While visiting the Oregon coast last Spring, I chuckled at the “Tsunami Evacuation Route” signs. Now they don’t seem so amusing, and I hope that the local authorities are hard at work reorienting the ones that point in the wrong direction.
Also less amusing are the “Volcano Evacuation Route” markers near my sister’s home in Sumner, Washington. A lava flow from Mount Rainier would kill fewer people than the Indian Ocean tsunami, but the death and destruction would be mightily impressive.
Prudently I myself live in Chicago, Illinois, whose recorded history is free from tsunamis, serious earthquakes, hurricanes, volcanic eruptions and tornados. But we could be hit by an asteroid or irradiated by a nearby supernova. Or a new glaciation (the consensus climate prediction before Global Warming became fashionable) could bury us in ice.
And eventually and unstoppably, the Sun will expand to devour its children. That day is supposed to be a few billion years off, but we don’t know a fraction of everything about the mechanisms of stellar destruction. Astronomers will be only mildly surprised if the nova commences tomorrow.
The universe is a dangerous place for organisms, before one even takes into account their tendency to kill either other via disease, predation and war. If we tried to minimize all of the risks, we would have no time or resources left for anything else and would perish from famine. To take the Indian Ocean catastrophe as illustrative, a major investment in an early warning system would have saved tens of thousands of lives. On the other hand, the hundreds of millions of dollars thus deployed would not have been available to meet other needs, many of which would, until last week, have seemed more pressing. There had never been a major tsunami in the region; poverty and hunger are there every day. Would humanitarians ten years ago have liked the notion of forgoing relief of the immediately destitute in order to facilitate the construction of a “gold-plated” (as it would inevitably have been labeled) array of undersea sensors and ancillary devices? More likely they would have lamented potential damage to fish habitats and disruption of whale migration patterns!
Now that the improbable disaster has taken place, three reactions are inevitable: First, the local authorities (and the United States) will be denounced for having failed to anticipate it. Second, the developed world (and particularly the United States) will be denounced for doing “too little” to relieve it. Third, God (though probably not the United States) will be denounced for having allowed it to come to pass.
The idea that all ghastly contingencies can be foreseen and prevented is, I believe, new to our generation. Perhaps it is the natural presumption of those who, thanks to mankind’s unprecedented affluence, suffer less from misfortune than any of their ancestors. Applied to the governments of India, Indonesia and Sri Lanka, it is as ridiculous as when used to berate the Bush Administration. (Why didn’t the President stop 9/11? Why didn’t Don Rumsfeld know exactly what our enemies would do in Iraq after their military defeat?) Judging by my experience, people who think that way can’t be argued out of their position. They dismiss as “denial” the theory that the future is uncertain and contains more possibilities than can be embraced by any “plan”. Their faith in the godlike efficacy of planning coexists quite comfortably with their certainty that every actual planner is a self-interested bungler.
The same internally inconsistent sourness pervades commentary on relief efforts. We ought to be astonished by the willingness of Americans and other Westerners – rich relative to the rest of the world but rarely rolling in surplus wealth – to spend millions (or billions, as it will be in this instance) for the benefit of faraway people about whom they know little. Instead, bien pensants will tell them that they are “stingy”and will complain further when all suffering is not instantly alleviated. We will read in the New York Times about inefficiency and unfairness in the distribution of aid, about villages overlooked, about poor accounting controls, transport foul-ups and excessive overhead. The good news will be spiked, not because it is boring but because those who purvey our news don’t like to attribute good deeds to a society with which they are fundamentally out of sympathy.
I note, too, that people who demand infinite, monetarily instantiated compassion for people hit by “acts of God” mostly take a hands-off, no interference approach to similarly catastrophic acts of man. They want a maximum effort on behalf of Aceh and the Andaman Islands but to this day regret that the United States did anything for the millions oppressed by the Ba’athist regime in Iraq, and they would be outraged should we one day overthrow the hideous Robert Mugabe. Ousting a tyrant requires different measures from cleaning up after a storm, but does that difference make one set of victims less sympathetic than the other? Does compassion end when its exercise is unpleasant for anti-American despots?
Finally, the coming weeks will doubtless witness an outbreak of amateur theodicy along the lines of, If God exists and loves man, how could He permit these hundreds of thousands of men to die in this horrible fashion?
Answering that question is not intellectually difficult. It is, in fact, one of the great solved problems of philosophy. The reason why the solution is ignored is that secularists don’t want to let go of what they see as their high trump card against belief in God, while theists find it emotionally unsatisfying.
C. S. Lewis gives the answer in long form in The Problem of Pain, but it can be summarized succinctly: If matter and energy obey regular laws, events will occur that abruptly alter the environment, and organisms may be unable to cope with the results. In the particular case of the Indian Ocean, two tectonic plates struck each other, forcing one to sink and one to rise. The process created a huge wave that then spread until it came violently ashore.
That God could have created a universe in which no clashes of this kind would occur is not imaginable. He could still the waters, but a continual procession of miracles would make natural law unreal. The choice is between a cosmos in which law is the norm and miracle the exception or one in which constant divine action imposes pain-free harmony.
A little reflection reveals that life in the latter universe would be pointless. We would be denizens of an eternal nursery, with no reason to think or act. That fate would be worse than the risk of being struck down prematurely by flood, fire, pestilence or famine.
No one likes to say bluntly that pain is the price of meaningful life. It sounds like an abstract and unfeeling response to a gigantic human tragedy. The purpose of philosophical inquiry is not, however, to bestow comfort. It can only inform us that the universe has hard edges and would not be improved by being constructed of sponge rubber. For consolation after being cut and bruised, we must look elsewhere.