Zurtlespace

Why do bad things happen to good people? It is a good question—one that has preoccupied humanity at large from as far back as history can recall, if not further—but the asking of it implies another question. One that is, perhaps, even larger; why live a moral life at all? We live lives of moral rectitude for varying reasons; most popularly because we believe we will be rewarded for a life well lived. But the reality that suffering occurs indiscriminately to the good and the bad alike makes us question the validity of this argument, of these rules by which we live. Like Anton Chigurh asks of his victims in No Country for Old Men; “If the rule you followed brought you to this, of what use was the rule?” If the good suffer along with the evil, then of what use is it to be good? Why should one do it? What is the reason? In the book of Job, the eponymous character is described as a righteous, good, moral and humble man. Affluent and happy with a loving family and neighborly friends and friendly neighbors, he seems to be a living Thomas Kinkaid painting. In a Faustian scene, The Satan argues that Job would not be so pious and righteous if he were made to suffer. God takes the bet and thus the well-known story is set into motion, the events culminating in Job’s demand for an explanation to his suffering, and God’s equally infamous reply.

What is remarkable about this story is not what is said but rather what is implied. The story is ostensibly a framing device for the question previously asked—”Why do the good suffer alongside the wicked?” Job’s friends offer multiple explanations for his suffering but he rejects them all, declaring them to be illogical, nonsensical or patently ill-conceived. All of the theories they posit remain popular to this day and it is remarkable that they are still given credence; however, these answers serve a vital dialectical purpose; without them to compare with, God’s response would be intolerably unsettling, upsetting and nihilistic; indeed, any rational person would have thrown in the ethical towel right then and there. God’s answer is hardly an answer, amounting to “Insect! Who are you to question me?!” It was just one lightning bolt short of an evangelist revival. This response seems to highlight God’s pettiness, particularly in light of his gamble with the one popularly known as Satan—Goethe clearly read this story very closely—and his portrayal borders on heretical to mainstream religious thought, particularly among many Christian sects. All of this leads inexorably leads us back to the question at the beginning.

But what if this is not the case?

What if the question itself is simply another framing device for an even simpler, deeper and more elementally vital and practical question? Wondering—at the cosmic level—why bad things happen to good people is a cute exercise in mental gymnastics but is, practically speaking, fundamentally useless. Wondering about it does nothing to help anybody in their day to day lives. The question of suffering is a symptomatic one; solutions, not origins, are what we must seek. That quest engenders useable and viable discoveries that improve our everyday lives; medicine, technology, etc.

So what is the unstated question we infer from Job’s demand for an explanation for his—and our—suffering? The question we have to ask in the face of it is “why lead a moral life at all?” If a moral existence does not protect you from the evils of the world, then why live a moral life? Certainly there are practical reasons; the more of a jerk you are to other people, the greater the likelihood that you will be punished by others, your neighbors and society. But that is not morality. Fear of reprisal is not moral action. If you can get away with doing whatever you want—lying cheating, raping and stealing—then why wouldn’t you? Why shouldn’t you? The very desire for the acquisition of power stems in part from this belief; the more power, wealth and prestige we have, the more capable we are to do as we please. The answer found in the book of Job is astonishing in its circular simplicity.

The initial explanations for Job’s suffering, as detailed by his friends, consist of every over-pious, self-righteous platitude that you’ve ever heard: You don’t pray enough. You are being punished for sinning. God has a plan. Evil is necessary for good to exist. Ad nauseam. Job, both the reader surrogate and author avatar, is not convinced by any of the answers given to him and indeed these responses, explanations and accusations only serve to make him more miserable and frustrated, adding to his already considerable torment. And why shouldn’t they? All of these timeless answers are equally useless and upsetting. Job understands this; his righteous and pious life did nothing to prevent his misfortune. “The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away”, and he did both to Job in equal measure. Although he cannot possibly be aware of the celestial gamble over his life he nevertheless has every right to be upset with his creator. And toward the end of the story he indeed demands an answer of the source of his misery.

God’s answer—or non-answer as it happens—seems to be stereotypically Jewish at first; answer a question with another question; an entire series of completely rhetorical questions that effectively bully Job into shutting up and getting back in line.

Clearly God has had rabbinic training.

If this answer had come out of nowhere then it might seem a bit anti-climactic. But this stunning response occurs after every other possible explanation is given. After every other likely answer—every seemingly rational response and commonly held belief—is dismissed, God must still account for his actions. And the rhetorical questions are his manner of stating this; that there is no reason; that a moral existence–however you define it—is an irreducible primary; an axiomatic assumption; an end in itself. To put it more baldly; the reason one should live a moral life is that it is good to live a moral life. Moral action—however you define it—is its own justification. Anything else, is just vanity.

Whether or not this interpretation is correct, or even strongly argued, is of little consequence. This is a great and multi-leveled work of literature that deals with the deepest issues of life in a mature and subtle way. I can’t help but wonder if more people would take the bible seriously—as a piece of literature at least—if they were exposed to the parts of it that actually make you think.