Dwain Northey (Gen X)

God’s Will, Apparently: The Ultimate Get-Out-of-Responsibility Card

There is a phrase I have always found simultaneously fascinating and profoundly frustrating: “It’s God’s will.”

An earthquake kills thousands? God’s will.

A hurricane destroys an entire community? God’s will.

A child is born with cancer? God’s will.

A school shooting murders innocent children? Apparently, God’s will.

And therein lies the problem.

Because if you believe in an omnipotent, omniscient, omnipresent God—an all-powerful being who knows everything that has happened, everything that will happen, and presumably has the ability to alter any of it—then eventually you have to confront the rather uncomfortable question:

How much control do human beings actually have?

Because “God’s will” can become the theological equivalent of throwing your hands in the air and saying, “Well, apparently somebody else is driving.”

And if that is the case, what exactly are we doing here?

We like to talk about free will as though it is one of the great defining characteristics of humanity. We make choices. We make mistakes. We learn. We accept responsibility. We change things. We build civilizations, cure diseases, invent vaccines, prevent disasters, pass laws and occasionally figure out that maybe putting lead in gasoline wasn’t such a spectacular idea.

But if every significant event is ultimately “God’s will,” then what exactly does free will mean?

Did the person who decided to pull the trigger exercise free will?

Or was that also God’s will?

Did the person who invented the vaccine exercise free will?

Was that God’s will too?

Did the scientist who discovered a treatment for childhood cancer exercise free will?

If so, why wasn’t the cancer itself prevented in the first place?

This is where the philosophical machinery starts making some rather uncomfortable noises.

Because if God has a plan for everything, then we are left with the cosmic equivalent of a predetermined screenplay. The characters may believe they’re improvising, but apparently the ending has already been written.

Which makes us less like human beings navigating existence and more like extras wandering around inside an exceptionally complicated television program.

And honestly, if that is the case, I have some notes for the writer.

Because this is not exactly a tightly constructed screenplay.

We’re talking earthquakes, childhood cancer, famine, genocide, hurricanes, pandemics, wars, plane crashes, murder, dementia and school shootings.

And then, occasionally, somebody wins the lottery.

Great writing.

Five stars.

No notes.

Except approximately all of the notes.

The Matrix analogy almost writes itself. We are Neo, except there is no red pill, no Morpheus, no escape hatch and apparently no choice between realities. The program was written before we arrived, the parameters are fixed, and we’re simply wandering around inside it trying to convince ourselves that choosing between chicken and beef for dinner constitutes meaningful autonomy.

And yet, strangely enough, the same people who say everything is God’s will often become extremely passionate about human responsibility when it suits them.

A criminal commits a crime? Personal responsibility.

A politician screws something up? Personal responsibility.

Someone makes a bad financial decision? Personal responsibility.

But a catastrophic natural disaster occurs?

God’s will.

A child suffers?

God’s plan.

Something completely incomprehensible happens?

We aren’t meant to understand God’s ways.

Convenient.

Because “God’s will” is an explanation that cannot really be disproven. Whatever happens becomes evidence of the plan. If something wonderful happens, God did it. If something horrible happens, God had a reason. If something completely inexplicable happens, God’s ways are mysterious.

It’s a theological Swiss Army knife.

It can explain absolutely everything because it doesn’t actually have to explain anything.

And perhaps the most frustrating part is what this philosophy can do to human responsibility.

If everything is predetermined, why fight injustice?

Why cure diseases?

Why prevent climate disasters?

Why regulate dangerous products?

Why build stronger buildings in earthquake zones?

Why improve emergency response?

Why protect children?

Why try to make the world better at all?

If the response to suffering is simply, “Well, it’s God’s will,” then we have essentially surrendered the steering wheel and congratulated ourselves for being passengers.

But maybe there is another way to look at it.

Maybe the existence of suffering isn’t evidence that we are powerless.

Maybe it is precisely the opposite.

Maybe the responsibility to do something about suffering is ours.

Maybe when an earthquake destroys a city, our job isn’t to shrug and declare divine intent. Maybe our job is to build better buildings.

When hurricanes become increasingly destructive, perhaps our response should be understanding why and figuring out how to protect people.

When a child develops cancer, maybe the appropriate response isn’t “God has a plan.”

Maybe it is “Let’s find the cure.”

And when someone walks into a school carrying a gun, perhaps the answer isn’t to declare that God allowed it to happen for reasons beyond our understanding.

Perhaps the answer is to ask the profoundly unspiritual question:

“What the hell can we do to stop this from happening again?”

Because maybe free will isn’t about having complete control over everything that happens to us.

Maybe free will is about what we do with the things we cannot control.

We can’t stop every earthquake.

We can’t prevent every hurricane.

We can’t eliminate every disease.

We can’t guarantee that no terrible human being will ever do something terrible.

But we can make choices.

We can reduce suffering.

We can prevent some disasters.

We can cure some diseases.

We can save lives.

We can build better systems.

We can learn from our mistakes.

And perhaps most importantly, we can refuse to use “God’s will” as an excuse to stop trying.

Because if there really is an all-powerful God running the universe, perhaps the greatest insult to the gift of human intelligence would be to spend our entire existence refusing to use it.

And if there isn’t?

Well, then we’re definitely driving.

Which means there is nobody coming to save us from the Matrix.

No cosmic programmer is going to suddenly appear and hit the reset button.

No divine administrator is going to patch the software.

It’s us.

Just us.

Which is simultaneously terrifying and strangely liberating.

Because if the script isn’t written, then maybe we get to write some of it ourselves.

And if there is no predetermined ending, then perhaps the point of being here isn’t figuring out what God’s plan is.

Perhaps the point is deciding what our plan should be.