The Holocaust was possibly the most depraved and utterly bad event in human history. To even attempt to illustrate it in words is to miss the mark-- that is, to sin.1 The nature of the Holocaust, perhaps like the nature of God itself, cannot be adequately conveyed though the temporal medium of language. The human mind is incapable of fully comprehending what occurred in those camps. In that sense, the Holocaust, insofar as it is profoundly incomprehensible, is ipso facto ‘sacred’ and thus indelibly linked to whatever conception of God one may have. This conclusion poses two fundamental questions to every theistic religion:
1. Can your religion account for what happened at Auschwitz?
and
2. Isn’t a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ answer to that question equally damning?2
This paper will examine how two faiths Judaism, the primary target of the Holocaust, and Christianity, the faith which filled the backdrop out of which National-Socialism arose, are positioned to respond to these questions.
Bodies of prisoners of Ohrdruf concentration camp (April 1945). Photo courtesy of the Eisenhower Presidential Library.
Theologian Richard Rubenstein has written that, in their treatment of Holocaust theology, traditional Judaism and Christianity are both unable to provide satisfactory responses to these two questions. Traditional Judaism is poised to affirm the first question but not the second: The Jewish theologians that Rubenstein cites have little trouble explaining why a traditional Jewish God may have actively permitted the Holocaust. The trouble then lies in explaining why such a God is still entitled to Israel’s affection. Rubenstein is unable to answer this, and concludes with an unconvincing but understandable retreat to what is essentially ‘paganism with Jewish characteristics.’
The Christians theologians that Rubenstein discusses have the opposite problem. They have to warp the traditional conception of the Christian God to explain how the Holocaust could have happened. Therein lies the fundamental paradox of Holocaust theology. The Holocaust demands the question: ‘Can your faith account for what happened in Auschwitz?,’ but a ‘yes’ or a ‘no’ answer is equally damning.
Beginning with Jewish theology, it is Rubenstein’s 1961 conversation with the Protestant theologian Heinrich Grüber that first awakens him to the challenge of Holocaust theology. Although a Christian himself, Grüber works within the Jewish theological framework to explain the Holocaust. Referencing the covenant between God and Israel and Israel's election, Grüber asserts that “it was part of God’s plan that the Jews died,” and suggests that the Holocaust served as God’s punishment of the Jews for some unnamed crime, citing similar incidents in Jewish history, such as the destructions of the First and Second temples, and the quote from Ps. 44:22 that “for Thy sake we are slaughtered every day”.3 Rubenstein goes on to cite a number of Jewish theologians who arrive at the same conclusion, stating that “many important Jewish religious authorities have emphatically rejected the idea that the occurrence of the Holocaust is in any way inconsistent with the traditional Jewish conception of divinity.”4
He begins with the Rabbi Elchonon Wasserman, who, shortly before his own murder in the Holocaust, articulates the crime that Grüber references. Wasserman argues that the Holocaust was God’s way of punishing Jews for their secular nationalism, assimilation with host nations, and their scientific analysis of the Torah, and that these deaths are necessary to hasten the coming of the Messiah.5 Likewise, the Rabbi Menachem Schneerson claims that “Hitler is but God’s instrument for chastising the Jews, and that Nazism is divine punishment visited upon the Jews for rejecting the Torah and choosing assimilation.6 Similarly, although he didn’t see the Holocaust as punishment, Rabbi Ignaz Maybaum viewed it as a sacrifice, alleging that God concocted a Churban7, using violence, allegedly the only language that the nations of the world understand, to finalize the transition from the Middle Ages to modernity.8 Like Grüber, all three of these Rabbis have little difficulty plausibly citing precedent from Jewish history and scripture to defend their views in their effort to rationalize the Holocaust.
