Affliction
Suffering is inevitable in this life—illness, loss, persecution, grief, and opposition are part and parcel of mortality.
Affliction encompasses all of human suffering: illness, loss, persecution, grief, and the daily toll of living in a world that is not yet what it should be. Classical theism has often framed such pain as a mystery to be endured, the work of an untouchable sovereign who engineers suffering merely to test our loyalty. But Latter-day Saint theology radically reorients this ancient framework. Drawing on the revelations given to Joseph Smith in the depths of Liberty Jail, it asserts that even the most agonizing trials “shall give thee experience, and shall be for thy good.”
Filling Up What Is Lacking
Just as the millstone crushes olives to produce precious oil, affliction provides the exact pressure needed to refine character.
Paul’s letter to the Colossians contains one of the most provocative claims in the New Testament: “I fill up in my flesh what is still lacking in regard to Christ’s afflictions, for the sake of his body, which is the church” (Colossians 1:24). The claim is startling. Christ’s atonement is not, in Paul’s framing, exhaustively complete—or rather, its completion requires ongoing human participation. Suffering borne for others, in solidarity and love, shares in the expiatory works of Christ.
At its core, the atonement is participatory. No one receives it passively. Disciples are called to join the work, even when it's inconvenient. The afflictions of Christ are, in some sense, the afflictions that remain in the world—every instance of unrelieved suffering, every injustice not yet repaired. The ultimate response to theodicy is not to quietly accept a broken world, but to partner with an empathetic God in alleviating suffering. The theological demand is to enter that space, not to retreat from it.
And you who were once estranged and hostile in mind, doing evil deeds, he has now reconciled in his fleshly body through death, so as to present you holy and blameless and irreproachable before him— provided that you continue securely established and steadfast in the faith, without shifting from the hope promised by the gospel that you heard, which has been proclaimed to every creature under heaven. I, Paul, became a servant of this gospel. I am now rejoicing in my sufferings for your sake, and in my flesh I am completing what is lacking in Christ’s afflictions for the sake of his body, that is, the church. I became its servant according to God’s commission that was given to me for you, to make the word of God fully known, the mystery that has been hidden throughout the ages and generations but has now been revealed to his saints. To them God chose to make known how great among the Gentiles are the riches of the glory of this mystery, which is Christ in you, the hope of glory. It is he whom we proclaim, warning everyone and teaching everyone in all wisdom, so that we may present everyone mature in Christ. For this I toil and struggle with all the energy that he powerfully inspires within me.
Liberty Jail and the Pedagogy of Endurance
The Liberty Jail revelations were written under extremely difficult circumstances, and they describe a God who is well acquainted with suffering.
When Joseph Smith was imprisoned in Liberty Jail in the winter of 1838-1839, he wrote some of the most luminous passages in Latter-day Saint scripture. The context was extreme: a cold and filthy cell, false accusations, separation from family, and the near-destruction of the community he had built. From within that suffering, Joseph received revelation that described a God who empathized with his plight because He once “descended below” all things in order to “comprehend all things”. Divine empathy aligns with the profound doctrine taught in Moses 7:28-29, where Enoch is stunned to witness a God who weeps over the cruelty and suffering of His creations, sharing deeply in their sorrows.
Expanding on this empathetic view of suffering, Paul’s second letter to the Corinthians offers this reassurance: our present afflictions are but a fleeting shadow compared to the unfathomable weight of glory that awaits the faithful. Ultimately, the implication across these teachings is that affliction, navigated rightly, produces a kind of knowledge that comfort cannot; adversity is real, but it isn't the whole story, and it need not have the last word.
The Technical Work of Overcoming
Religious traditions consistently mandate healing the sick, caring for the vulnerable, and elevating the human condition. Historically, humanity possessed limited tools to fulfill these mandates—basic agriculture, rudimentary medicine, and so forth. In today's world, biotechnology and advanced medicine serve as contemporary vehicles for realizing these ancient directives. To heal the sick is to do what Jesus commanded. The scientific quest to defeat death is, in essence, an attempt to realize what the resurrection already promises. To reduce the burden of mental illness, chronic pain, or genetic disease is to fill up, in some small measure, what is still lacking in the afflictions of Christ.
The caution is that technology pursued without compassion produces its own set of problems. History offers no shortage of examples: enhancement for the few that deepens the suffering of the many, efficiency gained at the cost of dignity, cures weaponized as tools of control. That's the real test for any technology: does it actually reduce suffering or does it just move the suffering somewhere less visible?