ldsphilosopher

Brief Reflections on Evil: Part 2

Jeffrey Thayne

In the first post of this series, I discussed how the existence of moral agency necessarily entails the possibility of sin. Few Latter-day Saints try to pin responsibility on God for malice and hatred in the world—we generally recognize these to be the result of man’s exercise of agency, and a necessary possibility in a world with moral agents. However, what people generally want to know, as C. S. Lewis says, is “the reason for the enormous permission to torture their fellows which God gives to the worst of men.”

An Appeal to Agency Does Not Work

Occasionally a person will answer this question by saying, “God cannot physically prevent someone from hurting people because that would interfere with his agency.” I have never believed that an appeal to human agency completely answers this question, because it does not stand to reason that preventing a person from maliciously killing another denies that person his agency. I have always believed that even if a person is kept in a straitjacket in a jail cell in order to prevent him or her from inflicting harm on others, his or her agency is still intact—that is, his or her desire to inflict harm is still a choice within his or her reach. No mortal restrictions will remove all of our choices. As Viktor Frankl said,

We who lived in concentration camps can remember the men who walked through the huts comforting others, giving away their last piece of bread. They may have been few in number, but they offer sufficient proof that everything can be taken from a man but one thing: the last of the human freedoms—to choose one’s attitude in any given set of circumstances.

In other words, despite our mortal circumstances, our agency is always intact; the choice to turn our hearts with malice towards others or to face others in love and forgiveness is a choice that can never be denied us. I have always supposed that every other choice we make is an extension of this fundamental choice in our way of being (to be-for-the-other or to be-against-the-other, for lack of better terminology). This fundamental choice colors and gives meaning to all of our other actions. We always have this choice, regardless of whatever physical constraints are placed upon us. Thus, even God could never fully take away our agency, except, I believe, by separating us completely from other moral agents (including Himself), thus removing us from an opportunity to either be for the other or be against the other.

The scriptures teach that just the desire to sin is enough to condemn us in the final judgment, whether we commit the sin in action or not. Why, then, does God permit us to do wrong to others, to inflict pain upon others, when He has power to prevent it without interrupting our agency (or at least without interrupting the fundamental choice that matters)? Certainly God could have clipped the wings of the airplane before it collapsed the twin towers, and the mortal test of those flying the airplane would not have been seriously thwarted, for they had already filled their hearts with malice and attempted the heinous crime.

In fact, this question becomes even more poignant when we consider that God has intervened many times to prevent some men from inflicting pain upon others. Consider numerous scriptural examples, such as when God killed a Lamanite who threatened Ammon’s life while he was unconscious. Consider that every time we petition God to protect us from those who would otherwise hurt us, we are asking Him to intervene in human affairs in a way that prevents others from acting upon their desires and choices. Why would He intervene in some instances, but not others? If God’s interference takes away our agency, and if agency is sacrosanct, then why do we have recorded instances of divine intervention? Why would we engage in petitionary prayer?

Also, I have a hard time accepting the position that God’s interference in human affairs takes away agency because that puts God in an awkward position: the more God is involved in the world, the less agency His children have. Also, this puts a strange twist on agency, and, in a way, defines agency as “the absence of divine involvement or interference.” I do not wish to see agency that way, because it makes petitionary prayer very problematic. Also, if God’s involvement takes away agency, so would human involvement; every time I restrain someone in order prevent him from maliciously harming another person, would I not be taking away his agency? This cannot be an adequate description of human agency, and I think it is rooted in a faulty description of agency. It assumes that agency is somehow related to our freedom of movement and freedom from restraint; instead, as I explained earlier in this post, I believe agency has to do with our way-of-being towards others.

Thus, simply saying that God allows us to hurt each other because He does not wish to take away our agency does not sufficiently answer the question, because our agency resides in our way-of-being, in our heart. God could prevent us from acting upon our desires to hurt others, and we would still have agency. Also, this rhetoric makes makes agency antithetical not only to divine involvement or interference in the world, but also human interaction with other when we, to any extent, prevent someone else from obtaining their desires.

