Sitting as I was on the deck of a local restaurant, the blue water burbling by my right shoulder as it carried the twinkling reflection of the street-lights downstream, my chair situated beneath a glorious curtain of green leaves and brown branches, potted red roses scattered to my left and right, the nearby Summer festival’s music ringing faintly in my ears, the taste of red wine on my pallet, the warmth of many feasting human souls surrounding me at every table, and the mighty sun setting in the distance, I began to wonder anew how it can be that some people deny the fundamental goodness of creation and the existence of her God.
Sitting where I sat, a long bridge was in view, peeking out from behind the lower hanging leaves. On that bridge, through forest made window-frames, I saw the sons and daughters of civilization walking back and forth, left and right, with their happy dogs in tow; a stream of cars flying by as a backdrop further away behind them all. Seeing these people on this raised platform brought to mind a Shakespeare production I had watched earlier in the year, the opening scene of which featured men and women standing on a rampart much like this bridge. These people walking, hugging, and laughing perpendicular to my seat in their elevated position appeared much as a stage filled with actors would. I recalled then a famous saying of that aforementioned playwright of playwrights, and saw with fresh eyes how right he was to say “All the world’s a stage.” As I watched this spontaneous dance of mankind, this smash hit play that has run everyday of every year since Eden, I wondered again how it can be that there are those who deny the brotherhood of man and the equality of souls.
Of course the reply to that question came to mind eventually, a delayed interruption of my romanticism and agape motivated by my inner skeptic and lifelong attempt at intellectual honestly. I recalled that the two channels by which men deny all of this manifold goodness are 1. Evil committed by men in the world and 2. Evil committed by nature against mankind. Those two objections, in theological terms they are known as the problem of evil and the sub-problem of natural evil, are the two coat pegs upon which the largest objections against God hang.
I am nothing but an amateur essayist from Northern New York, far be it from me to assume that by my words I can alleviate entirely the depths of sadness that come naturally as the tide in every human heart when evil assails it. But nevertheless, I will here attempt to share my thoughts on these two objections against the beauty of creation. I will share the thoughts that consoled me on the restaurant dock in the hope that they might console others wherever and whenever they may be reading this.
Taking the two objections in turn I will first, as a preliminary, mournfully concede that it is much easier for me to see the goodness of the world from my comfy river-side meal than it is for a child whose home has just been blown to bits in Palestine. But what fault is this gut wrenchingly tragic fact against nature or nature’s God? It is no fault of theirs, it is mankind itself who has stepped into and despoiled the beautiful frame of creation. It is he who has with his cruelty blocked out the beauty of the trees and forsaken the greatest pleasure in life: love for every soul and for the maker of souls Himself. It is wickedness that gives rise to evil of man against man. Wickedness is the selling of one’s birthright, the brotherhood of man, for an even lesser price than poor Esau sold his share in Abraham’s livestock. For after all Jacob, we may assume, was at least a decent chef and the soup by which he defrauded his hairy brother might at the very least have provided some temporary nourishment to the body. But what is the prize for which evil men trade their birthright when they wage war against the innocent, when they raze and plunder? Marshall Glory? Earthly gain? These are foolishness. As the Apostle James put it, despite all our quarreling we desire and do not have.
So then, as I sat on my deck, far from allowing man’s historic wickedness to obscure the beauty which I saw laid before me, I urgently resolved myself again to the great quest of all people of faith: to fight and pray unceasingly that creation and mankind’s intended beauty might one day fully eclipse mankind’s errant ugliness.
What then of the second challenge, nature’s evil against mankind? What of cancer and hurricanes, drownings and fires? These are in a way more painful, because while we understand that not all people are good, we receive so many blessings from nature’s hand that to receive these thorns feels like an acute betrayal. That is because it is a betrayal. To believe the Christian story is to believe that, as a consequence of our ancient pact with wickedness, nature itself has in some way been turned on us by God in judgement. But as man is the crowning glory of creation, nature’s enmity with man is ultimately enmity with itself, a destruction of itself. This fact is dreadful. The book of Romans tells us that creation groans under the strict sentence of death for both itself and mankind, eagerly awaiting the promised day when God will fully heal this ancient wound and reveal the sons of God being fashioned by it.
