Suffering Caused by Nature

Suffering Caused by Nature

The Magis God Wiki: Suffering Caused by Nature

Why Would God Allow Suffering Caused by Nature?

© Robert J. Spitzer S.J. Ph.D./Magis Institute July 2011

Conclusion

Why would God create an imperfect world? In a word, for the sake of love; for the sake of people like me; for the sake of love manifest as life transformation, virtue, empathy, compassion, humility, agape; love manifest in creating a better world and even building up the very kingdom of love – the kingdom of the unconditionally loving God. As we have seen, every one of these reasons not only gives noble purpose to this life, but carries forward to its fulfillment in an eternal and perfectly loving life. It is the noble purpose which lasts forever. Temporal imperfection, in the logic of Unconditional Love, leads to eternal perfection.

Introduction

It is somewhat easier to understand why God would allow suffering to occur through human agents than it is to understand why He would allow suffering to occur through natural causation. After all, it would seem that if God creates the natural order, He could have created it perfectly – so perfectly that there would be no possibility of human suffering. He could have created each human being in a perfectly self-sufficient way, so that we would have no need. Or, if we had need, He could have created us with a perfect capacity to fulfill those needs within a world of perfectly abundant resources. So why did God create an imperfect natural order? Why did He create a natural order which would allow for scarcity? Why did He create a natural order that would give rise to earthquakes and volcanoes and tsunamis? Why did He create a natural order which would permit vulnerabilities within the human genome that allow for blindness, deafness, or muscular degeneration? Why did He create a natural order which would permit debilitating diseases?

The brief answer lies in the fact that a perfect natural order would leave no room for weakness and vulnerability; yet weakness and vulnerability induce many positive human characteristics, perhaps the most important human characteristics, such as (1) identity transformation, (2) stoic virtues, (3) agape, (4) interdependence and human community, and (5) building the kingdom of God. This list of characteristics represents the most noble of human strivings, the propensity toward greater civility and civilization, and glimpses of a perfection which is unconditional and eternal by its very nature. Though weakness and vulnerability seem to delimit and even undermine human potential, they very frequently detach us from what is base and superficial so that we might freely see and move toward what is truly worthy of ourselves, what will truly have a lasting effect, what is truly destined in its intrinsic perfection to last forever.

A perfect world might leave us content with pure autonomy and superficiality, and would deprive us of the help we might need to deepen our virtue, relationships, community, compassion, and noble striving for the common good and the kingdom of God. The “perfect world” might deprive us of the impetus toward real perfection, the perfection of love, the perfection which is destined to last forever. We will now discuss each of the above five positive characteristics of weakness and vulnerability induced by an imperfect world.

Contents  [hide]  ·         1 The First Purpose of an Imperfect World: Identity Transformation ·         2 The Second Purpose of an Imperfect World: Stoic Virtues ·         3 The Third Purpose of an Imperfect World: Agape ·         4 The Fourth Purpose of an Imperfect World: Interdependence, Human Community, and a “Better World” ·         5 The Fifth Purpose of an Imperfect World: Building the Kingdom of God ·         6 Conclusion

The First Purpose of an Imperfect World: Identity Transformation

As explained in UNIT A, human beings tend to move through four levels of happiness or purpose:

(1) happiness arising out of external physical and material stimuli;

(2) happiness arising out of ego-satisfaction and comparative advantage (such as status, admiration, popularity, winning, power, and control);

(3) happiness arising out of making an optimal positive difference and legacy to the people and world around me; and (4) happiness arising out of being connected with and immersed in what is perfect, ultimate, and eternal in Truth, Love, Goodness, Beauty, and Being (for those with faith, God).

It so happens that the lower levels of happiness/identity are more surface-apparent, immediately gratifying, and intense than the higher levels. They tend to more easily attract us and hold our attention from without (instead of requiring discipline from within), so we more easily gravitate toward them. However, they are much less pervasive, enduring, and deep than the higher levels of happiness/identity. For example, making an optimal positive difference to others and the world with my time, talent, and energy (Level 3) can have effects far beyond my ego-gratification (Level 2), so it is more pervasive than Level 2. These effects can last much longer than the acquisition of a new car, the enjoyment of an ice cream cone, and the enjoyment of status and power – so they are more enduring than Levels 1 and 2. Finally, they are deeper than Levels 1 and 2, because they involve my highest creative and psychological powers (i.e., my powers of intellection, moral reasoning, ideal formation, love, spiritual engagement, etc.).

The difficulty is that only one of these levels of happiness/identity can be dominant. The others will become recessive. Thus, if the desire for physical pleasure and material goods is dominant, the desire for ego-satisfaction, optimal contribution, and spiritual connection will be recessive. We will therefore live for what is most surface-apparent and immediately gratifying, but neglect what is most pervasive, enduring, and deep (and therefore, what could express our most noble purpose in life). Alternatively, if we want to move toward what is most pervasive, enduring and deep, we will have to allow Levels 1 and 2 to become recessive; we will have to let go of them (enticing as they are); and this is where suffering frequently comes in.

We cannot say that human beings require suffering in order to move from the more superficial levels of happiness/identity to the higher (most pervasive, enduring, and deep) ones, for human beings can see the intrinsic goodness and beauty of making an optimal positive difference to family, friends, community, organization, culture, and even the kingdom of God. They can be attracted to this noble, beautiful, and even transcendent identity as a fulfillment of their higher selves, or even their transcendent eternal selves. However, this more positive impetus to move toward the more pervasive, enduring, and deep identity can be assisted by suffering, weakness, and vulnerability; for it is precisely these negative conditions which can break the spell of the lower levels of identity.

Physical pleasures (Level 1) can be so riveting that they can produce addiction. The same holds true for status, esteem, control, and power. In my own life, I have seen how powerful (and even addictive) these lower levels of identity can be. Yet, I truly desired (and saw the beauty and nobility of) the higher levels of happiness/identity. Though this vision was quite powerful in me, I found myself transfixed by the lower levels – almost unable to move myself beyond them. This is where the “power of weakness and vulnerability” came into my life. Experiences of physical limitation and the failure of “my best laid plans” broke the spell of unmitigated pursuit of ego, status, and power. I had a genuine Pauline experience of having to look at life anew – to look for more pervasive purpose in the face of a loss of power – to reexamine what I was living for in light of a loss of control. I had to become more dependent on God, to trust in His ways, and to trust more radically in His logic of love. Thank God for weakness; thank God for the imperfect natural order which gave rise to those weaknesses. Without them, I would have been unqualifiedly locked into my addiction to ego, status, and power – even though I saw the beauty and nobility of optimal contribution and love. I would have been addicted to the superficial amidst the appreciation of the noble – what an emptiness, what a frustration, what unhappiness – until weakness broke the spell. The irony is, weakness and suffering gave me the freedom to overcome the far greater suffering of living beneath myself, of avoiding noble purpose, of consciously wasting my life. Physical and psychological weakness helped to overcome the suffering arising out of superficial identity and spiritual deficiency.

As noted above, there are probably people who do not need suffering to make a move from, say, Level 2 to Level 3 and 4. I was not one of them. Suffering was my liberation, my vehicle, my pathway to what was most worthy of my life, and what was most noble and perduring in me. I suspect that there are others like me (and Saint Paul) who can use a dose of suffering, weakness, and vulnerability every now and then to call them to their most noble, perduring, and true selves. For these, the imperfect world is indispensable. Being left to the so-called perfect world would have led to superficiality and spiritual deprivation (a deeper pain).

This liberating power of suffering is not restricted to physical or psychological weakness. It applies most poignantly to the anticipation of death. I once had a student who asked, “Why do we need to die? If God is perfect and He intended to give us eternal life, why does He make us die in order to get there? Why not just allow us to continue living without all the mystery about the beyond?” I initially responded that eternal life is not merely a continuation of this current earthly life, and that death provided the transition from this life to the “new” life. She responded, “Well, why isn’t the ‘new’ life a continuation of this one? Why wouldn’t God create us immediately in the ‘new’ life?” I indicated to her that the goodness, joy, and beauty of the “new” life did not essentially consist in a perfect, natural order (although this would be part of it), but rather in the perfect love that would exist between God and us, and between all of us in God. I further indicated that this “love” would consist in a perfect act of empathy with another whereby doing the good for the other would be just as easy, if not easier, than doing the good for oneself – where empathy would take over the desire for ego-satisfaction and autonomy – where communion and community would not immolate the individual personality, but bring it to its completion through others and God.