The problem with this, of course, is that it brings the motives of Hitler and God far too close together, and leaves one wondering if God is not utterly contemptible. To allocate to Nietzsche a little responsibility, the underlying philosophical motivation for the Holocaust, as I see it, was largely that the Nazis believed that the Jewish zeitgeist was incompatible with the synthesized Apollonian-Dionysian ‘utopian’ empire that they were trying to construct. So, it was a consequentialist motivation insofar as the Nazis believed it was necessary and would lead to the best outcome, but they recognized the awfulness of the project. It was an SS man who first described the Holocaust as the anus mundi9, and it was Himmler himself who became overwhelmed with nausea at the sight of the execution of Jews in Minsk.10
Himmler visits a Soviet POW camp (Minsk, 1941). Photo courtesy of the Holocaust Memorial Museum.
The point being that, in this regard, the motive of a God who willed the Holocaust is not so different from that of the Nazis who willed the Holocaust, both viewing it as a necessary episode-- a ‘final solution’--in the construction of an ostensibly better future. And if these consequentialist hypotheses can conclude that the Holocaust resulted in necessary and redeemably-good outcomes, such as punishing those who needed to be punished, or successfully freeing humanity from the Middle Ages, then doesn’t Hitler deserve just as much credit as God? At least the Nazis recognized that the Holocaust was unpleasant, something which Wasserman, Schneerson, and Maybaum don’t even claim of their own God. Not only does this position analogize God to Hitler and vice versa, but it also demands that those who worship this God themselves employ similar consequentialist calculations to that which the Nazis performed at Wannsee. It is this “hideous conclusion” that Rubenstein so painfully wrestles with.11
In his grappling with this conclusion, Rubenstein introduces two somewhat more nuanced Jewish theologians: Emil Fackenheim, and Arthur Cohen. Although interesting, neither thinker solves this equation. Fackenheim is a little coy about the precise question of why God would allow the Holocaust to happen. He asserts that God was present at Auschwitz, but only in a “commanding” capacity and not a “saving” capacity.12 Both of those claims raise issues of their own. The most fundamental unaddressed question is, if the God of History13 was not there in a “saving capacity,” why not? This puts us back at square one. The second issue is that, if God was there in a “commanding” capacity, Fackenheim’s proposed solution, the introduction of a new ‘614th commandment14 ’ is a departure from traditional Judaism.The real problem with Fackenheim is that he tries to have it both ways, and ends up with neither. The Jewish theologians addressed earlier mainly maintain their God but are left questioning his virtue, the Christian theologians (as will be addressed later) have to change the very nature of their theology, but retain a divinity of acceptable innocence. Fackenheim both changes traditional Judaism through the addition of the 614th commandment and still ends up with a God of highly questionable decency.
Cohen is the last and perhaps the most poetic of the Jewish theologians that Rubenstein introduces, both in prose and logic. His application and reworking of Rudolf Otto’s conception of tremendum is a resonant encapsulation of the problem presented by the Holocaust, and his three requirements for a meaningful God cut right to the chase.15 Furthermore, he provides a very thoughtful and somewhat compelling argument that the Holocaust happened because God intended man to be free, and the Holocaust was an act of that freedom.16 The problem, though, as Rubenstein identifies, is that in order to do this, Cohen has to radically depart from traditional Judaism and essentially introduce a Jewish god that is somehow not a God of History.17 Arthur Cohen, as far as I am concerned, is perfectly entitled to reimagine his God, as many of the Christian theologians that Rubenstein introduces do. But the broader problem with doing so in a Jewish context is reminiscent of a conversation between Pierre-Simon Laplace and Napoleon Bonaparte, regarding Laplace’s omission of God from his astronomical theory.18 Cohen undertakes a gamely effort to re-envision a God of Judaism under which the Holocaust may plausibly occur, but one can imagine Wasserman, Schneerson, and Maybaum, credibly armed with Jewish historical precedent and verses from the Tanakh, responding in unison: “I do not require that hypothesis.”
