The best theodical argument, to my mind, is to limit God's goodness; that is, to assert that God is usually, but not always, good. I argue that the evidence from the reality of the holocaust does not allow common sense or reason to assert that evil is somehow good. One cannot, in good conscience, say that the holocaust is somehow a punishment, or a warning, or a test, or a hidden merit against a worse evil. I also argue that the continuing felt spiritual presence of God in the lives of believers and in the collective life of the Jewish people does not allow reason or common sense to deny God's existence. God is an accepted part of who religious humanity is. I further maintain that common sense and reason do not allow one to deny or limit God's power. Rather, the very assertion of God's ongoing presence in creation implies that God is, at all times, active in nature and in human history. Finally, I contend that God's ongoing presence and power implies God's ongoing, direct and indirect, moral co-responsibility in human affairs. The following image conveys the sense of God's ongoing responsibility in human affairs, even for the evil that humanity does: If I give the keys to the car to my son and he injures someone, who is responsible? Surely, he is factually, morally, and legally responsible. Yet, even if I have done all in my power to educate him properly in the skills and responsibilities of driving, I too, in some way, am very much responsible if my son has an accident. I have an encompassing moral co-responsibility for what happens in his life. So, too, God and humanity. God has an encompassing moral co-responsibility in the action of humans by virtue of being Creator.[1]
Considering these four arguments, together with others, and drawing on the zoharic tradition of Jewish mysticism as well as on an intact sense of the reality of the holocaust, I am willing to say that God, from time to time, acts in evil ways; that God, at unpredictable moments in the ongoing divine-human relationship, does evil. Moreover I argue, together with the sources, that this propensity for evil is inherent in God, that any such evil act is not always a function of prior human sin. I set forth all this carefully in Facing the Abusing God: A Theology of Protest [2] where, drawing on data from the field of child abuse, I named this dimension of God "abuse" and proposed "worship of God through protest" as a legitimate response.[3]
"Ethical, spiritual, and theological nihilism," she said.[4] "Reductio ad absurdum, unsustainable theology," he said.[5] Others have joined the chorus, even as all have commended my courage and expressed high praise for other aspects of the book. Why? What is the force behind such vehement rejection of what seems to be a rather reasonable, and even traditional, solution to the theodical problem? The first criterion for resolution of cognitive dissonance has been met: One's sense of reality has been left in tact. The holocaust remains unadulterated evil in every sense of the word.
The second criterion for resolution of dissonance -- empowerment within one's general intellectual and moral worldview-- has also been met. Worship of God through protest, in thought and in prayer, is an empowering response to the theodical problem. Theological and liturgical protest, precisely as a form of worship and ongoing relatedness to God, fulfills the second criterion of a good resolution to cognitive dissonance. This response of protest also has the virtue of being a long and hallowed tradition with roots in the Bible (the Book of Job; Book of Lamentations, especially the first two chapters; the "lament psalms," especially Psalm 44; and so on) as well as in the rabbinic tradition.[6]
The resistance to the resolution of our post-holocaust and abuse-sensitive theodical situation which I have proposed stems from the third criterion: contradiction. But, of what? I have contradicted the idea of God's omni-benevolence; I have shattered the idea that God is always good. The weighty philosophical-theological apparatus of the tradition presupposes that God is omnibenevolent, that God always acts with justice and, hence, that any evil in creation cannot emanate from God. The logic of God's perfection precludes God's imperfection. Since God is perfect, God is always good; therefore, God cannot be, or contain, evil in Godself or even in God's actions. Indeed, most of the philosophic-theological part of the tradition denies any human form or feeling to God (with the occasional exception of intellect and/or love)[7] and, so, would certainly deny evil to God. When I argue, then, that God does encompass evil, even though I can call to arms many passages from Scripture[8] as well as zoharic and lurianic theology, I have broken a "logical" taboo. In asserting evil as a component of God Godself, I have crossed a line in theodical theory.
In the area of theodical praxis, too, I have crossed a line. Work with survivors of the holocaust and of child abuse shows that, for all survivors, healing is not a one-way process; healing is simply not linear. One does not work at healing and, then, "get over it," "get released," "forgive and go beyond it," or "convert [sic] away from it."[9] The opposite is true: one rages, one deals with one's rage by mourning the past and empowering oneself, but the past returns. Survivors who lose a parent or a child, or who become patients in a hospital, or who read about and identify with the abuse of others, or who are subject to the infirmities of aging -- all have recurrences of the helplessness of the abusive time in their own lives. They all re-experience the powerlessness of their earlier trauma. With that powerlessness comes the rage, again and again, and it must be dealt with, each time, by mourning, empowerment, and protest.
