Earthquakes cause immense destruction, as we have seen in Haiti. In addition to the physical destruction and death, there are also serious psychological consequences for those that survive. Much of the initial outpouring of help and relief efforts to the stricken are meant to aid the survival, recovery, and rehabilitation of the living and reconstruction of buildings and infrastructure. Earthquakes have occurred throughout recorded history but only in recent centuries have they also led to serious mental destruction of many of those not at all directly affected by the natural disaster itself. This destruction is so buried in denial that most people cannot bear to recognize and honestly confront it; thus it silently corrodes our brains. As tragic as events in Haiti may be, the world will heal and move on in most respects. But the more lasting destruction stems from a simple question: Why do such events happen?
Scientists have no real problem answering this question in terms of geological forces such as shifting tectonic plates and unstable faults. But these answers are of recent vintage and only address what we can term proximal or immediate causes. For the ancients, and for most of our history, earthquakes were both inexplicable and unpredictable, and clearly the work of divine forces. Natural explanations weaken the perceived power of the gods to wreak their wrath upon those who disobey them. Today, even many conservative Christians are unwilling to ascribe the Haitian event to turning their devotion from God to Satan, and are appalled at Pat Robertson's claim that it was. Why are most modern religious sensibilities affronted by the views such as Robertson's? Actually, they not always were. The great California earthquake of 1906 took place less than two weeks after the Azusa Street revival in Los Angeles that developed into Pentecostalism. A participant predicted awful destruction of the city unless people adopted the new faith. Since relatively few did, the earthquake was then viewed as a warning message from God.
On Nov. 1, 1755 a powerful earthquake hit and destroyed Lisbon and nearby areas in Portugal. Upwards of 50, 000 died immediately. Occurring at the apex of the enlightenment appeal to understanding nature through reason rather than through the continual involvement of a seemingly capricious God, this event had great consequences on theology, consequences most traditional religious folks have not yet consciously digested, but have slowly permeated Western culture, nonetheless. The reason is that Voltaire, the great French scholar of the enlightenment: historian, philosopher, promoter of science, poet, and playwright - was shaken to his core by the Lisbon earthquake. At this time Leibnitz, the poet Pope, and others were wrestling with the notion that while the earth was a bit imperfect, it necessarily had to be the best job God could do. Much in the world is good and beautiful. Events that we think horrible were just means to a greater good or happiness that we dumb mortals could never hope to understand, nor, perhaps, should we. Voltaire shared some of these optimistic attitudes, but not after the earthquake. He eventually wrote Candide, a powerful and often humorous play destroying Leibnitz's views in the form of Dr. Pangloss. But before writing this play he sat down almost immediately and penned a powerful poem, The Lisbon Earthquake. It is filled with anguish for the dead and the unfairness that so many innocents were slaughtered. How could a good, just, and powerful God have allowed this to happen? Here are some verses in the translation by William Fleming in my 1901 set of Voltaire:
Approach in crowds, and meditate awhile
Yon shattered walls and view each ruined pile.
Women and children heaped up mountains high,
Limbs crushed which under ponderous marble lie;
Since the dead did not deserve to die, why did they? Perhaps it was just the consequence of laws that have better results. Men kill birds, eagles kill animals, and vultures eat carrion - all parts of God's plan, perhaps.
Small comfort ‘tis that Death's ruthless power
Closes my life, worms shall my flesh devour.
And later
Ill could not from a perfect being spring,
Nor from another, since God's sovereign king;
And yet, sad truth! In this our world ‘tis found,
What contradictions here my soul confound!
A God once dwelt on earth amongst mankind,
Yet vices still lay waste the human mind;
He could not do it, this proud sophist cries,
He could, but he declined it, that replies;
In these and other lines he raises and rejects virtually every theological or philosophical attempt to whitewash or explain away the tragedy. He ends by answering, simply but profoundly, that all that God, or religion, can provide is hope: Hope! the courage to go on amidst a life of hardship and woe lightened by fleeting pleasures.
All may be well; that hope can man sustain,
All now is well, ‘tis an illusion vain.
No one in Voltaire's day knew the cause of earthquakes and most other natural disasters. Science was just moving from the theoretical to practical. In reading all the recent punditry and commentary by religious leaders, politicians, and those fervently opposed to any smattering of the supernatural, the simple truths are hidden among the mental destruction uncorked by Voltaire and others in the 18th century, and which no genie can put back in the bottle and make whole. In future columns I will try to explore these ideas, among others, as we look at the intersection of evolution, science, and religion. But it is well to remember that any progress made here largely owes its origin to the mental destruction of medieval world views caused by earthquakes in the early decades of our scientific age. We should only ask questions if we can deal honestly with the answers. But honesty, as Voltaire knew, is not a simple thing, and neither is hope.