An Interesting Insight

While I cannot possibly know why God allows each and every moral atrocity to occur, and while I believe no solution will fully resolve the issue to those who experience deep pain at the hands of others, I recently stumbled upon a point of view I appreciate. Robert Millet, in a lecture he presented at Education Week in 2003, quoted a Catholic theologian and apologist named Richard Swinburne, who said:

A world in which agents can benefit each other but not do each other harm is one where they have only very limited responsibility for each other. If my responsibility for you is limited to whether or not to give you a camcorder, but I cannot cause you pain, stunt your growth, or limit your education, then I do not have a great deal of responsibility for you. … A good God, like a good father, will delegate responsibility. In order to allow creatures a share in creation, he will allow them the choice of hurting and maiming, of frustrating the divine plan.

I am fortunate if the natural possibility of my suffering if you choose to hurt me is the vehicle which makes your choice really matter. My vulnerability, my openness to suffering (which necessarily involves my actually suffering if you make the wrong choice), means that you are not just like a pilot in a simulator, where it does not matter if mistakes are made. That our choices matter tremendously, that we can make great differences to things for good or ill, is one of the greatest gifts a creator can give us. And if my suffering is the means by which he can give you that choice, I too am in this respect fortunate.²

In other words, while our agency is intact regardless of divine interference in human affairs, God may allow us to harm others because He wants to preserve the tremendous responsibility we have been given here on earth. This position does not make the suffering that results from sin any less tragic; in fact, it makes it even more tragic. And notice that he uses a rhetoric of responsibility, not agency. If we relate the word agency with responsibility, rather than merely with choice, then we are on the road to a fresh point of view.

Beyond this insight, however, I do not wish to offer justifications for pain inflicted by others. It is not our place to explain why people suffer at the hands of other people—we can only formulate a response to it. In fact, as I will explain in the fourth post of this series, inventing a compelling reason why people hurt people can, if we are not careful, serve to justify sin. In the last post of this series, Nathan will explain how pain received at the hands of others can have a redemptive effect through the Atonement of Jesus Christ.

Notes:

1. Viktor Frankl, Man’s Search for Meaning (1985), 86.
2. Richard Swinburne, Is There a God? (New York: Oxford University Press, 1996), 98-103.

Nathan Richardson

The Savior spoke parables in order to teach eternal truths. The Bible Dictionary points out that “the application of a parable may vary in every age and circumstance,”¹ so we shouldn’t be surprised if several valid meanings can be drawn out of any one parable. However, just because a parable can be applied several different ways does not mean that any or every possible interpretation is true.

The Parable of the Two Debtors

There is one particular parable that I would like to discuss: the parable of the two debtors. While I do not claim to know all the profound and true interpretations one could make with this parable, I do know one interpretation we can rule out as incorrect.

I focus on this parable because it has implications in answering the problem of evil. In this series, I hope to show how understanding the nature of sin helps us better understand this mortal test and how a good God can allow evil. The misunderstanding itself, in fact, is a testimony of just how powerful the atonement is. First though, let me quote the parable.

And Jesus answering said unto him, Simon, I have somewhat to say unto thee.

And he saith, Master, say on.

There was a certain creditor which had two debtors: the one owed five hundred pence, and the other fifty. And when they had nothing to pay, he frankly forgave them both. Tell me therefore, which of them will love him most?

Simon answered and said, I suppose that he, to whom he forgave most.

And he said unto him, Thou hast rightly judged. (Luke 7:40–43)

A Sincere Misinterpretation

To be honest, I can see how this parable could easily be misunderstood. The Savior seems to be implying the more you sin, the more you will love Heavenly Father. It’s not too far of a jump to conclude, “Hey, sin away, just as long as you repent. That way you’ll love Heavenly Father more!”

