The Dialectical Divine: Navigating the Tension between Transcendence and Immanence and Relevance for 12 Step Recovery

At the heart of theological inquiry lies a fundamental tension that has shaped religious thought for millennia: the seemingly irreconcilable nature of the divine as both utterly transcendent and intimately immanent. This paradox presents itself as a choice between conceiving of God as an objective, transcendental reality beyond human comprehension or as a personal, immanent presence that interacts with individuals in their daily lives [1]. This tension is not merely academic; it profoundly shapes how individuals experience spirituality and construct meaning in their religious journeys. 

The Hebrew mystical tradition, particularly through its concept of tzimtzum (divine contraction), offers a unique philosophical framework for understanding this tension. This concept, developed primarily through the Lurianic Kabbalah and later expanded in Hasidic thought, suggests that the divine undergoes a process of self-limitation and contraction to make space for creation and human experience [2,3]. As Rubin explains, “The tzimtzum narrative asserts that the divine self utterly transcends the role of creator. The process through which G-d chooses to be manifest as creator, projecting our universe into being, actually represents a concealment of G-d's infinitely transcendent nature” [4]. This process creates the dialectical relationship between God's transcendent infinity and immanent presence within the finite world. 

This article explores how the concept of tzimtzum illuminates the struggle between these seemingly contradictory aspects of the divine—the objective, transcendental “Higher Power” versus the subjective, personal “My-Higher Power”—and how this tension manifests in contemporary religious experience and the implications for the 12 step program of recovery from addiction.

The concept of tzimtzum emerged from the teachings of Rabbi Isaac Luria (1534-1572), known as the Arizal, who revolutionized Kabbalistic thought in the 16th century [5]. According to Lurianic Kabbalah, before creation, the infinite divine presence (Ein Sof) filled all reality. For creation to occur, God needed to withdraw or contract His infinite light to create a conceptual “empty space” where finite reality could exist. As described in the source material: “Through the very archetypal middot of love and awe reflecting the divine love yet knowing that without tzimtzum/withdrawal the world could not withstand the power” [1]. This foundational concept addresses the paradoxical question of how an infinite God can create and relate to finite beings while maintaining His infinity.

The concept of tzimtzum led to a significant theological debate centered on whether this divine contraction should be understood literally or metaphorically. This debate, which would later influence the divide between Hasidim and Mitnagdim in the 18th century, fundamentally concerned the nature of God's relationship with creation [6]. The literal interpretation (tzimtzum ki-peshuto) suggests that God's essence is actually removed from the created realm, creating a genuine ontological separation between the divine and the world. This view tends to emphasize God's transcendence and objectivity, positing a God who remains fundamentally separate from creation while exercising providence over it [4]. The non-literal interpretation (tzimtzum she-lo ki-peshuto) argues that the divine contraction is not an actual absence but rather a concealment. According to this view, God’s essence remains fully present throughout creation but is hidden from human perception. This interpretation emphasizes divine immanence and the potential for intimate relationship with God, positing that “there is no place empty of God” (as stated in the Zohar) [7]. 

As Tamar Ross explains: “By way of illustration, the act of divine tzimtzum was likened by some to the situation of a teacher who conceals the full scope of his knowledge so that some limited portion of it may be revealed to his student. Just as the wisdom of the teacher is unaffected by this concealment, so too all forms of existence gain a sense of their selfhood as a result of the hiding of God's all-pervasive presence” [1].

Rabbi Jonathan Eybeschütz (1690-1764), a towering figure in 18th-century rabbinic thought, developed a sophisticated understanding of Ein Sof (the Infinite Divine) that directly addresses the tension between transcendence and immanence. His approach, articulated primarily in his kabbalistic works Ya'arot Devash and Shem Olam, distinguishes between two aspects of divine infinity: Ein Sof with knowledge and Ein Sof without knowledge [8]. For Eybeschütz, Ein Sof represents God’s absolute infinity prior to any self-limitation or contraction. However, he introduces a crucial distinction: “There are two aspects to the Infinite One (blessed be He): Ein Sof without knowledge and Ein Sof with knowledge. Ein Sof without knowledge refers to God’s essence as it is in itself, utterly transcendent and unknowable. Ein Sof with knowledge refers to God's infinity as it relates to creation through divine will and intelligence” [9]. 

