The Ones Who Walked Away
In her short story, “The Ones Who Walked Away From Omelas,” Ursula K. LeGuin beautifully illustrates the tension present between the deontological and consequentialist ethical perspectives. This fictive story imaginatively describes a utopian city, where everyone is healthy, happy, and educated, and no one is in need. With this utopia, however, comes a terrible secret: the good fortunes of the city can only be had by the misfortune of a child, who is kept locked in a room, cold, dirty, and miserable. When the citizens of the town reach a certain age, they are required to see the plight of the child, and it is in that moment that they must decide whether to accept the miserable existence of the child in exchange for the utopian way of life, or to walk away from Omelas.
I would like to use the story of Omelas--not to discuss the difference between ethical perspectives--but as a foil to talk about Christian doctrine. I claim that in orthodox Christianity there is a similar tension between the doctrines of grace and justice. Thus, traditional Christianity offers the vision of a beautiful city, which is traditionally called heaven, which is the supreme utopia, in which everything is reconciled and there is no weeping or pain. However, this Omelas too has a dirty room, which is traditionally called hell. I find it an interesting parallel that just as for the citizens of Omelas there is a maturity point which demands knowledge of the suffering child, so also a significant developmental event in the life of Christians involves grappling with the idea of hell. My question then, is whether we can stay in the city of traditional Christianity, acknowledging that hell is the price to pay for the abundance and joy that is offered in heaven, or shall we walk away from this Omelas, unable to live in an eternal utopia all the while aware of the secret of the basement.
Here I will acknowledge a couple things. First, I realize I am somewhat begging the question by comparing the injustice of the suffering child to the recipients of hellish punishment. In traditional Christian thought, hell is reserved for those who deserve it, while presumably in the story of Omelas, “child” is used primarily because children represent innocence. My response is two-fold: a) a foundation for modern law is the notion that the punishment must fit the crime—eternal hell seems an overwhelming punishment for a finite amount of sin; b) recent development theories in psychology suggest that humans have much less control over their actions than we tend to credit to ourselves—genetics, environment, and a finite amount of choices rather force one’s hand in many decisions made throughout life. Second, the idea of hell is fundamentally tied to a certain Christian view of anthropology—namely, that the paradigmatic characteristic of humanity is that of lostness, or alienation from God. In challenging the doctrine of hell I am also challenging the doctrine of Fallenness that has pervaded Christian theology. Secondary to this view of anthropology is the concomitant theology of salvation, which also must be fundamentally changed if one were to walk away from Omelas. I realize that in bringing up these other topics I open up the scope of conversation tremendously, and perhaps too broadly, but what can I say? Theology is a tapestry, to unravel one idea is to fundamentally change the picture. Finally, I would like to state that when I speak of walking away from Omelas, I do not mean walking away from the Christian faith, but rather walking away from the faith as articulated in orthodoxy (which I suppose one could, if so inclined, say is the Christian faith, but I would debate that). This is where my foil of the Omelas story falls apart a bit, because in the end, I’m not so much asking “will you walk away from Omelas,” as I am asking “will you get the hell out of Omelas?”
Book Update:
I have been reading ferociously this year…I will highlight some of my favorites so far:
The Fidelity of Betrayal. Peter Rollins, a postmodern philosopher, asks whether to be truly faithful to Christianity we must betray it in search of a “religion without religion” that Derrida speaks of.
Dawn. Elie Wiesel writes a powerfully compelling story that grapples with tensions between justice, retribution, violence, and situatedness. This was one of the most-best books I have ever read.
The Weakness of God: A Theology of the Event. John Caputo is another postmodern philosopher and former student of Derrida. I am only partially through this book but it is one of those that will forever change my theology. Caputo undoes the theological construct of the sovereignty of God in favor of a “weak” God who is present with those who suffer precisely in his weakness rather than strength, an idea springboarding off of Paul’s “logos of the cross.”
