such a being could
not fall, because perfection seems to imply the lack of capability for evil or falling. To
assert otherwise seems to imply that evil has created itself ex nihilo. Furthermore,
Augustine's doctrine of the fall seems to be in conflict with his view on predestination,
which, in effect, sets man's activities within the purpose and responsibility of God (cf.
Saint Paul's assertions in Romans, quoted above); it seems to follow therefore that evil
and the fall were predestined by God.

The problem of the final disposition of moral evil can be put in terms of a conflict
between clauses C and D: If God desires to save all human creatures but is not able to
do so (i.e. clause D is false), then he is limited in power, but if he does not wish to
save all, but has created some for damnation, then he is limited in goodness (i.e.
clause C is false). In any case, the doctrine of eternal damnation, when it is held,
makes it impossible to make any Christian theodicy.

Irenaean theodicy differs from that of Augustine in that Augustine held that the pre-
fall Adam was in a state of original righteousness and that his sin constituted the
inexplicable turning away from good by a wholly good being, whereas Irenaeus held
that the pre-fall Adam was more like a child than a mature and responsible adult. In
this Irenaean view, Adam stood at the beginning of a long process of development; he
had been created as a personal being in the "image" of God, but he had to develop into
the "likeness" of God. Adam's fall, then, was not a disastrous transformation and
ruination of man's situation so much as it was a delaying and complication of his
development from the "image" into the "likeness" of God.

In the Irenaean view, man is seen as not having fallen from so great a height of
original righteousness, nor to so profound a depth of depravity as in the Augustinian
view. In Augustine's view, man was spiritually fully perfected before the fall, but in
the Irenaean view man fell in the early stages of his spiritual development, and now
needs greater help than would otherwise have been required in carrying through that
development.

The Irenaean theodicy also differs from the Augustinian in its view of the purpose of
the world. The Irenaean account sees the world as a place for "soul-making," an
environment in which the human personality may develop and grow. Nature, as an
environment for man, has its own autonomous laws, which man must learn to obey. If
God had created a world in which natural laws were continually changed to fit human
desire, then there would be no opportunity for humans to grow through subordinating
their desire to external laws. There would be no occasions in which humans could do
any evil or harm, and consequently there would be no occasions for moral choice. In
this view, the making of such choices is the primary means by which human growth --
the growth that God intended this world to be the arena for -- is made. Therefore it
was necessary that God create the world and humans in such a way that humans
would be faced with moral choices in order that humans might develop the moral
virtues.

It is clear that the Irenaean account of the origin of evil avoids some of the problems
and consequences of the more traditional Augustinian accounts. (Note 4) One of the
possible difficulties of such a view, however, is that it may not take sufficient
cognizance of divine sovereignty (i.e it seems to go against at least some parts of the
Bible, such as Job and Romans), and it is difficult to harmonize such an account with
any strong doctrine of creation. More importantly, we can ask why man could not
have been created by God already perfect, having the virtues that are supposed to be
developed through those moral choices. One answer to that question is that a
developed virtue is more valuable than one created by divine fiat, and that God is not
content to have creatures with only ready-made or ready-created qualities.

That reply seems not to be completely satisfactory, however, because the connection
between gaining virtues and going through trials is not a direct one; there is no one-to-
one correspondence between having overcome some potential evil and having
developed a virtue, in fact the evidence for any such correspondence is vague at best.
At least as many people (probably more) have been crushed by life's challenges as
have developed virtues through overcoming them. It would seem that those who have
been crushed would have reason to say that what they were faced with was not
something that was a good placed before them by the Creator. Discussions of these
points tend to trail into discussions of eschatology, claiming that in the final eschaton,
all will be made good, and it will then be found that Divine Purpose was fully good
and fully provident after all. Such eschatological discussions, however, place the
solution to theodicy beyond discussion because they depend on what cannot be known
(at least to finite creatures) because it is future.

In more recent developments of Irenaean-type theodicy there is a tendency to give up

the notion of the fall as a primordial historical event or occurrence, and to see it as a
mythological account of a general human difficulty and tendency -- an general
impediment to development existing within all human life. This view also tends
toward assuming that the fall (considered either as a primordial historical event, or as
an impediment existing naturally within human life) was an inevitable consequence of
human existence.

As Young Oon Kim has noted, one possible way of handling the problem of evil is to
drastically reduce or qualify the goodness of God, and any theology which asserts the
existence of divine predestination of evil and damnation, or of an eternal hell implies
a limitation to God's goodness and love. (Kim, p. 68) In these views, God is
sovereign, Lord of nature and history. What right do we humans have to question
God's acts, and especially what right do we have to judge Him by our finite ethical
standards? (The references above to Job and to Saint Paul's claims in Romans argue
precisely this way.) In addition to Job and Saint Paul, the Christian reformers --
Luther, Calvin and Zwingli -- tended to attempt to solve the problem of evil in this
way. They and those who follow them tend to argue that whatever God wills is right
because God, as Sovereign, wills it.

That answer, however, commits or leads to a logical absurdity: in asserting that divine
sovereignty makes whatever God does good, there is an implicit assertion that what
would otherwise not be good is good only because God does or wills it. This implies
that 'good' does not have any independent meaning or status, and if 'good' means
something different depending on who is saying or doing whatever is in question, then
no logical discussion seems possible. If what God wills is good simply because God
wills it, then there is no independent meaning to 'good,' and discussions of goodness
will become impossible because there is no logical way of understanding or defining
goodness. This solution, moreover, turns Christianity into a rigid form of
determinism, makes God into a despot, and makes the (seemingly arbitrary) exercise
of divine power more important than moral or ethical standards.