One time in my elders quorum in a student ward, while discussing sin and repentance, my friend suggested, “Well, repentance and forgiveness are good things, so maybe it’s good to sin, because then there’s more repentance and forgiveness going on.” It seems easy to discount this interpretation when it’s stated hypothetically like this, in a tongue-in-cheek manner (and I think my friend may have been playing devil’s advocate a little in order to create discussion and liven up my boring lesson). But let me rephrase his hypothetical suggestion by telling of a real-life situation.

My friend Antonio² was in an elders quorum meeting during a similar discussion of sin and repentance. Another brother in the quorum was in his second marriage. His first marriage had ended because he had been unfaithful to his wife. Thankfully, after several years of working to get rebaptized, this brother had come back into the Church. Not only that, the woman with whom he had made the mistake later converted and the two were eventually able to be sealed. So it wasn’t totally incomprehensible when Antonio heard him make the following suggestion.

“I think that sometimes it’s good that we sin, because we learn so much from it. It seems like we’re wiser and more caring by sinning and repenting.”

When you think about it, you can see how this brother came to such a conclusion. He’s thinking, I’m back in good standing within the covenant, and I’ve learned a lot about the atonement first-hand. I’m also happily married to the woman I love, and I wouldn’t be married to her if I hadn’t made the mistake I did. So it was a good thing that I made this particular mistake, right?

Conclusion

I don’t think this is a rampant doctrinal misunderstanding in the Church, but I have heard it more than once, expressed in different ways. Ultimately, the question being asked is, “Is it necessary for us to sin, in order to learn certain lessons? Is sin a good thing, because of how we grow in the process of overcoming it?”

Antonio told me that he usually doesn’t say anything when he hears a doctrinally incorrect comment in church meetings, often because they are usually minor, harmless mistakes. “But,” he told me, “I just couldn’t let that one go.” I will discuss why he objected in the following posts in this series.

Notes

1. Bible Dictionary, “Parables.”
2. Name changed.

Brief Reflections about Evil: Part 1

Jeffrey Thayne

Truman Madsen, a Latter-day Saint and a philosopher, said that for some “the most staggering objection to belief in a personal God is the ugly, tragic, overwhelming fact of human inequality and suffering.” ¹ Although I am personally not presented with any crisis of faith when presented with the facts of human suffering (I sincerely hope our readers do not see this as lack of compassion), many do experience difficulties, and this has led apologists to attempts solutions to this problem.

James Faulconer explains what, exactly, the challenge is:

The argument is that if God is all-loving, all-powerful, and all-knowing, then the existence of evil is inexplicable, for such a God could create a world without evil—he has the power and the knowledge to do so—and he would create it, for his love would require that he do so. According to the argument, therefore, the existence of God is incompatible with the existence of evil. For many, the suppressed conclusion is that it is irrational to believe in God if one recognizes the existence of evil, as most people do.²

Subdividing the Problem

In this series, I have no intention of completely resolving the issue, or presenting any conclusive answers. I do not claim to know why people suffer. I would only like to present a few thoughts I have had about the issue. Many scholars will recognize that the problem of evil as described above is a conglomeration of several, more subtle, challenges. I would like to divide the challenge into five different topics. By dividing the problem in the following way, I believe the problem shifts in important ways.

1. The problem of sin.
2. The problem of pain that results from sin.
3. The problem of pain that results from non-moral causes.
4. The relationship between suffering and evil.
5. Redemption through the Savior Jesus Christ.

In this series, I will not attempt to solve this dilemma; thinkers for centuries have wrestled with the problem and developed many solutions. Everything I will say about the subject has already been said by many philosophers, and even disputed and criticized by many philosophers. The purpose of this four-post series is simply to present my personal opinion as to the merits of some proposed solutions when compared with others and with the restored gospel. I will also question some of the assumptions we bring to the problem.

The Problem of Sin

The first problem, the problem of sin, is this: How do we reconcile the existence of a powerful and loving God who wants us to do right and a world where people do wrong?