The student almost intuitively agreed that this would be perfect joy, which led her to re-ask the question, “Well, why didn’t God just create us in a situation of perfect love?” At this point, the reader will recognize my answer to her question in the foregoing section, namely, that love is our free choice. God cannot create us into a “world of perfect love;” we have to create the condition of love for ourselves and others by our free decisions. As noted immediately above, our decision to love (to live for a contributive identity) can be assisted considerably by weakness and vulnerability; but even more importantly, it can be assisted by the anticipation of death.

As many philosophers have noted (both those coming from a transcendental perspective, such as Karl Rahner and Edith Stein, or a merely immanent perspective, such as Martin Heidegger and Jean Paul Sartre*footnotes*), death produces a psychological finality which compels us to make a decision about what truly matters to us, what truly defines our lives, sooner rather than later. It really does not matter whether we have a strong belief in an afterlife or not; the finality of death incites us to make a statement about the “pre-death” meaning of our lives. Most of us view an interminable deferral of fundamental options (such as, to live for love or not to live for love; to live for integrity or not to live for integrity; to live for truth or not to live for truth; etc.) to be unacceptable because death calls us to give authentic definition to our lives – the finality of death says to our innermost being that we must express our true selves prior to the termination of the life we know.

Death might be the best gift we have been given because it calls us to our deepest life-definition and self-definition, and in the words of Jean Paul Sartre, to the creation of our essence. If we believe in an afterlife, we take this authentic self-definition (say, love) with us into our eternity. But even if we do not believe in an afterlife, death still constitutes an indispensable gift of life, for it prevents us from interminably delaying the creation of our essence. It calls us to proclaim who we truly are and what we really stand for – sooner rather than later. We cannot interminably waste our lives in indecision.

In light of death, the choice of one’s fundamental essence (say, love) becomes transformative and “life-giving.” Death gives life – an authentic, reflective, and free life through a more pervasive, enduring, and deep purpose in life.

The Second Purpose of an Imperfect World: Stoic Virtues

Weakness and vulnerability (arising out of an imperfect natural order) are the conditions necessary for two of the cardinal virtues – courage and self-discipline (the so-called “stoic virtues”). Notice that these virtues define our character precisely because they are chosen in the midst of adversity. They define our ability to “pay a price” for our principles and ideals. This “price” gives existential weight to our principles and ideals, for we cannot hold them cheaply.

This is particularly evident with respect to courage. The principles of love and truth and justice are good in themselves, and they are honorable in action, but when I have to choose them in the midst of the possibility of injury, embarrassment, mortification, or death, then I am not merely admiring them for their intrinsic goodness; I am truly making them my own. The greater the price that I must pay to live the principles and ideals that I admire and honor, the more they become part of me, the more they define my being by the “hard choice” I make. If I choose an honorable thing because I honor it, it speaks only partially to who I am; but if I choose an honorable thing not only because I honor it, but because I want to live it even at the cost of injury, embarrassment, or death, then it truly defines me. Ironically, an imperfect natural order (which gives rise to the real possibility of injury or death) not only gives rise to the possibility of courage, but also to that courage lending existential weight (and therefore dignity) to my choice of the honorable thing.

Is it worth it? Is it worth injury and death to choose the noble thing in the midst of adversity? Only the reader can answer for him or herself. Would you rather have a very, very safe world where you can only be a bystander? Or would you rather have an unsafe world where you can enter into the fray and see who you truly are – how you truly embrace the honorable – even at the cost of injury or death? What would you want for your children – a safe world without the possibility of challenge or self-sacrifice? Without the dignity and self-definition of challenge and self-sacrifice? Or an unsafe world, holding out the possibility and actuality of that ultimate dignity?

Let us presume for a moment that you have faith in an unconditionally loving God who wants to share that love with you for all eternity. If so, then you cannot limit the project of self-definition through suffering and sacrifice to this life alone. The suffering you endure for the sake of the noble, for the sake of love, and for the sake of the kingdom of God defines your being into eternity. It is an indelible mark of who you are forever; your eternal badge of courage. Therefore, the religious perspective goes far beyond the stoic one because it sees eternal consequences and eternal self-definition in acts of self-sacrifice.

Now, ask yourself the above set of questions once again, through this eternal perspective: Would you rather have a very, very safe world where you can only be a bystander? Or would you rather have an unsafe world where you can enter into the fray and see who you truly and eternally are – how you truly and eternally embrace the honorable – even at the cost of injury or death? What would you want for your children – a safe world without the possibility of challenge or self-sacrifice? Without the dignity and self-definition of challenge and self-sacrifice? Or an unsafe world, holding out the possibility and actuality of that ultimate and eternal dignity?

We now move to the second stoic virtue, namely, self-control or self-discipline. It is like the obverse of courage. While courage is the pursuit of virtue over against the possibility of pain, self-control is the pursuit of virtue through the avoidance of pleasure. Many philosophers have recognized that an unmitigated pursuit of pleasure can interfere with, or even undermine the pursuit of what is most noble, most pervasive, and most enduring. Yet, these pleasures cannot be said to be intrinsically evil. Food is obviously a good to human beings seeking nourishment; but an unmitigated pursuit of food (to the point of gluttony) will likely undermine (or at least slow down) the pursuit of the noble. A glass of wine may be good as an element of a convivial meal; however, a half-gallon of wine is likely to result in a fight where once there was friendship, and a rather unproductive morning. The same holds true for most sensorial pleasures.

Similarly, ego-satisfactions can also play a beneficial part in life. Success in a speech might encourage one to do more speaking. Achievement in studies might encourage one to pursue a Ph.D. Praise from others could build up self-esteem. But an unmitigated pursuit of success, achievement, and praise (as an end in itself) will produce unmitigated egocentricity with its consequences of jealousy, fear of failure, ego-sensitivity, blame, rage, contempt, inferiority, superiority, self-pity, and all the other negative emotions which accompany these unmitigated pursuits.

Both sensorial and ego pleasures are a mixed blessing – in their proper perspective they can bring happiness, conviviality, and encouragement toward certain forms of achievement; but pursued as ends in themselves, they will very likely interfere with, and even undermine the pursuit of what is noble, pervasive, and enduring (what is most meaningful and purposeful in life).

This gives rise to the question of why God didn’t create a more perfect human being in a more perfect world. Why didn’t God just give us an “internal regulator” which would not allow us to eat too much, drink too much, desire too much? Why didn’t God put us in a world with just enough resources to satisfy our sensorial and ego-longings just enough for health but not enough to undermine our deepest purpose in life? We return to the same words we have seen time and time again – “choice” and “freedom.”

Choosing to delimit pleasure can be as challenging as choosing pain. Yet one does not have to look very far to see that the delimitation of pleasure for the purpose of the noble is just as self-definitional as choosing pain. There is a definite cost to delimiting pleasure – sometimes it comes in the form of saying “no” amidst an irresistible urge which has taken over the imagination; sometimes it means dealing with an addiction (a habit of overindulgence); sometimes it means feeling profoundly unfree because I deny myself what I am free to pursue; sometimes it makes me look like a “prude” (delimiting pleasure when my friends are not); etc.

The key difficulty with self-control (delimiting pleasure for the sake of the noble) is that it lacks the intrinsic rewards of courage. Courage looks difficult while self-control seems relatively easy; courage seems heroic while self-control seems ordinary – so much so that when one lacks self-control, one is criticized for being immature or sub-par; courage looks like it goes beyond the call of duty while self-control seems to lie perfectly within the call of duty. Seemingly, there is nothing really special about self-control. But this lack of intrinsic reward makes it all the more difficult.

So, why didn’t God just create us with a behavioral governor inside our brains? Why didn’t God create a better human in a better world without the possibility of unmitigated desire for pleasure? Why didn’t God just create us like cows – when we’ve had enough, we just stop? Because God wanted us to define ourselves in terms of ordinary, non-heroic choices. God wanted us to choose the noble in utterly ordinary circumstances, but with a cost – to choose the noble over against another scotch; over against another amusement; over against another material purchase; over against anything else which would undermine our pursuit of the noble. In the day-to-day, ordinary, non-heroic choices we make, an essence (self-definition) begins to form, etched in our character beyond mere thought and aspiration, through the constant pursuit of the little things that enable nobility to emerge from our souls.