Perhaps this last paragraph nauseated or confused you. Let me say something to clarify: this doctrine of nature’s fall into enmity with man, the doctrine that nature as we see it is not nature as it was originally intended to be, ought to be felt as beautiful and hopeful. Under this view, Vegans and Pacifists are correct after all! (Even though they at the same time are slightly wrong.) Read Genesis 1. God did indeed give man and animals green plants to eat and a world devoid of war.
Pacifists and Vegans are comical because, under the current culture’s nihilistic worldview, predation and warfare are natural and almost holy elements of life’s alleged brutalistic evolution. To object to them makes about as much sense as objecting to rainwater. But in a Christian worldview, modern-day activists like Vegans and Pacifists are just lovable, overeager children attempting to open their Christmas presents before the allotted time. For in Heaven Lions will indeed lay down with Lambs and all Swords will indeed be beaten into plowshares. In the meantime however, as we must defend children and nourish ourselves in this fallen world, Peter is told to rise, kill, and eat and Paul affirms that the State bears not the sword in vain.
Just then, as I thought through some of these thoughts on the deck, a mosquito bit me and several flies flew by. I slapped away these intruders and looked for my check simultaneously, which much have been a comical sight to any onlookers. The Sun had fully gone down now and these little buzzing annoyances had emerged as if on cue.
As I grumbled and fought back against the hordes, myself a little King Kong surrounded by many little biplanes, my mind turned from the weighty questions of Theodicy proper to the much more silly and lighthearted question that had always plagued me from childhood: why does God allow bugs to exist?
As I saw other patrons of the restaurant finish their wine and bustle inside to retreat from the bugs, as I urgently awaited my leave to follow them, a whimsical fancy stuck my mind, a poetic lightbulb ignited within me. Perhaps these creatures are sent night after night to shoo mankind away from the darkness, that place of temptation and intrigue, back into the safe warmth of bed to await a new day. Perhaps at the hands of the horseflies there is a sifting of mankind’s intentions, for those who stay outside in defiance of the bugs must have a great reason to do so.
This last sentiment about the bugs is a childish fancy. Perhaps it is the red wine talking, perhaps it should not be included here. But as it made me laugh, and I would like to end this reflection on a positive note, I will include it.
At last I paid my bill and rose, saw an acquaintance in the bar and spoke to them, saw another acquaintance in the street and laughed with them, and then walked slowly around Potsdam at night. I saw still more people singing at a nearby Karaoke bar, a man was bellowing out Weird Al Yankovic’s “Amish Paradise” with much gusto.
Time would fail me to tell of the wonderful old lady I watched take a photograph of the river, whose deliberate positioning of the phone camera and visible excitement as she sent the just-so-perfect photo to her friends was at once amusing and awe inspiring. I had just sent a photo of the river myself to a relative of my own and could see myself in the cheerful actions of the old woman. Time would also fail me to mention the many romantic couples I saw sitting in the restaurant together and walking arm in arm outside as the festival carried on and a rock band played live music.
I saw cycling police officers. I spoke with my favorite Hawaiian grill master and was formally introduced to his infant son, a baby of few words but I perceived wisdom beyond his months. The grill master’s toddler aged son, with whom I was previously acquainted, showed me a new toy gun of his. I saw dogs wag and children play. I smelled hotdogs and beer. And lastly, I wrote this essay.
Perhaps this wide wandering article will lead readers to conclude that the author ought be confined to a mental institution. To that I say, you’ll have to catch me first! On the other hand, perhaps likeminded female romantics in the audience will conclude that the author is a suitable candidate for that more humane and jolly form of imprisonment so essential to the furtherment of civilization: matrimony. Only time will tell. But either way dear reader, if you would demand that I put on a white straitjacket or would yourself volunteer to wear a bridal dress, whether you view my outlook on life as tragically mad or comedically lovely, I remain ever at your service and sincerely wish you all the best.
When all is said and done, that is that.
A Summer night in Potsdam.