Following right on the coattails of the Logical Problem of Evil is the Inductive Problem of Evil. In
our discussion of the Logical Problem of Evil we saw that there are prior problems which an objector must resolve before any logical issue can be raised, and even if we pass over that issue a simple resolution of the objection can be drawn directly from the premises of the argument. However, once this is acknowledged (the gaining of which is no small task in actual apologetic conversations), a secondary objection can potentially be raised: granting that the existence of God and evil are not logically incompatible, what is the likelihood that this is true?
Using the language of our resolution of the Logical Problem of Evil, the Inductive Problem of Evil could be articulated like this: Granted, God has a morally sufficient reason for every evil event which occurs; however, there is a great deal of evil in the world for which it is difficult or even impossible to imagine a morally sufficient reason. For this reason, even if God's co-existence with evil is logically possible, it appears to be highly unlikely.
Some observations:
1.) If we haven't experienced it ourselves, we can at least think of events of brutal, senseless, incoherent evil. In other words, part of the force of the Inductive Problem of Evil is drawn from (what I called in the
Introduction) the "Personal or Existential Problem of Evil." What morally sufficient reason could there be for God to eternally plan the gang rape of a Christian missionary or the genocide of millions of people in Germany or Cambodia or the serial molestation of young boys by Roman Catholic priests? All of the visceral, emotional weight of the questions aside, this is another appeal to examine some kind of a theodicy. What is this proposed morally sufficient reason for evil?
(Note: Yes, I self-consciously stated that God eternally
plans, not permits, evil. I will be more thoroughly examining this issue in a later post on the Theological Problem of Evil, attempting to reconcile the biblical view of God's absolute sovereignty with the existence of evil.)
2.) One might alternatively offer that the inductive amount of good or pleasure in the world requires equal explanation as the amount of evil and suffering, especially from the objector's viewpoint. John Gerstner's little booklet
The Problem of Pleasure: Why Good Things Happen to Bad People is insightful on this matter. Indeed, if there is not a good God behind the events of the universe, why is there so much goodness, beauty and pleasure in life? To take as a single, purely biological example, imagine how many orgasms must take place on a given day throughout the world (many of which would be enjoyed in outright rebellion against the purpose for which God created such things). Why should such pleasure exist in such empirically demonstrable abundance apart from the existence of a good God? The existence of such pleasure is even more staggering when considered alongside the biblical doctrine of the sinfulness of humanity.
3.) The assertion that God's co-existence with evil "seems unlikely" is a probabilistic statement. And whether or not something seems likely or unlikely depends rather heavily, not on the issue itself, but on other grounds. What seems quite probable to me might seem perfectly improbable to someone else, based largely on our differences of belief and experience (and especially on the way those beliefs lead us to
interpret our experiences). Whether God's existence in the face of evil seems probable or not to a person rests on what one believes about God and evil considered separately. To put it differently, one's conclusion here primarily depends on the
prior probability of God's existence.
(Note: A more precise theory regarding the examination of probabilities could be proposed through the use of Bayes' Theorem, which is an effort at viewing complex probabilities, such as the likelihood of the co-existence of God and evil, with mathematical precision. However, this would make our discussion far more technical than I think I would be able to sustain at this time. Essentially, Bayesian probability holds that the more a truth claim can explain, the better it can explain things; and the simpler it can explain things, the more likely that truth claim is to be true. For those interested, see Richard Swinburne's book
Bayes' Theorem.)
One's views of the probability or improbability of a certain state or event tends to be a foregone conclusion based upon how one already views the world. As the Scottish minister Robert Leighton put it, "The natural mind sees God in nothing, not even spiritual things; the spiritual mind sees God in everything, even natural things."
So the Inductive Problem of Evil essentially turns the Personal Problem of Evil into a cumulative case argument against the likelihood of God's existence. However, the Inductive Problem of Evil itself rests on the prior consideration of the probability of God's existence abstracted from the Problem of Evil. In other words, if one already has good reason for a belief in the existence of God, the inductive problem does not raise any sufficient objection for rejecting those prior reasons for belief. And, of course, the opposite is true as well, namely, if one has little reason for belief in God, the inductive problem may readily provide a bit of a theological "shove" toward greater skepticism.
(For those who see little reason for belief in the existence of God, I will offer some brief arguments for your consideration as a post-script to this post. Many other arguments could be considered, but I will give two of my personal favorites, for what that may be worth.)
Regarding the cumulative case raised by the monumental amount of suffering in the world, it is valuable to recognize that there may not be a single explanation for every instance of evil. That is another part of the apparent force of the Inductive Problem of Evil. When one has difficulty making sense of one's own personal suffering, this issue is only compounded by considering that there are billions of others in the world suffering with more or less intensity than one's self. It can indeed be immensely overwhelming to consider.
Even if a widely applicable theodicy is offered, it may not have absolute explanatory power; exceptions to it might be found. Evil may take place to: refine one's faith, discipline a person, reveal God's glory in justice or mercy, display God's patience with rebel humanity, to produce courage and character and hope in response, to alert us of danger (as in physical pain), to learn the consequences of evil, to point people to the means of salvation in Christ, and on, and on, and on... For a given instance of evil there may be multiple applicable explanations, though we may have difficulty in discerning them. Again, this is the role of theodicies, which are helpful in attempting to give us broadly useful truths regarding the co-existence of God and evil. But finding an absolute theodicy may prove difficult. Lord willing, we will soon consider several theodicies in this series.