We might fail in this pursuit countless times, but our perseverance in struggle, our perseverance in the midst of failure, can be just as effective in etching self-definition into our eternal souls as perfect control and perfect success. In God’s logic of unconditional love (which includes unconditional forgiveness and healing), our acts of contrition, our hope in forgiveness, our perseverance in the struggle for self-control, and our undying desire for the noble are all “part of the cost” of virtue, which makes that virtue more than a mere thought or aspiration. This struggle is the cost which etches that virtue into our very eternal souls – the precious cost of self-definition.

For this reason, God has created us with the capacity for all seven “deadly sins” (gluttony, lust, sloth, greed, anger envy, pride) and a capacity to desire more than we need even to the point of undermining a good and noble life. God has done this to give us the privilege and freedom to choose the noble over against the possibility of the ignoble so that our virtue (or at least our struggle in pursuit of the virtuous) might be our own; so that it might be etched into our eternal souls; so that it might be part of our self-definition for all eternity.

The Third Purpose of an Imperfect World: Agape

Definition of Agape. A more extensive definition of agape was given in UNIT J (Section I). For the purpose of the forthcoming analysis, suffice it to say that agape is a gift of self which is frequently expressed in self-sacrifice. It is grounded in empathy with the other which makes transparent the unique and intrinsic goodness, worthiness, and lovability of that other, which creates a unity with that other whereby doing the good for the other is just as easy, if not easier, than doing the good for oneself. As such, agape arises out of a desire to give life to the intrinsically valuable and lovable other. That other could be a stranger or a friend. Furthermore, agape seeks no reward – neither the reward of romantic feelings intrinsic to eros (romantic love), nor the reward of reciprocal commitment and care intrinsic to philia (friendship), nor even the feelings of love and delight intrinsic to storge (affection). In agape, it is sufficient to see the other as valuable and lovable in him or herself. The well-being of the other (in him or herself) is a sufficient reward for the commitment of one’s time, future, psychic energy, physical energy, resources, and even self-sacrifice. The well-being of the other in him or herself is its own reward.

Empathy. As can be seen, agape begins with empathy, a feeling for another, or perhaps better, a feeling with another, which produces a recognition of the unique and intrinsic goodness and lovability of the other, which produces “caring for” and “caring about” the other (in him or herself), which produces a unity with the other whereby doing the good for the other is just as easy if not easier than doing the good for oneself. Most of us would agree to the proposition that this “feeling for and with another” is quite natural. We can meet another for a few moments and get a sense of the goodness and lovability of another from that other’s mere benevolent glance. We can see another in need and intuit the worthiness of that other by merely looking into their eyes. We can meet our students on the first day of class and intuit from the ethos exuded by them that they are worth our time and energy. Mere presence, mere tone of voice, mere benevolent glance engenders a recognition of unique and intrinsic goodness and lovability which causes us to care about the other, to protect the other, to attend to the other’s needs, to spend time with the other, and even to sacrifice oneself for the other – even a total stranger. It is as if we have a receptor, like a radio antenna, which is attuned to the frequency of the other’s unique and intrinsic goodness and lovability, and when the signal comes, whether it be from a smile, an utterance, a look of need, we connect in a single feeling which engenders a gift of self.

Yet, even though most would agree that empathy is natural to us, we must hasten to add that our own desires for autonomy and ego-fulfillment can block our receptivity to the other’s “signal.” We can become so self-absorbed or self-involved that we forget to turn on the receiver, and even if we have turned on the receiver, we have the volume turned down so low that it cannot produce adequate output in our hearts. It is at this juncture that suffering – particularly the suffering of weakness and vulnerability arising out of an imperfect world, proves to be most helpful.

This point may be illustrated by a story my father told me when I was an adolescent. I think he meant it more as a parable about how some attitudes can lead some people to become believers and other people to become unbelievers and even malcontents. But it became for me a first glimpse into the interrelationship between suffering and compassion, love and lovability, trust and trustworthiness, co-responsibility and dignity, and the nature of God.

Once upon a time, God created a world at a banquet table. He had everyone sit down, and served up a sumptuous feast. Unfortunately, He did not provide any of the people at the table with wrists or elbows. As a consequence, nobody could feed themselves. All they could do was feel acute hunger while gazing at the feast.

This provoked a variety of responses. At one end of the table, a group began to conjecture that God could not possibly be all-powerful, for if He were, He would have been all-knowing, and would have realized that it would have been far more perfect to create persons with wrists and elbows so that they could eat sumptuous feasts placed before them. The refrain was frequently heard, “Any fool can see that some pivot point on the arm would be preferable to the impoverished straight ones with which we have been provided!”

A second group retorted, “If there really is a God, it would seem that He would have to be all-powerful and all-knowing, in which case, He would not make elementary mistakes. If God is God, He could have made a better creature (e.g., with elbows). If God exists, and in His omniscience has created us without elbows or wrists, He must have a cruel streak, perhaps even a sadistic streak. At the very minimum, He certainly cannot be all-loving.”

A third group responded by noting that the attributes of “all-powerful” and “all-loving” would seem to belong to God by nature, for love is positive, and God is purely positive, therefore, God (not being devoid of any positivity) would have to be pure love. They then concluded that God could not exist at all, for it was clear that the people at the table were set into a condition that was certainly less than perfect (which seemed to betoken an imperfectly loving God). They conjectured, “We should not ask where the banquet came from, let alone where we come from, but just accept the fact that life is inexplicable and absurd. After all, we have been created to suffer, but an all-loving God (which God would have to be, if He existed) would not have done this. Our only recourse is to face, with authenticity and courage, the absence of God in the world, and to embrace the despair and absurdity of life.”

A fourth group was listening to the responses of the first three, but did not seem to be engaged by the heavily theoretical discourse. A few of them began to look across the table, and in an act of compassion, noticed that even though they could not feed themselves, they could feed the person across the table. In an act of freely choosing to feed the other first, of letting go of the resentment about not being able to “do it for myself,” they began to feed one another. At once, agape was discovered in freedom, while their very real need to eat was satisfied.

This parable reveals a key insight into suffering, namely, that “empathy has reasons that negative theorizing knows not of.” The first three groups had all assumed that weakness and vulnerability were essentially negative, and because of this, they assumed that either God had made a mistake or He was defective in love. Their preoccupation with the negativity of weakness distracted them from discovering, in that same weakness, the positive, empathetic, compassionate responsiveness to the need of the other which grounds the unity and generativity of love. This lesson holds the key not only to the meaning of suffering but also to the life and joy of agape.

The experience of the fourth group at the table reveals by God would create us into an imperfect world – because the imperfection of the human condition leads to weakness and vulnerability, and this weakness and vulnerability provide invaluable assistance in directing us toward empathy and compassion, and even in receiving the empathy and compassion from another.

As noted above in Section II.A, weakness and vulnerability are not required for empathy and compassion, for many people will find empathy and compassion to be their own reward. They will see the positivity of empathy and compassion as good for both others and themselves.

Again, I must repeat that this was certainly not the case for me. Even though I saw the intrinsic goodness and worthwhileness of empathy and compassion (for both myself and others), my egocentricity and desire for autonomy created such powerful blocks that I could not move myself to what I thought was my life’s purpose and destiny. I needed to be knocked off my pedestal; I needed to be released from the spell of autonomy and egocentricity through sheer weakness and vulnerability. This happened to me – the weakness and vulnerability of an imperfect genome in imperfect conditions in an imperfect world.

Like the fourth group in the parable, my imperfect condition gave me a moment to reconsider the entire meaning of life – what really made life worth living, and it was here that I discovered empathy, love, and even compassion. The process was gradual, but the “thorn in the flesh” gave me the very real assistance I needed to open myself to love as a meaning of life.

Love’s Vulnerability. Love has vulnerability built into it. There is a softness to love; it opens itself to being completed by the other (non-self-sufficient); it reveals weakness (the need for complementarity by the other); it is forgiving of the other in times of failure; it anticipates forgiveness by the other in one’s own failings; its empathy can elicit tears.

