If you’ve ever lain awake at night, staring at the ceiling and wondering how a loving God could allow so much suffering in the world, you’re not alone. C.S. Lewis’s The Problem of Pain tackles this ancient, aching question head-on, not with easy comfort, but with intellectual rigor and a deeply personal faith.
Pain is not proof of God’s absence or cruelty, but rather a necessary consequence of a world with free will, a divine megaphone to rouse us from spiritual complacency, and a tool God can use—even through simple evils—to bring about a more complex good.
Lewis builds his case not on abstract theology alone but on a framework of philosophical reasoning, scriptural analysis, and keen observation of human nature, arguing that the possibility of pain is logically inseparable from the existence of a loving community of free creatures, a point he supports by dissecting concepts of divine omnipotence, goodness, and the inherent corruption of human will.
So, The Problem of Pain is best for: thoughtful Christians wrestling with doubt, skeptics open to a logical defense of faith, readers interested in classical theodicy, and anyone seeking an intellectually honest treatment of suffering that doesn’t dismiss the difficulty.
Not for: readers seeking a purely emotional or consoling grief manual, those opposed to Christian presuppositions, or anyone wanting a scientific or secular exploration of pain’s biological origins.
Table of Contents
Introduction
The Problem of Pain is a work of Christian apologetics written by Clive Staples Lewis (1898–1963), first published in 1940 by Geoffrey Bles in the UK. This book stands as one of Lewis’s earliest and most direct forays into defending the rational coherence of the Christian faith against a fundamental and universal human experience: suffering.
Context: Emerging on the eve of a world plunged into the immense, mechanized suffering of World War II, Lewis’s book enters a genre as old as Job—theodicy, the attempt to reconcile the existence of an all-powerful, all-good God with the reality of evil and pain.
Lewis was not a trained theologian but a Fellow and Tutor in English Literature at Oxford University (and later a professor at Cambridge), a former atheist who converted to Christianity in 1931.
His background as a literary scholar and a rationalist informs the book’s structure; it is a carefully reasoned argument, moving from philosophical foundations to theological conclusions. He writes as a layman for laypeople, aiming to solve the “intellectual problem raised by suffering” (p. VII), not to offer easy emotional solace.
The central point of The Problem of Pain is that human suffering is not an absurdity that disproves God but a phenomenon that can be understood within the framework of Christian belief. Lewis argues that pain is intrinsically linked to a world where free, rational creatures exist.
It serves as a necessary alarm system, a divine corrective to human arrogance and self-sufficiency, and is ultimately subsumed within a larger, redemptive plan orchestrated by a God whose love is more demanding and profound than mere kindness.
Background
To appreciate Lewis’s approach, it’s useful to understand the intellectual climate. The early 20th century saw the horrors of World War I, the rise of scientific materialism, and philosophical movements that often viewed the universe as indifferent or malevolent.
The classic argument from evil against God’s existence was (and remains) potent: “If God were good, He would wish to make His creatures perfectly happy, and if God were almighty He would be able to do what He wished. But the creatures are not happy. Therefore God lacks either goodness, or power, or both” (p. 25). Lewis, having once been an atheist who held this very view, aims to dismantle it from the inside, showing that the terms “good,” “almighty,” and “happy” are often misunderstood.
The Problem of Pain Summary
Lewis’s argument unfolds like a philosophical staircase, each chapter building upon the last. He begins not with dogma, but with the raw data of human experience.
Introduction: Lewis starts by vividly reconstructing his atheistic argument from his own past: a universe of vast, empty, cold space, where life is brief, predatory, and filled with pain, culminating in cosmic entropy. “If you ask me to believe that this is the work of a benevolent and omnipotent spirit, I reply that all the evidence points in the opposite direction” (p. 12).
But he then poses a crucial counter-question: if the universe is so obviously bad, why did humans ever conceive of a good Creator?
Religion, he contends, did not arise from optimistic readings of nature but from other sources in spite of nature’s cruelty. He identifies these sources as three strands of religious experience: 1) the Numinous (awe and dread before a supernatural presence), 2) the Moral Law (the inescapable sense of “ought”), and 3) the identification of the Numinous with the Moral, where the awesome power is seen as the source of righteous demand—a step he attributes most clearly to the Jews.
The fourth, uniquely Christian strand, is the historical incarnation: the shocking claim that this Numinous-Moral Being entered human history in Jesus Christ. Christianity, therefore, is not a philosophy deduced from a pleasant world, but a “catastrophic historical event” we must grapple with (p. 23).
Divine Omnipotence: Here, Lewis clarifies a common misconception. God’s omnipotence means He can do all that is intrinsically possible, not the logically nonsensical. “You may attribute miracles to Him, but not nonsense” (p. 27). He cannot make a square circle, nor give a creature free will while forcing its will.