This problem is very simply dealt with by acknowledging moral agency. There is something inherent in us that allows us to live in rebellion against God and His teachings. Although God granted us agency by placing us in a moral sphere in which we can in either resist or yield to moral obligations, it is not in his power to compel us to do either.

(Right now I am speaking only of choices of the heart—we can wish to teach the gospel, and yet be imprisoned in a cell, or we can rebel against God in our hearts, but still attend church, serve a mission, etc. I’m sure that God could compel our bodies to strictly obey His commands, even though we are rebellious in our hearts. He certainly grants us freedom to act upon our choices, since this is a crucial aspect of our mortal test. Sin, however, takes place in our response to God in our hearts, and this is a capacity that we inherently have in us from the moment God enters our lives. The same is true of our relationships with our brothers and sisters here on earth: the capacity to either to love them or to wish harm on them is inherent from the moment of our introduction to them.)

Therefore, the possibility of sin in the world is a necessary consequence of agency. God cannot simply tinker with our metaphysical nature and compel us to love others. In this regards, however, I am not talking about man’s capacity to inflict harm upon others; I am only talking about capacity to wish harm upon others. Someone who was trying to fathom God’s goodness could probably reconcile it with a world in which people freely chose for themselves joy (through obedience) or misery (through sin, rebelling against God in our hearts). It’s fairly easy to see that a good God could create a world where evil and good exist, when each person only experiences evil if they chose it, and has but to cease to do evil in order to escape it.

The next challenge, however, is the problem of pain that results from sin. The existence of agency necessarily entails the possibility of a rebellious heart, but it does not explain why God allows us to act upon our wishes, especially considering the fact that it so frequently inflicts pain on others who did not choose it. I’m not sure I know the answer to this question, but I believe a simple appeal to agency isn’t sufficient to resolve the issue. I will address this in a future post.

1. Edwin Gantt, “Hedonism, Suffering, and Redemption: The Challenge of a Christian Psychotherapy,” Turning Freud Upside Down (Provo: BYU Studies), p. 53.
2. Faulconer, James, “Theodicy.”

The Persuasive Power of Science: Part 3

Jeffrey Thayne

In my previous two posts, I explained how experimentation can never verify or falsify scientific theories. Does this mean that science is useless? Far from it. Scientific methods and experimentation can certainly be a very persuasive tool, and a useful way of making sense of the world. As I explained in the first post of this series, experimentation is a kind of logical argument. Why is logic persuasive? Some philosophers have believed that logic is persuasive because it is a manifestation of reason, and reason is our conduit to divine knowledge. Logic, in this sense, is our eye into the abstract structure of reality. Brent Slife and Richard Williams explain a different way of understanding logic (and science); in this post, I will draw heavily upon their writings (with our readers’ forgiveness):

There is another explanation for the persuasiveness of logical arguments. This explanation holds that logical arguments are based on rules of language that people who use the language understand and agree to abide by. This agreement is rarely something we, as language users, are explicitly aware of. The rules of language are most often understood without explicit awareness. They are just a part of knowing how to use language to make sense of things.

… Science might best be understood as a language with which or through which people try to understand the world. All languages have rules that determine what are acceptable sentences and how utterances are to be understood. Similarly, scientific rules tell us which experiments are acceptable and how one interprets the results. It is also the case, however, that like any language, the language of science is full of ambiguity. Scientists’ procedures and explanations are influenced by their culture, history, and subjective factors. Just as no one would claim that English is the only, or even the best, language through which to understand the world, no such claim need be made for science.