I argue, therefore, that healing itself is a seriatim process, a tacking into the wind, an alternation between empowerment and desire for revenge, between acceptance and protest, between love and rage.[10] How could it be otherwise? The past cannot be erased or ignored (at least not for any length of time). It must be coped with by mourning and empowerment, and by protest. Further, this must be done, not simultaneously, not linearly, but in an alternating rhythm. This healing-by-tacking is not unethical; it is not dis-integrative; it is not a miring down in a cyclic process. Rather, it is a moving forward by alternating directions. It is sewing with a backstitch, repeatedly. It is integrative -- more integrative than healing procedures that urge survivors to "forgive and go beyond," to "be healed once and for all."
To put it differently: A sculpture must be seen from all sides and this cannot be done simultaneously but seriatim; one must walk around a sculpture to see it fully. Like sailing, viewing a sculpture is a better image of what life is, and ought to be. Healing and protest alternate in sculpting one's life, not once but repeatedly -- which makes this approach good art and, therefore, compatible with good theology. Or again: Alcoholics never say they are "cured"; they always refer to themselves as "recovering alcoholics." Similarly, survivors are not "healed"; they are "recovering survivors." (We all might do well to follow the modesty and realism of alcoholics and survivors and refer to ourselves as "recovering sinners.")[11]
Theodically, the same analysis holds. To respond to the dissonance of the theodical situation by demanding that one "get over" one's anger at God, or that one "forgive and go beyond" one's rage against God, is to undermine the healing process. It implies a rectilinear image of healing in the theodical situation that does not seem to me to be realistic or even morally proper. Demanding that a survivor of child abuse or the holocaust "get beyond" his or her theodical anger impugns the moral sense of the survivor and casts doubt on the ethical integrity of the divine-human relationship.[12] Protest, when one thinks God is wrong, is a better option, psychodynamically and theologically. It preserves the God of the texts and traditions, as well as the moral sense of humanity, God, and the tradition. Asserting God's presence in human history and then worshiping God through protest is a better path for those for whom God's ultimate sovereignty and responsibility are real, though it does require a willingness to face God without flinching. The images of tacking into the wind in order to advance, or backstitching, or walking around a sculpture, or recovering from addiction are better paradigms: One prays the liturgy of rage and protest vigorously and honestly. Then one tacks to a liturgy of joy and blessing. One turns yet again to a theology of courageous challenge. And then one tacks again to a theology of belonging and empowerment.[13]
Within Jewish tradition, the value-concept[14] of covenant requires the Jew to affirm God's action in history and to protest it when necessary even as one alternates protest with community-building. Covenant grounds one's right to protest and indeed makes protest obligatory. Covenant also obliges active and concrete commitment to community. However, each is obligatory in its own due time. In setting forth this interactive and realistic understanding of healing, especially in the theodical situation, I have crossed a line in the praxis of theodicy.
In sum: Theodical theory, especially in its philosophic-theological form, requires a perfect God Who cannot be, or contain, evil and Who cannot act in clearly evil ways. Only the affirmation of the omnibenevolence of God is admissible. Theodical praxis, especially in its philosophic-theological mode, requires the final setting-aside of all rage against God and the willing and complete submission to God's good will. The cognitive dissonance of the theodical situation is, thus, dealt with, especially in the philosophic-theological tradition, by denying the evil of the event and by affirming the absolute goodness of God.
By contrast, theodical theory, as I envision it, requires one to limit God's omnibenevolence and, hence, to assert that God is capable of evil. Further, it demands that one recognize that challenge and protest are theologically legitimate options. Theodical praxis, as I see it, requires, not pious rationalized acceptance of dissonance, but a serious fight against dissonance through protest as a form of thought and worship, used always in alternation with a theology and praxis of empowerment, joy, and blessing.
In spite of its roots in Scripture, in the mystical theological tradition, and in reason and common sense, the proposal I have made has encountered fierce resistance. Reading the book is difficult, emotionally more than intellectually. Critique has been vehement beyond the usual scholarly rigor. There have even been those who have argued that a theodicy that inculpates God cannot, by definition, be called a theodicy; that is, that a theodicy that does not justify God, is not a theodicy.[15] I, too, was emotionally and physically ill before I wrote the concluding section and I remain tense and ambivalent when I use the liturgy I myself proposed. The disproportionate character of this reaction suggests that more than a "logical" taboo has been broken, theoretically and practically, in this theodicy. The stormy response suggests a storm. What, then, is at stake in a theodicy that names God an Abuser and suggests a therapy that progresses seriatim ?