Rubenstein’s examination of the Jewish theological literature suggests traditional Judaism is challenged most gravely not by its inability to explain the Holocaust, but rather its ability to do just that. Before the Holocaust, this was always a latent theoretical concern for Jewish theology. YHWH had inflicted some serious pain upon his people before, and there was the threat that perhaps a time would come when God’s rod would strike in a manner that was over the top-- how much of a beating could his people be expected to take? But, until the Holocaust, that was always a future hypothetical; it hadn’t happened yet, and a worst-case hypothetical is no reason for a people to disavow their God. And yet, eventually, it did happen, leaving Jews with the options of either continuing their traditional faith and thereby implicitly justifying the Holocaust (as Wasserman, Schneerson, and Maybaum do), or reinventing a form of Judaism that is simply not traditional Judaism (as Rubenstein, Fackenheim, and Cohen all do). This additional burden on the Jews seems markedly unfair, but that itself places it in good company with their other historical burdens.
Christian theology is perhaps equally challenged by the Holocaust, although it faces very different problems than Jewish theology. At least from the perspective of the Christian theologians that Rubenstein examines, the problem is that the Holocaust is irreconcilable with the traditional Christian theology, and so that theology has to be altered. He begins with Paul Tillich, who in an almost messianic way, preaches a novel interpretation of Christian theology. Tillich agrees with Wasserman, Schneerson, and Maybaum that the God of the Old Testament was indeed capable of orchestrating the Holocaust, directly equating that God with the “recent tyrants.”19 In light of this, Tillich claims that the “transcendent God of biblical monotheism” is dead, and goes on to present a theology in which God is not a ‘being’ but is instead the “ground of being” (247, 301). Rubenstein seems to interpret Tillich literally, suggesting that Tillich believed that a once-alive divine being had literally died, and Rubenstein clarifies instead that “we live in the time of the death of God,” but I think Tillich really meant that the idea of “the transcendent God of biblical monotheism” had been negated and overcome (247, 250).
Rubenstein goes on to discuss Tillich’s intellectual heirs, such as Altizer, Hamilton, and Cox, who all articulate versions of this death-of-God theology; generally purporting a version of the notion that the God of the Covenant died at the Crucifixion and, to use Altizer’s words, that the Gospels preach the “good tidings” of “Christian atheism” since the “promise of Christ is the promise of radical human freedom” (253). This raises a host of issues which themselves could take up its own essay-- Muddled further by the important and somewhat surprising fact that Rubenstein himself isn’t even clear about whether Altizer and Hamilton are talking about the literal death of God or merely the death of the idea of God the Father.20 Nevertheless, the primary point here is that death-of-God theology is not traditional trinitarian Christianity, even if it can be defended by drawing upon the “classical heritage of Christian theology.”21 In sum, the traditional God of the New Testament, as a Heilsgeschichte God, is too benevolent to let the Holocaust happen, but it happened nonetheless. So, while Judaism has to reconcile with a God who all-too-plausibly permitted the Holocaust, Christianity is presented with the dilemma that historical facts negate the very existence of their God as traditionally conceived, so Christians have to change the very nature of their God in the face of the Holocaust.
Finally, I would like to briefly present my own thoughts on the matter. I think it best to do so as a response to Altizer. I’m particularly critical of Altizer because in many ways his theodicy is closest to my own personal beliefs, especially in that I’m inclined to believe that the Holocaust resulted from human freedom from God, and that God of the Old Testament was a metaphorical fiction (and is thereby ‘dead’). But, from that point, I think Altizer fundamentally misunderstands the Christian message. As Rubenstein points out, Altizer retains this bilious, intoxicated Nietzschean delusion that, in the absence of a Heilsgeschichte, humans are to revel in their freedom. I think Rubenstein is too easy on Altizer when he writes that “Altizer rejoices too soon.”22 Altizer rejoices too late; the Holocaust shows that his rejoice is already naïve.
