Journey Back to God: Origen on the Problem of Evil

126 Pages·2015·1.09 MB·English

by  Mark S.M. Scott

Introduction

They came at night, torches ablaze. Emperor Septimius Severus (193–211) sought to
suppress Christianity with lethal force, and Leonides, an Alexandrian Christian and father
of seven boys, found himself in the crosshairs.1When Origen, his eldest son, learned of his
imprisonment and imminent execution, he immediately resolved to join him in
martyrdom.2 Impervious to the desperate pleas of his mother and burning with a zeal for
martyrdom, he would have rushed to his death if not for her clever intervention. According
to Eusebius, the ancient biographer of Origen, his mother hid his clothes, knowing that her
modest son would never present himself for martyrdom in his undergarments.3 Finding
himself outmaneuvered by his mother, Origen wrote an earnest letter to his father in which
he, a young man of 17, exhorted him not to falter out of a sense of familial responsibility
but to hold unwaveringly to his confession of Christ: “Take care not to change your mind
on our account.”4 Leonides took the words of his precocious son to heart. He was beheaded
in 202 C.E. At the end of his life, Origen would meet a similar fate, refusing to recant under
torture and ultimately dying as a confessor of the faith. Origen's adult life was punctuated
by profound experiences of persecution.
Hence, on the threshold of maturity, Origen found himself in dire straits. After the
execution of his father, the family's property was confiscated by the imperial treasury.
Bereavement was thus compounded by impoverishment. As the eldest son, the
responsibility to provide for the family fell on his shoulders. Eventually, with the help of a
patron, he would complete his education and supply their needs by becoming a teacher.
But these personal experiences of persecution, loss, and hardship during his formative
years would leave an indelible impression on him. For the rest of his days, he would live in
the shadow of his father's martyrdom. It would set him on an intellectual and spiritual
journey to make sense of and ultimately overcome the evil and suffering of the world.
(p.2) Origen delineated the first systematic Christian theodicy.5 This study analyzes his
creative and controversial approach to the problem of evil and reevaluates the salient
themes of his theodicy.6 While the modern term theodicy has valences foreign to Origen's
intellectual milieu, it nevertheless aptly signifies an intellectual enterprise that extends
back to antiquity.7 As the first chapter argues, theodicy, at bottom, merely denotes the
attempt to ascribe meaning to suffering, particularly through religious, often theological,
symbolism. So reference to Origen's theodicy does not insinuate an anachronistic
importation of a contemporary category into an ancient context, but rather simply signifies
his theological and cosmological strategies for explaining the reality of evil.
Similarly, formulations of the problem of evil vary, depending on the historical,
philosophical, and theological context. Origen construes the problem of evil as the problem
of failed providence: on the surface, it seems that God does not govern creation equitably.
Appearances, however, are often deceiving in Origen's theological landscape. As he
searches for meanings “worthy of God” beneath the problematic surface narratives of the
Bible, so he searches for meanings worthy of God beneath the inequities of the world.8 In
an effort to preserve cosmic coherence, he unveils a striking vision of creation and
restoration that explains evil and orients the soul in its journey back to God. His theodicy,
then, functions both as a defense of providence and as a map for the questing soul in its
journey from sin and suffering to purification and, ultimately, eternal beatitude.
My analysis of Origen's theodicy unites two strands of thought often kept distinct in Origen
scholarship: the speculative theology of his philosophical treatises and the pastoral
theology of his homilies and commentaries.9 Whereas for Leibniz theodicy entails the
syllogistic resolution of a logical problem, for Origen it encompasses both the rational and
spiritual dimensions of the problem.10 Origen does not dissociate the logical problem of
evil from the moral problem of evil: in his view, they are inextricably interconnected. He
situates the theological and philosophical themes of his theodicy within his overarching
narrative of the fall and return of the soul.11 By uniting the speculative and exegetical facets
of his thought, I will accentuate the soteriological undercurrent of his “cosmic
theodicy.”12 Furthermore, I will trace the interlacing theological threads that underwrite
his theodicy. Origen's disquisitions on the origins of evil and its eventual destruction when
God's goodness permeates all creation hinge on a series of interlocking theological
metaphors that carefully calibrate with his cosmology. He characterizes God as a Father,
Teacher, and Physician who providentially designs the universe to arrest the fall of
the (p.3) soul and facilitate its ascent toward God. Even the apparent evils of the world,
then, serve unforeseen providential ends, in his view.