This problem of God versus man is a central problem of western monotheistic

theology and culture, i.e. of Judeo-Christian and Islamic life, religion and culture. In
fact, it is possibly the dominant problem of these cultures and religions. The God
versus man problem, however, seems to be much less severe -- and possibly even
nonexistent -- for the life, religion and culture of Oriental societies (I have in mind
primarily Hinduism, Buddhism, Confucianism, Shinto, and their various offspring)
because those cultures and religions do not really have a personal, sovereign, creator
God. Instead they have a more naturalistic god, a god that is everywhere and is
expressed in nature and in human events and life, a god that is not really a person who
says "I am."

The orthodox Judeo-Christian tradition, however, has a God who is a sovereign

person in a strong sense, who describes Himself in the great assertion, "I AM WHO I
AM" of the Old Testament, (Exodus 3:14 RSV) a God who is so holy that His name
cannot even be spoken by humans. In other words, God asserts his own "I-ness" from
the beginning. In order then for humans to relate with this God, they must submit or
bow down or humble their own "I-ness" below God's "I-ness." Human existence and
well-being therefore seems to be circumscribed by -- or even compromised before --
God's existence, while God's existence or "I-ness" is not circumscribed by or
compromised before human existence in the same way.

Attempts, such as those of Plantinga and others, to argue that God's creation of free
beings means that they must have the real ability to choose evil seem to me to be
problematic also. The doctrine of divine creation seems to me to imply that whatever
characteristics any created person has -- whether those characteristics be faith or lack
of faith, perseverance or lack of perseverance, love or lack of love, or whatever -- all
those characteristics themselves are ultimately the characteristics that were given to
the person by God. God is the Ultimate Cause, and hence the ultimate cause of the
personality and character, the will and abilities, the desires and needs of each
individual also. Each person is a resultant being, and hence not the cause of himself,
or of his characteristics.

Most Christian attempts to account for such a God-human split or tension claim that it
came about because of the fall of man. That account, however, is not fully convincing.
If there was a fall (either a primordial disastrous one, or a general one that happens
naturally to all in the course of human development), it seems that the divine-human
split must have existed before that fall; if there had been no such split -- if human
interest were not sometimes in conflict with divine desire, as an inevitable result of
human existence -- then there would hardly be any possibility of any fall.

A fall, if it happens for any reason other than divine predestination (and note that
some theologies, such as that of Augustine, hold that the fall was predestined), could
only come about because humans chose it because they were motivated by a human
desire. (The only other possibility is that it was a purely random accident -- but in that
case it is impossible to see how there could be any human responsibility for it, and
any just account would require that God solve the problem by his fiat). Such human
desire, at least in the case of the primordial fall, can be accounted for (assuming a
non-Manichean doctrine of creation) only as a desire that arises as an inevitable result
of the facts of divine creation. But such a desire must also be contradictory to God's
desire.

The conclusion seems to be that some conflict between God's desire and human desire
seems to arise inevitably from creation, which implies that the divine-human split or
tension must be inherent, in some fashion, in creation. The choice confronting humans
even before the fall, therefore, must have been between choosing God's way or
denying their own happiness (or at least what they perceived as their present
happiness -- in other words, they had to deny their immediate perceptions in favor of
divine law).

In some accounts of the origin of evil, Satan figures prominently as the seducer or
deceiver of humans, and the primary onus or responsibility for causing evil is placed
on Satan. This may be of great help in developing a demonology and an adequate
theology and piety of evil and it may help toward an adequate theory of human
responsibility, but it is of hardly any consequence for the problem of theodicy. It
merely shoves the problem back one step earlier, to accounting for why Satan chose
evil instead of good, which brings us only to the same set of questions as discussed
above. Satan seems to be merely another victim in this drama, a character who is
himself a created being, and who therefore faces a similar dilemma as the humans. In
other words, the being who became Satan was caught in the same bind or dilemma of
having either to submit to God, which meant to give up some perceived good, or else
defying God, which meant his downfall. In either case, he lost something.

Anselm discussed the fall of Satan, and tried to account for it on the basis of a
distorted will. Anselm tried to use this account to place the onus for Satan's fall on
Satan himself, removing any onus from God. Anselm discussed the problem in terms
of whether Satan was given perseverance and a will sufficient to resist falling.
According to Anselm, God gave Satan a will and perseverance sufficient for him to
avoid the fall, but Satan nevertheless fell. Anselm seems to suggest that it was Satan's
failure to receive, and not God's failure to give, that caused the problem.

It seems to me, however, that Anselm's answer does not accomplish his purpose of
removing the onus of Satan's fall from God. It is obviously false to claim that Satan
was given a sufficient will and perseverance to avoid turning to evil, as Anselm
claims, for if Satan had possessed these sufficiently to avoid falling, then he would in
fact not have fallen. The fact that he fell proves that his will and perseverance were
not sufficiently strong to avoid falling. Since the will and perseverance he had were
given to him by God, then the conclusion must be that God did not give him a
sufficient will and perseverance to avoid falling, and if God offered but Satan did not
receive, then this came about because God did not give Satan a sufficient desire or
will to receive. I do not see that Anselm has really answered this problem. (Note 5)

Another possible way of attempting to solve the problem of the origin of Satan may
be to see Satan as a formerly good but imperfect being -- an angel who, like the pre-
fall Adam, was growing toward some fuller state of existence -- who fell from that
state, and then (or thereby) induced the human fall. In other words, it may be possible
to adapt an Irenaean-type theodicy for the fall of Satan also, and in that way account
for the Biblical suggestion that an evil being induced the human fall.