This is crucial. Lewis then argues that a world of free, social creatures (like us) necessitates a stable, predictable environment—a “Nature” with fixed laws. In such a world, the same laws that allow us to build a house (using wood as a beam) also allow us to assault a neighbor (using wood as a club).
To constantly miracle away the consequences of free will would make the world unintelligible and freedom meaningless. “Try to exclude the possibility of suffering which the order of nature and the existence of free wills involve, and you find that you have excluded life itself” (p. 34).
Divine Goodness: This is perhaps the book’s core chapter. Lewis confronts a dilemma: if God’s goodness is utterly unlike ours, the word becomes meaningless; if it’s just like ours, He is not transcendent. His solution is analogical. God’s love is not a senile, grandfatherly kindness that just wants us “happy.”
It is a demanding, purifying, creative love.
He uses powerful analogies: God as an artist loving his work into perfection, even if the process is painful for the painting (p. 43-44); as a good man training a dog, washing and disciplining it to raise it from a wild state into the richer life of a companion (p. 44-45); as a father exercising authoritative love for the child’s true good (p. 46); and as a lover, who is “more sensitive than hatred itself to every blemish in the beloved” (p. 48).
This love is “a consuming fire Himself” (p. 48), intent on making us lovable, not just comfortable. Our happiness is a byproduct of becoming what He intends.
Human Wickedness: Before explaining pain’s function, Lewis establishes our need for correction. Modern humanity, he argues, has lost a sense of sin, masking it under a shallow “kindness” and psychoanalytic excuses. We are, he insists, not just imperfect but rebels. “Christ takes it for granted that men are bad” (p. 59).
He lists reasons we underestimate our own corruption: we compare ourselves to others, mistake corporate guilt for personal responsibility, think time cancels sin, and conform to the low standards of our local moral “pocket.”
True guilt, in a moment of stark honesty, reveals that “our character… is, and ought to be, hateful to all good men” (p. 60). A good God must hate sin; therefore, His “wrath” is not barbarous but a corollary of His goodness.
The Fall of Man: How did we become so misaligned? Lewis explicates the doctrine of the Fall not as a literal reading of Genesis but as a mythic expression of a spiritual truth.
The essence of the Fall was Pride: the creature’s desire to exist for itself, to be its own centre. “Someone or something whispered that they could become as gods” (p. 84). This primal act of self-will severed the perfect union between the human spirit (which once wholly commanded the body) and God.
The result was a catastrophic loss of status: the spirit became a “lodger” or “prisoner” in its own body, which now obeys biochemical laws leading to decay and death, and the will is flooded with rebellious passions (p. 87-88). We are now members of a “spoiled species” (p. 90).
Human Pain & Human Pain, Continued: Now Lewis addresses pain’s purpose in our fallen state. He distinguishes between pain as a mere sensation (Sense A) and pain as “suffering” or “tribulation” (Sense B), which is his focus (p. 86-87). For the rebel, pain has key functions:
- The Megaphone: It shatters the illusion that all is well. “God whispers to us in our pleasures, speaks in our conscience, but shouts in our pain: it is His megaphone to rouse a deaf world” (p. 100). It plants “the flag of truth within the fortress of a rebel soul” (p. 103).
- The Detacher: It undermines our false self-sufficiency. When “our own life” is too agreeable, we ignore God. Pain makes our earthly happiness less plausible, forcing us to look beyond it (p. 103-105).
- The Test of Obedience: In a fallen being, true obedience to God can only be fully known when it runs contrary to inclination. Pain provides the material for a willed surrender that echoes Christ’s “Not my will, but thine be done” (p. 106-107). This mortification of self-will is a kind of death that leads to life.
Lewis is careful to clarify: suffering is not good in itself. We should work to alleviate it in others and lawfully avoid it ourselves. But in a fallen world, God can exploit even simple evil to produce a “complex good”—fortitude, pity, forgiveness—that would not exist otherwise (p. 110-111). He also dispels the illusion of a “sum of suffering,” noting that no single consciousness bears the aggregated pain of millions (p. 125-126).
Hell: Lewis, with obvious personal discomfort, defends the doctrine of hell as a logical necessity of free will. If the ultimate good is self-surrender to God, it must be possible to finally refuse. “I can no more diminish God’s glory by refusing to worship Him than a lunatic can put out the sun by scribbling the word ‘darkness’ on the walls of his cell” (p. 55).
Hell is not so much a punishment inflicted as the soul’s final, chosen state of self-imprisonment. “I willingly believe that the damned are, in one sense, successful, rebels to the end; that the doors of hell are locked on the inside” (p. 139). It represents the ultimate horror of being forever closed in on the self.