My study repositions Origen in contemporary debates about the nature of his thought and,
ultimately, his identity. At the beginning of the twentieth century, Origen scholarship,
influenced by Harnack's “hellenization of Christianity” thesis, emphasized Origen's
indebtedness to Platonism and thus portrayed him primarily as a Platonic philosopher. By
mid-century, with the rise of la nouvelle théologie, a new view emerged. Jean Daniélou,
Henri de Lubac, Hans Urs von Balthasar, and others began to emphasize the Christian
tenor of his theology and thus portrayed him more as churchman than a Platonist.13 At
present, the debate continues between these two alternatives: Origen the Platonist or
Origen the Churchman.14 These shifts in emphasis implicitly or explicitly posit varying
degrees of tension or incompatibility between Platonism and Christianity. Since these
cannot coexist, according to the logic of the disjunction, we must choose between Origen
the philosopher, the proponent of heresy, or Origen the Christian, the paragon of
orthodoxy. I expose this false dichotomy as spurious, simplistic, and unproductive. First,
Origen perceives no antagonism between Christianity and Platonism, so long as they are
rightly related. Philosophy, he avers, serves theology, not vice versa. Second, Origen has a
complicated relationship to both Platonism and the church, so either pole of the dichotomy
fails to capture the nuance of his thought and identity. When addressing the philosophical
dimension of his reflections on evil, then, I caution against replicating this facile
disjunction. I problematize his relationship to both Platonism and Christianity, striking a
balance between these deeply entrenched alternatives in Origen scholarship. Origen, I will
argue, utilizes philosophy to illuminate theology and sees them as complementary, even as
others detect hidden dangers in his synthesis that might have escaped his notice or struck
him as unproblematic.15
Suspicions about Origen's orthodoxy continue to taint his legacy. We must, however,
carefully parse the heavily freighted term orthodoxy as it relates to Origen. It has, in
Origen scholarship, at least four distinct senses. First, it can denote the local debates on the
rule of faith in his historical-theological context. In the third century, the church was still
in the process of defining unresolved points of doctrine, as we see in Origen's dialogue with
Heraclides.16 Questions of church doctrine were discussed in smaller, local councils, rather
than in the larger ecumenical councils of the subsequent centuries. Before the institutional
ossification of orthodoxy in the fourth century, there was more room for theological
maneuverability and creativity. Thus, Origen could adjudicate a doctrinal dispute (p.4) in
one setting while his Bishop Demetrius could call his orthodoxy into question in another.
In the third century, then, orthodoxy still had a certain amount of pliability.
Second, it can denote the conciliar orthodoxy of the fourth century, when the Christian
faith became more a matter of written formulation than spiritual exegesis and practice, as
Rowan Williams rightly observes.17Origen views orthodoxy more as the internal
assimilation of doctrine than the external assent to propositions. For him, orthodoxy and
orthopraxy are inseparable. Third, we can view it from the perspective of the sixth-century
condemnation of Origen at the Fifth Ecumenical Council in 553, which is tied up with the
question of Origenism. Fourth, it can denote our current understanding of doctrinal truth.
While this study does not adjudicate the question of Origen's orthodoxy, it will not conflate
these disparate senses of orthodoxy. We must carefully distinguish between Origen's sense
of orthodoxy and that of later generations who judge him by the standard of Nicene
orthodoxy. Moreover, we must probe behind the Origenism that was condemned in the
sixth century to reconstruct the real Origen, who has been misunderstood by both his
enemies and allies. Many of these misapprehensions have been uncritically appropriated
and perpetuated by contemporary Origen scholarship.
Interestingly, Pope Benedict XVI, in a sermon in Saint Peter's Square on April 25, 2007,
affirms Origen's place in Christian history, calling him a “true ‘maestro’ ” and “one of the
most remarkable” figures of the early church: “Origen of Alexandria truly was a figure
crucial to the whole development of Christian thought.”18 After reviewing his life and work,
he enthusiastically recommends his writings: “I invite you—and so I conclude—to welcome
into your hearts the teaching of this great master of the faith.”19 Perhaps these comments
by the pope signal a renewed appreciation of Origen as a deeply spiritual and pious
theologian. In any case, Origen's brilliance, centrality to the history of theology, and
enormous influence on later theologians have never been in dispute.
