Bill Walker | Blog

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Someone reminded me the other day about the importance of not letting the sad and awful things that happen in the world rob me of joy.  This was an encouraging and correcting word to a certain extent, and something many of us need to hear from time to time – especially in light of current events in places like Libya for instance.  This notwithstanding, I’m also in a class on Nietzsche right now, and he has what I think is a poignant critique of a certain version of Christianity.  Rather than quote him, I’ll briefly paraphrase:

Christianity lacks a true sense of the tragic.  Why?  Because it always gives an answer.

This is part of the reason Nietzsche had more respect for Buddhism than the kind of Christianity he knew: Buddhists don’t give a reason for suffering in their philosophy.  Tragedy and suffering just are.  The crucial element is how one handles it.

As human beings, we have a very difficult time dealing with tragedy insofar as it seems senseless.  Legitimate arguments have been made to account for this, suggesting that historically we can literally trace the development of religion as a creation to cope with this dilemma.  I’m not saying we shouldn’t concern ourselves with theodicy or philosophy about this, or that we should be completely satisfied with absolute mystery either – I’m very interested in analyzing the subject – but this is not something that people of faith should so quickly dismiss as merely materialistic, nihilistic, etc.

Instead, from a fairly practical standpoint, several alternative approaches are possible:

First, we can examine the extent to which we really do use God and Christian theology as a crutch, either for making sense of our own suffering, or more importantly for evading responsibility for the suffering of others.

Second, we can try to identify and evaluate the source of our joy.  Does it come as a result of things in life that give us what we want or that are aligned with our interests?  In this case, I think it’s safe to say we are not talking about joy but gratification.  On the other hand, does joy come after contemplation of the fact that every day is a gift – not something earned or deserved?  And does it come from reflection on the reality that where and when we are born is not something we choose?

Third, though I am not suggesting that we forget God’s promise of redemption and salvation that we lay claim to because of Revelation, but the response to and relationship with God after this promise seems most significant.  What is the nature of our worldview in light of this promise?  Is it humble and aware of our interdependent existence with others (especially in a globalized world), or is it proud, individualistic, and grounded in a notion of liberties taken for granted?

Finally, provided that most people reading this come from a place of privilege, can we really and truly know joy without having experienced real suffering?  Can there be genuine gratefulness if 1) our hearts do not break for the senseless death, oppression, hate, and tragedy that plagues our existence on this planet, and 2) if we do not attempt to do our part in contributing to even a marginal alleviation of this senselessness, which requires a lot of hard work, learning, and sacrifice?

I often hear people say that we should just be positive – focus on what is good, beautiful, praiseworthy – not the bad.  I mean, Paul even tells the Philippians to do this (4:8).  Yes, but Paul is writing from prison, and much of the letter is precisely about suffering!  The key is, we can’t ignore the negative things in the world either, and we definitely can’t afford to give superficial explanations for why these things happen.

God didn’t exactly give Job an answer.  Rather, Christ tells us that the rain falls on the just and the unjust alike (Matt 5:45).  Because of Jesus, we trust that the rain is not the final word, but Jesus went through hell for us and with us by taking on flesh, and he asks that we be willing do the same for and with each other – not because the suffering itself is redemptive, though it can be (James 1), but because . . . well, I’m not sure I have an answer.