This distinction addresses a fundamental paradox in Jewish mystical thought: How can an infinite God who transcends all categories simultaneously maintain intimate knowledge of and relationship with finite creation? Eybeschütz's solution preserves both divine transcendence and the possibility of meaningful divine-human relationship.

In his conception of “Ein Sof without knowledge,” Eybeschütz articulates a radical divine transcendence that exceeds even the category of knowledge itself. This aspect of divinity represents what Moshe Idel terms “the hypersemantic God”—divinity beyond all semantic categories, including the distinction between knowing and not-knowing [10]. As Eybeschütz explains: “Ein Sof without knowledge transcends all attributes and descriptions, even the attribute of knowledge itself. It is the absolute infinity that precedes all distinctions, including the distinction between subject and object necessary for knowledge to occur” [11]. This formulation pushes divine transcendence to its logical conclusion—a divinity so utterly other that it transcends even the possibility of relationship with creation.

Complementing this absolute transcendence, Eybeschütz introduces “Ein Sof with knowledge”—the aspect of divine infinity that enters into relationship with creation through self-limitation. This aspect corresponds closely to the non-literal interpretation of tzimtzum (divine contraction as concealment rather than actual withdrawal). “Ein Sof with knowledge,” writes Eybeschütz, “is God's infinity as it chooses to know creation through self-limitation. This knowing is not separate from God’s essence but represents the divine will to relate to that which is not-God” [11]. This aspect maintains divine transcendence while allowing for genuine divine-human relationship. 

Elliot Wolfson characterizes Eybeschütz’s innovation as “relational transcendence”—a form of transcendence that does not preclude relationship but rather makes it possible [12]. In this view, God's self-limitation through tzimtzum is not a compromise of divine infinity but its expression in relational form. 

Eybeschütz's distinction has profound implications for understanding divine providence. '"Ein Sof with knowledge" allows for particular providence—God's awareness of and interaction with individual creatures. As Eybeschütz states: "Through the aspect of Ein Sof with knowledge, the Holy One (blessed be He) knows all particulars not as separate from Himself but as contained within His infinite knowing" [13]. This formulation provides a philosophical framework for understanding how divine knowledge differs fundamentally from human knowledge. While human knowing requires distance between knower and known, divine knowing transcends this limitation. God's knowledge of particulars does not compromise divine unity or infinity but expresses it in relational form.

Eybeschütz's dual conception of Ein Sof provides an important framework for understanding the psychological dimension of tzimtzum discussed earlier. Just as Ein Sof manifests both with and without knowledge, the human soul navigates between boundless spiritual yearning (corresponding to "Ein Sof without knowledge") and structured spiritual practice (corresponding to "Ein Sof with knowledge"). As Rabbi Shaga explains: "The infinite light within the heart must undergo contraction to create space for religious structure and discipline. Without this internal tzimtzum, spiritual passion remains formless and ultimately unproductive" [14]. This parallel between divine and human psychology suggests that the tension between transcendence and immanence is not merely a theological problem but a fundamental feature of spiritual experience. 

Eybeschütz's approach ultimately suggests that the dialectic between transcendence and immanence is built into the very structure of divinity itself. Rather than choosing between these seemingly contradictory aspects of God, authentic religious consciousness embraces their complementarity—recognizing that divine infinity manifests both beyond relation and within it.

The theological debate over tzimtzum began among Mediterranean Kabbalists in the late 17th century [15]. Rabbi Avraham Cohen de Herrera was among the first to articulate the non-literal interpretation, arguing that God's completeness entails that the divine simultaneously transcends and embraces all conceivable realities. Meanwhile, Rabbi Immanuel Ricchi advocated for a literal understanding, contending that "One who cares for the honor of G-d must think of this tzimtzum in a literal sense, rather than reduce G-d's honor by thinking that the divine self is present even in lowly physical things" [4].

