The Myth of Comprehending Suffering, A Crisis of Faith, and the Zen of Acceptance

Spoiler alert: there is no sense to be made of suffering in this world, but we can still help each other, even if we can’t fully understand

Aug 28, 2023

Part of the genesis for this essay lies in a development of three weeks ago.

A good friend of several of the men with whom I meet virtually every Thursday evening had experienced a significant decline in his health. His Lewy-body Dementia had rapidly progressed to the point that he was being admitted to early hospice.

My view is that those afflicted with dementia of any variety do not themselves suffer, but rather it is those who bear witness to its effects, and who provide care to the loved one(s) so afflicted.

In thinking about this man, I could not help but remember that the anniversary of the passing of my very good friend is fast approaching. My friend was someone who in just a little more than a year went from being a young, vibrant husband and father with a bright future to one suffering from inoperable lung cancer, ultimately succumbing to complications from it.

He entered hospice and within days had passed away. I was able to visit him on that last day in October, knowing it was his last day alive as all life support would be removed later that evening. When my then-wife and I left the facility, despite being a man of faith, I remained most unsettled and disquieted.

Human suffering - physical and mental decline, social and legal injustice, prolonged economic hardship as a result of under- or unemployment, loss – one can't help but wonder why – all the while knowing that it is possible, even likely, there is no explanation that makes sense – certainly not to the observer. Even if one could be provided, would either party (the one suffering, or the ones bearing witness to it and perhaps suffering, themselves) benefit? No, they would not.

Still, it is that question – asked of ourselves, rhetorically – that persists.

If one sincerely seeks a reasonable explanation, and if one will keep an open mind, there are two resources to consult:

One is, When Bad Things Happen to Good People, by Rabbi Harold Kushner. His writing, and this book in particular, has managed to offend scholars of Orthodox Judaism who are regarded to be of a more conservative bent, as well as many who consider themselves to be members of the evangelical Christian community, and even an atheist who disputes Kushner’s finite God theodicy,1 so I’m guessing he’s on to something. You cannot offend Jewish and Christian theological scholars, and a leading atheist and still be wrong.

The thrust of the book argues for theistic finitism:2 the belief that a deity, in this instance, the Creator of Heaven and Earth, is limited. Many of Kushner’s critics take issue with such a view because they conflate it with doubt or denial of God’s omnipotence. Their issue is understandable, but not excusable, because the God who created the universe is in fact, limited by constraints He, Himself, put in place.

For example: God cannot lie, nor can God fail to keep His promises. Many supposed theological scholars hold that God’s omnipotence allows Him the freedom to do anything, to intervene in virtually any crisis. While what we perceive to be answered prayer seems to support this view, it also cheapens divine omnipotence by reducing it to something transactional in nature.

Which brings me to the second resource, and the one I find to be superior: The Problem of Pain, by C.S. Lewis, which precedes Kushner’s book by forty-one years.

In his book, Lewis begins by addressing the flaws in common arguments against the belief in a just, loving, and all-powerful God such as: "If God were good, He would make His creatures perfectly happy, and if He were almighty He would be able to do what he wished. But the creatures are not happy. Therefore God lacks either goodness, or power, or both.” 3 4

Throughout, Lewis succeeds in reconciling the topics of suffering, sin, sinfulness, and the problem of Hell with a truly omnipotent deity – God, who created the universe and everything in it. If one undertakes to read carefully and comprehend Lewis’ intellectually powerful yet simple reasoning, one will find that divine goodness is distinct from a human understanding and definition of goodness, and the same holds true for divine omnipotence.

It is not light reading – Lewis is an intellectual giant, and while his genius is in making the difficult simple, wrapping one’s head around such uncomplicated and profound truth is an unexpectedly mentally draining exercise. It took me more than two years to finish it – while that may be because reading comprehension has, at times, been a struggle for me; my inclination is to attribute it to the human tendency to deny truth that demolishes the lies we tell ourselves.

