Job is a genuinely nice guy, the sort who looks after orphans, prays for his kids and never cheats on his taxes, and God rewards him richly for his goodness. But one day, Satan suggests that God put Job to a test, and God readily obliges. After Job loses all his livestock, suffers the death of his seven sons and contracts a nasty case of full-body boils, he loses heart. Depressed and defeated, Job famously begs to take God to court for His crimes.
But Satan had a point, egging God on like that. If by being good, you can entirely avoid misfortune, what distinguishes righteousness from commerce, a mere business transaction between you and God? If Job only reveres God because he receives blessings in return, does his worship mean anything at all? As nice as he is, Job never questioned or challenged this exchange, and he never had reason to. So he was trapped, stuck in his own ignorance. His faith was blind, empty, like a salve without a wound. It had no doubt to give it contrast and weight: Having never been tested, Job's faith had never passed the test.
Job's pain leads him to doubt, and he suffers a crisis of faith of such magnitude, you'd expect to read it in a Jean-Paul Sartre play, not the Good Book. Job and his three best friends argue over God's motives for evil and loss, and our protagonist angrily accuses God of punishing righteous men while letting sinners go free. It's not that he ever stops believing the existence of God (this is the Bible, of course), but the point is Job no longer believes in God - which in reality is far worse. His trust is gone, his faith decayed. That's one hell of an unapologetic stance for a Biblical hero to take.
Job's doubt is violent: Not bloody, of course, but painful, tumultuous and incredibly uncomfortable to witness. Yet, one of the lessons of the Book of Job is this doubt matters. It can't be ignored or argued with or reasoned away. Instead, it's a test we all take, where each of us comes to different conclusions; but there's no avoiding the final exam - without it, spirituality, philosophy, even existence as we know it is utterly meaningless. Like a bridge walked upon, like a hypothesis tested, doubt is more important than reverence, sacrifice, even hope, because it brings you closer than you were to Truth and thus to God.
Doubt in a Pop-Christian World
Judging by Job's happy ending, God agrees that doubt has its uses; and for his part, Jesus was quite tolerant of questions and challenges, too. He embraced Thomas, skeptic of the Resurrection, and fondly teased a seasick Peter after a storm nearly capsized their boat. ("Oh ye of little faith, why did you doubt?") Jesus even experienced his own crisis of faith: As he died on the cross, he echoed the voices of countless future Christians and asked, "Father, Father, why have you forsaken me?"
But the New Testament - particularly the letters of the Apostles - preaches a different approach. Stuffed with reprimands against the faithless, the Apostles suggested constant vigilance against questioners and skeptics, arguing that they couldn't be trusted or reasoned with. James, for instance, writes, "He who wavereth is like a wave of the sea, driven with the wind and tossed. For let not that man think he shall receive anything of the Lord. (James 1:6, KJV)." Ouch.
For the most part, the modern Evangelical movement abides by the Apostolic example, treating doubt like an intellectual plague that must be quarantined for the faithful to survive. Most Christian videogames, created with that same Testimonial bent in mind, also follow suit. If these games do address a crisis of faith, the outcome is inevitable, even pre-destined: The Good guys will hang with God, the Bad guys end up with Satan, and once converted, neither side ever looks back. (In fairness, Eternal Forces does address the conversion issue, but the process is glossed over; treated, once again, more like a plot or gameplay device than a compelling story in and of itself.)