This theological debate became the nucleus of a much larger religious conflict in Eastern Europe during the late 18th century with the rise of Hasidism under the leadership of Rabbi Israel Baal Shem Tov (the Besht) [16]. The Hasidic movement embraced the non-literal interpretation of tzimtzum, teaching that God's presence is immanent throughout creation, merely concealed by external appearances. This perspective fundamentally challenged the religious hierarchy of the time. As Eli Rubin notes: "From the chassidic point of view, neither the learned scholar nor the reclusive pietist can claim a monopoly on holiness. Man's purpose, the Baal Shem Tov taught, is not to try and escape the clutches of earthly endeavor, achieving some more transcendent station. On the contrary, such mundane occupations as plying a trade, working the land or eating are to be transformed into vehicles for the revelation of divine immanence" [4]. 

The Mitnagdim (opponents of Hasidism), led by Rabbi Eliyahu, the Vilna Gaon, vehemently opposed this view, seeing it as potentially heretical [17]. The Gaon believed that the literal interpretation of tzimtzum—emphasizing God's transcendence and ontological separation from the physical world—was essential to maintaining proper religious boundaries and preventing what he saw as dangerous pantheistic tendencies.

Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi, the founder of Chabad Hasidism, developed a sophisticated theological response to the Mitnagdic critique in his work, Tanya [18]. He argued that the literal understanding of tzimtzum was logically incoherent when combined with the belief in divine providence. If God's knowledge is inseparable from His essence, as Maimonides taught, then divine knowledge of the world implies divine presence within it. As explained by Rubin: "If divine knowledge is self-knowledge, reasons Rabbi Schneur Zalman, then divine superintendence of the created realm entails that the divine self is actually extended throughout that realm... In other words, the notion of divine providence is actually incompatible with the claim that the divine self is literally absent from creation" [4]. 

This argument eventually influenced even Rabbi Chaim of Volozhin, the foremost disciple of the Vilna Gaon, who wrote in his work Nefesh ha-Chaim that "tzimtzum does not mean 'departure' and 'removal,' but 'hiddenness' and 'concealment'" [19]. This gradual acceptance of the non-literal interpretation helped diminish the intensity of the conflict between Hasidim and Mitnagdim in subsequent generations.

The tension between transcendence and immanence finds profound expression in the philosophical thought of Baruch Spinoza (1632-1677), whose controversial monism continues to shape theological discourse. Spinoza's excommunication from the Jewish community of Amsterdam stemmed partly from his radical reconceptualization of the divine-world relationship, which many of his contemporaries viewed as heretical. At the heart of Spinoza's metaphysics lies the assertion that only one substance exists—what he terms "Deus sive Natura" (God or Nature). In his magnum opus, Ethics, Spinoza states: "Whatever is, is in God, and nothing can be or be conceived without God" [20]. This position collapses the traditional distinction between Creator and creation, suggesting instead that the natural world itself constitutes divine expression. 

Spinoza's God is not a personal deity who creates through deliberate intention but rather an infinite substance expressing itself necessarily through infinite attributes, of which humans perceive only two: thought and extension. This view eliminates divine transcendence in the traditional sense, as Spinoza's God cannot exist "outside" or "beyond" the world—God simply is the world in its infinite totality.

Spinoza's philosophy has traditionally been labeled as pantheism—the view that equates God with the totality of the natural world. As pantheism, Spinoza's system appears to reject divine transcendence entirely, identifying God completely with the cosmos. However, contemporary scholarship has increasingly questioned whether "panentheism" might be a more accurate characterization of Spinoza's thought [21]. Panentheism (from the Greek "pan-en-theos," meaning "all-in-God") holds that while God encompasses the natural world, the divine reality also transcends it. As philosopher Charles Hartshorne explains: "The world is in God, but God is more than the world" [22]. This subtle distinction preserves divine immanence while also maintaining a form of transcendence.

