After being turned away from a potential job yesterday, my mother told me that "these things happen for a reason." Working with people who go through a lot of suffering both vocationally and avocationally, I hear that a lot: things happen for a reason.
I bristle a little bit when people say that, including when I say it myself. There's a somewhat visceral reaction to it, as if something isn't quite right. I've been trying to put my finger on it, and I just recently realized what the problem is.
A while back, I became physically disabled. The event was physically painful and deeply humiliating; it radically altered the way I would live the rest of my life, barring me from some activities which I had come to love deeply, and therefore was emotionally and psychically crippling as well. Faced with these circumstances, I struggled to find some meaning behind it all. I needed to know the reason why I had had so much that I had known and loved snatched away from me. I needed it to have some sort of deeper purpose. I should state unequivocally now that there was a definite and described causal link between my personal actions and the paralysis; actions I had taken quite literally caused the condition which I am now in. I knew this deep down, no matter how much I attempted (and sometimes succeeded) to lie to myself about what happened. Rather, I needed some larger purpose behind it beyond 'learning my lesson'. I desperately wanted the entire experience to mean something larger than simply that.
I bristle a little bit when people say that, including when I say it myself. There's a somewhat visceral reaction to it, as if something isn't quite right. I've been trying to put my finger on it, and I just recently realized what the problem is.
A while back, I became physically disabled. The event was physically painful and deeply humiliating; it radically altered the way I would live the rest of my life, barring me from some activities which I had come to love deeply, and therefore was emotionally and psychically crippling as well. Faced with these circumstances, I struggled to find some meaning behind it all. I needed to know the reason why I had had so much that I had known and loved snatched away from me. I needed it to have some sort of deeper purpose. I should state unequivocally now that there was a definite and described causal link between my personal actions and the paralysis; actions I had taken quite literally caused the condition which I am now in. I knew this deep down, no matter how much I attempted (and sometimes succeeded) to lie to myself about what happened. Rather, I needed some larger purpose behind it beyond 'learning my lesson'. I desperately wanted the entire experience to mean something larger than simply that.
To me, this is the root of faith, spirituality and religion: searching for meaning or purpose behind suffering. If we are able to ascribe meaning to painful circumstances, it becomes easier to handle, in the same way that we are able to delay receipt of a bit of chocolate now for receipt of a whole bar of chocolate later. The ability to delay reward is, perhaps, a uniquely human trait, a foundation of the capability of our mind to operate within the environment. The same trait, I'm willing to bet, becomes the foundation for religion in that we are able to handle suffering (not receiving chocolate immediately) if we can see useful purpose in it (receiving more chocolate at a later time).
After wrestling with the issue for some time, I eventually came to the unsettling conclusion that there was no deeper purpose or meaning behind my paralysis. As horrific as it was to think this, eventually I realized that it was the explanation that made the most sense. It has been ever since that I have felt uncomfortable when I or other people say "things happen for a reason", or "God works in mysterious ways" and such.
I've been coming to the conclusion that I, at least, usually say these things in order to avoid the lack of control I have over suffering. I'm uncomfortable when people hurt; my gut reaction is to try to address and fix the situation. But in situations where I don't really have control, I try to ascribe meaning to the circumstance, which in some way gets me off the hook by making the suffering seem, in some way, necessary or purposeful.
If I'm honest, though, I realize that suffering actually doesn't serve some purpose. It is meaningless, pointless and absurd. Moreover, as I think about it, to ascribe meaning to certain sufferings is to cheapen and demean that suffering. One wouldn't tell a rape victim that her or his rape "happened for a reason." One wouldn't tell a starving child that they are hungry-to-death "for a reason." Of course there are proximate causes to these things: women are raped at least in part due to societal perceptions of the value of women as human beings. Children starve because of structural socio-economic realities that prevent them from having food. But to tell the rape victim or the starving child that these are the reasons why they suffer is, in effect, to ignore the individual, to treat them as simply the symptom of a large disease.
Interestingly enough, the disease which causes rape or starvation is ignorance of the humanity of other individuals.
What I do know, though, is that it is possible for one to ascribe meaning to suffering post facto. Although suffering may be pointless and meaningless, it is possible for an individual to give that suffering meaning and definition. I've given my own paralysis some sort of meaning and purpose by using it to look at the absurdity and pointlessness of suffering generally, and thereby learn something about how I want to approach others who suffer and treat their own suffering and misery with respect and compassion. But I ascribe that meaning post facto, and I do not believe that such a meaning is inherent and necessarily a part of the paralysis, a priori.