The passage that best sums up theistic finitism is found in the second chapter titled, Divine Omnipotence, on page sixteen. It reads:

Omnipotence means ‘power to do all, or everything.’ And we are told in Scripture that ‘with God all things are possible.’ It is common enough, in argument with an unbeliever, to be told that God, if He existed and were good, would do this or that; and then, if we point out that the proposed action is impossible, to be met with the retort ‘But I thought God was supposed to be able to do anything.’ This raises the whole question of impossibility.
In ordinary usage the word impossible generally implies a suppressed clause beginning with the word unless. Thus it is impossible for me to see the street from where I sit writing at this moment; that is, it is impossible to see the street unless I go up to the top floor where I shall be high enough to overlook the intervening building. If I had broken my leg I should say, ‘But it is impossible to go up to the top floor’ – meaning, however, that it is impossible unless some friends turn up who will carry me. Now let us advance to a different plane of impossibility, by saying, ‘It is, at any rate, impossible to see the street so long as I remain where I am and the intervening building remains where it is.’ Someone might add ‘unless the nature of space, or of vision, were different from what it is.’ I do not know what the best philosophers and scientists would say to this, but I should have to reply, ‘I don’t know whether space and vision could possibly have been of such a nature as you suggest.’ Now it is clear that the words ‘could possibly’ here refer to some absolute kind of possibility or impossibility which is different from the relarive possibilities and impossibilities we have been considering. I cannot say whether seeing round corners is, in this new sense, possible or not. But I know very well that if it is self-contradictory it is absolutely impossible. The absolutely impossible may also be called the intrinsically impossible because it carries its impossibilities within itself, instead of borrowing it from other impossibilities which in their turn depend on others. It has no unless clause attached to it. It is impossible under all conditions and in all worlds and for all agents.

To my way of thinking, this is illustrated by Israel being delivered out of Egypt.
God was hearing the prayers of His people, He was acutely aware of what was happening, but certain conditions needed to be met before that said deliverance could occur. The promised land needed to be prepared, the hardness of Pharoah’s heart needed to be overcome, and since God’s timing is not ours, we may conclude that God is not sensitive and/or responsive to the suffering of His people, and therefore isn’t answering their prayers in a timely manner, and certainly not in the affirmative. Such a conclusion is all kinds of wrong.

A personal note: I sought to read it in 2016 when I learned from a news report that human bones recovered from a pasture in Paynesville, Minnesota, were those of one Jacob Wetterling, whose disappearance in October of 1989 shocked the entire state.5

In a plea agreement to a lesser charge, the subhuman stain admitted to killing Jacob on the night of the abduction, October 22. For the next twenty-seven years, the Wetterling family lived suspecting but not knowing what had happened to their son. Such suffering was incomprehensible to me, and it was the first time I sincerely and truly doubted the nature of the God I claimed to follow and worship.

For me, it was a crisis of faith. It was at the suggestion of a lay-pastor and friend that I undertook to read it as I tried to make sense of what I felt was the cruel and pointless suffering to which the Wetterling family had been subjected. As I read and re-read each chapter, reviewed my notes, and through prayer sought to understand, my doubt was replaced with the faith that had been temporarily displaced, and the crisis passed.

Those who identify as people of faith6 have a perspective and a view of human suffering that extends only to themselves and their immediate loved ones, and it stands in stark contrast to that of those who do not identify thusly. To be clear, people of faith are by no means better, or superior to their peers who likely do not share that faith. It is only mentioned to establish the paradigm, and not to suggest any kind of value judgement.

Everyone – regardless of their spiritual orientation – struggles with suffering, whether enduring their own, or observing that of another (especially a child), an animal (a family pet in particular), or others that they may not know, personally – the residents of Maui, for example.

When people of faith suffer for any reason, to any extent, we know that ultimately, it is not only for our benefit, but that it also brings glory to God, our Father in Heaven, which is our reason for living.

Granted, to someone who does not share our faith, this sounds like absolute madness, insanity, and just plain nuts – it does, but that’s okay. We don’t expect others to understand nor do we ask them to – we only ask that we be allowed to live by and to live out that faith.

Observing first-hand the suffering of another is not pleasant. It makes us uncomfortable, and more often than not, we are moved to respond in a way that we want to believe will somehow ease the pain of the other, and as a result, our discomfort will be lessened, which, truth be told, really is what we sought in the first place.

We sincerely believe we have the other’s welfare and best interest at heart, therefore our intentions are noble. I would only point out that is absolutely no justification for such a response, given that the road to Hell is paved with similar good intentions.

Responses that suggest that the suffering of another, or perhaps an entire group of people, is part of God’s plan, or that it is God’s will, or that it is for His glory are utter BS. They are insensitive, tone-deaf, overly simplistic, destructive, harmful, borne of extraordinary ignorance and ought not be tolerated under any circumstances. It is my prayer that those who offer either or both of those comments with no forethought would be struck mute.

Now, it is likely that only one who is very immature in his faith would respond thusly, and while that may be a defense, it is not excusable. One could argue that, “his heart was in the right place,” or that such malice was not his intention. Good intentions or not, it remains unacceptable and inexcusable. Please refer to my comment on good intentions in the second immediately preceding paragraph.

