Why Did God Send Evil Spirits on People? An Ancient Near Eastern Perspective Part 1

Why Did God Send Evil Spirits on People? An Ancient Near Eastern Perspective Part 1

In modern conversations about the Bible, one common challenge arises: Why does the God of the Old Testament often seem so different from the God revealed through Jesus? For many, the God portrayed in the Hebrew Scriptures appears tribal, violent, and emotionally reactive—sending plagues, commanding genocide, and even dispatching evil spirits to torment kings. How do we make sense of this?

A compelling answer lies in the nature of ancient storytelling. The Old Testament, while sacred and inspired, is also deeply embedded in its Ancient Near Eastern (ANE) context—a world where the gods were seen as intimately involved in every disaster, victory, or decision. In that world, God was not just described as He is, but as He needed to be understood within the culture to move the story forward.

God Spoke in Their Language—Literally and Culturally

When God wanted to communicate with people in the ancient world, He didn’t drop a systematic theology from heaven. Instead, He spoke through the genres, assumptions, and worldviews of the people at that time. Just as missionaries today translate Scripture into local dialects, the Old Testament reflects how Israel understood power, justice, and divine agency in their cultural moment.

In a world where kings were chosen by gods, where plagues were divine curses, and where battles determined divine favor, the people needed a God who entered that world and played by its narrative rules. The God of Israel is shown doing what ANE gods were expected to do—striking enemies, sending dreams, dispatching spirits—because that was how the ancients processed divine action.

Divine Agency = Storytelling Device

When Saul is tormented, the text says, “an evil spirit from the Lord tormented him” (1 Samuel 16:14). In our modern minds, this seems ethically problematic. Why would a good God send evil spirits? But in the ancient worldview, nothing happened without divine permission. If Saul was losing his grip on power, there had to be a divine explanation. In storytelling terms, this was a way of saying: God was behind the shift in leadership. It gave the audience a moral framework to understand the changing tides of kingship.

Likewise, when the prophets speak of God sending a “lying spirit” (1 Kings 22:23), they weren’t accusing God of wrongdoing. They were using culturally resonant language to frame divine judgment in a world where deception in battle and visions were common tools of the gods.

Enter Job: The Story of a Cosmic Courtroom

The story of Job offers one of the most profound examples of how God’s portrayal in the Old Testament reflects Ancient Near Eastern storytelling patterns. The book begins not with a theological treatise, but during one of the solemn assembly scenes:

“One day the sons of God came to present themselves before the Lord, and the Satan also came among them…” (Job 1:6)

In this dramatic meeting, God allows the Satan (an adversarial figure, not yet the devil of later theology) to inflict suffering on Job—destroying his possessions, killing his children, and striking him with disease—all to test whether Job's loyalty is genuine or dependent on blessing.

To modern readers, this may seem deeply offensive. Why would a good God let an innocent man suffer to win a cosmic wager? But to an ancient audience, this was not shocking or immoral—it was literary necessity.

In ANE literature, the gods often did extreme things to produce character development or reveal deeper truths. Suffering was seen as a valid—and even expected—mechanism through which divine wisdom was imparted. The point was not whether the deity was "nice" but whether the outcome was meaningful: Would the character discover something vital about himself, the divine realm, or the cosmic order?

Job’s suffering, therefore, was not the story of divine cruelty, but of divine refinement. The extremity of his trial emphasized the seriousness of the test and the depth of transformation required. The ancient audience would have understood that God was shaping Job, not simply punishing him. The structure reflects a worldview where truth is forged in affliction, and where divine authority is expressed through both challenge and restoration.

And in the end, when God finally responds—not with answers but with a barrage of unanswerable questions about creation—Job gains something greater than comfort: a new understanding of God and of himself. He says:

“My ears had heard of you, but now my eyes have seen you.” (Job 42:5)

This kind of outcome—transformative divine encounter through suffering—was exactly the kind of resolution ANE literature prized. God's extreme actions were a means to a profound end: awakening.

The God Israel Needed

Israel’s survival depended on understanding itself as set apart from the nations, yet still in conversation with the nations’ ideas. The biblical authors drew from ANE literary conventions—just as other nations did—but they repurposed them to tell a radically different story: not of capricious gods needing appeasement, but of a relational God calling a people into covenant.

Still, to move the story, the God of the Old Testament had to act within the bounds of cultural imagination. He had to be a warrior in a world of empires, a king in a world of thrones, and a judge in a world of tribal justice. These portrayals aren’t false—they're contextual. Job’s story, in particular, shows how extreme divine action, rooted in ANE literary norms, could function as a tool for transformation rather than punishment.

From Projection to Revelation

Jesus later reframes the story. He doesn’t contradict the Old Testament but transforms it, showing us that God is not only the one who commands armies, but also the one who loves enemies and welcomes outsiders. This does not mean the Old Testament was wrong—it means that it was provisional, like scaffolding for a building not yet finished.

God met people where they were, but did not leave them there. As the story unfolded, God’s character became clearer. What began as cultural projection became divine revelation.

Conclusion

The Old Testament God is not a different God—He is the same God presented through the lens of ancient culture, a storyteller who enters human narratives to move people toward justice, mercy, and covenantal love. Recognizing this doesn’t diminish the Scriptures—it honors the humanity through which God worked, and opens the door to a richer, more honest faith. In this light, even Job’s story—dark, difficult, and unresolved—becomes a powerful lens: God allowed Himself to be spoken of in ways that people understood, so that later, in Christ, He could speak to us in ways we truly needed.