An Evening with Marilynne Robinson
Write-up by Zeb Khalid, MA English 2023
Perhaps it was chance that Marilynne Robinson’s appearance in the BU Conversations in the Arts & Ideas series fell a mere two days after Easter. With its spirit of renewal, tinged with the lingering somberness of Lent, this moment in the Christian liturgical year was the perfect background to the thoughtful, gentle way in which Robinson approached the conversation on the evening of April 11 with Robert Allan Hill, Professor of Theology at BU and Dean of Marsh Chapel, a fervent admirer of Robinson’s work. Many of Dean Hill’s questions drew on his 2013 Lenten series of sermons that revolved around Robinson’s writing. Of particular interest to him were Robinson’s celebration of the life of pastoral ministry and the significance of place and memory in her writing and thought. A few of Robinson’s most salient reflections follow.
On place. Robinson grew up in the rugged mountains of Idaho, but eventually her work carried her to the fields of Iowa, which are not traditionally considered beautiful or dramatic. The question for her, then, became, how do we love the places in which we find ourselves? And how do we see the beauty in places which are not thought to be so? The Earth, to her, is far more spectacular than what we know of the rest of the universe. Robinson gave a moving account in the conversation about the specific moment she fell in love with Iowa, watching the sun rise over a patch of red tulips.
On memory and mind. Robinson holds that people might be surprised to find out what they do remember with certainty, and criticized modern thought for its focus on the observable, its exclusion of the mind, and its belief that human behavior and experience can be generalized. She believes, on the contrary, that humanity is the most complex expression of what is possible, and that this difference in experiences makes the world richer, fuller, more recognizable. Science, she maintains, cannot explain the rebirth, in terms of emotional experience, that accompanies us even after our lives have ended. Robinson advocates for a more present concept of the limits of knowledge; more aptly, the sense that not everything must be known.
On grace and language. As they talked, Dean Hill evoked the idea of conversation as a means of grace, and wondered over the question that Robinson’s writing poses: how does one assign a name to “the presiding intelligence to speak as the moment requires?” This prompted Robinson to marvel at earlier literary traditions that valorized the ambitious and conscientious use of language. She lamented that words are being rendered increasingly superfluous today, siphoned off and censored by the media, which thrives off marketing prepackaged attitudes. The only way to maintain integrity and elevate the quality of conversation, she believes, is through diligent self-reflection, through paying attention to the significance and complex meanings. And indeed, the authenticity of the conversation with Dean Hill that night afforded the audience moments of meaning and grace.
On writing. As a fiction writer, Robinson maintains that she “never thinks about writing unless [she’s] actually writing”. This affords her the freedom to follow her characters. But she also suggested that a good writer should always have a sense of what they’re going to do next, and accordingly leave themselves “clues”, or memories, in case the direction of their writing changes. She finds majesty in each human being’s unique experience, and encourages aspiring writers to draw on what their selves can tell them, rather than being inauthentic to themselves by trying to conform to “contemporary style”, whatever that might be at the time. As she says, “that’s not really writing”.
Against determinism. In a recent essay, “Theology of the Present Moment”, published in the New York Review of Books, Robinson argues that the immediate will of God is intention coupled with action, and through it, Robinson wishes to underscore that, on a measure of singularity, there is nothing more amazing than the fact that we have this universe and this reality. Like Newton, she designates herself a “moral realist”, believing that numerous factors conspire together to make reality as we know it to exist. Our very being seems instantaneous, determined at every moment by this multiplicity of factors, though it might appear to be eternal. She thus rejects the “decayed intellectual trap” that we are all part of a massive machine of determination; she celebrates human agency and regrets that “we haven’t figured out how else to think” outside of the bounds of determinism. “We are our own biggest problem”, Robinson declared with conviction, adding that people ought to be profoundly interested in our species and ourselves.
On Calvin. Dean Hill, who often uses Calvin’s texts as a starting point in his own sermons, not surprisingly asked Robinson to reflect on the thread of Calvinism that runs heavy through her writing. She began with the early influence of her “solemn Presbyterian grandfather”. Such figures were Robinson’s childhood reality, and it was only after she completed her PhD that she began to think deeply about what theology really was in conversation with. This, in turn, inspired her seminar on the intertextuality of Calvin’s writings and Moby Dick. Robinson finds fascinating the sheer humanism of Moby Dick, how each individual is glorified with dignity, and the connections of such a philosophy with Calvinist feminism.
On social justice. In talking about Iowa as a beloved place, she also alluded to the state’s remarkable history of abolitionism; however, she noted sadly that everything she loved about Iowa (her “list”) has been pulled out “by the roots” due to the negation of the state’s progressive history by its current legislators. For example, she deplores how the lowering of the minimum age to work in Iowa now exposes children as young as fifteen to harmful chemicals. Robinson notes that she was “angry for most of [her] life” before she realized that anger was not, and could not be, the path to the future. She hopes we can come up with a “version of the US that is not Elysium” but that nevertheless works, saying that we have lost our sense of who we are as a nation in favor of regional and factional disputes.
At one with the audience. Towards the close of the evening, these ruminations inspired thought-provoking questions from the audience, which included the son of an Iowa farmer who was much enamored of Robinson’s descriptions of the landscape there, and another student from a Pennsylvania farm who identified with her imagery. She fielded questions with an alacrity and generosity that alternately made her audience laugh at her wit and marvel at her eloquence. A number of her readers highlighted their own identification with the characters she has created, characters with “meaningful agency” who become unforgettable. One sensed that everyone in the hall had been touched by Robinson’s tireless and extensive work, her celebration of human experience, and her fidelity to her ideas. Dean Hill captured what Robinson has bestowed on her readership in introducing his 2013 Lenten sermons: “Her love of Scripture, her sense of the eternal, her rendering of John Calvin, her prophetic defense of wonder in our time, her unwillingness to buy the cheap goods of a culture that languishes in the doldrums of a pervasive malaise, her celebration of quiet life, pastoral ministry, providential grace, and the deeps of love: all these human gifts we gratefully receive from her”. And indeed, the applause that resounded through the hall as the evening drew to a close and Robinson made her modest exit was testament to that gratitude.
Watch the full video recording of the An Evening with Marilynne Robinson on YouTube