Origen remains a polarizing figure, however, partly because of his willingness to venture
into unexplored theological territory and partly because of his ability to keep seemingly
opposite positions in productive tension.20 Many of the common misapprehensions about
him dissolve once we correctly perceive his theological method. He is, as Crouzel suggests,
a speculative, experimental theologian.21 Although firmly rooted in scripture and tradition,
he freely speculates on questions that were undecided or unexplored at his time. His
speculations never stray from the principles of Christian theology as he understands them,
and while they strike many as philosophical, Origen sees no incompatibility between the
two.22 In the (p.5) spirit of an apologist, Origen equips Christians with intellectual
resources to counter the cosmologies and philosophies of “pagans” and “heretics.”23 Rather
than striving for dogmatic certitude in these theologically open areas, he explores
theological possibilities in creative interaction with his philosophical milieu. He would
incur the wrath of lesser minds both in his day and in later generations for his speculative
approach to theology.24 His detractors failed to see the experimental and exploratory
nature of his theology and were unable to grasp his synthetic genius and the apologetic
motivation behind his integration of philosophy and theology.
On complex theological issues, Origen refuses to succumb to false dichotomies. Are our
lives governed by providence or free will? Origen affirms the reality of both and explains
their interrelation. Do we contribute to our salvation or is it entirely in the hands of God?
Both are true, in certain senses. Does God destroy sinners, or do all fallen souls ultimately
enter into the divine bliss? Again, both convey aspects of the truth. Moreover, we can apply
his integrative approach to the question of identity. Is Origen a “man of the church” or a
Platonist?25While he has an uneasy relationship with both the church and the
philosophical schools of his day, he can nevertheless be seen as both. Origen resists
disjunctive thinking even as he resists easy categorization. Instead of eliminating one side
of a theological paradox, he seeks to reconcile classic systematic binaries. As only great
minds can, he finds harmony where others see only antitheses. Part of his genius, then, is
his ability to find truth in paradoxes.26
Much of the confusion about Origen stems from the fact that few actually read his writings.
Most read secondary accounts of his theology, often by hostile and uninformed sources,
rather than his own words. Henri de Lubac reflects on this problem:
To see him at work: this, we must repeat, is what has been most lacking. Many of the
allegations we have recalled would have fallen away on their own after reading him. But
Origen is rarely read …except by fragments and without making an effort sufficient to
understand him. Or else he is approached with prejudices.27
As a corrective, then, I will carefully read Origen rather than rely on accounts about
Origen, either ancient or modern. Both hostile and sympathetic interpreters tend to distort
the real picture. I do not seek to incriminate or domesticate him, but to bring him into
sharper focus by analyzing him on his own terms and in his own words, as much as
possible. Moreover, I will correct the selective reading of Origen, particularly the nearly
exclusive focus on De Principiis.28 Scholars have depended too much on this text (p.6) to
reconstruct his theology, ignoring the other important works in his vast corpus. Thus, in
my examination of Origen's theodicy, I will draw from his entire corpus, incorporating his
homilies, commentaries, and apologetic work in addition to De Principiis.
