THE BOOK OF JOB AND THE PROBLEM OF EVIL

          Your 3^rd study question for the final exam asks for your reaction to the generalization that, while the people of Ancient Israel didn’t contribute much to human knowledge, the contributed much to human wisdom, in particular making important contributions to philosophical problems like the problem of evil.  This combines what used to be study questions three and four.  You can, if you like, talk about wisdom literature, books like Ecclesiastes and Proverbs.  But I’d especially like to see your comments on how the Biblical writers treated the problem of evil.  I’ll focus on how three different books treat this theme:  Job, Habakkuk, and Daniel.

          The problem of evil is one of most difficult and troubling of all theological and philosophical issues.  Why is their evil and suffering in the world?  Why do good people suffer?  Why do innocent people suffer?

          Polytheistic peoples can explain the phenomenon easily enough. Different gods want different things.  The gods are in conflict, and our own sufferings reflect the struggles of the gods.  But while this explains the phenomenon, it doesn’t make suffering any easier to bear!  The problem is so troubling that Siddhartha Gautama, the Buddha, left his privileged lifestyle to seek an answer to the problem—and all of Buddhism is essentially an answer to the problem of evil.  Now note that this is one of the world’s great religions—and all it really has to offer as a remedy for evil and suffering is acceptance: there’s no promise of a blissful afterlife or anything else other than escape from the cycle of birth, death, and rebirth.

          For monotheistic peoples, the problem of evil and suffering is even more disturbing.  How could a good, loving, all-powerful God allow suffering and pain? Why in particular does he allow good people to suffer?

          The book of Genesis gives a partial answer to the problem of suffering.  People suffer because they do something wrong.  That’s in some ways the great lesson of much of the Law and the Prophets. Make the right choices, and things go well.  Do the wrong thing, and you’re headed to catastrophe.

          Now that’s a pretty good answer, and often true.  A guy downs a bunch of beers, gets into his care, takes off at 100 mph and ends up in a wreck that leaves him injured for life. 

          We would like it to be this way all the time.  When we read crime victim stories, for instance, we adopt the “blame the victim” mentality.  The victim went to a part of town they shouldn’t have been in.  The victim made some other mistake.  We just don’t want to believe that evil can hit us unexpectedly and for no apparent reason.

          But this isn’t the way things work.  The drunken driver who gets into a wreck may walk away without a scratch, while killing a dozen kids in a bus bound for church camp.

          Why?  How do explain this?  Especially if you believe in a good, all-powerful, loving god, how could He allow such things?  Here’s the way the philosopher Epicurus stated the problem:

Is God willing to prevent evil, but not able? Then he is not omnipotent. Is he able, but not willing? Then he is malevolent. Is he both able and willing? Then whence cometh evil? Is he neither able nor willing? Then why call him God?”

The Book of Job addresses this problem head on.

          In understanding Job, it’s important to realize that there’s a change here in point-of-view from the other books we’ve looked at so far.  The first five books of the Tanakh are the Torah, the Law.  The next books (in Jewish reckoning) are the Neviim, prophets.  Now we’re looking at a book that’s part of the Kituvim, the writings.

          In general, Jews associated the three parts of the Tanakh with three kinds of teachers mentioned in Jeremiah, “The law shall not perish from the priest, nor counsel from the wise, nor the word from the prophet.”  The law they associated with the priests, the prophetic word (“thus sayeth the Lord”), with the prophets and the writings with the “hakam” (wise) or “zakan” (old).

          The Rabbis felt (I think rightly), that, while all the scripture was inspired, the perspective is different.  The prophetic books are from God’s point of view looking down, the wisdom books from man’s point of view looking around and (eventually!) up.

          The Book of Job makes it clear from the beginning that Job is as good a man as there could be.  He’s called “perfect and upright.”  There are all sorts of things impressive about him.  For one, he’s not content that his children should be only externally faithful to God.  He’s concerned about what’s in their hearts as well.

          Later, in Job 31, we see an even fuller picture of just how good a man he is.  Note how he begins, “I made a covenant with mine eyes; why then should I think upon a maid?”  Just as he is concerned with his children’s inner life, he’s careful about his own.  Here’s a guy who *doesn’t* look at women to lust after them.  He treats his employees well, he’s generous to the poor, and he doesn’t take what he hasn’t earned.

          But bad things happen to him—really bad.  We see in the opening chapters the fall of a great man, very similar in some ways to the fall of the great men of Greek tragedy. And there are throughout the book *many* similarities to Greek tragedy.  In 1958, Archibald MacLeish turned the story into a play (J.B.), a play that reflects will the similarities of the Job story with classic Greek tragedy.  And, as often with Greek tragedy, we start with a prologue, a prologue that sets the scene and the tone of what follows.  But the prologue raises for us some questions:

·        Who is this Satan?  Where does he come from?  What does he look like?

·         Why does God listen to Satan?  Does this disturb you?

·         Who wrote this book?  How would he know of the heavenly conversation?

·         How does the prologue change the way one reads the book?

Note that, before we even have a chance to assume that Job is suffering because of something he has done wrong, the prologue assures us that this is *not* the case.  God boasts of Job to Satan, and (for some reason) God allows Job to be tested.  We are not *ever* allowed to blame the victim here—though, of course, the other characters in the book do.  The prologue makes it very clear that, even with all the bad things happening to him, Job doesn’t sin or blame God. 

