The issue is not whether God is perfect, but rather whether we have a firm grasp of what perfection actually means. We have a tendency to measure everything by our own blinkered experience and, once persuaded that something in the divine life is different from what we now know and experience, we are morally certain that the difference must represent some kind of a downgrade. But that is not how it works.
For example, God invented sex, which we all think was a pretty good idea. But Jesus assured us in no uncertain terms that in the resurrection there will be no more of that (Matt. 22:23-33). If this were not the case, then the Sadducees’ question remains a real stumper. Sex with whom? The first husband or the seventh? All of them? If there is sex (as we know it) in the resurrection, then what we have is monogamy here and multiple partners there.
But once we have learned the basic answer that Christ gives, we mistakenly conclude from it that it must be because the God of all resurrection has a real disdain for any kind of good time that lasts. But when we consider the nature of this world, even in its fallen condition, and the reflection it gives of the divine character, this is simply bizarre.
Whenever we learn that something will be missing in the resurrection, our reflex assumption ought to be that it will be replaced by something higher, better, richer, deeper. Whenever we see something good and glorious in this world, our assumption ought to be that this is just a shadowy display of something real and solid in the divine makeup, and that when things down here “answer to” divine attributes, the attribute is the reality, and what we see here is the knock-off. Further, we ought to know that in the resurrection, our created reflection of the ultimate realities within the divine makeup will be a much more glorious reflection.
Now, all that said, here is the problem. Our God is a story-telling God, and reveals Himself at the height of His artistry whenever He tells stories. But as the greatest artisan, we have to reflect for a moment on the nature of stories when compared to the other arts. Imagine the other artistic pursuits as we know them, and then ask yourself if they would translate into a sinless resurrected state in easily recognizable ways. How about dance, or music, or painting, sculpture, or poetry? Yes, yes, yes, yes, and clearly yes. All of these do not depend for their grip on the presence of danger, sin, or evil. But try to tell a decent story without those things.
So here is the question. Was the triune God a story-telling God before the creation? And, if so, what were those stories like? Remember, no sin or evil anywhere. And then Bambi and the other woodland creatures stood around for another ten thousand years, humming a sweet melody of acceptance and tolerance for all.
We have to conclude that God’s stories are strikingly different from our stories, and yet, that they are entirely holy and righteous and good. At the same time, they are better stories than anything we have, not third rate nothing-ever-happens stories. When we have to translate, as we sometimes have to do, as with this example, we should always translate up. There is no sex and marriage in the resurrection — it is better than that. There is no treachery to make the stories riveting — it is better than that. There is no mayhem and violence that make courage necessary — it is better than that. So we can’t get our minds around it. So what? We aren’t supposed to. It does not yet appear what we shall be like (1 John 3:2). If I could get my mind around it, it would be a pretty tiny salvation.
So God points to certain aspects of His character by means of things we find in this world, and when we note the comparison, it is not to drag God down to our level, but rather it invites us to step up beyond all that. In the Ugaritic myths, Baal fights with Yam (the sea). He also fights with Yam’s cohorts, including the seven-headed monster Lotan, which should remind us of Leviathan. In the Enuma Elish, Marduk fights with Tiamat, whose name means “the Sea,” But Yahweh is more of a warrior than Baal, more of a warrior than Marduk . . . not less. Do they fight with the sea? God far more (Dan. 7:2; Ps. 18:15; Jer. 5:22; Job. 7:12; Is. 27:1). And that’s just a short list.
In Bound Only Once, a book addressing the problems of openness theism, I argued in my essay that many classical theists have positively invited the openness mistake by bungling this very point. Yes, of course descriptions of God’s anger are anthropomorphic; His nostrils don’t really flare. But when we translate upwards, we must never say that the reality, of which this anger down here below is just a pale reflection, is actually an endless pond of serenity. The earthly picture is not the entire picture, but if it is a good picture it should at least point us in the right direction. God does not picture eternal placidity above with hurricanes below.
There are of course differences where we must translate carefully. We must handle it carefully because there are two kinds of differences. First, we have the problem of communication between the infinite and the finite. That’s the kind of problem that Adam would have had, even if he had never fallen. The world is the way God made it, and we have to ask how particular elements of the world say something about God. For example, how does the duality of male and female reflect the triune nature of God? We know that male and female together constitute the image of God (Gen. 1:27). How? That’s a great question, and there is a great book in it for somebody. But the question doesn’t have anything to do with the existence of sin and evil. The problem was evident before the Fall. How does two picture three?
Second, we have the problem of fallen and rebellious men trying to make sense out of things. As they do, they don’t get everything wrong, and so the scriptural response is frequently yes, but instead of no. Yes, but your god cannot save, and ours can. Yes, but your god did not really overthrow the sea and ours did. Yes, but your gods sprang out of the chaos as Ovid said, and the Spirit of our God hovered over the face of the great deep.
Marduk fought with Tiamat, his own mother. The ungodly violence was internal to the family, and testified to the central pagan reality of broken families and fractured relationships. The Father, Son, and Holy Spirit have had unbroken familial love and fellowship for all eternity, no tension anywhere. But whatever is in their stories instead of what we experience as tension makes the stories better, not worse. And at the same time the triune God created a world in which the prowess of the true Warrior God could be displayed. And in this world He made, we see that Marduk is a piker when compared to Yahweh.
Therefore to say that God hates violence (Ps. 11:5) is far too general and represents a category mistake. It is like saying that God hates sex and will destroy it (Ex. 20:14; Matt. 22:23-33). If God hates violence (Ps. 11:5), what will He do with the violent? The answer is found in the next verse (Ps. 11:6), and the answer is pretty violent. We must rather say that the attribute of God which manifests itself as violence, wrath, and judgment here is an attribute which, in the divine life, is thoroughly consistent with love, loyalty and harmony within the Godhead. At the same time, in the resurrection, we will be able to see the connection between His violence here and His whattocallit? there. In the resurrection, when we finally get to hear a real story, we will no longer be trying to read the story through a glass darkly. And we will finally see and understand what a thrilling story really is.