My study complements existing treatments of the problem of evil in patristic authors such
as Irenaeus, Clement, and Augustine.29 It makes several important contributions. First, in
chapter 1, I develop a methodological approach to theodicy called theodicy as navigation,
which provides a theoretical framework for understanding the task of theodicy in religion,
particularly its effort to create and sustain meaning in the face of evil. In chapter2, I
subvert the disjunctive portrayals of Origen as either a Platonist or a Christian and
complicate his relationship to both. Next, in chapter 3, I rethink Origen's theory of pre-
existence by interpreting it Christologically rather than Platonically, without denying its
Platonic inspiration. In chapter 4, I show that Origen conceives of creation and materiality
positively as a soteriological response to the fall. In chapter 5, I demonstrate the
correlation between Origen's intellectual and spiritual approach to theodicy. I also note
that after the soul's divinization, it will cast off its material body and never again lapse into
sin. Last, in chapter 6, I argue that the logic of Origen's theology necessarily entails the
salvation of all fallen souls, including the Devil. Origen employs a dual pedagogy: one for
the simple multitude and another for the more advanced. He withholds the deeper
mysteries of the faith, such as universal salvation, from the multitude to avoid scandal and
inadvertently sanctioning moral laxity. With the more advanced, however, he
circumspectly speculates on hidden truths.30
Since Origen's approach to the problem of evil encompasses virtually every major facet of
his theology, it serves as a fruitful entry point into his thought as a whole. By engaging
broader questions about the shape of his theology, we unavoidably enter into classic and
contemporary debates about Origen's status and place in Christian history. Some adopt
Harnack's view that he compromised Christianity by fusing it with Middle-Platonic
philosophy.31 Others follow Crouzel's view, championed by la nouvelle théologie, that he
admirably defended Christianity using the philosophical categories of his day. Is he a
traitor who infiltrated the church or a loyal churchman who upheld its orthodoxy? We
must accept, I think, Origen's self-identification as a “man of the church,” but we must also
recognize that his appropriation of Platonic modes of thinking did not always comport with
the competing conceptions of orthodoxy in his day and in later generations.32 We should
neither mistake his speculations for dogmatic assertions nor judge him by the standard of
Nicene orthodoxy.33 (p.7)Nevertheless, we should also not domesticate the problematic
and controversial aspects of his thought. By balancing these considerations, we will better
appreciate his legacy. My task, then, is not rehabilitation, but retrival: I do not seek to
defend his orthodoxy but to recover his neglected theological legacy, a legacy found more
in his probing questions than his daring answers.
Beneath the sands of time and the layers of invective and misrepresentation lies a vast
reservoir of profound theological insight: “The wells once dug by Origen have long been
covered over with sand. But the same deep layer of water is still there, which he can help us
find once again in order to quench the same thirst.”34 While some of Origen's wells no
longer access this “deep layer of water,” many still do, if we know how to find them. His
theodicy, though idiosyncratic and fraught with cosmological difficulties, provides valuable
resources for thinking about the problem of evil. Origen calls God the “great lover of
humanity,” and his theodicy explores divine love at work in the cosmos.35
To gain a purchase on how theodicy operates in Origen's theology, we must begin with a
theoretical orientation. How does theodicy function in religion? What are its inner
dynamics? How does it manifest itself in different religious contexts? After defining my
conception of theodicy and developing my theoretical paradigm, we will then be ready to
hone in on Origen's theodicy. We begin, then, by asking: what is theodicy?
Toward a Theoretical Paradigm

At the outset of a long trip, the judicious traveler will map out the optimal route for the
journey. By charting a direct pathway, one reduces the risk of mishaps and meanderings.
Likewise, prior to a long intellectual journey, the prudent scholar will plot a theoretical
pathway to avoid discursiveness, logical missteps, and conceptual cul-de-sacs. A clearly
defined methodology enhances analysis by giving it focus and direction. We begin, then, by
finding our theoretical footing, as it were, which will set the stage for our study of the
problem of evil in Origen. As a first step, we must ask about the task of theodicy itself: how
does theodicy function in religion?
In step with several prominent theorists in the study of religion, I will argue that theodicy,
at its core, consists of the production and protection of meaning in the face of evil.
Religion, J. Z. Smith avers, constructs “worlds of meaning” where we “choose to dwell” by
negotiating meaningful spaces that affirm the relevance and coherence of our
existence.1 Theodicy, as we will see, underwrites this entire enterprise. After delineating
the theoretical basis for my view, I will enrich and refine the conception of theodicy as
meaning-making by developing an analogy: theodicy as navigation.2 By deploying the
term navigation, we reposition theodicy as a deeply existential exercise, not simply an
abstract intellectual experprise. As we will discover in the subsequent chapters, Origen's
theodicy attempts to restore the rationality of the cosmos by ascribing meaning to those
aspects of the universe that seem to defy logical explication: cosmic inequity, infant
disabilities and disadvantages, and all manner of cruelty and senseless suffering.