Yitzhak Melamed argues that Spinoza's metaphysics contains elements that resist simple pantheistic interpretation: "Spinoza's God is not identical with the sum total of finite modes or with Nature in the conventional sense. Rather, Spinoza's God is the infinite substance that expresses itself both through infinite attributes and through the infinitely many finite modes that constitute the world" [23]. This suggests that Spinoza's God, while fully immanent, also possesses a dimension that transcends any particular finite expression.

Spinoza's philosophy provides an important counterpoint to kabbalistic conceptions of tzimtzum. While the kabbalists posited divine contraction to make space for creation, Spinoza eliminated the conceptual gap between God and world entirely. For Spinoza, there is no need for tzimtzum because there is no ontological distinction between the divine and the natural world that would require bridging [24]. This position directly challenged traditional Jewish theology, including the kabbalistic understanding of creation. However, as Rebecca Newberger Goldstein notes, "Spinoza's God, though radically reimagined, retains certain attributes that resonate with kabbalistic thought—particularly the Ein Sof concept of an infinite divine reality that exceeds human comprehension" [25]. 

The pantheism/panentheism debate surrounding Spinoza's work illuminates the fundamental tension between transcendence and immanence from a philosophical perspective. If Spinoza is read as a strict pantheist, his system represents a radical prioritization of immanence at the expense of transcendence. If read as a panentheist, his philosophy suggests a more nuanced integration of these seemingly opposed principles—one that resonates with certain non-literal interpretations of tzimtzum [26]. As contemporary philosopher Michael Morgan observes: "The question we face in interpreting Spinoza is whether his monism ultimately collapses the divine into the natural world or whether it elevates the natural world into the divine—a distinction with profound implications for how we understand the relationship between transcendence and immanence" [27].

The concept of tzimtzum underwent a significant transformation in the teachings of Rabbi Nachman of Breslov, who internalized this cosmological concept into a psychological and spiritual framework [28]. For Rabbi Nachman, the empty space created by divine contraction exists not only in the cosmos but within the human heart.

As articulated in Likutei Moharan 49: "The heart is the Rock of the World, the Rock of the Attributes. For the flaming light of the Jew's heart cannot be revealed from the attributes, for the light of these flames is endless: his desire has neither end nor limit. So one must contract his passion so that a hollow space is left in the heart" [29].

Rabbi Nachman suggests that just as God contracted Himself to make space for creation, humans must contract their own infinite desires and passions to create space for structured spiritual growth. Without such self-limitation, a person's boundless enthusiasm would paradoxically prevent genuine spiritual progress [30].

Rabbi Shagar, interpreting Rabbi Nachman's teaching, explains that this internal tzimtzum represents the necessary balance between passion and structure, between infinite desire and finite expression: "The balance of self-control and desire is critical. This conflict is found in many areas of life, and an exclusive preference for one force or the other is ill-advised" [31]. The world of spiritual repair (tikkun) requires containment and focus—a "contracted world" that lacks the boundless quality of chaos but provides the necessary structure for creative action and relationship. As Rabbi Shagar notes: "The world of tikkun is thus a world in which man can find reconciliation in his thoughts. Man creates his 'I' through confirming his heart's various desires and figuring out how they can be implemented. Yet to create his 'self,' he must overcome the temptation of infinite desire" [31]. This psychological dimension of tzimtzum offers a profound framework for understanding the tension between transcendence and immanence in personal religious experience. It suggests that the divine paradox is mirrored within the human soul, which must navigate between boundless spiritual yearning and the concrete structures that allow for meaningful expression of that yearning [32].