Animal Pain: Lewis admits this is the hardest problem, as animals seem innocent. He speculates cautiously: much animal “suffering” may be unconscious sentience without a coordinating self.
Furthermore, he suggests the corruption of the animal world (e.g., predation) may predate humanity and be the work of a fallen, non-human power (Satan). His most intriguing suggestion is that tame animals may attain a kind of derivative immortality through their redeemed masters, as their personality is, in part, a gift formed in that relationship (p. 152-154).
Heaven: The argument culminates in heaven, the necessary counterweight to earthly suffering. Lewis’s vision is not of harp-playing but of dynamic, joyous reality. He posits that every soul has a unique, God-shaped void, an “incommunicable and unappeasable want” that earthly joys only hint at (p. 160).
Heaven is the satisfaction of that want. It is a state of eternal self-giving, where each soul, fully distinct, loves and praises God in a way no other can, contributing to a cosmic symphony. “Heaven is a city, and a Body, because the blessed remain eternally different” (p. 164). This eternal dance of reciprocal love, rooted in the inner life of the Trinity, is the reality for which we were made.
Appendix (by R. Havard, MD): A clinical note adds empirical observation, stating that pain often provides an opportunity for heroism seized with “surprising frequency,” and that chronic mental pain, when faced, can strengthen character like “tempered steel” (p. 161-162).
Highlighted Points
1. God’s Omnipotence Means Power to Do the Logically Possible, Not the Nonsensical
- God cannot do intrinsically impossible things (e.g., create a square circle, give free will while forcing it). This redefines the problem: pain isn’t proof of God’s weakness but may be part of a logically necessary world structure.
2. A World of Free Souls Requires a Stable, Ordered Nature Where Pain is Possible
- For free will and interpersonal relationships to exist, the physical world must have consistent laws. The same laws that allow love and creativity (e.g., using wood to build a shelter) also allow harm (using wood as a weapon). Removing the possibility of suffering would remove the possibility of meaningful choice and life itself.
3. Divine Goodness is Not Mere “Kindness” but a Demanding, Purifying Love
- God’s love is more like that of a sculptor, a trainer, a father, or a lover—aimed at making us good, not just happy. It is “a consuming fire” that seeks our perfection, even if the process is painful. This corrects the modern tendency to view God as a permissive grandfather.
4. Humanity is Not Merely Imperfect but Rebellious—This is the Core of the “Human Problem”
- Lewis argues we have a deep-seated, often overlooked, propensity toward self-centeredness and pride (the essence of the Fall). Pain becomes necessary because we are not just flawed beings needing improvement but rebels who must surrender a will we’ve claimed as our own.
5. Pain is God’s “Megaphone” to Rouse a Deaf World
- In a state of comfort or illusion, we ignore spiritual realities. Pain shatters the illusion that all is well, forces us to confront our fragility and dependence, and can lead us to ask ultimate questions. “God whispers to us in our pleasures, speaks in our conscience, but shouts in our pain.”
6. Suffering Can Shatter Illusions of Self-Sufficiency and Redirect Our Attachment
- When earthly happiness and success become our gods, pain can detach us from these false idols, making us look beyond them for lasting fulfillment. It is a severe mercy that pulls us back toward our true good: God.
7. True Obedience is Proven When It Goes Against Our Inclination
- In a fallen creature, the purest act of love for God is one done not because we naturally enjoy it, but because we will it in obedience, even in suffering. This participation in Christ-like surrender is part of our restoration.
8. Hell is the Logical Consequence of Ultimate, Final Free Will
- If the greatest good is voluntary surrender to God, the greatest evil is the final, fixed refusal of that surrender. Hell is God’s terrible respect for human freedom—the doors are “locked on the inside” by the soul’s own choice for self over communion.
9. Heaven is the Satisfying Answer to Earth’s Longings
- Our deepest, most inconsolable desires hint at a reality beyond this world. Heaven is not mere harp-playing but the full, dynamic, and unique participation in the life of God, where each soul finds its specific, God-shaped fulfillment in an eternal dance of love and praise.
10. Animal Pain Remains a Mystery, But Not Necessarily a Disproof
- Lewis admits this is the hardest part. He offers speculative possibilities: much animal suffering may lack conscious self-awareness; the natural world may be subject to corruption by non-human evil; and tame animals may find a derivative immortality in the redeemed life of their human masters.
The Overarching Takeaway:
The existence of pain does not disprove a good and powerful God. Rather, within the Christian framework, it is a severe instrument in a world broken by free will—used to correct, awaken, detach, and ultimately draw creatures capable of love back toward their Creator. The problem of pain is inseparable from the gifts of freedom, love, and the possibility of eternal joy.
