The Problem of Pain, or, Why Do Bad Things Happen?
One of the things people look to religion for most is comfort in times of difficulty. They want some satisfying explanation about why they have to go through some painful time. For some this comes from a sense of injustice; they feel they don't deserve what they're going through, or that if there were indeed a good, loving and all-powerful God, He would surely not allow His children to experience undeserved pain. For others, the question just comes from a desire to place meaning on the events of their lives. No matter how terrible the event is, if we can at least assign it some meaning, at least know that it had some purpose, then we can live a little easier. In either case, the question falls to theology: why do bad things happen even when they are undeserved?
On a purely abstract level, it is necessary to point out that there are a number of assumptions involved in the question. First of all, we assume that undeserved pain is a bad thing. I will propose here that pain, just like pleasure, has value in shaping us into whole people. I think this question is particularly strong in a culture like ours, where we are so averse to any type of pain. It is only today, when we have the capacity to avoid so much pain that simply had to be endured by previous generations, that pain can be so strange to us that we have to ask this question.
Previous generations knew that pain was a good thing. Pain, first of all, teaches us how to take care of ourselves. Physical pain shows us that our bodies are interfacing correctly with the rest of the world when it results from something like touching a hot stove. I believe in the same way, emotional pain can show us that we our psychological/emotional beings are functioning correctly, and interacting well with others. Secondy, pain teaches us compassion. It is not until we know pain ourselves that we can understand it in others. Third, if there were no pain, there could be no real love. Love involves risk, because we do not know if we will be loved back. We don't know whether our beloved will hurt us, or choose not to love us the way we want to be loved. This is why the foolish infatuations of youth are not the same thing as mature love. When we are young, we don't know yet what it means to be hurt, so we throw ourselves so willingly and so wholly into any relationship that presents itself, and we quickly believe it will last forever. It is only after we find out that sometimes it is not so, and we face a real risk the next time we decide to care for someone, that we are truly in a position to love. Pain teaches us humility, compassion, and provides a context in which real love and joy are possible. It bonds us like almost nothing else, the same way joy can. There are few people more together and connected than two people grieving together. Pain has value, and it is not inherently a bad thing.
We also know that in many cases, pain results from sin. This is not cruelty, this makes sense. It is there so we learn what is good and what is bad. Of course its not as simple as "if it hurts don't do it" but there are certainly situations in which we bring pain on ourselves and we know it is our fault.
Having said all that, I must say that I have learned a number of things over the years from what little grief I've experienced and more from seeing others grieve. One of those is that when we are in the process of grieving, when we are in pain, when we are in the thick of difficult situations that appear to be happening for no reason at all except to torture us, all the answers above be meaningless, or even worse insulting. There are few worse insults than to tell a grieving person "It'll be good for you in the long run" or worse "Its your own fault" or "This happened so God could do x, y and z." The point of the book of Job is that we do not know for what purpose everything happens. We cannot interpret events and say what good or bad will come of it. For one in pain, the best thing we can do is often the last to come to mind: sit there, listen to them, and feel their pain with them.
I have found though, that personally, although believing that something may be good for me in the long run, or that time will make it better doesn't provide a whole lot of comfort, there is one theological idea that does provide comfort: I believe with all my heart that God *sees* my pain and hurts for me as well. I believe that it hurts him to see me hurting, and that like any parent, He wants to remove me from it. Because of that I decide to trust that if He is allowing me to go through this, even though He loves me so much, that no matter how painful or bad it is or how long it lasts, I will be ok in the end, because I know Him who is able to save me, and I know that He loves me. I end up thinking all those things, but the part that always provides the healing, the only part that actually *comforts* is believing that God sees my pain and that He hurts as well. I don't know if all humans are this way, but I find that all the sense-making in the world does just about zilch for pain (even though it may be an important process), but sharing it with someone, be they human or divine, is ultimately the only thing that helps me heal. In the end, I believe that the most important value of pain, or joy for that matter, is to connect us more fully with other people and with our Creator.
On a purely abstract level, it is necessary to point out that there are a number of assumptions involved in the question. First of all, we assume that undeserved pain is a bad thing. I will propose here that pain, just like pleasure, has value in shaping us into whole people. I think this question is particularly strong in a culture like ours, where we are so averse to any type of pain. It is only today, when we have the capacity to avoid so much pain that simply had to be endured by previous generations, that pain can be so strange to us that we have to ask this question.
Previous generations knew that pain was a good thing. Pain, first of all, teaches us how to take care of ourselves. Physical pain shows us that our bodies are interfacing correctly with the rest of the world when it results from something like touching a hot stove. I believe in the same way, emotional pain can show us that we our psychological/emotional beings are functioning correctly, and interacting well with others. Secondy, pain teaches us compassion. It is not until we know pain ourselves that we can understand it in others. Third, if there were no pain, there could be no real love. Love involves risk, because we do not know if we will be loved back. We don't know whether our beloved will hurt us, or choose not to love us the way we want to be loved. This is why the foolish infatuations of youth are not the same thing as mature love. When we are young, we don't know yet what it means to be hurt, so we throw ourselves so willingly and so wholly into any relationship that presents itself, and we quickly believe it will last forever. It is only after we find out that sometimes it is not so, and we face a real risk the next time we decide to care for someone, that we are truly in a position to love. Pain teaches us humility, compassion, and provides a context in which real love and joy are possible. It bonds us like almost nothing else, the same way joy can. There are few people more together and connected than two people grieving together. Pain has value, and it is not inherently a bad thing.
We also know that in many cases, pain results from sin. This is not cruelty, this makes sense. It is there so we learn what is good and what is bad. Of course its not as simple as "if it hurts don't do it" but there are certainly situations in which we bring pain on ourselves and we know it is our fault.
Having said all that, I must say that I have learned a number of things over the years from what little grief I've experienced and more from seeing others grieve. One of those is that when we are in the process of grieving, when we are in pain, when we are in the thick of difficult situations that appear to be happening for no reason at all except to torture us, all the answers above be meaningless, or even worse insulting. There are few worse insults than to tell a grieving person "It'll be good for you in the long run" or worse "Its your own fault" or "This happened so God could do x, y and z." The point of the book of Job is that we do not know for what purpose everything happens. We cannot interpret events and say what good or bad will come of it. For one in pain, the best thing we can do is often the last to come to mind: sit there, listen to them, and feel their pain with them.
I have found though, that personally, although believing that something may be good for me in the long run, or that time will make it better doesn't provide a whole lot of comfort, there is one theological idea that does provide comfort: I believe with all my heart that God *sees* my pain and hurts for me as well. I believe that it hurts him to see me hurting, and that like any parent, He wants to remove me from it. Because of that I decide to trust that if He is allowing me to go through this, even though He loves me so much, that no matter how painful or bad it is or how long it lasts, I will be ok in the end, because I know Him who is able to save me, and I know that He loves me. I end up thinking all those things, but the part that always provides the healing, the only part that actually *comforts* is believing that God sees my pain and that He hurts as well. I don't know if all humans are this way, but I find that all the sense-making in the world does just about zilch for pain (even though it may be an important process), but sharing it with someone, be they human or divine, is ultimately the only thing that helps me heal. In the end, I believe that the most important value of pain, or joy for that matter, is to connect us more fully with other people and with our Creator.