Some of us seem to be able to accept and even live in this vulnerability through a simple vision of its intrinsic beauty and goodness. Others, like myself, need some extrinsic prodding to break the spell of self-sufficiency and autonomy which require neither complementarity, nor vulnerability, nor the weakness and softness of love. Some of us need to experience vulnerability from the outside in order to see the goodness of love’s vulnerability. Some need the assistance of weakness to accept the love of another. Some of us need to be reduced to tears in order to experience the tears of sympathy. Some of us need extrinsic weakness and vulnerability to accept the weakness and vulnerability intrinsic to the beauty and goodness of love. We cannot seem to reach our true happiness without some impetus which makes us unhappy – for a time; for a brief time by comparison to love’s eternal joy.

Humility. The same holds true for love’s essential condition – humility. Most of us recognize the necessity of humility in empathy and “gift of self.” Self-absorption does not permit the “signal” of the other to be received. Moreover, one is so obsessed with fulfilling one’s ego needs that one barely notices the goodness and mystery of the other, and feels compelled to use the other as a mere instrument of self-satisfaction. These conditions undermine the very possibility of love.

Some people are able to see the goodness and beauty of humility and to move almost effortlessly toward it, but judging from the history of philosophy, most of us do not belong to this group. We have all heard the expressions dating back to the time of Socrates that “there is no cheap wisdom,” and that “humility is essence of wisdom.” When we put these two expressions together, we find that the wisdom and goodness of humility will be a hard won insight; it will have a cost, because it is contrary to our propensity to pursue ego-gratification, comparative advantage, status, and power.

I, for one, never belonged to the group that found the wisdom and goodness of humility to be transparent. It has been one of the hardest of hard won insights, but it has been one of the most precious, because it has opened the door to agape, which has been, for me, true joy. I believe that I was about 22 years old when I first got an inkling about the “possible value” of humility. At that time, I was still equating my lovability with my esteemability and respectability – nothing more. Yes, I was a friend to others; I could have a great time with my friends; but I was in no position to enter into an act of empathy which would allow for a longstanding commitment or a sacrificial gift of self. Once again, I found myself belonging to the group who needed extrinsic prodding from deprivation and difficulty to reexamine what I considered to be virtuous.

At that time, I saw faith, courage, achievement, philia (friendship), and altruism to be quite virtuous. I still consider these to be absolutely essential, to this day. But to be honest, I didn’t even notice humility, empathy, and the vulnerability intrinsic to agape, so I was in no position to consider them virtuous. It took gentle but insistent extrinsic prodding – an accumulation of little weaknesses, little vulnerabilities, and little deficiencies – to make me realize that there was more to virtue than my previous list, and more to love than “making the world a better place.” Vulnerability led to openness, and that openness led, through prayer, the sacraments, and Scripture, directly to the heart of Christ.

In my novitiate days, I experienced the heart of Christ during my thirty-day silent retreat, and this experience, combined with my experience of vulnerability, led to an examination of what was missing in my definition of virtue and love. This conclusion was by no means immediate. It took nearly 18 months to begin appropriating first the critical value of humility, and then subsequently its beauty and goodness. But of this much I can be sure: without the experience of extrinsic vulnerability (coming from an imperfect physical nature in an imperfect world), I probably would not have moved from the experience of Christ’s humble love to the beauty and necessity of humility in my own love and life. Once again, I thank God for an imperfect physical nature in an imperfect world.

Two of the foremost gifts of agape are forgiveness and compassion. Suffering can be just as helpful in appropriating these two gifts as appropriating empathy, love’s vulnerability, and humility.

Forgiveness. Forgiveness requires both humility and empathy because it entails letting go of a just grievance against another. If someone has intentionally insulted or hurt us without provocation, it is difficult not to desire retribution or, at the very least, some form of retributive justice. Yet this retribution generally produces a cycle of vengeance begetting vengeance and violence begetting violence. If we are to interrupt this cycle of vengeance and violence, if we are to allow the parties in the cycle to begin the long process of healing, and if we are to restore equanimity to a shattered peace, we will, to some degree, have to let go of our just claims against the other. But how is this possible? We must see the intrinsic value and need of the unjust perpetrator (like the priest in Les Miserables who sees the goodness and need of Jean Valjean “beyond all appearances”); we must see the intrinsic goodness of interrupting the cycle of vengeance begetting vengeance and violence begetting violence; and we must want the good of our enemy (even though we may have to protect ourselves against him in the future). But how can we do this – particularly when we are still stinging from the injustice of a heartless act?

In my life, this occurred through a poignant recognition of the truth in the parable of the wicked servant who maltreated his fellow servant (after having been forgiven by his master for a much greater debt – Mt 18:23-35). In my novitiate years, I had an intuitive recognition of the truth of this parable and its general applicability to everyone. But eventually, the direct applicability to me became “painfully” obvious. My deepening appreciation of empathy and humility opened the way to seeing the dignity and goodness of others, which, in turn, led to a deepening care for them. My past disregard, thoughtlessness, and callousness became painfully apparent. It suddenly occurred to me how much the Lord of unconditional love had forgiven me for countless acts of self-absorbed heartlessness. It gradually dawned on me that if I had been forgiven so much, I too would have to forgive others. The “have to” in that recognition was not one of fear (i.e., “If I don’t forgive others as God has forgiven me, then I will be punished like the wicked servant”). Neither was it a “have to” arising out of duty (i.e., “If God did it for me, then I would be an ingrate if I did not do it for other people”). Rather, it was a “have to” borne out of love. When I recognized how much I had been loved by God, I was moved to do the same for others out of both a profound sense of gratitude, and a simple desire to love in the same way as the One who loved me.

Yet, none of this would have occurred if I had not appreciated empathy and humility (which led to the recognition of the unique goodness and lovability of others). As noted above, my appreciation of empathy and humility was greatly assisted by suffering, which allowed me to move (partially) beyond the spell of self-absorption and autonomy. This freedom which came through a combination of suffering and the love of God has enabled me, albeit imperfectly, to forgive from the heart.

I have a long way to go in the pursuit of humility and empathy, of care and respect, and forgiveness; so I expect that I will need further assistance along that path. But I have come to realize that God’s unconditional love in combination with suffering is one of the best vehicles to this freedom to love and forgive. I have also come to realize that true happiness consists in this love, which seems, at least in my life, to come inevitably through the vulnerability of an imperfect physical nature in an imperfect world.

Compassion. Compassion is yet another gift which suffering helps to appropriate. As might be obvious to most, “compassion” means “to suffer with.” Though some ancients recognized compassion as virtuous, others did not. The Old Testament has a progressive awareness of the goodness of compassion, but it is Jesus who brings it to its fullest and deepest meaning. I would like to explore briefly the teaching of Jesus here because I believe that it goes far beyond philosophical treatments, and probes the depths of both the divine and human heart.

Jesus elevates compassion to the very perfection of God: “Be compassionate (oiktirmones) as your Father is compassionate” (Luke 6:36). This passage parallels Matthew’s rendition, “Be perfect as your heavenly Father is perfect” (Mt 5:48). The Greek word here, oiktirmones, has multiple connotations. It implies mercy in the sense of forgiveness, and also in the sense of genuine sympathy for the poor and the marginalized. It carries with it every implication of the heart of the father of the prodigal son (Luke 15) where we see the root of compassion (“to suffer with”) quite deeply.

The father of the prodigal son (who represents God the Father, for Jesus) is not simply merciful to him, he sympathizes with him in his suffering. Even though the boy has betrayed him, his family, his country, his election, and the Law, the father cannot help but be moved by his son’s misery. He so sympathizes with his son in his suffering that he forgives him and restores him to full membership with the family (signified by giving him a signet ring). Compassion (“loving sympathy with another who suffers”), here, is not only the source of forgiveness, it is also the source of healing and the imparting of dignity. We are now getting to the essence of compassion.

When we are compassionate (not merely showing compassion, which feels like pity to the receiving party) we feel like the prodigal son’s father. We don’t feel misery in the same way that the son feels misery (i.e., starving, deprived, alone, regretful), but we feel miserable because the one we love is miserable, and this sense of “sympathetic sadness” moves us to do as much as we can to comfort the one who is suffering. Comfort sometimes takes the form of doing something beneficial (restoring the son to the family, giving a medical treatment which is successful, giving a poor person a meal, etc.). But frequently enough, we cannot do anything but give our time, presence, and attention; we can only be with the other. We are capable only of using our presence, our friendship, and our love to give comfort. Yet this imparts dignity. Spending time with another proves to the other that she is valuable, because most everyone intuitively recognizes the preciousness of time. Children certainly do.