This view suggests that every language opens the world to us and helps us understand it in a particular way, from a particular perspective. That same is true of science. However, as every language opens the world to us in some ways, it also closes it down in other ways. Just as everything cannot be said in a single language, everything cannot be understood and explained through a single method—science.¹

Unique ways of understanding the world may open to us new possibilities for action. Thus, science and experimentation may open new possibilities for us as we engage in the world. Slife’s and Williams’s point of view certainly dissolves a perceived dichotomy between science and philosophy; many people see philosophy as a speculative enterprise, largely grounded in rational analysis, and then contrast it with science, which they see as an empirical enterprise, grounded in observation and experimentation. Science, they believe, has a superior claim to knowledge. However, when we understand science as a language through which we make sense of the world—as a kind of rational, persuasive endeavor—we see no essential difference between the two.

This point of view also lends support for the idea that reason and logic are not ways of obtaining truth, but instead are ways of organizing our experiences—ways of making sense of what we do and see in the world, and communicating our understanding to our fellow human beings. As I explained in my previous posts, I think it is fallacious for us to believe that science leads us to indubitable knowledge. I believe that indubitable knowledge can only come from communication with God through the Holy Spirit. This kind of lived experience is the best basis of sure knowledge. No systematic, rational method can ever approach this in terms of certainty.

Philosophy of Law Notes: Part 4

Jeffrey Thayne

Aristotle believed that there were abstract truths, or natural laws, in response to which men formed positive laws. This was accompanied by a distinction between theoretical and practical reason; while theoretical reason would tell us that it is wrong to steal, practical reason might tell us how long a robber ought to remain imprisoned for theft, etc. This distinction was important to Aristotle, because it rooted laws into an eternal cosmic order, but also allowed flexibility in the enactment of laws due to varying human circumstances. It allowed for a heterogeneity of laws across various nations and times. It also recognized the distinction between natural law and positive law; the prohibition against robbery is a natural law (or natural reason, a glimpse into the cosmic order), but that a robber would spend three years in prison is a positive law, and is as binding on the conscience as the dictates of natural reason. Positive laws are enacted and made binding by a legislature, and Aristotle believed that they must be written in order to be considered laws.

According to Letwin, Cicero ignored this distinction. Letwin explains that according to Cicero, “‘Law is not the product of human thought’ nor any enactment of peoples.”¹ It is not a human invention. Thus, there is no such thing as positive law in Cicero’s worldview; there are only the dictates of reason, which are binding as law regardless of legal enactment. Cicero said, “Reason did not first become law when it was written down, but when it first came into existence.”¹ “In short,” says Letwin, “Cicero identified ‘law’ with ‘reason,’ and by reason he meant the directing principles of the universe.”¹ Wait! There's more!

The Persuasive Power of Science: Part 2

Jeffrey Thayne

In my previous post, I explained how experimentation is essentially a kind of logical argument. Based upon this assumption, I demonstrated how experimentation alone could never indubitably prove a hypothesis true, because whenever we conclude that our theory is true on the basis of observation, we have committed a logical fallacy known as affirming the consequent.

A philosopher of science known for pointing this out, Karl Popper, presented an alternative view of science, which is sometimes referred to as falsificationism. Rather than prove things true, he said, experiments should be designed to prove things false. The logical argument could be laid out like this:

If theory x is true, we will observe y.
We do not observe y.
Therefore, theory x is not true.

The logic of this syllogism is valid; there are no fallacies here. Thus, science would be useful for discarding false theories, one by one. From this point of view, there are no theories proven true; only theories that have yet to be falsified. This change of rhetoric avoids the logical mess of verification.

Popper’s point of view, however, is not without problems. Brent Slife and Richard Williams explain:

The strategy of falsification will not work unless we are sure that our test or experiment is the crucial test of the theory or hypothesis. No experiment will be a crucial test unless all possible variables (or limiting conditions) have been controlled or taken into account. There must be no other possible explanation for the failure of the experiment except the falsity of the hypothesis. This degree of control is, of course, impossible—practically and in principle. There are, in principle, an infinite number of things to be controlled in order to falsify any theory or hypothesis. Not all of them can be controlled, if only because there is no control over the particular point on the space-time continuum where any study is conducted—that is, each study is conducted as a particular place and time. Consequently, the effects of that particular context can never be controlled experimentally. [This space-time challenge is negated if you assume that time and space are homogenous, but that is an assumption, not an indubitable or demonstrated truth]¹