Where is God in all of this? All of the above would appear to challenge the notion that God is either omnipotent or beneficent: the old theodicy problem, yet again. How can there be an all-loving, all-powerful God who allows suffering? The answer most often given to this question, I've found, is that God allows suffering for a reason, for a purpose.
I would disagree. I don't have an answer to why there is suffering in the world if God is omnipotent and beneficent. I hold belief in the primary absurdity of suffering and the omnipotence and beneficence of God in the necessary tension of holding two mutually-exclusive, paradoxical positions. I think such is a necessary condition of religious or spiritual belief, as well.
As far as an answer goes, the best I can manage is to relate a Sufi story:
Once, a dervish was walking along the streets of a town toward the tekke of his shaykh. As he moved down the street, past vendors and princes, his attention was drawn not to the clink of gold coins or the laughing shouts of the merchants, but instead to the silent faces of the hungry orphans, the mumbled pleas for alms from the beggars. As he moved along, he grew sadder and angrier as he watched the rich townsfolk totally ignoring the suffering around them. Finally, at the end of the street he saw a beggar-woman crying over a dead child, and he began to cry and cry and cry, full of fury at the situation. How could God allow this, he thought. How could He let there be so much pain in the world? Bitter, he went into the tekke and sat with his shaykh.
"Shaykhiyy, habibiyy, I passed a beggar woman crying over her dead child on the way to see you. It broke my heart, and I am angry! How could almighty Allah allow this? Why doesn't He do something about it?"
"Oh my dervish... don't you see? He did. He made you cry. Why didn't you do something about it?"
I've been coming to the conclusion that I, at least, usually say these things in order to avoid the lack of control I have over suffering. I'm uncomfortable when people hurt; my gut reaction is to try to address and fix the situation. But in situations where I don't really have control, I try to ascribe meaning to the circumstance, which in some way gets me off the hook by making the suffering seem, in some way, necessary or purposeful.
If I'm honest, though, I realize that suffering actually doesn't serve some purpose. It is meaningless, pointless and absurd. Moreover, as I think about it, to ascribe meaning to certain sufferings is to cheapen and demean that suffering. One wouldn't tell a rape victim that her or his rape "happened for a reason." One wouldn't tell a starving child that they are hungry-to-death "for a reason." Of course there are proximate causes to these things: women are raped at least in part due to societal perceptions of the value of women as human beings. Children starve because of structural socio-economic realities that prevent them from having food. But to tell the rape victim or the starving child that these are the reasons why they suffer is, in effect, to ignore the individual, to treat them as simply the symptom of a large disease.
Interestingly enough, the disease which causes rape or starvation is ignorance of the humanity of other individuals.
What I do know, though, is that it is possible for one to ascribe meaning to suffering post facto. Although suffering may be pointless and meaningless, it is possible for an individual to give that suffering meaning and definition. I've given my own paralysis some sort of meaning and purpose by using it to look at the absurdity and pointlessness of suffering generally, and thereby learn something about how I want to approach others who suffer and treat their own suffering and misery with respect and compassion. But I ascribe that meaning post facto, and I do not believe that such a meaning is inherent and necessarily a part of the paralysis, a priori.
Where is God in all of this? All of the above would appear to challenge the notion that God is either omnipotent or beneficent: the old theodicy problem, yet again. How can there be an all-loving, all-powerful God who allows suffering? The answer most often given to this question, I've found, is that God allows suffering for a reason, for a purpose.
I would disagree. I don't have an answer to why there is suffering in the world if God is omnipotent and beneficent. I hold belief in the primary absurdity of suffering and the omnipotence and beneficence of God in the necessary tension of holding two mutually-exclusive, paradoxical positions. I think such is a necessary condition of religious or spiritual belief, as well.
As far as an answer goes, the best I can manage is to relate a Sufi story:
Once, a dervish was walking along the streets of a town toward the tekke of his shaykh. As he moved down the street, past vendors and princes, his attention was drawn not to the clink of gold coins or the laughing shouts of the merchants, but instead to the silent faces of the hungry orphans, the mumbled pleas for alms from the beggars. As he moved along, he grew sadder and angrier as he watched the rich townsfolk totally ignoring the suffering around them. Finally, at the end of the street he saw a beggar-woman crying over a dead child, and he began to cry and cry and cry, full of fury at the situation. How could God allow this, he thought. How could He let there be so much pain in the world? Bitter, he went into the tekke and sat with his shaykh.
"Shaykhiyy, habibiyy, I passed a beggar woman crying over her dead child on the way to see you. It broke my heart, and I am angry! How could almighty Allah allow this? Why doesn't He do something about it?"
"Oh my dervish... don't you see? He did. He made you cry. Why didn't you do something about it?"
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