No matter how compassion is manifested (doing something for someone, or simply being with someone), it always has the capacity to impart dignity. There is something about “an act of loving sympathy with another’s misery from which comfort naturally exudes” which proves to another that she not only has esteemability or status, but genuine lovability (belovedness), which is much deeper than a mere accolade for talent or a job well done. This “loving sympathy giving rise to comfort” is the deepest and most positive gift which can be given, for the awareness of belovedness, genuine belovedness, is a recognition of our truest dignity. We intuitively know that it is better to be loved than “accorded esteem,” and when we receive such love, it brings with it a flood of dignity, a freedom to be oneself, an appreciation of the goodness of one’s personhood – one’s being (and not merely one’s accomplishments); and this is true joy.

There is only one hitch. We generally have to be suffering in order to receive compassion. When you really think about it, you can only receive “the loving sympathy with suffering which naturally gives rise to comfort” when you are suffering! You can’t be the recipient of a genuine gift of “suffering with,” unless you are suffering – logically. Thus, we can see one of the most paradoxical aspects of the human condition – if we are to receive the deep affirmation of our belovedness which leads to our deepest moments of dignity, freedom, self-affirmation, and joy, we must be in a state of deprivation.

Most children have experienced this when they were genuinely sick and stayed home from school. Instead of their mothers being revolted by their illness, or angry at the inconvenience of their illness, they probably received loving sympathy, comfort, and a genuine affirmation of their belovedness – just as they are, with chicken pox sores, not beaming with health, and probably whining. This gift of compassion leaves an indelible mark on children. If it recurs again and again, an intuitive belief begins to form that they are intrinsically lovable. They are beloved just in themselves, without all the adornments that can make them exteriorly beautiful. It will eventually enable them to love themselves and to accept love from another, and this will make all the difference between a life of love and a life of trying to win the love which one never thought one had or deserved. One life will lead toward the love of others, and the other will be a frantic quest to get a gift which one believes oneself to be deprived of. What a difference. Notice how suffering is integral to this difference.

Now, you might say, and rightly so, that suffering alone did not produce compassion. True enough. Compassion requires three elements:

1) a compassionate person,

2) a suffering person, and

3) an act of receiving compassion by the suffering person.

Like the parable of the Banquet Table, suffering induces compassion; but like the proverbial horse that is led to water, you cannot force compassion out of a heart that refuses to be moved. Suffering is the prefect condition for moving a heart which is capable of being moved, but it cannot produce compassion automatically. So what makes a person capable of compassion? In my life, this has occurred through two main conditions, both of which entailed suffering: (1) receiving acts of compassion from my parents, friends, and teachers, and (2) experiencing enough suffering to break the spell of egocentricity and autonomy so that empathy (the precondition for loving sympathy with another in misery) could occur. As I noted above, I did not belong to the group of individuals which was able to be naturally compassionate or even empathetic. I needed suffering in order to produce the preconditions of compassion. Oddly enough, then, suffering helped me (and I presume others) to reach the point that I could respond with loving sympathy and comfort to a person who was suffering. Thus, suffering provided the indispensable conditions for the first two elements of an act of compassion (a compassionate person and a suffering person).

Now, only one element remains to be explained, namely, a suffering person capable of accepting an act of compassion. I would venture to say that accepting compassion is even harder than giving it, for it means admitting need, vulnerability, and weakness within a culture that not only disvalues these things, but also sees them as negating dignity. Most of us who have reached our mid-twenties no longer have the attitude of children who are capable of accepting the compassion of parents, friends, and teachers. We have learned that we are supposed to be capable of taking care of ourselves, carrying our own weight, and that our respectability depends on this. We have also learned that we should never take another person’s time for our personal needs. Even though we could not possibly live this way, we try to believe the myth so that we can content ourselves with our autonomy and self-sufficiency. We convince ourselves that we are not needy, and we would never explicitly admit to being needy, but we do find ways, “acceptable ways,” of getting our needs met.

This culture and many others are somewhat difficult to understand because we intimate that we should not open ourselves to having our legitimate physical and emotional needs met, which forces us to have them met in disguised ways. But of course they are not really disguised, because the adult child who visits his elderly parents has to make up a story that he was just passing by anyway, and that he wouldn’t have come by if he wasn’t in the neighborhood, but he was. The adult child obviously knows that he is making up a story in order to break through the parents’ reticence to have their legitimate physical and emotional needs met, and the child knows that the parents’ needs are legitimate. So why does he have to play the game of telling his parents that he “knows” they really didn’t need him to stop by, and that he was not troubling himself, in order to do something simply compassionate? The short answer is that our culture prizes autonomy and self-sufficiency more than it does compassion and belovedness. This should give us pause, and make us hearken back to Jesus’ admonition, “Truly, I say to you, unless you turn and become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven” (Mt 18:3). This is particularly relevant to accepting the love and compassion of others.

How do people find the freedom to accept another’s compassion? As implied above, some people do this naturally. Others remember the acts of compassion they received as children and carry them over into adulthood. And still others, like myself, need suffering in order to do this.

I suffer from retinitus pigmentosa (a degenerative eye disease). This caused me to lose my driver’s license when I was 33. Now if there is one thing in this culture that proves we are self-sufficient and autonomous, it is the fact that we can get into our cars and go wherever we want whenever we want. But I found myself, at the age of 33, not being able to get into my car and go wherever I wanted whenever I wanted. Quite the contrary. I lost my insurance, and therefore, my driver’s license, and therefore became dependent on others for rides.

At first, I could not bear to ask anyone for a ride out of sheer embarrassment. I felt that the mere admission of bad eyesight and an inability to drive myself (not carrying my own weight, as it were) would produce utter shock and disdain among the people I asked. Now, this shock and disdain really never happened, but after two years of having my secretaries ask for rides for me, I still did not believe that people were really not shocked and disdainful; I thought they were disguising it incredibly well. So, as I took the rides from compassionate people, I would sit there believing that they were angered at the inconvenience, troubled by my inferiority, and pitying me for that inferiority. I really hated getting into those cars.

One day, I was accepting a ride to my parish when a lady mentioned to me that she was really grateful that she was able to get on the list of people who wanted to give me a ride. I said, “A list? Why would there be a list?” And she said that this was something that many people thought they could do, that it was relatively easy, and it would give them some time with me. I was truly shocked. They were not annoyed at my weakness. They found it a rather pleasing and interesting idiosyncrasy in a person who seemed, at times, distant because of his use of complex sentences and concepts. They said that my eye problem made me human, and that they were able to empathize with a person that they had otherwise found to be somewhat intimidating. In fact, this lady said that it made me “un-intimidating!” Now, I had to think about this.

What my reflection revealed was that, whether I wanted to believe it or not, people liked me – just for myself, not for my intellect or my gifts of speaking. They wanted to get to know me, they wanted me to be un-intimidating. They enjoyed being around me not despite my weakness, but in the midst of my weakness. They really enjoyed being of service – and giving a ride was something they could do (which I obviously could not do). I had the peculiar role of allowing these wonderful people an opportunity to obtain dignity from their selfless service to another. In their attempt to make my life easier, in their loving sympathy with my weakness, in their self-sacrifice to care for me, I too was able to impart dignity back to them by merely accepting their compassion as compassion, by accepting their love as genuine love. I often wondered why people were so happy when they were giving me a ride. It began to occur to me that the smile was not an act, but a genuine bit of joy produced through an authentic act of empathy, graciously accepted by someone in need.

But how did I get there? Suffering. In this case, deprivation – a problem with my eyes. But more than this, I had to go through a period of humiliation (more suffering) before I began to realize that people were better than I ever expected them to be. The reason I did not think they were better than I ever expected was because I was not up to their level. I was not capable of that kind of compassion. Formerly, I believed that their compassion really was a disguised act of shock and disdain (they were doing it because the pastor had put pressure on them, and so they were making the best out of a bad situation). But when that lady told me about the list, it occurred to me that people were really that good; they were much better than I expected; and so I felt called to be more compassionate in imitation of them. The more I responded to this call to become genuinely compassionate myself, the more I was able to accept the compassion of others.