As can be seen from this discussion, the arguments and discussions about the problem
of theodicy seem inconclusive in that there seems to be no solution (or at least no
solution from logic or from theological speculation) that is not open to serious and
seemingly unanswerable questions about its adequacy and accuracy. Young Oon Kim
notes that some theologians and philosophers have concluded that the origin of evil
may be a mystery that is beyond powers of human comprehension. But she also notes
-- and she is surely correct in this observation -- that more and more Christian
theologians tend towards a view that limits God's sovereignty in some way, (Kim, pp
69, 71) despite the Biblical claims otherwise, and despite what seem to be the
requirements for divine power inherent in a doctrine of creation. (But also, as noted
above, many theologians, especially process theologians, tend also to give up those
notions of creation that imply sovereign divine power.)
The Problem of Evil and the Goodness of God (Part 2)

Lloyd Eby

II. The Problem of Natural Evil

In most theological and philosophical discussions, evil has been divided into two
types: moral evil and natural evil. (Note 6) Moral evil includes all the evils that
pertain to human morality and include such things as murder, immorality, theft, hate,
envy, gluttony, exploitation of one person by another and so on. Natural evil is evil or
suffering that comes about through the activity of nature or natural events, and
includes such things as disease, natural disasters such as earthquakes, storms and tidal
waves, plagues of animals such as locusts, big fish eating little fish, and so on. These
so-called natural evils are problems for the question of divine goodness because some
of them lead to unwarranted, unnecessary, or gratuitous suffering for sentient beings,
especially humans. A solution to the problem of moral evil does not necessarily also
mean that the problem of natural evil has been solved.

Many devout theodicies, whatever account they may have given of moral evil, have
tried to solve the problem of natural evil by denying clause E through asserting that
natural evils are only apparent and not real. Other views, such as Augustine's
mentioned above, have tried to maintain that even natural evils came about through
human choice or agency. Another possibility is to adopt a form of the aesthetic
conception of evil (mentioned above in connection with Augustine) and apply it to
natural events, claiming that the seeming evils are parts of one grander divine scheme
(this is a form of denial of clause E for natural evils).

Still another possibility is to attempt to divide natural evils into two groups, assert that
one group is not really evil (i.e. deny clause E for that group), and then assert that the
other group came into existence because of the culpable acts of human agents. For
example, one might assert that there is no evil when big fish eat little fish, or when
poisonous snakes attack and kill children (because these are just the normal workings
of nature, and nature is neutral), and also assert that if humans had not fallen and were
fully perfected (i.e if they had the divine "likeness" spoken of by Irenaeus) then either
the natural evils would not occur or humans would have the ability to avert bad
consequences from them (for example, by being able to predict earthquakes and by
moving the inhabitants from the region to be affected, or by controlling or averting all
diseases that result in unwarranted suffering). In other words, those views assert that
although the results of some natural events are genuinely evil, even those evils came
about because of the human fall.
That last suggested solution has a number of deficiencies or problems: (1) It tends not
to be open to falsification (Note 7) because it insists on re-explaining any proffered
counterexample by reference to its theory in such a way that the theory itself is never
challenged. (2) It does not really take natural evil sufficiently seriously because it
refuses to call it truly evil. (3) It takes too optimistic a view of human ability to predict
and control the actions of nature. One of the results of the overthrow of the Newtonian
world-view and its replacement with an Einsteinian and quantum-mechanical view is
that natural events become, in principle, not fully knowable or predictable because the
world is not a deterministic world. (4) This solution works only if for every case of
so-called natural evil that results in gratuitous suffering, it can be shown that this
suffering came about because of a (moral) failure by some agent (e.g. human or angel)
other than God. In other words, even if it is shown that many or even most cases of
gratuitous suffering from natural causes occur because of human (moral) failure, this
is not sufficient to show that all such examples are thereby accounted for. It seems fair
to say, then, that views which deny clause E for natural evil do not give a convincing
solution to the problem.

Those views which try to deny the existence of genuine natural evil seem to me to be
Pollyannaish. One can hardly see the natural order as only beneficial or benevolent
unless one lives in an extremely mild and sheltered environment. The natural
environment is frequently a threat to human life and well being: this environment
contains drouth, poisonous plants, animals and water, life-threatening floods and
storms, and unforeseeable malevolent changes in terrain, weather and other
conditions. Other clear cases of problems arising from nature are widespread
incurable disease such as cancer and sudden heart attack, inherited disease such as
diabetes and birth defects, and diseases caused by unpreventable and unforeseeable
accidents. It seems clear that any doctrine of divine creation requires that God be the
origin of the natural order along with its principles of operation.

The existence of so-called natural evils seems to imply that the creation made by God
cannot be wholly good, at least in any simple way. This suggests a deficiency in the
Creator in that He has made a world in which there exists gratuitous suffering. In
other words, the existence of natural evil tends to argue strongly that clause C is false.
For this reason, devout persons attempting a theodicy tend to find themselves driven
toward some solution that denies clause E for natural evils. But this attempt, as
suggested above, is confronted by objections that seem overwhelming. Here, as
before, discussions of the problem for devout theologians or believers tend to trail into
discussions of eschatology, with a view that the eschaton will also be an eschaton for
natural events and beings, as in the Biblical assertion that (presumably sometime in
the future) "the wolf and the lamb shall feed together, the lion shall eat straw like the
ox...." (Isaiah 65:25 RSV)
We can conclude our discussion of so-called natural evil, then, by asserting that it
seems to present special obstacles for anyone who wishes to argue for divine
goodness, that natural evil seems to be so prevalent and so powerful that it resists
attempts to deny its existence as truly evil, that it may come about because of (human
or angelic) moral failure but that this seems not to be the cause of every instance of
human suffering because of natural events, and that attempts to account for natural
evil on the basis of some claim that having a universe with these evils (or seeming
defects) in it is better or more complete than one without the defects seem trite and
banal especially in light of the enormous suffering that humans have in fact gone
through at the hand of nature. I do not feel that any of the solutions ever offered for
the problem of natural evil is really satisfactory.

III. Toward an "Existential" Theodicy: Dostoevsky's The Brothers

Karamazov

Since we seem to be left without a real solution when we reach the end of the various
discussions, suggestions, and arguments connected with the various attempts at a
theodicy for either moral or natural evil -- none of the arguments seems strong enough
to overcome the various objections and counterarguments -- a different approach to
the problem of evil seems to be called for. Such an approach would go beyond or
outside the questions or arguments of theology, philosophy and logical form into the
realm of lived human experience. An investigation of that kind seems to me to offer
better prospects for offering something more conclusive and more convincing on the
topic.

