God only knows,
God makes his plan,
The information’s unavailable
To the mortal man.
-Paul Simon
I once heard a pastor explain that the Second World War happened so that Israel could come back together as a nation, an event necessary for the unfolding of the end times. I do not agree with the pastor’s understanding of eschatology, but that’s not really what bothers me about a claim like this. Even the most committed dispensationalist must wonder, if only to himself, why God could not have arranged the founding of the modern state of Israel with far less misery and destruction. One thinks of Ivan Karamazov respectfully declining to take part in God’s wonderful plan of redemption, as he could not bring himself to accept the cost in human suffering.
In other words, the ever-present problem of evil makes it hard to speak concretely of a divine plan orchestrating human history, even if Christians have always agreed that such a plan exists. It’s better to speak of the hiddenness of God and the unknowability of his ways, apart from special revelation in Jesus and scripture. Surely, Paul Simon is right: information about God’s activity in human history is simply unavailable to us mortals. To quote an even greater Jewish poet: “Truly, you are a God who hides himself,” and “For my thoughts are not your thoughts, and neither your ways my ways.”
Recently, however, even as the world convulses from a global pandemic and a major European war that could potentially turn nuclear, I’ve started to think that there could be such a thing as excessive theological modesty when it comes to discerning the guiding hand of God in history. Many of the most godly, mature and thoughtful believers in my life seem to have no problems doing so. The hand of God may be somewhat mysterious, but that’s not the same as saying its invisible. Moreover, careful reflection on the way history has unfolded gives us glimpses of God’s providence, even as it leaves much that is bewildering and ambiguous.
For instance: it’s remarkable that humanity made it out of the 20th century alive once it had invented nuclear weapons. It’s worth noting that one solution to the Fermi paradox — the strange lack of evidence for extraterrestrial life despite the vastness of the universe — is that civilizations tend to destroy themselves after they discover atomic energy. And that’s not a ridiculous idea at all, given our own history. Observe the 1962 Cuban Missile Crisis; the 1967 solar flare that jammed American radar systems; a possibly drunk Richard Nixon ordering the nuclear bombardment of North Korea after the shoot down of an American spy plane; the Able Archer exercises in 1983 that sent Soviet leadership into a panic; that time Stanislov Petrov disobeyed Moscow and saved the world; and, post-Cold War, the 1995 Norwegian scientific rocket mishap that literally had Boris Yeltsin reaching for his nuclear briefcase. Additional examples could be easily adduced. It’s clear that we have to decide between one of two alternatives: (1) humanity got really lucky, or else (2) we were spared.
Other aspects of history call for similarly “meta-historical” explanations. In her introduction to Christ the Lord: Out of Egypt, the novelist Anne Rice explained that she started seriously contemplating the existence of God after studying the history of the Jewish people and considering their survival, against all odds, to the present day. I’m definitely with Rice on this one. And I’m similarly amazed by the mere existence — not to mention the immense spiritual vitality and social impact — of the Black church in the United States. That Black Americans not only enthusiastically adopted the religion of their enslavers, but also produced some of the greatest heroes of the faith this country has ever seen, is nothing short of astonishing from any perspective. There are, of course, thoughtful sociological accounts for both of these phenomena. These are not wrong, but they feel insufficiently weighty given what was (and is) at stake.
In general, it’s the path of wisdom to avoid trying to fit this or that historical event into its precise slot in God’s plan. Moreover, it’s best to hold healthy suspicion towards theological interpretations of historical events that make us and our allies look like heroes and our cultural opponents look like villains. The danger of projecting our own desires and ambitions on God is very real.
Even so, “God governs in the affairs of men,” as Benjamin Franklin once affirmed (whose purported deism was always surprisingly interventionist). To be sure, God does so in a very strange and hidden fashion. But occasionally we can truly see the “outskirts of his ways” in human history, and we should avail ourselves of these opportunities to find some comfort and give him the glory.