I deduced from this a cycle for people like myself, namely, that a small act of accepting compassion induces an awareness of how genuinely good people can be, and this awareness, in turn, called me to imitate them, which, in turn, freed me to accept their compassion (in my belief about how good they really were). Not a bad deal! Suffering induced not only the compassion of others, it made me aware of goodness in the world, called me to compassion, and allowed me to accept the compassion of others, which imparted true dignity to the one giving compassion. All of this through one manifestation of suffering.

I have been going through this for twenty years now, and I have received a lot of rides – I mean a LOT of rides. I have seen this cycle recur again and again; and I feel that God called me to be a magnet of compassion (with a concomitant deepening of my own compassion) in all of these circumstances of need – need which was met by my accepting the compassion of others. If I lived for this alone – skip the books, the teaching, the degrees, the presidency, etc. – it would have been more than enough – simply living to induce compassion by the simple act of asking for and accepting a ride.

Conclusion. Is suffering really necessary for agape (empathy, the acceptance of love’s vulnerability, humility, forgiveness, and compassion)? For a being like God, it is not, for God can, in a timeless, completely transparent act, through His perfect power and love, achieve perfect empathy, perfect acceptance of love’s vulnerability, perfect humility, perfect forgiveness, and perfect compassion. I suppose angelic beings could also do this in a timeless and transparent way. As I have indicated many times above, I believe there are some people who can more easily move to this position without much assistance from suffering. But for people like me, suffering is absolutely indispensable to removing the blocks to agape presented by my egocentric and autonomous desires, my belief in the cultural myth of self-sufficiency, my underestimation of the goodness and love of other people, and all the other limitations to my head and heart.

I have to believe that God allowed an imperfect physical nature and an imperfect world for people like me not only to actualize agape freely (well, at least partially), but also, and perhaps more importantly, to even notice it. I really believe that God asks people who are better than me in love to patiently bear with the trials that are indispensable for people like me to arrive at an insight about empathy, humility, forgiveness, and compassion. But then again, they already have the empathy, humility, and compassion to do this, so God’s request is truly achievable.

God works through this suffering. He doesn’t waste any of it. For those who are open to seeing the horizon of love embedded in it, there is a future, nay, an eternity for each of us to manifest our own unique brand of unconditional love within the symphony of love which is God’s kingdom. Without suffering, I do not think I could have even begun to move freely toward that horizon which is my eternal destiny and joy.

The Fourth Purpose of an Imperfect World: Interdependence, Human Community, and a “Better World”

We now move from an individual and personal perspective on suffering to a social and cultural perspective. We saw in the previous three sub-sections how God uses an imperfect world (and the challenge/suffering it can cause) to call and lead individuals toward life-transformations, courage, self-discipline, empathy, humility, love’s vulnerability, compassion, and agape. However, the value of an imperfect world and suffering is not limited to this. God can also use suffering to advance the collective human spirit, particularly in culture and society. There are three evident manifestations of this collective-cultural-societal benefit of an imperfect world and suffering: (1) interdependence, (2) room to make a better world, and (3) the development of progressively better social and cultural ideals and systems. Each will be discussed in turn.

(1) Interdependence. We cannot be completely autonomous – we need each other not only to advance but also to survive. Our imperfect world has literally compelled us to seek help from one another, to open ourselves to others’ strengths, to make up for one another’s weaknesses, and to organize ourselves to form a whole which is greater than the sum of its parts. We could say that our imperfect world is the condition necessary for the possibility of interdependence, and that interdependence provides an almost indispensable impetus to organize societies for mutual benefit.

The reader might respond that this is a somewhat cynical view of human nature because we probably would have formed societies simply to express empathy and love. I do not doubt this for a moment. However, I also believe that necessity is not only the mother of invention, but also the mother of social organizations for mutual benefit and specialization of labor. An imperfect world complements the human desire for empathy and love. While empathy and love allow us to enjoy one another, the imperfect world challenges us to extend that love to meeting others’ needs and making up for others’ weaknesses. Challenge (arising out of an imperfect world) induces us to extend our empathy, friendship, and enjoyment of one another into the domain of meeting one another’s needs, organizing ourselves for optimal mutual benefit, and creating societies which take on a life of their own beyond any specific individual or group of individuals. Yet an imperfect world does far more than this. It calls us to make a better world, to the discovery of the deepest meaning of justice and love, and even to create better cultures and systems of world organization.

(2) Room to make a better world. An imperfect world reveals that God did not do everything for us. He has left room for us to overcome the seeming imperfections of nature through our creativity, ideals, and loves – not merely individual creativity, ideals, and loves, but also through collective creativity, ideals, and loves. As noted above, individuals can receive a tremendous sense of purpose and fulfillment by meeting challenges and overcoming adversity. Yet we can experience an even greater purpose and fulfillment by collectively meeting challenges which are far too great for any individual; challenges which allow us to be a small part of a much larger purpose and destiny within human history.

It would have been noble indeed, and a fulfillment of both individual and collective purpose to have played a small part in the history of irrigation, the synthesis of metals, the building of roads, the discovery of herbs and medicines, the development of elementary technologies, the development of initial legal codes, the initial formulation of the great ideas (such as justice and love), the discoveries of modern chemistry, modern biology, modern medicine, modern particle physics, contemporary astronomy and astrophysics, the development of justice theory, inalienable rights theory, political rights theory, economic rights theory, contemporary structures of governments, the development of psychology, sociology, literature, history, indeed, all the humanities, arts, and social sciences; to have played a small part in the great engineering and technological feats which have enabled us to meet our resource needs amidst growing population, to be part of the communication and transportation revolutions that have brought our world so much closer together; to have been a small part of the commerce which not only ennobled human work, but also generated the resources necessary to build a better world; to have been a small part in these monumental creative efforts meeting tremendous collective challenges and needs in the course of human history. Yet, none of these achievements (and the individual and collective purpose and fulfillment coming from them) would have been possible without an imperfect world. If God had done everything for us, life would have been much less interesting (to say the least) and would have been devoid of the great purpose and achievement of the collective human spirit. Thank God for an imperfect world and the challenges and suffering arising out of it. We were not created to be self-sufficient, overly-protected “babies,” but rather to rise to the challenge of collective nobility and love – to build a better world.

(3) The development of progressively better social and cultural ideals and systems. We not only have the capacity to meet tremendous challenges collectively, we can also build culture – the animating ethos arising out of our collective heart which impels us not only toward a deeper and broader vision of individuals, but also of groups, communities, societies, and the world. This broader and deeper vision includes a deeper appreciation of individual and collective potential and therefore a deeper respect for the individual and collective human spirit. Thus, we have the capacity not only to build a legal system, but also to infuse it with an ideal of justice and rights, a scrupulous concern for accuracy and evidence, and a presumption of innocence and care for the individual. We have the ability not only to make tremendous scientific discoveries, but also to use them for the common good rather than the good of just a privileged class. We have the ability not only to build great structures, but also to use our architecture to reflect the beauty and goodness of the human spirit. We have the capacity not only to do great research but also to impart the knowledge and wisdom gained by it in a humane and altruistic educational system. And the list goes on.

Perhaps more importantly, we have the capacity to build these more beneficent cultural ideals and systems out of the lessons of our collective tragedy and suffering. One of the greatest ironies of human history, it seems to me, is the virtual inevitability of the greatest human cultural achievements arising out of the greatest moments of human suffering and tragedy (whether these be caused by natural calamities like the plague or more frequently out of humanly induced tragedies such as slavery, persecution of groups, world wars, and genocide). Roman coliseums (butchering millions for mere entertainment) seem eventually to produce Constantinian conversions (taking an entire empire toward an appreciation of Christian love); manifestations of slavery seem to lead eventually to an abolitionist movement and an Emancipation Proclamation; outbreaks of plague seem to lead eventually to advances in medicine and public health, as well as a deeper appreciation of individual life and personhood; manifestations of human cruelty and injustice seem to lead eventually to inalienable rights and political rights theories (and to systems of human rights); large-scale economic marginalization and injustice seem to lead eventually to economic rights theories (and to systems of economic rights); world wars seem to lead eventually to institutions of world justice and peace. There seems to be something in collective tragedy and suffering that awakens the human spirit, awakens a prophet or a visionary (such as Jesus Christ, St. Francis of Assisi, William Wilberforce, Mahatma Gandhi, or Martin Luther King, Jr.), which then awakens a collective movement of the human heart (such as the abolitionist movement), which then has to endure suffering and hardship in order to persist, but when it does persist, brings us to a greater awareness of what is humane. Out of the ashes of collective tragedy seems almost inevitably to arise a collective advancement in the common good and human culture; and more than this – a collective resolve, a determination of the collective human spirit which proclaims, “never again;” and still more – a political-legal system to shepherd this collective resolve into the future.

