I will begin a series of postings that deal with what is sometimes called theodicy. There does not appear to be a God who intervenes in the world to place any restraint upon evil, or to provide any encouragement to good. Theodicy is the branch of theology that tries to make excuses for this, and attempts to explain how an all-powerful God could allow the world to be so randomly cruel.
Of course, there are many beautiful things in the world and that have happened to each of us, and I spend a lot of time thinking about the beauty of nature and the intense satisfaction that I feel in my life and work. Please do not get the impression that I am a negative person, however cynical my theological speculations may at times be. In fact, I marvel at how lucky I have been, and reflect that I am not a better person than many people who suffer so horribly. How did I get so lucky as to be born in the United States—a nation that, imperfect as it is, at least has rights that are usually respected?
A friend and I recently watched a movie called Osama. It was set in Afghanistan under Taliban rule. The movie was all in Pashtun, with English subtitles. It showed the incredible oppression and cruelty of the Taliban, as well as their glaring hypocrisies. It was about a family: a grandmother, a mother, and a girl. They needed an income, and the women were not allowed to earn one. So they decided to disguise the girl as a boy, named Osama, and he got a job. But the Taliban made all the boys go to a military camp, and while s/he was there, she had her first period and was discovered. Just before being stoned, she was spared, but sent to a fate worse than death. If you wish, I will tell you what it is later. Let me know. The response my friend and I had was, in what way do we deserve to escape such suffering?
Of course, there is no answer, because everything that happens is just luck. And I am not the only one who says so.
Consider the series of poems that composer Carl Orff used for his orchestral-choral masterpiece Carmina Burana. It is a primitive and rough piece of music that is almost frightening in its beauty. The poems were collected from medieval minstrels—some in Latin, some in German, some in a dialect that was French halfway evolved from Latin. They celebrate earthly things. Medieval times were supposed to be the age of faith when everybody thought God ruled over a small flat world. But these poems are often openly agnostic and reject the concept of Providence. The first poem in the series is Fortuna Imperatrix Mundi—Luck, Empress of the World.
O Fortuna
Velut Luna
Statu variabilis
Semper crescis
Aut decrescis
Vita detestabilis
Nunc obdurat
Et tunc durat
Ludo mentis aciem
Egestatem
Potestatem
Dissolvit ut glaciem.
Just read that—aloud—and hear the rhythm and rhymes. Powerful! It translates: “O luck, like the moon, changeable in state, you are always waxing or waning. Hateful life is at one moment hard and the next moment watches over the mind’s playfulness. Poverty, power, it melts like ice.” What forgotten minstrel composed these verses, saying that life was both hateful and playful?
The other source of ideas for this series of entries is nothing other than the Book of Ecclesiastes in the Old Testament. It is breathtaking in its honesty about the randomness of fate. How did it ever make it into the Bible? I will explore the insights from both the medieval poetry and the Book of Ecclesiastes in upcoming days. Join me!
Of course, there are many beautiful things in the world and that have happened to each of us, and I spend a lot of time thinking about the beauty of nature and the intense satisfaction that I feel in my life and work. Please do not get the impression that I am a negative person, however cynical my theological speculations may at times be. In fact, I marvel at how lucky I have been, and reflect that I am not a better person than many people who suffer so horribly. How did I get so lucky as to be born in the United States—a nation that, imperfect as it is, at least has rights that are usually respected?
A friend and I recently watched a movie called Osama. It was set in Afghanistan under Taliban rule. The movie was all in Pashtun, with English subtitles. It showed the incredible oppression and cruelty of the Taliban, as well as their glaring hypocrisies. It was about a family: a grandmother, a mother, and a girl. They needed an income, and the women were not allowed to earn one. So they decided to disguise the girl as a boy, named Osama, and he got a job. But the Taliban made all the boys go to a military camp, and while s/he was there, she had her first period and was discovered. Just before being stoned, she was spared, but sent to a fate worse than death. If you wish, I will tell you what it is later. Let me know. The response my friend and I had was, in what way do we deserve to escape such suffering?
Of course, there is no answer, because everything that happens is just luck. And I am not the only one who says so.
Consider the series of poems that composer Carl Orff used for his orchestral-choral masterpiece Carmina Burana. It is a primitive and rough piece of music that is almost frightening in its beauty. The poems were collected from medieval minstrels—some in Latin, some in German, some in a dialect that was French halfway evolved from Latin. They celebrate earthly things. Medieval times were supposed to be the age of faith when everybody thought God ruled over a small flat world. But these poems are often openly agnostic and reject the concept of Providence. The first poem in the series is Fortuna Imperatrix Mundi—Luck, Empress of the World.
O Fortuna
Velut Luna
Statu variabilis
Semper crescis
Aut decrescis
Vita detestabilis
Nunc obdurat
Et tunc durat
Ludo mentis aciem
Egestatem
Potestatem
Dissolvit ut glaciem.
Just read that—aloud—and hear the rhythm and rhymes. Powerful! It translates: “O luck, like the moon, changeable in state, you are always waxing or waning. Hateful life is at one moment hard and the next moment watches over the mind’s playfulness. Poverty, power, it melts like ice.” What forgotten minstrel composed these verses, saying that life was both hateful and playful?
The other source of ideas for this series of entries is nothing other than the Book of Ecclesiastes in the Old Testament. It is breathtaking in its honesty about the randomness of fate. How did it ever make it into the Bible? I will explore the insights from both the medieval poetry and the Book of Ecclesiastes in upcoming days. Join me!
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