My existential angst falls into several categories: death, the meaning of life, the problem of evil, and a general attempt to balance the paradox of joy and despair. Today, my mind is dwelling on the problem of evil, with, as usual, no solution. Life’s extreme unfairness exacerbates the problem of evil. It’s not just that one child gets an extra ice cream cone or another family has one more car. It’s the stark contrast between economic powerhouses and the hard-core poverty of third-world countries, Norway vs. Haiti, Canada vs. Africa, or Jeff Bezos compared to an unknown woman dying of aids in Africa. When I think of the misery going on in Haiti or Ukraine right now, I have to put it out of my mind. Same with the children’s cancer hospital not too far from my house. We all must “bear the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune” or the unfairness of dumb luck. In the musical Les Misérables, Madame Thénardier, speaking about her husband, sings, “What cruel trick of nature landed me with such a louse.” Every time I hear that line, I ask myself similar questions, such as “What cruel trick of nature chooses an individual to be born the 5th child of a prostitute in India?
I am haunted by the 60 Minutes report on the Syrian government using sarin gas on its own population. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TjLIkFKWHq8 (Warning: this video is extremely graphic. Start at 4:40). A father holding his dead child says, “You know what she said to me last night? I gave her something to eat, and she said, Dad, it’s not my turn to eat; it’s my sister’s. What should we do, good people? What are we to do? Look at that face, look at that face.” I’m filled with outrage at the sight of his dead, lifeless children, heads limp, mouths and eyes slightly open—the horror. The father’s voice haunts me, but what am I to do? I can change small things around me, but I have no solution for bigger problems. What can I do about a child about to die from an earthquake in Turkey or parents about to get the news their 4-year-old has incurable cancer?
In Shakespeare’s Macbeth, when Macduff finds out Macbeth murdered his wife and children, he says: “Did heaven look on and would not take their part?” He’s shocked that this crime was allowed to happen in the first place. An atrocity has been committed, and heaven permitted what could and should have been prevented. Imagine an adult standing by and allowing the murder of a child to take place when they could have done something. Shouldn’t we demand the same responsibility from the Almighty? But even if you don’t believe in heaven, the outrage remains. You chalk it up as a cruel trick of nature. But it’s not a trick since nature doesn’t plan or respect people. Nature doesn’t listen to or care about my outrage. Macbeth, the killer himself, voices the frustration we all feel:
Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.
Day after day, year after year, countless souls vent their outrage and frustration. And when they are dead and gone, what’s left? They screamed at the sky, protested to empty space, and argued with nothing. Macbeth, cast as the evil murderer in this passion play, laments that, like Macduff and his family, he is forced into his role and trapped by circumstance and fate.