Marilynne robinson essay

I cavil.
Not “theological”, but rather ‘anthropological’, in the Kantian way. Not an “account of god”, a disclosure of divine disclosedness; an ‘account of people’, ‘of being a person': what would a person have to be in order to believe this? believing this must indicate what about what this person is? what must be true about this community such that embracing this god this way by these people is possible? what are the human conditions for the possibility of faith?
Theologies populate our conversations only successfully having withdrawn; they groan the shelves of god’s wordless library.
I think Robinson’s ambition, and achievement, is writingly to be ‘sacred’, in the sense of ‘attentive’.

“She’d never thought before how strange a cornfield can look so late in the year, all the stalks dead where they stand. The country had always just been work waiting to be done. Now she saw the dim shine of sunlight on the leaves, and how the stalks were all bent one way, the tops of them. The wind had bent them and then left them rigid, with their old tattered leaves hanging off them. But it was as if they had all heard one sound and they all knew what it meant, or were afraid they did, and every one of them waited to hear it again, to be sure, every one of them still with waiting. She said, ‘It don’t mean nothing,’ speaking to the child. ‘It’s the wind.’ ”

I know that hunting is sacrosanct in this country. This is beside the point, since hunting rifles are not the problem. And the conversation around this issue never stays long with hunting. It goes instead to the Second Amendment. Any literalist reading would notice the founders’ words “well-regulated” on one hand, and on the other the alarm that arises among the pro-gun people at the slightest mention of anything that resembles regulation, and their constant efforts to erode what little regulation there is. The supposed neglect or abuse of this revered document, and the supposed “defense of the Second Amendment,” is leveraged on that other fear, the fear that those bland blue helmets might be gathering even now, maybe in Canada, to commence their internationalist march into the heart of Texas. Will we wake to find ourselves betrayed by our own government!! Maybe nothing has deterred them to this point but those Kalashnikovs. How fortunate that the factory in Russia is up and running. And how hard those Russians must be laughing, all the way to the bank. And all those homicidal insurgents and oppressors in the turbulent parts of the world, how pleased they must be that we cheapen these marvelous weapons for them. Oh, I know there are all sorts of reliable gun manufacturers, in Austria, for example. Our appetite for weapons is one of those vacuums nature hates, that is to say, fills.

Marilynne robinson essay

marilynne robinson essay

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