What we might call the "existential" problem concerning evil, as I see it, is whether
evil and rebellion against God may be preferable to union with God, even if this
rebellion leads to damnation. It seems to me that one strong strain in twentieth century
western intellectual and cultural life is just such a rebellion against God (and/or
religion). (Note 8)

In my view, many important issues, especially issues dealing with things that,
following Aristotle, we might call matters of practical wisdom -- ethics, political
affairs, matters of art and creativity, matters of human life-choices, and so on -- are
handled much better in literature, drama and film than they are in philosophical
discourses. I do not think that this means that I am advocating non-answers to those
questions. I suggest, instead, that those issues are especially well presented by means
of thought experiments, and that dramatic, novelistic, and filmic presentations are
really exercises in thought experimentation of a particularly subtle and profound kind.

Attempting to solve a problem by story or even by mythology is acceptable and

necessary for novels, drama, film and other arts. Whether it is satisfactory as
philosophical answer depends, at least partly, on the philosophical temperament of the
presenter and the reader. It seems to me that much of philosophy (and theology) has
been hampered by over-attention to what Stephen Toulmin calls "questions of logical
form," along with insufficient attention to lived human experience or what he calls
"collective reason" and "matters of function and adaptation." (Note 9)

The best "existential" discussion of the problem of possible divine evil that I know of
occurs in Dostoevsky's novel The Brothers Karamazov and in various commentaries
on that novel, especially the one by Albert Camus in his The Rebel. (Note 10)
Dostoevsky's novel should be understood, I believe, as an elaborate thought
experiment, in which the natural consequences of various views and ways of life are
shown in the life developments and life movements of the various characters.

Dostoevsky also speaks to a number of other concerns in this novel. One is the
question why indictments against God and religion there have been so numerous and
so persistent in this century. Another is that through his example and practice in
producing what is really a dramatic novel, Dostoevsky implicitly gives his answer to
the question of whether a dramatic art that is of great intellectual merit and aesthetic
pungency can be constructed on a God-affirming or religion-affirming basis. (Note
11) Because this novel speaks to these questions so well, I think it is worth examining
in some detail.

The indictments against God and religion in this novel occur primarily in Ivan's
speech in a long conversation with his younger brother Alyosha. (Brothers
Karamazov, part II, bk. 5) Ivan begins by declaring his love of life, despite whatever
might occur, and despite logic. He then states that the eternal questions -- God and
socialism -- must be settled first. He affirms belief in God and in an underlying order
and meaning to life, but he quickly moves from that to a declaration that he cannot
accept God's world because that world is unjust.

To support his charge of injustice, Ivan gives many harrowing and heartrending
stories of the mistreatment and suffering of innocent children. These stories are so
moving that finally Alyosha -- a novice -- agrees that he too would want the
perpetrators of these injustices shot. Ivan pounces on this admission, and declares that
it shows that the world is absurd. He demands retribution, and not in some infinite
time or space, but here on earth (i.e. Ivan rejects any eschatological solution to the
problem). He rejects the view that there is some higher harmony that these things
serve (i.e. he rejects any aesthetic conception of evil), declares that he could not
accept any harmony that required the intense sufferings of such innocent children, and
ends with a statement of rebellion against God, saying:
"It's not God that I don't accept, Alyosha, only I most respectfully return Him the
ticket." (Karamazov, p. 226)

The force of Ivan's indictment of the world's injustice is so great that he compels even
Alyosha to admit that the situation as described requires rebellion.

"Rebellion? I'm sorry you call it that," said Ivan earnestly. "One can hardly live in
rebellion, and I want to live. Tell me yourself, I challenge you -- answer. Imagine that
you are creating a fabric of human destiny with the object of making men happy in the
end, giving them peace and rest at last, but that it was essential and inevitable to
torture to death only one tiny creature -- that little child beating its breast with its fist,
for instance -- and to found that edifice on its unavenged tears, would you consent to
bet the architect on those conditions? Tell me, and tell the truth." "No, I wouldn't
consent," said Alyosha softly. (Ibid.)

Alyosha tries to protest that Christ -- because He gave his innocent blood for all and
everything -- is the Being on whom a foundation for the edifice of justice and
forgiveness is constructed. Ivan rejects this possibility too, in the well-known chapter
entitled "The Grand Inquisitor." Although this chapter should be understood in terms
of Dostoevsky's Slavophile attack on the Roman Catholic Church, it can also be seen
as an attack on organized or institutional Christian religion in general. Religion has
rendered ineffective Christ's attempt at liberation, replacing it with central planners
who understand that the masses of people are too weak and too desirous of comfort,
regularity and material well being to be able to follow and benefit from Christ's work
and teaching. The Church (churches) have gone over to the devil but for good reasons;
that side gives the bread, the peace and the power over kingdoms of the earth that
Jesus rejected. The Grand Inquisitor has gone over to that side not for personal gain,
but out of love for humanity because he realized that this way was the only way that
could truly offer benefit to the struggling and unruly mass of people.

Albert Camus' comments on this novel are particularly astute and instructive. He notes
that Ivan's rebellion goes beyond that of previous rebels against God, whose rebellion
was primarily individualistic. Ivan changes the tone, goes beyond reverential
blasphemy, and puts God Himself on trial.