In other words, “the methods of empirical science cannot falsify theories or hypotheses. This has been well recognized among philosophers of science (e.g., Lakatos, 1970).”¹

As I explained in my previous post, my purpose here is not to dismiss science. I am not claiming that science is untrustworthy. My only claim is that the trust we have in science is not the inevitable result of the particular methods science uses. Many philosophers of science will agree that no method can be the royal road to truth; in other words, that there is no systematic way to obtain indubitable knowledge. “Whatever scientific methods may be good for,” Slife and Williams explain, “they cannot be used to verify theories, in the sense of affirming the consequent, or falsify theories, in the sense of negating the consequent.”¹

This does not mean that science should have no persuasive power; I think we ought to be persuaded by well-performed, systematic, and thoughtful scientific experiments. Science is just that: a useful means of persuading people to understand the world in a particular way. I just don’t believe that science represents the progressive march towards truth that many people interpret it to be. Science may certainly unify us into a collective worldview, and persuade us to embrace a particular point of view. It isn’t, however, the road to certain truth.

In my next post, I will address why logic and reason are persuasive to us. I will also discuss a new way of understanding science that doesn’t involve the logical problems discussed in these posts.

As you can tell, we’ve experienced a transformation. I understand that not all change is good; as people we are often attached to the familiar. We hope you enjoy the new site design, and are willing to provide feedback!

Homosexuality and Eating Disorders, part 1

Nathan Richardson

In 1729, Jonathan Swift wrote a satirical piece called “A Modest Proposal,” in which he facetiously suggests that people start eating children in order to solve hunger problems. Swift did not hate children or actually think eating them was a good idea. Being satire, the purpose of his paper was to expose distorted reasoning by applying it to an obviously absurd scenario.

In like manner, the following is an attempt to reveal the distorted reasoning surrounding advocacy of the homosexual lifestyle and agenda by applying that reasoning to eating disorders. The purpose of this fictional dialogue is to demonstrate how irrational those arguments can be. Wait! There's more!

Homosexuality and Eating Disorders, part 2

Nathan Richardson

For the first part of this satirical conversation, read “A Modest Lifestyle Proposal.” In it, two people converse about anorexia and bulimia, and what factors might lead to people getting involved in eating disorders. The first speaker (regular typeface) uses arguments in favor of eating disorders that are very similar to the ones most advocates of the homosexual lifestyle use. The second speaker (bold typeface) questions the coherency and conclusions of those arguments.

It baffles me that such a rationale has become accepted today, even by the educated—not for eating disorders, but for homosexuality. One of the greatest injustices of this deceptive “logic” is that it has discouraged so many people from seeking needed help. Even more alarming is that it has been used to encourage so many more to participate in a lifestyle that is deadly both spiritually and physically. Imagine the outrage if such rhetoric was used to encourage bulimia and anorexia?¹
Wait! There's more!

Philosophy of Law Notes: Part 3

Jeffrey Thayne

In Plato, we saw a tension between two different accounts of law: one as an imperfect, man-made set of rules established for the purpose of peaceful coexistence, and the other as a divine order encoded into human law by an individual with privileged access to the divine world. Aristotle recognized this distinction, and attempted resolve the tensions.

Aristotle felt it was important to ground law into a divine, natural order of some kind. This cosmic order is what gives law its binding authority. He, like Plato, also believed that a central function of law was to compensate for the imperfect and random judgment of men. He drew from an example presented by Plato’s Socrates (in Plato’s more dubious second point of view). People have passions and behave randomly, but reason can corral those otherwise random impulses together and direct them towards a higher and more noble purpose. In the same way, law can be the voice of reason to a population of random and various purposes, and can channel them towards nobler ends. Wait! There's more!