As may now be evident, the greatest collective human achievements in science, law, government, philosophy, politics and human ideals (to mention but a few areas) seem to have at their base not just an imperfect world, not just individual suffering, not just collective suffering, but epic and even monumental collective suffering. Was an imperfect world necessary for these greatest human achievements? It would seem so (at least partially); otherwise there would have been no room to grow, no challenges to overcome (either individually or collectively), and no ideals to be formulated by meeting these challenges. God would have done them all for us.

Nothing could be worse for a child’s development and capacity for socialization than an overprotective parents who think they are doing the child a favor by doing her homework for her, constructing her project for her, thinking for her. To remove all imperfections from a child’s living conditions; to take away all challenges and opportunities to meet adversity, all opportunities to rise above imperfect conditions; to take away all opportunities to create and invent a better future; and to remove the opportunity to exemplify courage and love in the midst of this creativity would be tantamount to a decapitation. God would no more decapitate the collective human spirit than a parent would a child; and so, God not only allowed an imperfect world filled with challenge and adversity, He created it.

We must remember at this juncture that God’s perspective is eternal. As noted above, God intends to redeem every scintilla of our suffering and to transform it into the symphony of eternal love which is His kingdom. Therefore, a person who suffered in a Nazi concentration camp (which eventually lead to the U.N. Charter of Human Rights and to the current system of international courts) did not suffer for the progress of this world alone, as if he were merely a pawn in the progress of the world. Rather, his suffering is destined for eternal redemption by an unconditionally loving and providential God who will bring courage, self-discipline, empathy, humility, love’s vulnerability, compassion, and agape to its fullest unique expression for all eternity. At the moment of what seems to be senseless suffering and death, God takes the individual into the fullness of His love, light, and life while initiating a momentum toward a greater common good within the course of human history. People of faith must continually take precautions against reducing themselves to mere immanentists, for the God of love redeems each person’s suffering individually and eternally while using it to induce and engender progress toward His own ideal for world culture and the human community.

The above points only answer part of our question about the necessity of suffering to advance the common good; for even if an imperfect world were truly necessary for such advancement, it does not seem that something as monstrous as a world war would be so necessary. True enough. But here is where moral evil and human freedom exacerbate the conditions of an imperfect world. Unlike natural laws, which blindly follow the pre-patterned sequences of cause and effect, human evil has embedded in it injustice, egocentrism, hatred, and cruelty which are all truly unnecessary. Nevertheless, even in the midst of the unnecessary and gratuitous suffering arising out of moral evil, the human spirit (galvanized by the Holy Spirit, according to my faith) rises above this suffering and seems eventually to produce advancements in culture and the common good in proportion to the degree of suffering.

In conclusion, the annals of human history are replete with examples of how tremendous moments of collective human suffering (whether caused by human depravity or the imperfections and indifference of nature, or both) induced, engendered, accelerated, and in many other ways helped to create the greatest human ideals and cultural achievements. If one has faith one will likely attribute this “phoenix out of the ashes” phenomenon to the Holy Spirit working within the collective human spirit. If one does not have faith, one will simply have to marvel at the incredible goodness of the collective human spirit. (Was it possible for us to do this by ourselves? – Hmmm….)

In any case, the imperfect world and the history of human suffering have given rise to a concrete reality of remarkable beauty and goodness in the areas of justice, rights, legal systems, governance systems, medicine, biology, chemistry, physics, psychology, sociology, and every other discipline which has as its noble end the advancement of the common good. Without an imperfect world, without some suffering in the world, I find it very difficult to believe that any of this would have arisen out of the collective human spirit in the course of history.

It would seem that the price paid in pain has been at least partially offset by the gains made in culture, society, the individual spirit, and the collective human spirit. I do not mean to trivialize the history of human suffering and tragedy nor the lives of individuals ruined by human injustice and an imperfect natural order. Yet we should not fail to find some hope in light emerging from darkness, and goodness emerging from evil. Inasmuch as God is all-powerful and all-loving, He can seize upon this goodness and light to reinforce its historical momentum, and more importantly to transform it into an unconditionally loving eternity. An imperfect world shaped by an imperfect, yet transcendently good human spirit brought to fulfillment by an unconditionally loving God, may well equate to an eternal symphony of love.

The Fifth Purpose of an Imperfect World: Building the Kingdom of God

As noted many times above, suffering can be of invaluable assistance in leading us to our eternal and loving reward. We have seen how suffering could be truly helpful to moving from a merely materialistic identity (Level 1) and an egocentric identity (Level 2), to a contributive, loving identity (Level 3) and a transcendently good and loving identity (Level 4). The movement toward a Level 3 / Level 4 identity is not for this world alone, for love is eternal by nature, and faith is oriented toward a loving eternity. Hence, any progress toward Level 3 and Level 4 is also progress toward the eternal Kingdom of God. If suffering helps us to progress toward Level 3 and 4, it must also help us to progress toward the Kingdom of God.

The same holds true for the points made in Sections II.B and II.C. In Section II.C, we saw how suffering could be helpful in embracing deeper empathy, humility, compassion, and agape, and in Section II.B, we saw how suffering could be helpful in appropriating deeper courage and self-discipline, which are intrinsic to the pursuit of authentic love. Inasmuch as suffering is helpful in developing the elements and conditions of authentic love, and unconditional love is intrinsic to the eternal Kingdom of God, suffering must likewise be helpful in moving toward the Kingdom of God.

Furthermore, the intention of a loving God would be to redeem suffering. Thus, whenever we suffer, God is already working through it to bring about optimal empathy, humility, authenticity, compassion, courage, and self-discipline, and through these, to bring about the optimal path toward eternal salvation in His love. We may not clearly apprehend the direction, timeline, and nuances of this plan, but we may be sure that an unconditionally loving God will do everything to optimize our salvation (without violating our and others’ freedom) in every moment of suffering.

There is another way in which suffering is involved in our eternal destiny, namely, building up the kingdom of God.

The more we cooperate with God’s plan to bring love and salvation out of suffering, the more we can become instruments of God’s hope, love, and salvation to others, which allows us, in turn, to be genuine participants in bringing about the kingdom of God.

God does not need our perfect cooperation to bestow salvation upon us, because His love is unconditional and He can redeem and heal our imperfections beyond our limited powers. This is a very happy truth, because the vast majority of us (or perhaps I should speak only for myself) are incapable of even approaching perfect cooperation with God’s loving plan. Yet God has left enough room for us to participate in His work of salvation (albeit imperfectly) and so, the more we consciously cooperate with His plan, the more good we will be able to do for ourselves and others in the work of eternal salvation.

The above thought provokes a question: Why try to cooperate with God’s loving plan, if God will save repentant people (amidst their imperfections) anyway? Because cooperating with God’s loving plan will (1) make suffering less painful and depressing for us and others, (2) deepen our conversion toward authentic unconditional love more quickly (which brings us closer to true joy), and (3) help us to play an important role in actualizing eternal salvation.

As noted in the previous subsection, God did not do everything for us. He created us in an imperfect world so that we might be able to make a significant contribution in bringing about both love in the world, and unconditional love in His eternal Kingdom.

Consider the following: God did not create a perfectly loving kingdom on earth. This is obvious not only in the imperfect natural world in which we live, but also in the millions of unloving human actions awaiting redemption in His future eternal kingdom. In God’s kingdom there will be no acts of unlove because God’s grace will eventually purify our freedom so that our actions truly reflect a pure desire to love authentically and unconditionally. Inasmuch as our freedom is not yet completely purified, the Kingdom of God is not and cannot be perfectly manifest on earth.