If evil is essential to divine creation, then creation is unacceptable. Ivan will no longer
have recourse to this mysterious God, but to a higher principle -- namely, justice. He
launches the essential undertaking of rebellion, which is that of replacing the reign of
grace by the reign of justice. He simultaneously begins the attack on Christianity.
(Note 12)
Ivan makes these attacks not because he does not believe in God, but because he feels
that God is unjust, and hence evil; he ranks justice above the divinity, and refutes God
in the name of moral value. Ivan attacks the interdependence in Christianity between
suffering and truth. His rejection is so total that even if offered salvation or eternal life
he would refuse, because to accept it would mean acquiescence to the injustice of the
world. The problem with Ivan's total rejection of divine coherence, however, is that
this stance leads to recognizing the legitimacy of murder and the condoning of crime.
Once he has taken this step of rebellion, he must go to its bitter end, which is to
replace God with man -- to the metaphysical revolution in which man occupies the
place formerly held by God. (Camus, 836-839)

But Ivan's rebellion leads to contradiction; there is now no basis on which to

distinguish between what is permissible and what is crime. One man's view of what is
permissible becomes as legitimate as any other man's view. Dostoevsky may be, as
Camus claims, the prophet of the new religion of atheism and socialism, but
Dostoevsky did not welcome or champion this development.

Dostoevsky replies to Ivan's devastating indictments throughout the novel, but

especially in the account of the Russian Monk Zosima. As Nathan Rosen points out,
Dostoevsky himself saw Ivan's indictments and the account of the monk as pro and
contra on this issue of divine goodness or evil. (Note 13)

The question of the genuineness of sainthood is not answered philosophically, but

with the living example of Father Zosima; we see his virtue by observing his life, his
teaching and his activity. His saintly example is contrasted with Father Ferapont, who
possessed the trappings of genuine religion (fierce asceticism, fervent prayer, wearing
chains under his robes to mortify his flesh), but who nevertheless spread discord and
dissension among the monks. Ferapont represents, I think, Dostoevsky's admission
that some religion is indefensible and even destructive, religion of forms and
trappings and even personal sacrifice without the essential heart.

Dostoevsky presents many things from Zosima's life and from the lives of the other
characters that reply to Ivan's indictments. I think it may be instructive and
worthwhile to list and comment on some of the more important of them.

1. Zosima gives three stories about his life before his conversion -- the story of his
brother Markel, the story of the duel, and the story of the murderer's confession. Each
story contains an element of mystery, which suggests that all human life has a
mysterious dimension encompassing the mysteries of faith, conversion and cosmic
justice.
2. Zosima tells the story of Job, but ignores Job's claims about his innocence, focusing
instead on the fact that the lost children were later replaced, and on the mystery that
the new children erased from Job's memory the pain of the earlier loss. This is an
indirect answer to Ivan's concern about the suffering of children. It is also implicitly a
kind of eschatological solution to the problem of suffering, and perhaps a tacit claim
that only an eschatological solution is available.
3. Although accorded the status of a saint by the common people, Zosima neither
mocked them nor was obsequious toward them, but merely served them with dignity,
giving blessings and counsel, thereby contributing to their genuine well being. As a
man of religion and tradition he embodies what is best in life and contrasts
dramatically with the lives of other non-religious characters, especially the
Karamazovs.
4. Zosima brings together the father Karamazov with his sons so that the father's
buffoonery and despicableness temporarily subside. Yet the meeting is ultimately
unsuccessful; although Zosima is a saint, he does not work miracles that go beyond or
usurp the responsibility of others who meet with him. This suggests that, in practice,
the power of true good is circumscribed by or responsive to human choice and the
contingencies of human existence.
5. Zosima recommends that Alyosha, the novice, leave the monastery and marry, a
recommendation in striking contrast with Ivan's troubles with the women in his life.
Ivan cannot achieve intimacy for any extended time, but Zosima sees intimacy as part
of Alyosha's salvation.
6. Zosima's faith is neither uneducated nor blockheaded, though simple and elemental.
He wears it with good humor and good feeling for all, and spreads goodness to all
who will accept it. This contrasts with the gloom and nervousness Ivan spreads to his
companions. This suggests that Ivan's concern with justice does not translate, in
practice, into an increase in goodness, but rather into an increase in a kind of evil.
7. When Zosima dies, his body decays and begins to smell, denying to others the
supernatural miracle they expected. But a greater miracle happens in that Alyosha and
Grushenka go through several stages of inner transformation, culminating in the
"Cana of Galilee" episode. Zosima brings the true miracle of inner change of heart;
this miracle comes when one follows true insight and prefers doing good to doing
evil.
8. Despite the brother Mitya's passion, his hatred of his father, his need for money, his
vow to kill his father, and even the opportunity and the weapon, he runs away from
the temptation to parricide. If the Grand Inquisitor were right, these psychological and
material causes should have compelled him to the deed. But every reader realizes the
genuineness of his refusal and his self restraint. His example shows that people have
the inner capacity to overcome those forces. This is a kind of proof (or at least very
strong evidence) that psychological and material causes (or forces) are not compelling
or overwhelming, and that they are subservient to human will and choice. This
amounts to a strong refutation of all forms of materialism and of psychological
theories, such as Freudianism, which affirm psychological determinism.
9. Ivan goes away profoundly depressed after reciting his tale to Alyosha, and finally
recognizes that this depression is caused by the revolting familiarity and impiousness
of Smerdyakov. Even though Ivan hates his father and would like to see him dead,
Smerdyakov's lack of piety toward the father grates on Ivan. Also, Ivan himself
confesses complicity in the murder in the end, even though this is irrational and
ridiculous because he knows no one will believe him. So even Ivan operates at the
personal (which is to say real) level by a different ethic than the one he expressed
earlier in his speech to Alyosha. We might call it an ethic of human relationships and
human love, as opposed to an ethic of justice.
10. Ivan goes mad in the end, while those who follow the way of life of Father Zosima
undergo inner transformation to a higher state of consciousness and way of life. This
suggests that rebellion against God and against divine notions of goodness leads to
psychological, social and even physical degradation, whereas saintliness of life --
following the divine order -- has the opposite effect.
11. The atheistic socialism that Dostoevsky and Camus see (correctly, I believe) as the
alternative to the religious view does not solve the problem of justice, but in fact
ultimately promotes much greater injustice, even in the economic realm where it is
supposed to be paramount; we have observed this dramatically in the last decades. So
rebellion in the name of justice does not work even for its own ends.

