Why Would a Loving God Create a World Like This?

Look at the world honestly for one minute. Not the world of religious songs. The real one.

A deer runs for its life. The lion catches it. The deer does not die quickly — it is eaten alive, screaming, its body pulled apart. This is not a rare accident. It is the design. Millions of animals die exactly this way, every day. One animal must eat another alive, or starve. The system offers no third option.

And we are told a loving God designed this — carefully, down to the smallest detail.

Then the same God is praised as a tender father, and a suffering woman folds her hands and prays to him — to the one who designed her pain — asking for relief.

I am not telling you this to make you bitter. I spent years here, angry, ashamed of my anger. I am telling you because the anger was pointing at something true: the picture of God we were handed is wrong. Not slightly wrong. Wrong at the root.

We were given a God who is a separate king. Powerful, sitting somewhere above, keeping accounts, pleased by praise and displeased by doubt. A being with a very large ego. And from that picture grew every confused prayer and every "why does a loving God allow this."

But what if God is not a separate moral king at all?

What the oldest seers of India said — and what an honest look at physics quietly agrees with — is stranger: there is only *One* here. One substance, one being, appearing as everything. The lion and the deer, the cruelty and the tenderness, you and the stranger — one thing, wearing every costume at once.

And that One is not moral. It is artistic.

A perfectly good, perfectly safe world would be a world with no movement, no tension, no story — non-existence. The painful world is not God's failure. It is God's harder work — the imperfection is the play, the drama, the experience. God is not the kind judge of the theatre. God is the whole theatre, playing every part, including the villain, including the one who suffers, including the one who asks why.

I will not hand you a comforting lie. The deer still screams. The pain is real at the level you live it. But it was never a punishment, and it was never aimed at you by a separate king who could have spared you and didn't.

It was the One — being everything it can be. Including, right now, you, reading this, and beginning to wonder.

This is the centre of my book It Was Never You. It does not soften the question — it answers it honestly. abhijeetrai.com.