The Holocaust (Shoah) presented an unprecedented theological crisis for Jewish thought, particularly regarding divine presence and absence [33]. The concept of tzimtzum gained new significance as theologians struggled to reconcile divine providence with the catastrophic suffering of the Jewish people. Eliezer Berkovits, in his work "Faith After the Holocaust," employs the concept of tzimtzum to address this crisis [34]. He argues that God's self-limitation is necessary not only for creation but for human freedom and responsibility. For Berkovits, God's seeming absence during the Holocaust reflects not divine indifference but divine respect for human moral autonomy. As Peter Ochs writes in his analysis of post-Holocaust theology: "Berkovits begins with the premise that God is at once wholly transcendent and wholly present, at once utterly beyond human knowing and self-evidently present to it" [35]. This paradoxical understanding allows Berkovits to maintain belief in divine providence while acknowledging the reality of catastrophic suffering.

The concept of tzimtzum provides a framework for understanding divine hiddenness not as abandonment but as a necessary condition for human moral responsibility [36]. This perspective suggests that God's apparent absence is itself a form of presence—a deliberate self-limitation that creates space for human action. As Reuven Mohl explains in his analysis of Berkovits: "History, for Berkovits, is the arena of human freedom and responsibility. The history of humankind and the history of Israel indicate that God, despite His almighty power, does not interfere with the course of history" [37]. This understanding of divine self-limitation transforms the experience of divine absence into a call for human ethical response. 

This theological approach reframes the tension between transcendence and immanence in light of historical tragedy. It suggests that God's self-contraction is not merely a cosmological event but an ongoing feature of the divine-human relationship, particularly evident in moments of crisis and suffering [38]. In today's postmodern religious landscape, characterized by individualism and the collapse of traditional religious authority, the balance between transcendence and immanence has shifted dramatically toward the personal and subjective [39]. Many contemporary spiritual seekers emphasize direct personal experience over institutional frameworks or theological abstractions. This shift can be understood through the lens of tzimtzum as reflecting the constant interplay between divine contraction and revelation [40]. Just as God contracts Himself to make space for human agency, religious traditions must sometimes contract their authoritative claims to make space for authentic personal experience. However, as Rabbi Nachman taught, unchecked subjectivity without structure can lead to spiritual chaos [30]. The challenge for contemporary spirituality is to maintain the creative tension between personal experience and objective tradition, between innovative expression and established structure [41].

The historical debate between proponents of divine transcendence and immanence can be reframed not as an either/or choice but as a both/and dialectic [42]. The concept of tzimtzum suggests that transcendence and immanence are not opposing forces but complementary aspects of the divine-human relationship. As Rabbi Abraham Isaac Kook wrote: "The distinction that the allegorical interpreters of the doctrine of tzimtzum made between God's point of view and ours served for these latter-day Kabbalists much the same function that the distinction between the noumenon and the phenomenal world did for Kant" [43]. This distinction allows for a dialectical understanding that embraces both perspectives simultaneously. Hasidic thought, particularly as developed by Rabbi Schneur Zalman, provides a model for integrating these seemingly contradictory aspects of the divine [43]. According to this view, God's essence simultaneously transcends all categories while being immanently present within them. The apparent contradiction reflects not divine inconsistency but human perceptual limitations. 

As Avinoam Fraenkel explains: "If we understand the Vilna Gaon correctly, his innovation here is that sometimes a person's infinite enthusiasm is itself an obstacle to his progress in coming close to God. Sometimes he is required to make room, to push his enthusiasm aside, and then, quietly and calmly, he can enter the empty space in a controlled manner" [44]. This integrative approach suggests that the tension between transcendence and immanence is not a problem to be solved but a paradox to be embraced—a creative tension that drives spiritual growth and theological reflection [45].

Prayer represents a primary arena where the tension between transcendence and immanence becomes experientially real [46]. In prayer, individuals address an infinite God while seeking personal connection, navigating between awe before divine transcendence and intimacy with divine presence. Rabbi Nachman describes prayer as “the revelation of kingship," suggesting that it can elevate human consciousness to awareness of divine presence [47]. For this reason, prayer requires both focus and contraction: "so that a person places his whole heart—namely, her internal self—into prayer." 