Through all these episodes Dostoevsky has presented an answer to the existential
problem I mentioned above. He has shown both the consequences of rebellion against
God and against the divinely-created cosmos, as well as an alternative to this
rebellion, and has presented all this in the form of an elaborate thought experiment.
The novel can and should be seen as presenting a kind of theodicy. It is not a theodicy
given in terms of theological or logical investigation or presentation, but what, for
want of a better term, I have called an "existential" theodicy. In addition to that, by his
own work of art, as well as through the contrast between Fathers Zosima and
Ferapont, Dostoevsky offers an answer to the question about whether a non-trivial and
important dramatic art can be constructed on a basis other than a God-indicting one.
(Note 14)

Dostoevsky himself does not shrink from criticizing religion in his dramatic novel (he
does it through his presentation of Father Ferapont), but presents even that criticism
on a religion-affirming basis (an affirmation of the genuine goodness of Father
Zosima). This novel demonstrates a possible way in which true religion can both do
away with the need for rebellion and lead to grater things: to a superior dramatic art
and to the kind of human well-being furthered by Father Zosima.
The Problem of Evil and the Goodness of God (Part 3)

Lloyd Eby

IV. Unification Theodicy as an "Existential" Theodicy

Unification theology, as presented in the Divine Principle and elsewhere, gives an

elaborate account of the origin of evil. It asserts that evil originated in the fall of man,
and claims that this fall was instigated by the being who became Satan through the
process. Divine Principle discusses the question of God's role in the origin of evil, but
does this in a novel way: it presents a number of reasons why God did not intervene in
the process of the fall to prevent the occurrence of evil. Unification theology does not,
however, present an explicit theodicy, although it has a basis on which a theodicy can
be constructed, and Unification theologians have presented many reflections on and
developments of this matter.

Unification theology does modify or limit the power of God, or at least limit God's
power to contravene human choice and action, and in that it has affinities with process
theology. It also asserts that the humans were immature and growing toward
perfection when they fell, and that their growth to perfection was something for which
they were partly responsible. Their situation presented them with moral choices which
they had to resolve in the right way in order that their growth could take place. In this,
Unification theology is quite similar to Irenaean theodicy. (Note 15)

Unificationism's handling of the problem of theodicy seems to me, however, to be at

its core and in its motivation much more like what Dostoevsky gives us than what is
given in any of the received Christian (or other) theological or philosophical accounts.
Unification piety based on the oral tradition and common practice seem to me to adopt
something very much like Dostoevsky's solution to the problem of seeming divine
evil. This piety and oral tradition present many stories of people and their lives and
actions -- especially stories about Rev. Moon and his faithful disciples -- and shows
that they have overcome adversity, empathized with the suffering of God and of
humans, and have accomplished many feats of faith and action, and thereby spread
goodness and well-being. These lives have had that effect in spite of adversity and of
seemingly hostile circumstances and providence.

It is accurate to say, in fact, that the dramatic story of God's desire, His suffering, His
hope, and His history (i.e. the history of His interaction with humans, with Satan, and
with the world) is the central matter of Rev. Moon's preaching and teaching, and that
this preaching and teaching forms the core of Unification piety and the impetus for the
dynamism of the Unification Church and its members and activities. Most Unification
members would probably testify to having had some personal experience of God's
suffering, suffering that came about because of the fall and because of repeated
instances of evil. This gives Unification piety an enormous impetus toward working to
relieve God's suffering through solving, eliminating, or doing away with evil and its
consequences.

In addition, Unification doctrine and piety have an enormous emphasis on and

certainty of the immanent eschaton, an eschaton, however, which can be achieved
only through human work, effort and sacrifice. The stories of people who have
achieved something in advancing this present immanent eschaton are, then, of very
great importance both in assuring Unification Church members that the eschaton is at
hand and can be brought about, as well as in spurring them on to more and greater
feats of faith, sacrifice, endurance and accomplishment.

Unification theology claims that God is not responsible for the moral evils that befall
us, and indeed that God does all that is possible to avoid them, but God is bound by
the choices made by humans. It asserts that God's creation of man and His giving the
characteristics and circumstances that were given to humans was an act of love, love
which would also risk being hurt. Much of this doctrine is, in practice, conveyed in
the form of stories about Biblical and other characters, and about God. This has been
called a process of "re-mythologization." (Note 16)

The task of Unification piety and practice, then, is to persuade humans to make the
choices that will lead to God's victory, which will, it is asserted, also lead to human
well being. Those choices must conform to God's will and principle in order that
goodness result. Unificationism asserts that God's heart and will and purpose can be
known -- it seems to say that this can be done through God's prophets, through divine
revelation, and so on, but it is somewhat vague about how we may distinguish
between veridical and false representations of the divine -- and that religions have the
task of truly apprehending these and of making them known to all people. It also
asserts, however, that to do this and to carry out the divinely appointed task and
mission, people and religions must unite on and work on and achieve a higher
dimension than has heretofore occurred. The stories told in the oral tradition have the
function of reinforcing these challenges and possibilities.

Conclusion

The existence of evil often seems to be such clear evidence of either the evil or the
powerlessness of God and/or religion that many people have concluded that God
and/or religion cannot or should not be defended. But the alternative to alliance with
God is rebellion, and rebellion, as Dostoevsky suggests and as historical events in the
twentieth century seem to demonstrate, (Note 17) leads to much worse consequences,
even in the dimension over which the rebellion took place. So we are warranted in
concluding, I think, that God's goodness is at least greater than the goodness of any
person who presumes to base goodness on some human perception, i.e. we can
conclude that theistic humanism is better and offers greater hope than anti-theistic or
atheistic humanism.

