“A robot may not injure a human being or, through inaction,
allow a human being to come to harm.” So reads the first of Isaac
Asimov’s famous Three Laws of Robotics. Popular science fiction
commonly portrayed robots running amok and attacking their human
inventors. None of this made sense to Asimov.
Asimov reasoned that we humans equip our tools with safety
devices—we put a haft on a knife to protect our fingers, we equip guns
with safeties to prevent them from firing accidentally, and we use
fuses or circuit breakers to prevent electrical wiring from
overloading. From this, it seemed a reasonable conclusion that any
society technologically advanced enough to build something as
sophisticated as a robot would equip those robots with appropriate
safety measures, fundamental instructions implanted in the robot’s
brain so that the robot could not disobey.
Asimov’s assumptions about robot safety parallel difficult
questions for those of us who believe in God: If God is good and is all
powerful, did He create the devil? And if He did not, who did? How did
sin and evil arise?
Most Christians would say, “No, God didn’t create the devil.
God created Lucifer, but Lucifer changed and became the devil.” This
answer doesn’t eliminate the problem; it just brings us back to
Asimov’s Laws of Robotics. If mere human beings provide safeguards for
their inventions, why didn’t an all-knowing God create Lucifer with
built-in “safety features”? And while He was at it, why didn’t God make ussafe,
impervious to temptation?
Complete safety excludes freedom
The major dilemma is that, although robots can theoretically
be made safe, they cannot be free. The very word robot comes
from the Czech word robota, meaning “forced work or compulsory
service,” and was often used in the context of peasants bound to the
land by the law of serfdom. People in forced labor—serfs, slaves, or
prisoners—naturally react to their servitude by doing as little as
possible, out of resentment sabotaging their masters in dozens of
little ways. Psychologists call such minimal, grudging cooperation
Whenever we encounter forced compliance, we dislike it
intensely. For such slavery doesn’t lead to loving relationships. It
leads to hatred! God doesn’t want a robotic relationship with us, any
more than we would want it from our loved ones. He wants neither
programmed, emotionless obedience nor grudging, passive-aggressive
So instead of making Lucifer robotic, without a will of his
own, God gave him freedom and endowed him beyond measure: “[Lucifer
was] the model of perfection, full of wisdom and perfect in beauty. . .
. anointed as a guardian cherub.”1
And God created Lucifer morally perfect as well: “You were blameless in
your ways from the day you were created till . . .” So at some
point, Lucifer exercised his God-given freedom by turning against His
maker, and the result was that “. . .wickedness was found in [him].”2 No mere robot could do that.
Did Lucifer create the devil?
But if God didn’t create the devil, did Lucifer somehow create
the devil? No. Everything Lucifer had and everything he was came from
God. Satan, or the devil, is not a new kind of being, but what we might
call a “failed being,” a creature ravaged and deformed by sin.
Does this mean that the devil created sin? No. Then where did
sin and evil come from? From the same place as darkness, cold, and
A number of years ago, I visited a newspaper photo lab. Above
the darkroom door, a red light indicated when the lights inside the
darkroom were turned off. Just below this red light, a sign explained:
“This is a darkroom. Please don’t open this door when the red light is
on. If you do, all the dark will leak out.” We laugh, because we
realize the problem isn’t keeping the darkness in but keeping the light
out. Darkness is nearly nothing at all. A single small candle can
illuminate an otherwise completely dark room. Strike a match at night,
and it can be seen for miles.
In a real sense, none of these—darkness, cold, sin—actually
exist except as negations, as shadows. We can purchase a light bulb to
brighten a dark place, but we can’t buy a “dark bulb” to dim a bright
one. We can only block out the light. We can light a fire and warm a
cold place, but even when we refrigerate something, we move heat rather
Evil has no independent existence
Similarly, evil has no independent existence. As a shadow
betrays the absence of light, sin indicates the absence of—what? Some
would say “obedience,” but that’s not quite it. Robots obey, but they
cannot be righteous. We could call it “faith” and its absence “doubt,”
which would be closer. But faith can mean merely “belief,” that
is, assenting to certain truths. And that’s not it either, for we know
that even the demons believe—and shudder.3
Faith can also mean “complete trust or confidence,”
and that’s the concept we’ve been seeking. As the psalmist said,
“Blessed is the man who makes the Lord his trust.”4
Trust forms the substance of a healthy, living, loving relationship with
God. Distrust and doubt, in the sense of disbelief and suspicion, are
just the shadows that remain when trust departs. Lucifer became the
devil when he ceased to trust the way God had made him, when he doubted
God’s love, and when he became suspicious of God’s government.
When we see distrust, doubt, and suspicion, we recognize the
emptiness we call “evil.” That emptiness has always existed. Lucifer did
not invent emptiness; he was just the first to embrace it. He did not
invent death; he just abandoned Him who is Life. He did not invent
darkness; he rejected light. He did not invent cold; he distanced
himself from warmth.
God created Lucifer, the “light bearer,” but Lucifer abandoned
the Light to become the prince of darkness; the “son of the dawn”5 became ruler of the night. Instead of the
brightest angel, he became the darkest demon.
Lucifer could make such a choice, and so can we, because God
made us free. God made us free because He loves us, and He wants our
love in return. Love cannot be programmed; it must be given freely or
not at all. Allowing freedom to love involves a risk that we will rebel
instead. God was willing to pay that price to receive our love, even knowing that
some would spurn Him instead. With full knowledge that securing our
love would require the suffering and death of His only begotten Son, He
still gave us this precious gift—free hearts, hearts that could love.
Lucifer used his freedom to rebel, but he didn’t have to. Just
imagine how glorious he could be now, had he continued to trust God!
Instead, he rejected God’s design for him, and he became the sad wreck
we call the devil, sharing his misery with the universe. What a pity!
Surely the poet spoke truly:
For of all sad words of tongue or pen,
The saddest are these: “It might have been!”6
Ed Dickerson writes from Garrison, Iowa.