The Inaction of God

I would make a rubbish God. I would never be able to sit back and seldom intervene to the point where it was an even toss whether or not there was even sufficient evidence of my existence. Perhaps that is what has happened to God. Perhaps it became so obsessed with acting in ways so abstract as to never provide concrete evidence of its existence that it ceased to exist. Maybe at the point of becoming indistinguishable with the weather it became, through a suddenly unbreakable force of habit, the weather. Like a man so scared of moving from his chair in fear of crushing an insect that his bones turn to stone and he becomes as rigid and immobile as the chair itself. The world is a baby that cries out with agony and God merely stands behind a corner, biting its knuckles in self-restraint just because some infernal child rearing guide suggests that obeying a baby’s every whim turns it selfish and inconsiderate. That is what Christians wish us to believe. A Christian would consider the above reasoning as a moment of enlightenment. Perhaps if we never suffered we would become like that, but I think even that would be better than emotional suffering to the point of loosing the ability to suffer emotion. But here comes the point where my irredeemably smug logic lifts me out of the romantic and poetic reasonings of the soul. If God truly created us, it intended for us to need suffering to define ourselves. A true God does not need to make sacrifices. If God regrets the necessity of suffering, why did it choose for suffering to be necessary?