(p.9) Theodicy as Meaning-Making
Max Weber: Theodicy and the Problem of Meaning
Max Weber's discussion of “the problem of meaning” (das Problem der Bedeutung) serves
as the foundation for the view of theodicy as meaning-making. According to Weber,
religion posits that “the world order in its totality is, could, and should somehow be a
meaningful ‘cosmos.’ ”3 With varying degrees of sophistication, religion explains reality
within its own distinctive interpretive frameworks. As religious worldviews become
increasingly rational, the need to explain the “‘meaning’ of the distribution of fortunes”
assumes greater urgency.4 Weber formulates the problem of evil, then, around the unequal
and unfair allotment of prosperity and suffering. At a basic ethical level, we expect the
good to prosper and the wicked to suffer. The world, however, does not evince a
symmetrical correlation between goodness and prosperity on the one hand and wickedness
and suffering on the other. The rise of rationalism, Weber argues, brings the inequities of
the world into sharper relief: “Individually ‘undeserved’ woe was all too frequent; not
‘good’ but ‘bad’ men succeeded.”5 In other words, as religion evolves from “primitive” to
“rational,” the problem of injustice confronts religion more acutely, thereby activating
various theodicies. In their distinctive ways, which we will enumerate later, the religions of
the world address this incongruity by enfolding it into a larger meaningful matrix.
An “inner need” impels religious intellectuals to overlay their experience with meaningful
paradigms, according to Weber.6 He attributes this impulse to the search for salvation
from the vicissitudes of life. This inner need or impulse, then, consists of the need for
meaning, which provides a sense of personal and cosmic unity and intelligibility: “The
intellectual seeks in various ways, the casuistry of which extends into infinity, to endow his
life with a pervasive meaning, and thus to find unity with himself, with his fellow man, and
with the cosmos.”7For the intellectual, the chaotic state of the cosmos creates a crisis: “It is
the intellectual who transforms the concept of the world into the problem of
meaning.”8 Whereas in the past, the belief in magic would explain “the world's processes,”
in the present, with the jettisoning of archaic beliefs, these world processes “no longer
signify anything.”9 The absence of inherent cosmic significance, then, gives rise to the
impulse to superimpose meaning: “As a consequence, there is a growing demand that the
world and the total pattern of life be subject to an order that is significant and
meaningful.”10 We can call this order a theodicy, which he treats explicitly in an essay on
“Theodicy, Salvation, and Rebirth.”
(p.10) Weber defines the problem of theodicy as reconciling the “world's imperfections”
with the prevailing “god-concept” of a particular religion.11 While he acknowledges that the
problem of theodicy confronts both polytheistic and monotheistic religions alike, he argues
that it assails monotheistic religions more directly: “But the more the development tends
toward the conception of a transcendental unitary god who is universal, the more there
arises the problem of how the extraordinary power of such a god may be reconciled with
the imperfection of the world that he has created and rules over.”12 Thus, despite his
monotheistic bias, he affirms the pervasiveness and plurality of the problem of theodicy:
“The resultant problem of theodicy is found in ancient Egyptian literature as well as in Job
and in Aeschylus, but in very different forms.”13 The entire spectrum of religious belief
must confront the problem of evil to preserve its credibility.14 In Weber's view, then, the
problem of theodicy, in all its diversity, jeopardizes the viability of religion and all
meaningful constructions of reality. The difficulty of harmonizing the existence of God
(conceived of as providentially active) with the reality of evil generates the problem that
theodicy seeks to remedy in diverse ways.
Weber famously outlines three “theoretically pure types” of theodicy:
providence/predestination, dualism, and karma.15 In reality, these ideal-types are often
combined and adapted to different situations. While it does not serve our purposes to
rehearse them here, it is interesting to note that Origen's theodicy engages all three types,
although obviously not in exactly the ways Weber conceives of them. Two essential aspects
of his theodicy—namely, God's providential arrangement of the universe, which reflects the
precosmic fall of souls, and the ultimate salvation of all fallen souls—resemble the first and
third types, albeit with his particular theological and philosophical slant. Moreover,
Origen's theodicy directly refutes the dualism of Marcion and Valentinus, which relates to
Weber's second type. While his types help us locate patterns or trends in Origen's theodicy,
they do not advance our understanding of his approach, so they need not detain us any
further.