Here I have not discussed the problem of good or acceptable versus bad or
unacceptable religions, except incidentally in connection with Dostoevsky's contrast
of Fathers Zosima and Ferapont. It is surely clear to everyone that some religions, or
even some things from all of them, must be rejected as indefensible. A fuller
discussion of the problem of theodicy would need to separate between indictments of
religion and indictments of God, discuss the issue of how to distinguish or separate
good from bad religions or religious practices, and discuss the problem of whether the
existence of false or bad religion and religious practices means that God should be
charged with evil or failure. Solving that problem would almost certainly require
discussion of the problem of revelation, with an attempt to answer the question of how
we might distinguish between true or reliable revelations and false or unreliable ones.
(Note 18)

A thorough solution to the problem of theodicy and the goodness of God and religion
may not be possible. The problem of natural evil seems to me to be especially
resistant to solution. I do think that Unification theology -- or, more accurately, an
extended Unification doctrine based on Unification theology and other Unification
doctrines, but expanded and further developed -- offers some promise of being able to
answer many of the most serious and important indictments of God and of religion.
For the most part, however, this still remains as a task to be achieved, rather than an
accomplishment to be celebrated.

Notes

Parts of this paper are revisions of sections taken from my earlier papers: "Is God
Good and Can God be Defended?" presented in Theme Group Three, "In Defense of
God," at the New ERA Conference "God: The Contemporary Discussion, III," Dorado
Beach, Puerto Rico, December 30, 1983, to January 4, 1984; "Dramatic Art and
Religion," presented in Theme Group Three, "Religious Art; Images of the Divine," at
the New ERA Conference on "God: The Contemporary Discussion, IV," in Seoul,
Korea, August 9-15, 1984; and "Unification Thought and Religious Knowledge,"
presented in Committee VII of ICUS XIII, Washington, D.C., September 2-5, 1984.

Young Oon Kim presents an excellent introduction to the problems of theodicy in her
An Introduction to Theology (New York: The Holy Spirit Association for the
Unification of World Christianity, 1983), pp. 67-71.
1. A few philosophers and theologians, such as Alvin Plantinga, have argued
otherwise, claiming that there is not any necessary logical contradiction in asserting
the conjunction of all those claims or clauses. What is at stake in those discussions is
an investigation of how the rather cryptic and compressed assertions in each of those
clauses is to be understood or "unpacked." In particular, those discussions usually
argue that for God to be fully loving and powerful and competent does not necessarily
logically require Him to solve every evil that exists. See Alvin Plantinga, God and
Other Minds (Cornell: Cornell University Press, 1967).

Among other discussions of these issues are the various papers in Nelson Pike, ed.,
God and Evil (Englewood, NJ: Prentice-Hall, Inc., 1964); Edward H. Madden and
Peter H. Hare, Evil and the Concept of God (Springfield, Il: Charles C. Thomas,
Publishers, 1968); Nelson Pike, "God and Evil: A Reconsideration," Ethics, LXVIII
(1958), p. 119; Terence Penelhum, "Divine Goodness and the Problem of Evil,"
Religious Studies, II (1966), p. 107; Edward H. Madden and Peter H. Hare, "Evil and
Inconclusiveness," Sophia, XI (1972), pp. 10 ff.; Austin Farrer, Love Almighty and
Ills Unlimited (New York: Doubleday & Company, Inc., 1961); and Dewey J.
Hoitenga, Jr., "Logic and the Problem of Evil," American Philosophical Quarterly, IV
(1967), pp. 121, 122.

2. The most thorough presentation of the process account of limited divine power
occurs in Charles Hartshorne, Omnipotence and other Theological Mistakes (Albany:
The State University of New York Press, 1984); see also David Ray Griffin, God,
Power, and Evil: A Process Theodicy (Philadelphia: The Westminster Press, 1976).

3. John Hick, Evil and the God of Love (London: Macmillan, 2nd. ed., 1977); see also
Hick's article, "The Problem of Evil," in Paul Edwards, ed., The Encyclopedia of
Philosophy, 8 vols. (New York: Macmillan Publishing Co., Inc. & The Free Press,
1967), 3:136-141. My account here of Augustine, Leibniz and Irenaeus is based on
Hick's presentation.

4. Hick, for one, favors the Irenaean account.

5. Anselm's discussion of this is contained in De Casu Diaboli. An English edition is

Anselm of Canterbury, Truth Freedom and Evil: Three Philosophical Dialogues, trans.
and ed. by Jasper Hopkins and Herbert Richardson (New York: Harper & Row,
Publishers, Harper Torchbooks, 1967), pp. 145-196.

6. Some philosophers and theologians have questioned whether there really is or

should be such a distinction. Without entering into that discussion, I will assume here
that the distinction can be upheld.
7. The term 'falsification' is used here instead of a reference to lack of verification
because the verificationist program has been shown conclusively to be defective, but
the requirement for falsifiability, while it has been attacked as also untenable, may be
considered to be a minimum requirement for something to be truly scientific. The
locus classicus for discussions of falsifiability as a counterproposal to verifiability is
the writings of Karl Popper, especially his The Logic of Scientific Discovery
(London: Hutchinson & Co., 1959; New York: Basic Books, 1959).

All of Popper's subsequent books have dealt with this issue at length and expanded or
refined his previous views. The best introduction to and summary of Popper's work
occurs in his own "Autobiography of Karl Popper," in Paul Arthur Schilpp, ed., The
Philosophy of Karl Popper, The Library of Living Philosophers, Vol. XIV, in 2 Books
(La Salle, IL: Open Court, 1974), bk. 1, pp. 3-181. An excellent account -- so good
that I consider it essential -- of the downfall of the verificationist program and its
replacement with a critical (falsificationist) theory is given in Walter B. Weimer,
Notes on the Methodology of Scientific Research (Hillsdale, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum
Associates, Publishers, 1979).