Can we do anything to help build the kingdom of God? Just as the Creator gives us room to make a better world; so He would also give us room to participate in the work of salvation. He lets us be His instruments and participate in the greatest of all possible earthly actions, namely, the diffusion of His eternal love and joy. He allows us to play an integral part in giving His greatest gift to humankind. What could be a greater dignity, privilege, and purpose in life? What could be a greater joy?

This great joy may be punctuated by suffering. It seems that the noble project of giving away the eternal and unconditional love of God can involve ignorance or at least incomplete knowledge, misunderstanding, and misinterpretation. It can engender resentment, infighting, and jealousy; preaching love and not living up to it (inauthenticity and hypocrisy); using our noble ministry for procuring earthly treasure and self-aggrandizement; having to face false allegations, having to be courageous to stay true to his word, and having to make sacrifices of a thousand other kinds.

It seems that the privilege, purpose, and joy we have been given in preaching the unconditional love of God entails many pitfalls and sufferings, but there is no greater dignity or purpose we can have than this eternal project. Moreover, these sufferings are a manifestation of our love, a purification of our freedom, a gift of self to complement God’s gift to us. This suffering is not only filled with meaning, but also with self-transformation and love destined to last throughout eternity.

Suffering also has a peculiar way of leading people to God and church community. This is clearly evidenced in 12-Step programs and in many adult re-conversions to religion. As noted above, suffering can compel us to look for more profound meaning in life, to seek purpose in places we had never anticipated, and to find meaning and consolation in those new places.

We will settle for mediocrity and superficiality in our life’s purpose when we are feeling self-sufficient. The feeling of being in “complete control” is so satisfying that we would sacrifice breadth and depth of meaning in order to preserve it. Much of the time we would rather be in complete control of a very small domain, than in only partial control of a very large one. The only way we can overcome this self-imposed superficiality is to give up the need for absolute control. But how? Absolute control feels so good; it makes me feel so much better than everyone else; and that too makes me feel so good. It can sometimes be more addictive than drugs. How can I let go of the desire for control in order to enter humbly into a huge domain over which I might only have a small influence, but one that will echo in its love throughout the many consciousnesses and “eternities” it affects? Think about it for a moment. If you’re anything like me, there seems to be one initial step, namely, suffering.

I grew up in a faith tradition, and so, when suffering and the feeling of powerlessness entered into my life, I reflexively turned toward God to hold the center when I could not hold it myself. I have known other people who did not grow up with faith and whose turning toward God had to be learned over the course of months or years in Alcoholics Anonymous (or other 12-Step programs), in religious counseling, through hospital chaplaincy during protracted medical treatments, through reading of religious books or magazines, or even through religious television and radio. In the case of those who are professed believers or agnostics, God has a way of appearing in the midst of suffering. When we reach out to Him in that suffering, we find that the sense of powerlessness is replaced with the consolation of God’s power in the midst of our humility and creatureliness. When we realize that we are powerless, we have a perfect opportunity for a radical humility opening upon radical love. All that is required is an admission of our need for the One who can be in control (in the words of Alcoholics Anonymous, a “higher power”).

The radical admission of need (humility) allows the God of love to move into our center, for He would not do this unless we, in our freedom, invite Him to do so. Odd as it may seem, God’s love is so great that He will not impose Himself on us; He will not come into our lives if we do not want Him. He subjects Himself and His love to our freedom because He is unconditionally loving.

However, if we do invite God into our lives, to be our control, our center, a higher power, and to be Creator, then God most assuredly will enter into our lives to help us. This help may not be a direct solution to our problems, it may not be the help that we ask for or expect; but most assuredly this help will open us up to an awareness of His unconditional love. Much of the time, this awareness occurs through a church community.

The awareness of God’s love can occur on a variety of levels – some of them quite tacit. Sometimes it can be in the form of expressions or actions of love from fellow church members; other times it can come through clergy, or can leap off the page of a religious book; sometimes it can be imbued with the beauty of church life: the beauty of the people serving in the church, the beauty of faith exemplified by those individuals, the beauty of the doctrine of religious love, the beauty of liturgy, the liturgical year, the beauty of music, art and architecture, the beauty of tradition – we are invited into an ethos of beauty which leads deeper and deeper into the mystery of God’s love and majesty.

This mysterious beautiful love calls us into itself. It enchants us, fascinates us, enriches us, and fills us quietly but deeply. We become very interested in things theological; almost addicted to asking questions about God, heaven, Scripture, Tradition – everything having to do with this mysterious, beautiful love. God might not solve our problems or resolve our sufferings immediately, but He will make us aware of His love through our admission of need, and He will invite us more deeply into that mystery, enchant and enrich us with it, and then lead us by His own path to a new meaning of life in humility, service, and love. To be sure, this path may not be easy, but in the long run, it will lead us out of superficiality into a life filled with transcendent Truth, Love, Goodness, Beauty, and Home, to a life betokening our eternal destiny of love with Him.

But that’s not all. When we have been “rescued” from a life of superficiality, meaninglessness, or hopelessness, we develop a natural inclination to share it with others. At this point, the Lord of love again inspires us, enflaming us with wisdom and energy, with knowledge and compassion, and with a love and faith beyond our temporal understanding, to go out and share the good news that we do not have to be at the center, we do not have to be in complete control. We can trust the One and only one who can be in complete control, and we can content ourselves with being a very small part of the immense and eternal kingdom of love.

This desire to share the Word of hope with others, to share the Word that gives more than superficial life, the Word that reaches into mystery, perfection, and eternity builds on itself. When we see the depth and breadth, the hope and love, the richness and joy that comes from our ministry and service, we cannot resist the inspiration to do more – increasingly more. We want to serve the Lord of love who has made this possible for us. As we do this, we not only find an increased meaning, depth, love, and joy in our lives, we grow in certitude that we are being led. God then becomes for us more than higher power, more than Creator (though ironically this should be enough), He becomes the God of providential love concerned not just for me but for us, concerned to lead us toward greater freedom and love, caring enough to invite us into His very divine life of love. After living a life of service and ministry, one can scarcely doubt the love and the presence of God. Certitude has worked its way into our life experience through the acceptance of God’s invitation given to us in suffering.

The unfolding of these “loving tactics of God” has certainly been the story of my life, but I have seen it manifest even more profoundly in the lives of those with greater challenges than my own. Sometimes the people with the greatest challenges in life – physical, familial, mental – give some of the strongest and most articulate testimonies to the love of God. Their faith, peace, confidence, awareness of God, capacity for compassion, and above all, their joy and “being at home with God” are incredibly profound. I frequently find this to be a sign of God’s presence because I cannot fathom how they could have all these qualities without some direct inspiration from the God of love.

This holds true even for children, particularly those who face illness and physical deprivation. Many of the children I have met in hospitals, who are facing severe illnesses and even death, have a profound faith, peace, and confidence which allows them to console their parents when their parents are incapable of consoling them. When I first heard children say, “Don’t worry, Mom – everything is going to be alright;” I used to think, “Well, that is the naïve optimism of a child.” But then I came to realize that most of these children didn’t think their life in this world was going to be alright; they thought their life with God would make everything alright. I asked some of these parents whether they had brought up their children in a religious household. Many of them had, but interestingly enough, many of the children who had not been brought up in a religious household expressed just as profound a peace and confidence in the life to come as the ones who had been raised with that expectation. One might maintain that this is yet another iteration of the naïve optimism of a child, but I don’t think so, because the prospect of death (powerful as this finality is) did not seem to shake the peace which these children felt.

One can make out of this whatever one wishes. But there is one major point which is shared by children and adults who experience this “peace beyond all understanding”, namely, they both have acknowledged their need for God and have invited Him into their center. Children seem to do this naturally – not just with God, but with their parents and with everyone else for that matter. That is the distinctive advantage of children. But adults can do this too; they can acquire the heart of a child; but they generally need to do this through suffering which causes them to invite God into their center, which, in turn, allows God to invite them more deeply into His mysterious loving beauty, which, in turn, induces them to serve God by sharing the life and meaning of eternal and perfect love, which, in turn, leads to peace beyond all understanding. Adults frequently need suffering to reach the state of openness to God. Children seem to possess it in their very being. Far from naïveté; they exemplify a confidence, peace, and love originating in God Himself.