Weber does, however, identify the “inner need” for meaning that underlies theodicy and
serves as a starting point for our theoretical paradigm. Peter Berger and Clifford Geertz
begin their reflections on theodicy with similar anthropological starting points: “the need
for meaning” and the “quest for lucidity,” as we will examine later.16 The problem of
meaning, grounded in the insatiable desire for cosmic orientation and significance,
transmutes into the problem of theodicy when focused through the lens of suffering. When
the imperfections of the world collide with our (p.11) god-concept, to use Weber's
categories, the problem of theodicy emerges as a species of the problem of meaning.
Theodicy, for Weber, seeks to reinscribe meaning into the world.
Peter Berger: Theodicy and the Need for Meaning
In his book The Sacred Canopy, Peter Berger characterizes religion as the human activity
of world-construction and world-maintenance, that is, as the attempt to build a
“meaningful world” to stem the tide of chaos.17 He defines religion as a cosmological
framework that meaningfully integrates and interprets our experiences, especially our
“anomic” experiences of evil: “Religion is the human enterprise by which a sacred cosmos
is established. Put differently, religion is cosmization in a sacred mode.”18 Before beginning
his chapter on “the problem of theodicy,” Berger develops his definition of religion by
highlighting its relationship to the ubiquitous reality of chaos: “It is well at this point of the
argument to recall the definition of religion used a little earlier—the establishment,
through human activity, of an all-embracing sacred order, that is, of a sacred cosmos that
will be capable of maintaining itself in the ever-present face of chaos.”19 For Berger, then,
religion orients us in a world that defies rationality. It creates a “nomos” that protects our
sacred worldviews from the relentless onslaught of chaos: “[E]very nomos is an area of
meaning carved out of a vast mass of meaninglessness, a small clearing of lucidity in a
formless, dark, always ominous jungle.”20 The task of religion inherently involves theodicy
because the threat of “chaos” (a universal metaphor for evil) constantly impinges on our
“sacred canopies,” that is, our meaningful constructions of reality. So religion and its
“socially established nomos” serves as a “shield against terror.”21 In fact, religion, at its
core, reflects the human need for orientation in a world where suffering threatens to
dismantle our deeply embedded theological worldviews and plunge us into a state of
“meaninglessness.”
Berger defines theodicy as the affirmation of the “sacred order of the cosmos” in the face of
the “anomic forces endemic to the human condition”: “An explanation of these phenomena
in terms of religious legitimations, of whatever degree of theoretical sophistication, may be
called a theodicy.”22 These anomic phenomena, including suffering, evil, and death, must
be explained, he argues, within meaningful conceptual matrixes that range in intellectual
complexity. Berger stresses that we cannot restrict theodicy to subtle theological
approaches to the problem (p.12) of evil. Rather, when we broaden our vision of theodicy,
we see that all strata of society engage in it:
The illiterate peasant who comments upon the death of a child by referring to the will of
God is engaging in theodicy as much as the learned theologian who writes a treatise to
demonstrate that the suffering of the innocent does not negate the conception of God as
both all-good and all powerful.23
Thus for Berger, theodicy consists of affirming cosmic meaning despite experiences that
potentially undermine the “sacred canopy” that religion establishes to ward off terror:
“Theodicy proper …[is] the religious legitimation of anomic phenomena.”24 It is an effort at
“world-maintenance” that seeks to uphold the legitimacy and cogency of religion.
As with Weber, Berger grounds his theodicy in our innate “need for meaning.”25 He says
that we can endure self-denial, illness, exploitation, and death, but we “cannot accept
meaninglessness” because it erodes the foundation of our identity.26 “It is not happiness
that theodicy primarily provides,” Berger insists, “but meaning.”27 This is not to say that
those who suffer do not seek happiness and reprieve from suffering. Rather, it underscores
the human drive to give meaning to suffering, that is, to explain why we suffer. The
purpose of theodicy, in his view, is to supply meaning in the face of seemingly meaningless
experiences: “If a theodicy answers, in whatever manner, this question of meaning, it
serves a most important purpose for the suffering individual, even if it does not involve a
promise that the eventual outcome of his suffering is happiness in this world or the
next.”28 At the heart of theodicy, according to Berger, is the dual impulse to create
meaningful frameworks and to restore them when they have been damaged.
