The problem of evil, as I see it, is that it’s always me who sees it. I suppose that’s not a problem in and of itself. But the universe is not organized around rewarding me for when I do good or punishing me for when I do bad. The universe, as it turns out, is not organized around me at all. The evil irony of this species is that we come into this quite indifferent world chained to a set of eyes and ears, and trapped inside a brain that can only make sense of anything through stories. Every morning, I find myself the protagonist in a story the universe has no ear for. And when the scenery crashes and burns around me, I can’t help but ask, “What the fuck was that for?”