Very early in In Search of Lost Time, in an incident that seems to be the genesis of the novel's overwhelming neurotic momentum, the narrator is sent to bed without a goodnight kiss from his mother. Every night, he focuses the whole of his emotional attention on that kiss and, even then, it's over before he has gained sufficient comfort from it. To be denied it altogether is a fate too grim for him to face for an entire night on his own. So after various other ruses to lure his mother to his bedroom have failed, he openly rebels against the order of the household. As his mother comes upstairs to bed, followed closely by his father, he steps out into the hallway in tears to claim his goodnight kiss:

My father was constantly refusing me permission for things that had been authorized in the more generous covenants granted by my mother and grandmother because he did not bother about 'principles' and for him there was no 'law of nations'. For a completely contingent reason, or even for no reason, he would at the last minute deny me a certain walk that was so customary, so consecrated that to deprive me of it was a violation, or, as he had done once again this evening, long before the ritual hour he would say to me: 'Go on now, up to bed, no arguments!' But also, because he had no principles (in my grandmother's sense), he was not properly speaking intransigent. He looked at me for a moment with an expression of surprise and annoyance, then as soon as Mama had explained to him in a few embarrassed words what had happened, he said to her: 'Go along with him, then. You were just saying you didn't feel very sleepy, stay in his room for a little while, I don't need anything. --But my dear, answered my mother timidly, whether I'm sleepy or not doesn't change anything, we can't let the child get into the habit... --But it isn't a question of habit, said my father, shrugging his shoulders, you can see the boy is upset, he seems very sad...'

The narrator has a clear sense of the commandments of his household and of his transgression of those commandments as he does this, and in that transgression, born of unbearable (for the narrator) suffering, he finds his father merciful. His mother (and, by extension, his grandmother), bound by the letter of those commandments, is incapable of such mercy, even though she has a greater impulse to tenderness than his father.

To speak of this dynamic in theological terms isn't inappropriate. The narrator makes clear his deification of his father elsewhere:

Sometimes I would depend upon my father's arranging everything for me. He was so powerful, in such favour with the people who 'really counted,' that he made it possible for us to transgress laws which Françoise had taught me to regard as more ineluctable than the laws of life and death... If I had fallen seriously ill, if I had been captured by brigands, convinced that my father's understanding with the supreme powers was too complete, that his letters of introduction to the Almighty were too irresistible for my illness or captivity to turn out anything but vain illusions, in which there was no danger actually threatening me, I should have awaited with perfect composure the inevitable hour of my return to comfortable realities, of my deliverance from bondage or restoration to health. Perhaps this want of talent, this black cavity which gaped in my mind when I ransacked it for the theme of my future writings, was itself no more, either, than an unsubstantial illusion, and would be brought to an end by the intervention of my father, who would arrange with the Government and with Providence that I should be the first writer of my day...

Though the narrator's mother may be a ministering angel, his father is the deity above both of them. He's above the quotidian arrangements that the narrator, his mother, and his grandmother have negotiated to accord with the father's will. Where those arrangements and the father's will aren't consistent (as is destined to happen on occasion, since the arrangements of others can never conform perfectly to one's will), he acts according to his will. If we read the narrator's father as God, then this characterization fits perfectly with Dietrich Bonhoeffer's outline of Christian ethics (as described in his Ethics):

The knowledge of good and evil seems to be the aim of all ethical reflection. The first task of Christian ethics is to invalidate this knowledge...

Already in the possibility of the knowledge of good and evil Christian ethics discerns a falling away from the origin. Man at his origin knows only one thing: God. It is only in the unity of his knowledge of God that he knows of other men, of things, and of himself. He knows all things only in God, and God in all things. The knowledge of good and evil shows that he is no longer at one with his origin.

...[Jesus] speaks with a complete freedom which is not bound by the law of logical alternatives. In this freedom, Jesus leaves all laws beneath him; and to the Pharisees this freedom necessarily appears as the negation of all order, all piety, and all belief. Jesus casts aside all the distinctions which the Pharisee so laboriously maintains...

...Jesus demands that the knowledge of good and evil be overcome; He demands unity with God...

This notion of ethics transcends any inadequate conception of good and evil that we can derive on our own. In this view, the fact that our ethics must rely on our contingent ideas of good and evil clearly demonstrates our separation from God, of whose will those ideas are an approximation. Put more simply, if we were at one with God, we would simply act according to his will. This is the image of God that those of us who seek to exercise our own will in accordance with our own desire for rationality, clarity, and consistency find capricious and frightening. Those who seek to be independent of God or His creation, be they rationalists or fundamentalists, will be forever troubled by this image of God.

But it's not clear whether Proust's childish view of his father reflects Bonhoeffer's view of God, or Bonhoeffer's view of God reflects our childish view of our parents. Just as human attempts to define good and evil might be seen by Christian ethics as an attempt to discern and codify God's will, which we are incapable of knowing or understanding on our own, the rules that a child follows are a simplified substitute for the parents' will. The child figuratively becomes one with the parents by becoming an adult, and comes to know what those rules were a simplified substitute for.