A seminal discussion of and expansion of Popper's falsificationist program occurs in

Imre Lakatos's article, "Falsification and the Methodology of Scientific Research
Programs," in Imre Lakatos and Alan Musgrave, eds., Criticism and the Growth of
Knowledge (London & New York: Cambridge University Press, 1970).

8. Evidence for this claim seems to me to be ubiquitous and overwhelming. Darwin,

Marx (with Lenin) and Freud are the most important intellectual fathers of modernity,
and each of them rejects religious answers or solutions to the problem at hand; Marx
and Freud also seem to reject God. Much of the film and drama of the twentieth
century is explicitly anti-religious, cf. Christopher Durang's drama, Sister Mary
Ignatius Explains it All For You, and the films of Eisenstein, Bunuel, Cocteau,
Hawks, Bergman, Fellini, Coppola, Altman, Fassbinder, and many others, including
all the current "youth-market" films coming from Hollywood. The whole tenor of
Western culture in the twentieth century is overwhelmingly secular, despite some
important counterexamples.

9. Stephen Toulmin, Human Understanding, vol. 1 (Princeton: Princeton University

Press, 1972), p. vii.

10. One edition of the Dostoevsky novel is the Norton Critical Edition: Fyodor
Dostoevsky, The Brothers Karamazov, ed. by Ralph E. Matlaw (New York: W.W.
Norton & Co., 1976); all citations here are from that edition. This edition also
contains critical commentaries on the novel, including that of Camus. An English
edition of Camus's work is Albert Camus, The Rebel, trans. from the French
L'Homme Revolte by Anthony Bower (New York: Vintage Books, 1956).

11. Dostoevsky's work is parochial and anti-modern, however. For that reason it is not
really a good answer to the dramatist's problem in the twentieth century. In this
century it is almost impossible to produce a dramatic work -- theater, film, or novel --
which is of great intellectual and aesthetic merit and at the same time religion-
affirming or God-affirming. Most religion-affirming or God-affirming drama in this
century has been sappy and embarrassing.

12. Albert Camus, The Rebel, trans. by Anthony Bower (New York: Knopf, 1956).
The section of The Rebel dealing with The Brothers Karamazov is reprinted in the
Norton Critical Edition, op. cit., and my citations are from that edition, pp. 836, 837.

13. Nathan Rosen, "Style and Structure in The Brothers Karamazov (The Grand
Inquisitor and the Russian Monk)" in Russian Literature Triquarterly, I, (1971), 1,
352-365. Reprinted in the Norton Critical Edition, op. cit., pp. 841-851. My
presentation here of Dostoevsky's points in reply to Ivan's accusations of God owes
very much to Rosen.

14. But see note #11 above on this problem. Since Dostoevsky's work is from and of
the nineteenth century, it may offer little help to the dramatist of the present day.

15. There is a growing literature on Unification theodicy. Besides Young Oon Kim's
various books, there are presentations on and discussions of this issue in several of the
conference proceedings from conferences sponsored by New ERA and the Unification
Theological Seminary. One is by Stephen Deddens, "Toward a Unification Theodicy,"
presented at the New ERA Conference, "God: The Contemporary Discussion, II," Ft.
Lauderdale, Florida, December 30, 1982 to January 4, 1983.

Jonathan Wells has written an important (but unpublished) work on the topic; see also
his "Fall of Man Lecture," in Darrol Bryant, ed., Proceedings of the Virgin Islands'
Seminar on Unification Theology (Barrytown, NY: The Unification Theological
Seminary, 1980), pp. 47-55, and the discussions following on pp. 55-59, and pp. 70-
79.

Other Unification theologians have also written and spoken on this question. See, for
example, my papers and the papers of Dagfinn Aslid, Klaus Lindner, Andrew Wilson
and Anthony Guerra, as well as the transcript of various discussions in Frank K. Flinn,
ed., Hermeneutics & Horizons: The Shape of the Future (Barrytown, NY: The
Unification Theological Seminary, 1982). 30. See Frank K. Flinn, "The New
Religions and the Second Naivete: Beyond Demystification and Demythologization,"
in Ten Theologians Respond to the Unification Church, Herbert Richardson, ed.
(Barrytown, NY: The Unification Theological Seminary, 1981), pp. 41-59.

16. See Frank K. Flinn, "The New Religions and the Second Naivete: Beyond
Demystification and Demythologization," in Ten Theologians Respond to the
Unification Church, Herbert Richardson, ed., (Barrytown NY: The Unification
Theological Seminary, 1981), 41-59.

17. I have not discussed the history of twentieth century rebellion against God and
religion in this paper. The greatest evils of the twentieth century have been
perpetrated, I believe, by the Nazis, the Fascists, and the Communists, all of whom
owe their paternity to Lenin, who was virulently opposed to religion and to divinity.
One could say that Dostoevsky was remarkably prescient in foreseeing that the
rebellion he spoke of leads directly to Leninism.

It is also true that very great evils have been committed by devout religious believers,
even while using religious texts or themes to justify what was being done, such as the
instigation of apartheid in South Africa by devout followers of the Dutch Reformed
Church. I think it is accurate to say, however, that an impartial weighing of the scope
and amount of evil committed would conclude that far greater evil has been
committed by those who have explicitly rejected religion and God than by those who
claim to be religious or to be following the divine will. All this is, however, a topic
that requires a great deal of exploration. It must be left for another time.

18. I have tried to discuss the problem of false versus true revelation and suggest how
they might be distinguished in my "Millennial and Utopian Religion: Totalitarian or
Free?" in Joseph Bettis and S.K. Johannesen, eds., The Return of the Millennium
(Barrytown, NY: New ERA Books, the International Religious Foundation, Inc.,
1984), pp. 119-136.