          But Job’s life is about as miserable as it can get.  Even his wife deserts him: curse God and die, she says.

          Still, Job has friends who appear to counsel and comfort him.  At first, they do just the right thing.  They sit with Job in silence, and (as far as adding to human wisdom) I think there’s something important here.  Words are often of no use—and they may make things worse.

          Eliphaz is the first to speak up.  Hey, Job.  The problem is that you’ve done something wrong, and that’s why you’re suffering.  Just turn to God, Job.  Repent. He’ll correct you. 

          Job says, well that’s good advice—but not in this instance.  I haven’t done anything to repent of, and I especially haven’t done anything that merits this current suffering. 

          Bildad the Shuhite speaks up.  God is just, Job: you *must* have done something wrong.  “God will not case away a perfect man, neither will he help evil-doers.” 

          Yes, says Job, one might think so—but I haven’t the slightest idea what I might have done.  What kind of father would beat a son unmercifully without at least telling him what the beating was for?

          Zophar the Naamathites steps in, insisting that Job *must* have sinned, and repeating the message of repentance. If iniquity is in thine hand, put it away and all sorts of good things will follow.

          Job says, right.  No doubt you are the people and wisdom shall dies with you.  There’s something of mockery here.  Who doesn’t know all this, says Job.  Sometimes it’s the case—good remedy, but not for this situation.

          Now there is a very important lesson here.  Job’s “comforters” simply can’t let go—but they aren’t much comfort since they are trying to take away from Job the one thing he has left: his assurance in his own integrity.  For the person who has lost everything, telling them that they are not right with God either is about as cruel as it can be.  And, unfortunately, are *need* to blame the victim can easily lead us into exactly this type of cruelty—and important lesson!

          Eliphaz now insists that that Job certainly has sinned.  “No-one is upright before God,” he say.  Good Calvinist teaching there, I suppose, but not a good doctrine for comforting the suffering.

          You’re a miserable comforter, says Job, and I suppose the “comforters” may realize this.  But what they’re saying is perhaps what we might say in similar circumstances.  What they say about God sounds right.

          But then Job gives a complete inventory of his life in Chapter 29-31. Here’s part of what he says:

I delivered the poor that cried, and the fatherless, and him that had none to help him. The blessing of him that was ready to perish came upon me: and I caused the widow's heart to sing for joy. I put on righteousness, and it clothed me: my judgment was as a robe and a diadem. I was eyes to the blind, and feet was I to the lame. I was a father to the poor: and the cause which I knew not I searched out. And I brake the jaws of the wicked, and plucked the spoil out of his teeth.

Well, there’s no answer to this, and Job’s three friends finally shut up.  But then, out of nowhere, there’s a new speaker, Elihu.  He’s a younger man, and had held his peace, but now he’s angry that Job’s comforters hadn’t put Job in his place.

Elihu’s point: God cannot be asked to give account of his actions to men. God is not wicked or unjust, but he’s beyond our understanding.

And then God himself appears with one of my favorite lines in the whole Bible, “Who is this that darkeneth counsel by words without wisdom?”

God then, in a way, elaborates on Elihu’s point.  Where were you, Job, when everything was created?  There’s a long, beautiful passage about the wonders of the universe, and the suggestion that individual human beings are only part of something far vaster than themselves.

And now Job has been brought about as low as a man can possibly be. He has been rebuked by God himself, and so he has not choice: Job repents.

          But then: what Tolkien called a eucastrophe: the complete, unexpected, but totally appropriate turn around for the better.  God turns on Job’s comforters and tells them that they’ve been wrong.  You haven’t spoken about me the thing that’s right as Job has—and you should ask him to intercede for you!

          And, in the end, Job is blessed—even more blessed than he had been before.

          And here’s a partial (but only partial) answer to the problem of evil.  But it’s important to realize that the author is not giving us a theological or philosophical explanation of evil.  This is a more practical book: how do we deal with evil here? 

The author drives home the message again and again: the sufferings a person goes through are not always their own fault.  This is an extremely important idea, both for those who are suffering and for those who are trying to help/comfort those that are suffering. 

Also, note how important this idea is in terms of Christian theology.  Christ goes to the cross: what does that show?  That he deserves it?  “If he were not a malefactor, we would not have brought him to you.”  “If he were not a malefactor, he wouldn’t have been forsaken by God.” One might think so except for books like Job.  Ultimately, I think, Job is a very important foreshadowing of the Gospel.  Put Christ in place of Job in the early chapters and you’ll see what I mean.

          But Job is a solution to the problem of evil in another sense.  Simply reading this book is a comfort.  Why?

          Lot’s of reasons: but particularly the end: the eucatastrophe, the unexpected but completely appropriate turn around at the end of the book.  Job’s words about God are right, including, in particular, what he says about God: though worms destroy this body, yet I know that in my flesh I shall see God.

          But also important is Chapter 31.  A man ought to live in this way: but it doesn’t seem to profit!  I live my life as much as I can by God’s rules, and (so it seems) the wicked are better off.  The righteous should be treated as Job had been in Chapter 29.

Job is a great comfort here. 

          And, I think, also a comfort in that the Lord does seem to accept Job’s laments as part of “the thing that is right.”  You can express your sadness, misery, regrets, and even your complaints to God—and all without sin.