Why Do the Wicked Prosper While the Righteous Suffer? What the Psalms Say
Why Do the Wicked Prosper While the Righteous Suffer
The Psalms are the most powerful prayers ever created in the history of humanity. There are no prayers stronger than the Psalms—none exist. They were spoken and written more than two and a half thousand years ago, yet this does not make them “ancient” in the sense of being obsolete or left behind. What was uttered by David and Asaph does not belong to the past. These words continue to live in the present—and perhaps today they sound sharper, clearer, and more piercing than ever before.
The Psalms have not merely retained their relevance; with each generation they draw closer. The world changes, the forms of evil change, the names of rulers and empires disappear, yet the inner question remains the same: why do the wicked so often prosper, while the righteous appear to suffer? Why does injustice so frequently look confident and stable, while goodness seems fragile and exposed?
This question does not belong only to “antiquity.” What took place in the days of David can hardly be called a distant past—it is the same reality in which human beings live today. And the Psalms do not shy away from this question. They do not smooth it over or hide it behind pious formulas. They offer answers—not superficial or comfortable ones, but answers that demand careful reading and inner labor.
A Question Scattered Throughout the Psalms
If Psalms 24, 48, 82, 94, 81, 93, and 92 are read as a single sequence, one thing becomes clear: the question of evil is not posed all at once. It is scattered throughout the texts—in images, rebukes, calls for judgment, and affirmations of God’s sovereignty.
These Psalms begin from the same foundation: the world belongs to God, and justice lies at the heart of the order of creation. And yet reality looks otherwise. Evil is present. It does not hide. It acts openly and often with impunity.
Psalm 94 speaks of the pain of the oppressed and of injustice that seems unanswered. Psalms 24 and 48 proclaim God’s kingship, yet they do so against a backdrop of human instability and historical fragility. Psalm 92 returns to the image of the wicked who flourish like grass, filling all available space and creating the illusion of a natural and permanent order.
A special place in this sequence belongs to Psalm 82. Here the question takes on a sharp and unmistakable form. God addresses those to whom authority and judgment have been entrusted and says:
“You lived like gods (elohim),
and all of you were children of the Most High.
Yet you will die like men
and fall like one of the princes.”
The word “gods (elohim)” here does not speak of human essence. It points to position and responsibility. This is an address to judges, rulers, and bearers of power—to those entrusted with distinguishing good from evil and preventing evil from becoming the norm. They lived like gods not by nature, but by mandate. And therefore their fall will be human and historical if they abandon that responsibility.
In all these Psalms the question is present, but it is not yet gathered into a single point. The answers are given in fragments—through images, warnings, and reminders of judgment.
Psalm 73: The Moment of Clarity
That role is fulfilled by Psalm 73, attributed to Asaph. Here what was scattered throughout the other Psalms is stated openly. Asaph honestly confesses his inner turmoil. He sees the wicked living in peace, without fear and without pain, while the righteous bear the weight of life.
He says that his foot almost slipped. This is not rebellion or defiance, but a deeply human bewilderment before the structure of the world.
The answer comes not as an explanation, but as a change in perspective:
“Until I entered the sanctuary of God
and understood their end.”
Entering the sanctuary means stepping beyond the narrow horizon of human time. There Asaph sees what is hidden from the view of a single generation.
And then the image of grass becomes clear. Grass grows, turns green, fills the field, and appears stable and natural. But it is not rooted in eternity. It may look alive for a long time, yet in the end it withers.
Psalm 73 shows that the prosperity of the wicked is not proof of their rightness. It is a temporary condition. Evil may grow, but it has no future.
Judgment, Responsibility, and Human Permission
The Psalms take a decisive step: they move the question of evil from heaven to earth. The cause of what happens is not sought in God’s “non-intervention,” but in the human refusal to judge.
Evil is not created—it is permitted. It enters where judgment falls silent, where authority ceases to discern, where responsibility is replaced by convenience. It is precisely here that the sense arises that Heaven is silent. While judgment on earth is silent, intervention does not come immediately.
The phrase from Psalm 82—“you will die like men”—is not a threat, but a conclusion. Power stripped of responsibility loses its foundation and disappears, just as princes and dynasties disappear without leaving continuity.
From Cain to Kingdoms
This principle is embedded at the very beginning of Scripture. Cain was given a long life and even protection. His descendants built cities, developed crafts, created culture, and prospered. Their end was not immediate—but it was final.
So too vanished states founded on evil. They could be powerful and terrifying, but if their strength was built on violence and the refusal to judge, they had no future.
Delay is not cancellation.
The Choice That Remains
Through Moses, God formulates the law of the world plainly and without ornament:
“See, I have set before you today
life and good,
death and evil…
blessing and curse.
Choose life.”
This is neither a promise nor a threat. It is a description of reality. A person chooses—and then lives within the consequences of that choice.
If evil is chosen, one lives within the conditions of evil.
If judgment and responsibility are chosen, evil loses its space.
Instead of a Final Word
In rabbinic tradition there exists a sober and profound explanation for what so often troubles the human heart. When people ask: how can it be that we see individuals who acted badly, caused harm, lived without shame or fear, and yet reached old age, enjoyed wealth, health, children, and outward prosperity—the answer is given without justifying evil, but with an understanding of the order of the world.
God is merciful. And even among those who cannot be called righteous, there is almost always something good they nevertheless did in this life. We are not speaking of figures of absolute evil, but of people whose lives were wrong, yet not entirely devoid of isolated good deeds.
For that small measure of good, they receive their reckoning already here, in this physical world. They may be granted long life, health, material well-being, children, and calm. This is a kind of advance payment—a full settlement within the bounds of one lifetime.
But precisely because the settlement is completed here, there is no continuation left for them. They have no share in the world to come. Their soul does not return, does not continue to develop, does not receive another chance. Unlike the ordinary sinner, who may err, repent, correct himself, and continue the path, here the path ends entirely. The soul exhausts itself and disappears, leaving no continuation.
This is the order of which the Psalms speak. The prosperity of evil is not its justification. It is not a sign of chosenness or proof of truth. It is only evidence that the reckoning has taken place where it was least expected.
The Psalms teach us to look beyond appearances and not to confuse success with truth. They remind us that the world is governed by more than what the eye can see—and that the final word never belongs to evil.
Amen. And once again—amen.
