The problem of evil is a perpetual thorn in the side of traditional theism. What contributes to its perpetuity is the astonishing array of creative responses that it has provoked in the philosophy of religion. Indeed, no response to the problem is safe from further, mostly critical, responses. And this, in part, is what makes the ongoing return the problem of evil, to the seemingly endless proposals both for defending theism and for doing it in, interesting and illuminating. I think you will find this borne out in the articles contained in this issue.

The first essay explores a novel explanation for why there is evil (dire human suffering) in the world. This explanation is found in the very jarring hypothesis that there exists a supernatural, omnipotent, omniscient, but omnimalevolent God who inflicts unspeakable suffering on human beings for his or her own perverse pleasure. Christopher Gregory Weaver calls this the evilism thesis and argues that with only two meta-ethical assumptions, the existence of such a being can be shown to be impossible.

In the second article, Ryan Rhodes responds to an article by Rob Lovering (“On What God Would Do” 2009) previously published in this journal. Against Lovering’s claim that appeals to considerations of what God would do are flawed, Rhodes makes the case that properly qualified, both theistic and atheistic arguments can reasonably appeal to what God would or would not do.

In the next essay, the discussion turns to evolutionary theodicies. The common claim of these theodicies is that exposure to the natural processes of evolution, including the key elements of randomness and chance, was the only way to produce the kind of attributes in human beings that God desired them to have. Using a number of thought experiments, Mats Wahlberg argues that these theodicies fail. As he sees it, producing creatures by evolutionary processes was not as the only way for human beings to achieve the attributes God desired for them to acquire.

Scott Coley argues that theodicies come in two forms, weak and strong. They offer different answers to the following question. “Does the available evidence give us more reason to affirm or to withhold affirmation from the claim that God’s permission of evil is justified in virtue of the good it produces?” The weak theodicist would say either “No” or “Maybe,” while those holding the strong version would say “Yes.” But in either case, the implication is that the good produced by the existence of evil is specified in some sensible way. As Coley defines it, a theodicy must offer such a specification of a good (that is, name it) that would be produced by evil, outweigh it, and hence justify God in permitting it. He thinks that the skeptical theist runs into trouble by putting this specification somehow beyond the reach of human cognitive abilities. And this is why skeptical theism fails to qualify as a theodicy, weak or strong, at least by Coley’s definition.

In the last article, Toby Betenson reconsiders the aptness of the well-worn image of Ivan Karamazov as giving voice to the standard (logical) objections to God’s existence that are raised by the problem of evil. He discusses two such uses of this image, one by Marilyn Adams and one by John Hick. He finds these interpretations wanting and discusses a third view he thinks is better. This is Steward Sutherland’s view that sees Karamazov as not voicing a logical argument for atheism, but as rejecting the relevance of logic in the human confrontation with horrendous evil. But Betenson sees Sutherland’s interpretation as wrongly making Karamazov into a non-cognitivist. Betenson offers a new interpretation that has Karamazov giving voice to an emotional but cognitive (romantic) response to evil. This is a response that does not limit meaning to intellectual concerns but allows knowledge to go beyond logical argument and intellectual understanding. Karamazov’s response to evil, rightly construed, sees it as an emotional but meaningful response to a mystery. But having said this, Betenson is clear that even though Karamazov’s response to the mystery of evil was cognitive, this interpretation does not change his steadfast (emotional) rejection of theism: Karamazov’s romantic reaction to evil is a hope-less one, at least regarding the plausibility of theism.