This understanding of prayer as dialectical encounter offers a practical approach to navigating the tension between transcendence and immanence in religious life [29]. It suggests that effective prayer requires both recognition of divine otherness and cultivation of divine intimacy. Another practical implication concerns religious decision-making and the discernment of divine will. The tzimtzum framework suggests that divine will is simultaneously objective and subjective—transcending human understanding while manifesting through particular human choices and contexts [48]. As Rabbi Shagar explains: "The upper dwelling, the house on high, is associated with the tzimtzum of the heart, the actual accepting of God's Kingdom in my internal core, in my existential point. The house below, the lower dwelling is the attribute of malchut (kingship) – the practical implication, doing, external conduct, practice of the mitzvot" [31]. This approach suggests that authentic religious decision-making involves not merely applying objective rules but cultivating internal receptivity to divine presence [49]. It requires both structured guidance from tradition and attentive listening to the divine voice as it manifests in particular circumstances.

The 12 Step movement, beginning with Alcoholics Anonymous and expanding to numerous other recovery programs, has revolutionized approaches to addiction through its spiritual framework centered on relationship with a "Higher Power." While deliberately non-specific in its theological claims, this approach implicitly navigates the same tension between divine transcendence and immanence that tzimtzum addresses. This section explores how the concept of tzimtzum provides profound theological foundations for understanding the 12 Step approach to spirituality and recovery.

The tension between an objective transcendent divine and a personal immanent God finds contemporary expression in addiction recovery programs, particularly in the concept of a "Higher Power" in Twelve-Step programs [50]. The generic "Higher Power" terminology allows individuals to conceptualize the divine according to their own understanding, creating a personal relationship with the divine that transcends specific religious doctrines. This approach echoes the dialectic of tzimtzum by suggesting that the universal, transcendent divine contracts itself into particular, personal forms that individuals can relate to meaningfully [51]. The individual's "My-Higher Power" becomes a subjective manifestation of the objective "Higher Power," allowing for a personal relationship with the transcendent. 

• The generic and the personal: "Higher Power" as divine contraction 

The 12 Step language of "Higher Power" represents a strategic theological vagueness that allows individuals to develop personal relationships with divinity without doctrinal constraints [52]. This approach can be understood through the lens of tzimtzum as a form of divine self-limitation that creates space for human interpretation and relationship. As Bill Wilson, co-founder of Alcoholics Anonymous, wrote: "We needed to ask ourselves but one short question: 'Do I now believe, or am I even willing to believe, that there is a Power greater than myself?' As soon as a man can say that he does believe, or is willing to believe, we emphatically assure him that he is on his way" [50]. This minimal theological requirement creates an empty space—a conceptual tzimtzum—that allows for diverse personal understandings of divinity. 

The deliberate use of the generic term "Higher Power" rather than specific religious terminology represents a form of divine self-contraction that makes accessibility possible. As Rabbi Joseph Soloveitchik notes in a different context: "When infinity allows itself to be perceived through finite categories, this represents not a diminishment of the divine but an expression of divine love and concern for human understanding" [51]. Similarly, the generic "Higher Power" terminology represents not a dilution of theological depth but a divine accommodation to human diversity. 

• From objective to subjective: The creation of "My Higher Power" 

The 12 Step movement encourages each person to develop their own conception of a Higher Power—what might be termed "My Higher Power." This subjective appropriation parallels the kabbalistic understanding of how the infinite Ein Sof manifests in particular forms that humans can relate to meaningfully. As explained in Twelve Steps and Twelve Traditions: "You can, if you wish, make A.A. itself your 'higher power.' Here's a very large group of people who have solved their alcohol problem... Many members... begin to talk of God, their own conception of God" [53]. This movement from the objective "Higher Power" to the subjective "My Higher Power" mirrors the kabbalistic process by which divine infinity becomes accessible through particular manifestations. 

