The greatest evil is physical pain.

The words of Saint Augustine—“The greatest evil is physical pain”—strike the soul with both simplicity and weight. Augustine, the restless seeker who became one of the towering voices of the Church, spoke often of the nature of good and evil, of the body and the soul. In this saying, he confronts the raw truth that pain, more than poverty or exile, more even than dishonor, crushes the human spirit most directly. For while hunger can be endured with patience and injustice borne with courage, unrelenting physical suffering seizes the body itself and chains the soul in agony.

The ancients before him also feared this truth. The Stoics, who preached endurance, still wrestled with the torment of the flesh. Epictetus, though a slave, endured a broken leg in silence, yet admitted that pain is the fiercest enemy of reason, for it can scatter thought and enslave even the wisest man. Augustine knew this well, for he lived in a world where sickness and wounds were constant, where war and plague brought suffering to every household. To him, physical pain was the most immediate and unavoidable form of evil—it stripped man of his strength, his dignity, and sometimes even his faith.

History offers us vivid testimonies. In the Black Death of the 14th century, men and women endured not only death, but agony in the flesh: swellings, fevers, burning sores. The terror of the plague was not only that it killed, but that it inflicted such unbearable torment that the sufferers longed for death as release. Here Augustine’s words prove true—pain was the evil that overshadowed all else, turning homes into prisons of suffering, faith into despair. The people prayed not for gold, not for crowns, but simply for relief from their pain.

Yet there is also a deeper current beneath Augustine’s teaching. He was not merely describing the obvious cruelty of suffering, but reminding us of the need for compassion. For if pain is the greatest evil, then the greatest good is to ease it. This is why the works of mercy—feeding the hungry, healing the sick, comforting the dying—are held as holy. In relieving physical pain, we wage war against the darkest evil. Thus, Augustine’s words are not meant to sink us into despair, but to awaken us to the sacred duty of compassion.

At the same time, Augustine knew that pain can purify, stripping away pride and reminding us of our dependence on God. He did not deny that suffering can bear fruit, but he never romanticized it. To call pain the greatest evil is to honor the reality of human weakness, to refuse to diminish the experience of the afflicted. It is also a warning to the proud—those who think themselves invincible—that nothing humbles like the body’s cry of anguish.

The lesson for us is clear: when we see suffering, we must not turn away. To ignore another’s pain is to ally ourselves with evil. Instead, we must act with compassion—visit the sick, care for the wounded, comfort those in agony. In our own lives, we must also cultivate patience in pain, seeking both remedies and inner strength, remembering that while pain may be the greatest evil, love remains the greatest antidote.

Therefore, let us take Augustine’s words as both warning and calling. Beware the power of pain, for it can undo the strongest will. But also embrace the duty to heal and to comfort, for in lessening the pain of others, we conquer evil itself. Let our hands, our words, and our hearts be instruments of mercy, so that where pain reigns, compassion may triumph, and the shadow of evil be driven back by the light of love.