Traditional Christianity expounds that we live in a fallen world and that humans are not innately good. Our freedom is the most somber burden that we could possibly have. Traditional Christianity cautioned that freedom is somber because if you misuse it, you will go to hell. Now we know that if you misuse it, you can create hell, too. Moreover, the inclination for these thinkers to smooth over any remaining theological wrinkles by negating the past is deeply disconcerting. The short-cut of utilizing forgetfulness to overcome the intellectual challenges posed by history is a darkly Nietzschean concept, and one from which the Nazis took great inspiration.23 Additionally, if we’re to say that the Old Testament was merely a metaphor which provided the foundation for the New Testament, then we do ‘kill’ God the Father, but his historical memory remains just as important as ever if the metaphor of the Old Testament is still to have any relevance. If, as these thinkers suggest, God the Father is dead and Christians are to forget the lessons of history, then why not throw out the Old Testament altogether?
Regardless though, at the end, we’re left with unresolved and perhaps unresolvable questions. Arthur Cohen’s words comes to mind: The Holocaust truly was the ultimate Human Tremendum. It is not merely enough to say, as Rubenstein does, that “all contemporary Jewish theology must be Holocaust theology.”24 If history is to have any significance whatsoever, all theology, to have any meaning, must be, to an extent, Holocaust theology, and all philosophy must be Holocaust philosophy. This is a truism in the sense that any theology is already fated to be Holocaust theology insofar as it will be examined within the context of the Holocaust as a historical reality. If there is a God, it certainly has a lot of explaining to do. Perhaps God authored the tropes of mercy and forgiveness in the New Testament knowing that it was He who would need it the most.
Bibliography
Fackenheim, Emil L. God’s Presence in History. New York City: Harper & Row, 1972.
Rubenstein, Richard L. After Auschwitz: History, Theology, and Contemporary Judaism. Baltimore; London: The Johns Hopkins University Press, 2011.
The word ‘sin’ derives from the ancient Greek phrase ‘to miss the mark.’
By conceding either that that 1. Your religion envisions a cosmic order normatively permitting of the Holocaust, or that 2. Your religion is irrelevant insofar as it is impotent to address one of the most morally consequential events in human history?
Richard L Rubenstein, After Auschwitz: History, Theology, and Contemporary Judaism (Baltimore; London: The Johns Hopkins University Press, 2011), 9-11.
Ibid.
Id. 159
Id. 160
The Hebrew term “Churban” can either refer to the to the destruction of the First Temple, the Second Temple, and now the Holocaust / Shoah.
Id. 164; Along these lines, according to Britannica, the word ‘Holocaust’ itself comes from the Greek word meaning “a burnt sacrifice offered whole to God.” Interesting that it was this term which caught on in colloquial usage.
Latin for ‘anus of the world.’
Id. 52
Id. 9; It is not my place to suggest that contemporary Jewish practitioners are likewise obligated to wrestle with this question, but it is hard for me to see how they could not.
Id. 180
Or, to use the German phrase ‘heilsgeschichte,’ which refers to a God that intervenes in history.
Judaism recognizes 613th divine commandments. Fackenheim proposed a 614th: “One should not grant Hitler a posthumous victory” by permitting the aftershocks of the Holocaust to shatter Jewish identity.
See Id. 192
Id. 193
Id. 196-197
Emil L Fackenheim, God’s Presence in History (New York City: Harper & Row, 1972), 35.
Rubenstein, After Auschwitz: History, Theology, and Contemporary Judaism, 248.
I really do think that Altizer must be saying that God the Father is no more, and that the Christ replacement is not a Heilsgeschichte, for three reasons: 1. The “Christian atheism” quote wouldn’t make much sense with a still-present God-the-Son being, 2. The “radical human freedom” quote wouldn’t make sense with a still-involved God-the-Son, and 3. The Holocaust theodicy is only ‘overcome’ when Christ is no longer a God of History, otherwise this “God is Dead” theology contributes little to the Holocaust theodicy if an omnibenevolent Christ was still a ‘semi-Heilsgeschichte’ during the Holocaust. Yes, for Altizer, Christ has “become more meaningful,” but that meaning derives from the “act of divine self-riddance.”
Id. 252, 302
Id. 253
And really, how can we possibly afford the audacity to forget the recent history of the West as we confront the rise of a state like modern China?
Id. 19