These points form the backbone of Lewis’s theodicy. Carrying them forward provides a robust framework for wrestling with suffering not as a meaningless absurdity, but as a profound, albeit painful, part of a larger cosmic story of creation, fall, and redemption.
The Problem of Pain Analysis
Evaluation of Content: Lewis’s strength lies in his logical architecture and clear analogies. He effectively supports his arguments by defining his terms tightly (omnipotence, goodness) and building a coherent world where free will, a stable natural order, and moral growth are interlocked. His movement from philosophical possibility to theological explanation is systematic.
However, whether he “fulfills his purpose” depends on the reader’s premises. For someone granting his Christian starting points (the existence of God, the truth of the Fall, the authority of Scripture), his theodicy is powerful and resolving.
For the skeptic who does not accept these axioms, the argument can feel like an elegant castle built on sand. His evidence is primarily scriptural, logical deduction, and introspective observation of human nature—not empirical data. For instance, his treatment of animal pain is highly speculative, as he admits.
Strengths and Weaknesses (A Personal Reader’s Experience):
- Pleasant/Positive: What I found most compelling was Lewis’s unflinching honesty. He doesn’t minimize pain’s horror. His description of God’s love as a “consuming fire” and an “intolerable compliment” revolutionized my understanding of divine goodness.
It’s more satisfying than saccharine depictions. His logical dismantling of the “omnipotence paradox” is brilliant in its simplicity. The literary quality of his prose—clear, forceful, and occasionally majestic (as in the heaven chapter)—makes dense ideas accessible.
- Unpleasant/Negative: The chapter on Human Wickedness can feel harsh and dated, particularly his dismissive remarks about psychoanalysis and his seeming endorsement of “breaking the child’s will” (p. 98). While his point is about spiritual surrender, the language is jarring to modern sensibilities.
His speculation on animal pain, while honest about its uncertainty, may feel insufficient to those deeply troubled by nature’s brutality. Furthermore, the book is decidedly intellectual; it offers a framework for understanding pain, but as Lewis himself warns, it provides little balm for the heart in its immediate, acute agony. You won’t find the compassionate tone of, say, A Grief Observed (written after his wife’s death) here.
Reception/Criticism
Upon its 1940 release, The Problem of Pain was generally well-received within Christian circles for its intellectual vigor, establishing Lewis as a leading apologist. Over time, it has become a classic of Christian thought.
However, critics have pointed out its limitations. Modern philosophers of religion often find his free-will defense incomplete, arguing it doesn’t address “natural evil” (like earthquakes or disease) not caused by human will.
Feminists and more liberal theologians have critiqued the hierarchical, authoritarian metaphors of fatherhood and mastery used for God’s love. Others feel his vision of hell, while philosophically defended, remains morally troubling and out of step with a God whose defining characteristic in Christ is self-sacrificial love.
Comparison with Similar Works
- Within Lewis’s Oeuvre: The Problem of Pain is more philosophical and less accessible than the conversational Mere Christianity, and less imaginative than
The Screwtape Letters. It lacks the raw, personal anguish of A Grief Observed, which almost serves as a postscript showing the limits of intellectual theodicy when faced with actual, personal loss.
- Other Theodicies: It is less systematic and academic than Alvin Plantinga’s free-will defense in analytic philosophy. It is more accessible and literary than John Hick’s “soul-making” theodicy (Evil and the God of Love), though they share the idea of pain as a means of spiritual development.
Compared to Bart D. Ehrman’s God’s Problem, which explores the Bible’s conflicting answers to suffering from a scholarly, skeptical perspective, Lewis’s work is a committed, insider’s attempt to construct a unified answer.
Conclusion
The Problem of Pain is a bracing, intellectually rigorous, and ultimately hopeful journey through one of life’s darkest valleys. It does not offer a pat answer but a robust framework for faith to engage with despair.
Who would benefit most? This book is ideal for the doubting Christian, the intellectually curious skeptic, the student of philosophy of religion, or any reader who prefers their comfort served with a side of steel-trap logic. It is for those who, when faced with suffering, ask “How can this be?” before they ask “How can I feel better?”
Who should look elsewhere? Those in the immediate, paralyzing throes of fresh grief will likely find it cold. Readers seeking a non-theistic, scientific, or psychological exploration of pain, or those deeply opposed to traditional Christian metaphysics, will find its foundations alien.
In the end, Lewis’s The Problem of Pain does not remove the thorn, but it places it in a picture so vast—stretching from a primordial fall to an eternal dance of joy—that its sting, while never denied, is transfigured by meaning.
For those willing to follow his argument, it remains one of the most honest and compelling maps ever drawn for that most difficult of pilgrimages.
