Our Responses to the Problem of Evil

I was recently in a conversation about the problem of evil and shared some of the ideas from Karen Kilby's article "Evil and the Limits of Theology." I reflected on this essay a few years ago, but it bears revisiting.

When discussing the problem of evil Kilby argues that we need to distinguish between our intellectual, moral and pastoral responses to evil. We often confuse these responses, which can muddy the waters and lead to some inept pastoral responses. 

First, the intellectual response to evil concerns our theological debates about why God permits evil to exist. 

Next, the moral response to evil concerns how we should refuse to be reconciled to evil and should struggle against it in the world. 

Finally, the pastoral response to evil is how we come alongside those who are suffering or who are victims of evil.

Kilby's argument is that we need to keep these responses distinct and separate or great damage can be done. For example, pastoral damage can be done if we try to offer an intellectual response to evil by a graveside. No one needs to hear "the reason" why a child has died. People who are suffering don't need an intellectual explanation about "why" this pain, loss, or suffering has occurred. Unfortunately, however, this is a too-common mistake as people have felt that a theological "explanation" might help soothe and salve the pain of a sufferer. But as we (should) know, our pastoral response to evil shouldn't be logical or theological. We don't share a "reason" or "explanation." We simply share presence, tears, grief, and love. We shouldn't be doing a lot of talking and explaining around pain.

Another thing to monitor is letting our intellectual response bleed into our moral response. This concern gets less attention, but it's still a big issue. Specifically, any intellectual "explanation" of evil has the potential to lessen its force, weight, and impact. If evil has a "reason" we become, in some small way, reconciled to its existence. This weakens our moral response to evil, our absolute, undiluted antagonism towards its existence. 

In this vein, Kilby goes on to make the provocative claim that assurances about God's presence in our suffering can tip into a theodicy, or something theodicy adjacent. That is, we don't know why evil exists, but we do know that God in Christ is "with us" in our pain. This is true, but Kilby warns against using this intellectual conviction as a pastoral response we push onto others. Yes, it is consoling to know that God is "with us" in our pain, but we need to monitor when such a consolation, even if true, is being pushed onto others rather than claimed for oneself.  

From a different angle, we can also mistake our intellectual quest about the problem of evil for our moral response. We can come to mistake our theodic angst, how theologically distressed we are about the suffering of the world, for actually doing something about the suffering of the world. Our rage against the evil of the world can become performative, theological playacting. As I describe in Reviving Old Scratch, I was once caught in this trap, mistaking my intellectual response toward evil as a moral response. But as I say in the book, evil isn't a puzzle to be solved but a reality to be resisted. Don't mistake your intellectual response to evil for a moral response. Of course, think about the problem, but don't mistake thinking for acting. 

To summarize, then, it's important to make distinctions between our different responses to evil. They each have their proper purpose and place, but we must be alert to the problems that arise when we mistake one response for another.

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