The transformation of the universal Higher Power into personalized forms echoes Eybeschütz's distinction between "Ein Sof without knowledge" and "Ein Sof with knowledge." The former represents divinity in its absolute transcendence, while the latter represents divinity as it enters into relationship with creation. The 12 Step emphasis on developing a personal relationship with a Higher Power focuses on the relational aspect of divinity—what Eybeschütz might term "Ein Sof with knowledge."

The First Step of Alcoholics Anonymous—"We admitted we were powerless over alcohol, that our lives had become unmanageable"—initiates a process that parallels Rabbi Nachman's concept of psychological tzimtzum [54]. Just as Rabbi Nachman taught that one must contract one's infinite desires to create space for spiritual growth, the admission of powerlessness represents a contraction of the ego that creates space for divine presence. As addiction specialist Gerald May observes: "Addiction and grace are theological opposites... Addiction attaches desire, bonds and enslaves the energy of desire to certain specific behaviors, things, or people. These objects of attachment then become preoccupations and obsessions; they come to rule our lives" [51]. The admission of powerlessness—the First Step—initiates a psychological contraction of these attachments, creating space for new spiritual awareness. This psychological tzimtzum is not merely negative (the contraction of ego) but also positive (the creation of space for relationship). As the Big Book states: "We had to find a power by which we could live, and it had to be a Power greater than ourselves" [55]. The contraction of self-sufficiency creates the empty space necessary for divine presence to manifest.

The core spiritual practice of 12 Step recovery—surrender to a Higher Power—can be understood as human participation in the divine pattern of tzimtzum. Just as God contracts Himself to make space for creation, the recovering person contracts their will and self-sufficiency to make space for divine will. The Third Step—"Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood Him"—represents this participatory tzimtzum [51]. By limiting their own will, the recovering person creates space for divine guidance and presence. This does not diminish human agency but transforms it into partnership with the divine. As recovery writer Ernest Kurtz notes: "The sense of being used, of having surrendered to and being controlled by something that is not oneself yet somehow is oneself—this is at the heart of the experience of A.A.'s Twelfth Step" [12]. This paradoxical experience—simultaneously oneself and beyond oneself—parallels the kabbalistic understanding of how divine contraction creates space for genuine relationship without compromising divine infinity.

The concept of tzimtzum provides a theological framework for understanding the experience of divine absence that frequently accompanies addiction. Rather than interpreting this absence as divine abandonment, tzimtzum suggests that divine hiddenness creates the necessary space for human freedom—including the freedom to choose recovery. As addiction counselor and theologian Gerald May writes: "The dark night of addiction is a type of mystical experience turned upside down. Instead of being immersed in God's presence, one is immersed in God's absence" [56]. This experience of absence can be understood through the lens of tzimtzum as a necessary divine contraction that creates space for authentic human choice and relationship. 

The 12 Step understanding of "hitting bottom" represents the moment when divine hiddenness becomes most acute—yet paradoxically, this moment often initiates the recovery journey. As the Big Book states: "Until they really humbled themselves, their sobriety—if any—was precarious" [57]. This humbling—this experience of powerlessness—creates the empty space necessary for a new relationship with the divine.

The 12 Step approach to spirituality embodies the dialectical relationship between transcendence and immanence discussed throughout this article. Rather than choosing between objective theological claims and subjective spiritual experience, 12 Step spirituality embraces both simultaneously. The phrase "God as we understood Him" encapsulates this dialectical approach [51]. It acknowledges both an objective reality ("God") and subjective appropriation ("as we understood Him"). This phrasing navigates the tension between divine objectivity and human subjectivity without resolving it into either pure transcendence or pure immanence. This dialectical approach echoes Rabbi Abraham Isaac Kook's integration of seemingly contradictory aspects of divine reality: "The distinction between God's point of view and ours serves for these latter-day Kabbalists much the same function that the distinction between the noumenon and the phenomenal world did for Kant" [12]. Similarly, 12 Step spirituality distinguishes between the objective reality of a Higher Power and the diverse ways individuals experience and understand that reality.