God’s plan. Really? Let’s be clear – it is not God’s plan that anyone should suffer in any way, shape or form. God’s plan for mankind is clear and available to all who wish to know by consulting scripture,7 but His plan for each individual remains unknown to anyone else in Heaven or on Earth.

God’s will. Please – it remains up to each of us to submit to the will of our Father in Heaven.8

God’s glory? Even if true, expressing such a sentiment is reserved for he who is the one so suffering.

Observing first-hand the suffering of another is also difficult, for the very reason that we are likely to respond badly – we might lash out in anger (at the doctors and nurses, the drug companies, the president, or even the one suffering) – or we might decide to shut down, distance ourselves emotionally from the situation that is demanding our attention and a response – incidentally, this was my default response for most of my life.

That being said, responding in an appropriate and supportive manner is something we can only learn with each such encounter – though, even that is no guarantee, as the tendency to respond poorly is no respecter of persons, regardless of age.

Note: In an effort to prevent a revocation of my Man card, the following is to make clear that the only reason I am able to refer to this chick movie is because I viewed it only once, and that was on a date with a woman with whom I had hoped to establish a romantic relationship; that she might perceive me to be a sufficiently sensitive guy. Boy, was I wrong. Seldom have I ever felt as big a fool, since.

Whatever ours is, it is likely borne of frustration in seeking to apply reason to that which is emotional in nature, and inherently not reasonable. Let’s be honest, here – whatever suffering we or others are experiencing, it is emotional, and because of that, logic and reason are as useful as driving a nail with a pair of pliers.

In an effort to try to make sense of why someone is destined to die slowly from chemotherapy, or extended dialysis, or dementia and Alzheimer’s, or pain from the loss of a marriage or a spouse that has given way to dependency on alcohol and/or narcotics, and perhaps thoughts, attempts, or even a completed suicide, we may fall into the trap of concluding that it is some kind of punishment. Punishment for somehow offending the Almighty, and lash out in anger at God, Himself.

Despite such a conclusion being utterly false, it is a perfectly acceptable response – one reason is that it is honest, without pretense. Another is because His shoulders are more than broad enough to take it. After all, no one other than King David did the same, and before him, Job. (David, King of Israel – of David and Goliath fame – and no, not this David and Goliath):

Don’t believe me? Read through the Psalms – there are plenty of examples of David asking Him point-blank if He knew what He was doing. There is absolutely no reason why we ought not be free to do the same.

The conclusion that I seem to be reaching is that there are no satisfactory answers to be found.

There is no understanding any of the ‘whys.’

Maybe there is only understanding that there is no understanding, and accepting it. If true, that seems very Zen, to me.

So, if there is no discernable reason for suffering – that of ourselves, of others – if it is pointless to try and figure out why, what then is our purpose in relation to those who are? How are we to respond in a way that is least bad?

It could be as simple as staying present even if silent (because words fail), with our parents, our siblings, and/or our friends who for all intents and purposes are family.

We can’t hurt in the same way they are hurting, but we can be that shoulder on which they can cry, we can be that sounding board, we can listen – much as a dog would – allowing them to express what they are feeling in any way they wish without fear of judgement.

Which brings me to a third resource, Killing Giants, Pulling Thorns, by Charles R. Swindoll. Per goodreads.com, the author takes on attitudes and circumstances that threaten our faith, the giants that intimidate, and the thorns that infuriate, in short but hard-hitting chapters. In this…classic, bitterness, fear, the tongue, grief, and 20 other giants and thorns receive treatment rooted in scripture.9

The chapter titled, Grief, contains the following:

Those who comfort must have a tender heart of understanding the grieving. They come simply to say they care. Few things heal wounded spirits better than the balm of a supportive embrace.

The author also recounts this exchange:

A little girl lost a playmate to death and one day reported to her family that she had gone to comfort the sorrowing mother.
‘What did you say?’ asked her father.
’Nothing,’ she replied. ‘I just climbed up on her lap and cried with her.’

If love covers a multitude of wrongs,10 11 then I am confident that if our response is borne of love, it will be appropriate and welcome, regardless of how awkwardly we give it. Toward that end, and as I wish to end on a more uplifting note, I offer this:

Thank you, dear reader, for your indulgence.

If matters of faith offend your sensibilities, I understand. Despite this being my own space, my faith is not something I invoke without careful consideration. It is no less a part of my life than my love of country, bacon, and Harley-Davidson motorcycles.

My hope is that you continue reading, anyway.

Until next time…

Cultural Orphan

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