So, to recap, the Inductive Problem of Evil: (1) borrows its argumentative force from the Personal Problem of Evil, for which there is an almost infinite number of potential responses; (2) the "problem of pleasure" is no less difficult for an objector to account for than the "problem of pain" may be for a believer; and (3) if one has good reason for belief in God considered apart from evil, the Inductive Problem raises no objections to those reasons, so it really presents no challenge to a thoughtful Christian's theism.
Next post we will consider the Theological Problem of Evil mentioned earlier. I will leave you to consider two arguments for God's existence. The first argument we could call the
Transcendental Ontological Argument from Mathematical Infinites, or (to use the language of the Children's Catechism)
God Is Big. The second argument I'll call the
Incomparability of Christ argument.
I am indebted to the writing of Triablogue's Steve Hays for introducing me to the concepts found in these arguments (who is in turn indebted to Alvin Plantinga on the first argument), though the formulations (and any problems with them) are my own.
God Is BigMathematical entities, such as numbers, appear to be mental entities. They don't exist in time and space. 1+1 doesn't
become 2. There is no secret valley where the CIA keeps all of the numbers. They don't have physical features. 2 is not red or hairy or confused. Numbers exist as mental constructs. This is rather uncontroversial.
In a system of internal relations, all of the relations must be true for any to be true. 2+2=4 is true because 1+1=2 and 4-2=2 and so on. Multiplication implies division, addition implies subtraction, etc. The entire system of mathematics, from basic algebra to advanced calculus, rests on these internal relationships between numbers. This is rather self-evident, and few would advocate that 2+2=5. However, as soon as one admits that 2+2=4, one is presupposing the existence of God. Don't believe it? Here's the demonstration: in a system of infinite internal relations, the infinite must be
actual rather than
potential.
(Note: A
potential infinite is a procedure by which one approaches infinity without ever reaching it, such as constantly adding 1 to a number. It is potentially infinite, since you can always add 1 to it. An
actual (or
complete)
infinite is a closed set with an infinite number of entities contained therein. As demonstrated above, for 2+2=4 to be true, an infinite number of other internal relations must also be true, demonstrating that the set of whole numbers must be an actual infinite.)
If numbers are mental entities (and what else could they be?), and the set of whole numbers must be an actual infinite for any even simple mathematical equation to obtain, then they must inhere in an actually infinite and timeless mind — the mind of an eternal and omniscient God. Therefore, 2+2=4 if and only if God exists. QED
The Incomparability of ChristWhen we read the Bible, we can identify with almost every character. Some of them are better than us, others far worse. Yet we can project ourselves into their circumstances and experiences. What would we have done in such-and-such a circumstance? But there is one clear, surpassing exception. In Jesus Christ we encounter a figure who is at once one with us and yet apart from us, who inspires admiration and defies emulation. He has fraternal feeling without loss of firm moral clarity, and familiarity without hint of complicity. He can speak at the level of a child, yet with a reserve of wisdom and nuance that leaves the keenest listener out of his depth. No other figure, in either fact or fiction, covers such a range or strikes such a balance, for in him we witness perfect manhood and perfect Godhood conjoined in one utterly peerless person.
It is considered a truism to say that creative writing is autobiographical. This can even be unwittingly and uncomfortably revealing. A famous instance is the figure of Satan in
Paradise Lost. He is easily the most vivid, memorable and well-rounded character in the epic. And the reason is that John Milton put so much of himself into the character. Milton was an imperious, independent, versatile, and supremely self-confident man — and all these traits are reproduced in his diabolical antihero.
Now what I’ve said about Milton holds true of Austen, Dante, Bunyan, Eliot, Clancy, and Grisham as well — to name a few. You could construct a psychological profile from their imaginative visions. If you had no other source of biographical information you could still deduce their sex, social standing, period, place, taste, talent and worldview from their creative labors.
Skeptics regard the Gospel portrait of Christ as a complete or fairly free invention of the Gosepl authors or redactors — especially in the more exalted aspects of its conception. But here we immediately run into a roadblock. For powers of characterization are constrained by the personal resources of an author’s own personality and experience. Every storybook character is a psychological projection. To be sure, it may be modeled on close observation of humanity in general. But that is still filtered and distilled through the psyche of the writer.
Now the problem with reducing Jesus to an imaginative construct is that it would take a Jesus to make a Jesus. And, I ask you, have you ever met anyone like Christ? I know I haven’t. What is more, I have never encountered his like in all the multiplied histories of great men, real or fictitious. Indeed, it’s disillusioning to read about great men. The more I learn about them, the less I like them. When you study their life in detail, there always emerges some unseemly or unscrupulous side to their character.
There is only one credible explanation for the portrait of Christ that forms itself from the pages of Gospel history: the Gospels present us with a realistic depiction of a real person. To attribute this feat to the creative energies of the evangelist or redactor only pushes the problem back a step. For if we knew nothing else about the author, we would know this much — that he was a man of like passions as ourselves, sharing our fallenness and finitude. Just as water cannot rise above its own level, and muddy water cannot clarify its own source, a characterization cannot ultimately improve on the character of the creative writer. His writing is ultimately an exercise in mirror-writing as he makes out his own distorted visage at the bottom of the well. "That which born of the flesh is flesh, but that which is born of the Spirit is spirit." (John 3:6)