The 12 Step emphasis on community—embodied in the fellowship aspect of recovery programs—provides a vessel for divine presence that parallels kabbalistic understandings of how finite vessels contain divine light. The recovery community becomes a space where divine presence manifests through human relationship. As the Big Book states: "The feeling of having shared in a common peril is one element in the powerful cement which binds us" [43]. This shared experience creates a container for divine presence that exceeds what individuals could experience in isolation. The community becomes what Buber might term a "Thou-world" where genuine encounter with both human and divine others become possible [51]. This communal dimension reflects what Hasidic thought terms "revelation through concealment"—the paradoxical way divine presence manifests through ordinary human interactions. As Rabbi Schneur Zalman taught, divine revelation occurs most profoundly not through supernatural events but through the transformation of ordinary experience [58]. Similarly, 12 Step recovery finds spiritual awakening not through dramatic revelations but through the slow transformation of character and community.

The concept of tzimtzum provides a profound theological framework for understanding the spiritual mechanics of 12 Step recovery. By illuminating the dialectical relationship between divine transcendence and immanence, tzimtzum helps explain why the 12 Step approach to spirituality has proven so effective across diverse religious traditions and cultural contexts. Recovery, understood through the lens of tzimtzum, represents a cosmic pattern in microcosm. Just as divine contraction creates space for creation and relationship on a cosmic scale, the recovering person's surrender creates space for new life and relationship on a personal scale. This participation in the divine pattern transforms recovery from mere abstinence into spiritual awakening. 

As the Eleventh Step promises: "We became conscious of His presence, we began to lose our fear of today, tomorrow or the hereafter" [59]. This consciousness of divine presence—following the necessary contractions of ego, self-will, and self-sufficiency—represents the fulfillment of tzimtzum's purpose: not merely divine withdrawal but divine withdrawal for the sake of relationship and revelation. The 12 Step journey thus embodies the central insight of tzimtzum: that authentic relationship requires both distance and presence, both separation and connection, both transcendence and immanence. By navigating this dialectic, recovery programs have created a spiritual framework that honors both divine otherness and divine intimacy—a framework that continues to transform countless lives across religious and cultural boundaries [51].

The tension between transcendence and immanence, between an objective "Higher Power" and a personal "My-Higher Power," reflects the fundamental paradox at the heart of religious experience [60]. Rather than choosing one perspective over the other, the concept of tzimtzum suggests embracing this tension as a creative dialectic. As Rabbi Shlomo Carlebach expresses it: "I have to tell you something! You can prepare everything in the world. One little thing is missing. It can destroy the whole thing... Friends, I want to share this with you: everybody is ready to do everything in the world, but this one little thing which is the most important, we don't want to do" [58]. This "one little thing" might be understood as the willingness to embrace both aspects of the divine—the transcendent infinity that exceeds all human categories and the immanent presence that manifests in everyday life. It requires both the cosmic perspective that sees God's objective reality and the personal perspective that experiences God's intimate presence. 

The dance between divine contraction and revelation, between transcendence and immanence, is not merely a theological abstraction but the living rhythm of religious experience [61]. By embracing this dialectic, we may find a more integrated understanding of the divine that honors both God's infinite otherness and God's intimate presence in our lives. In the words attributed to Rabbi Menachem Mendel of Kotzk: "God is found where He is allowed to enter" [62]. This statement captures the essence of the tzimtzum paradox—suggesting that divine presence depends both on God's self-limitation and on human receptivity, both on objective reality and subjective experience. It is in this creative tension that authentic religious life unfolds. 

The concept of tzimtzum thus provides not only a theological framework for understanding divine transcendence and immanence but also a practical path for navigating the inherent tensions of religious experience [63]. As Eli Rubin argues in his forthcoming work, these tensions are not merely theological puzzles but existential challenges that shape the very fabric of modern religious identity [64]. The dance of contraction and revelation continues to unfold in every generation, inviting us to participate in the ongoing dialectic between the objective transcendent divine and the personal immanent higher power.

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