Berger focuses on the social function of theodicy. If religion strives to construct a plausible
“sacred canopy,” then theodicy becomes absolutely critical to the viability of religion: “Our
purpose has been accomplished if we have indicated the centrality of the problem of
theodicy for any religious effort at world maintenance.”29Moreover, it follows that theodicy
becomes foundational to theology, which provides the intellectual infrastructure for
religious systems. Hence, in our analysis of Origen, we should attend to the ways in which
his theodicy reinforces his theological orientation, specifically his doctrine of providence.
As we will see, Origen recognizes that social inequalities and anomic events potentially
confute his view of providence (that is, his theological nomos, in Bergerian terms). In
response, he fashions a theodicy that situates these realities within a coherent theological
cosmology.
(p.13) Clifford Geertz: Theodicy as the “Quest for Lucidity”
We can further enrich our concept of theodicy as meaning-making by examining another
classic theorist in the study of religion: Clifford Geertz. In his influential essay “Religion as
a Cultural System,” Geertz explores the “cultural dimension of religious analysis,” defining
culture as “an historically transmitted pattern of meanings embodied in symbols,” in this
case, religious symbols.30 We will focus our analysis on Geertz's conception of meaning and
how religion produces and protects meaningful symbolic networks. Like Weber, Geertz
recognizes the innate human desire for meaning, especially amid suffering. Moreover, like
Berger, he sees that religion seeks to establish a plausible and authoritative “cosmic order”
that orients human existence: “The notion that religion tunes human actions to an
envisioned cosmic order and projects images of cosmic order onto the plane of human
experience is hardly novel. But it is hardly investigated either. … ”31 Religion generates
cosmic schemes that enable believers to “make sense” of the world and their experiences.
As long as the conceptual, moral, and existential integrity of the cosmic order remains
intact, religion accomplishes its aims. When disaster strikes, however, it strains the
symbolic networks of religion, often to a breaking point. Theodicy strives to diffuse the
potentially cosmos-destroying force of these events and restore cosmic meaning through
theodicy. Origen, as we alluded to earlier, identifies where the “cosmic order” of
Christianity seems to break down (that is, in cosmic inequity) and then reestablishes this
order by reimagining the cosmos.
Before we outline Geertz's understanding of the problem of evil, we must briefly discuss his
famous (or, according to some, infamous) definition of religion. Geertz defines religion
(with the important caveat that “definitions establish nothing”) as:
A system of symbols which acts to establish powerful, pervasive, and long-lasting moods
and motivations in men by formulating conceptions of a general order of existence and
clothing these conceptions with such an aura of factuality that the moods and motivations
seem uniquely realistic.32
In this landmark definition, Geertz accents what I call the “cosmic hermeneutics” of
religion, which seeks to “read” meaning into the world. Religious symbols provide a sense
of orientation, to use Charles Long's helpful definition of religion as “orientation in the
ultimate sense, that is, how one comes to terms with the ultimate significance of one's
place in the world.”33 Geertz's and Berger's definitions of religion focus on (p.14) the
construction of order. Religion creates the space for a sacred mode of existence by
transposing the unintelligible to the intelligible and the meaningless to the meaningful. In
short, religion supplies an interpretive space that filters experience through an all-
encompassing conception of the divine order of the cosmos—an order that eclipses the
disorder of the world. Put simply, the theological foundation of religion, Geertz suggests,
rests on “the relatively modest dogma that God is not mad” and, thus, that the world must
admit of some overriding coherence.34 Origen's “system of symbols” centers on the
fundamental theological affirmation of the justice and benevolence of divine providence, a
belief he defends against empirical disconfirmations.
Geertz locates the problem of evil35 in the “gap between things as they are and as they
ought to be.”36 The gap or distance between the world as it “is” and the world as it “ought”
to be leads to “bafflement” that demands explication. It raises, Geertz says, “the dim, back-
of-the-mind suspicions that one may be adrift in an absurd world,” suspicions that prompt
us to search for ways to reestablish meaning.37 Theodicy closes this gap by formulating a
symbolic account of the world that “will account for, and even celebrate, the perceived