Reading Genesis by Marilynne Robinson | A Review

Robinson's Winsome Faith

I’ve been reading Marilynne Robinson's novels and essays for some time now. Of her fiction, I’ve read Gilead, reflections of a retired minister written for his son, and its precursor, Housekeeping, about a drifting way of life passed from one generation to the next. The essays look at societal questions about living together through the lens of Robinson’s deep reading of literature and history.

What strikes me in reviews of her works is that non-Christian reviewers make positive mentions of her Calvinistic faith. They say something like, “I am not a believer, but if I were to become one, I’d embrace a faith like hers.” It leaves me wondering: how does she so effectively communicate what she believes to those who do not believe or may be on the way?

That’s one reason I think we ought to pay attention to her reading of the Bible’s first book; another is the simple pleasure of taking in her outlook on life—as novelist, social commentator, and well-informed lay theologian. Her formidable writing is on full display as she reflects on the story of the world’s earliest generations.

Here’s what I observed after my first time through Reading Genesis. I know I’ll be turning to it again.

Genesis Is about Our Messy World

The Bible, and Genesis as its opening overture, are grounded in life in this world, not some distant heavenly realm.

It does not ignore human sin and suffering. In Robinson's words,

The Bible is a theodicy, a meditation on the problem of evil. This being true, it must take account of things as they are. It must acknowledge in a meaningful way the darkest aspects of the reality we experience, and it must reconcile them with the goodness of God and of Being itself against which this darkness stands out so sharply.

That includes Genesis, with a “flawed and alienated creature at the center of it all, ourselves, still sacred, still beloved of God” (3).  I need this reminder when preaching—that people come to church wrestling with that tension between the “darkest aspects of the reality we experience” and the “goodness of God.”

In other words, many, if not most, come to Sunday worship asking, “Where is God present in the midst of the world’s pain–and mine?”

A God of Mercy

Genesis is about the way we come to know and understand God.

Robinson was teaching a class on Genesis at her church and came to the story of Cain and Abel. Two women from a non-Western country asked the question many readers would:

What kind of God would not kill a man who killed his brother?

Her answer?

An excellent question. This episode indeed characterizes God and is relevant to the whole of Scripture for that reason.” (55)

The mark of Cain protects him rather than stigmatizes. He lives a long life, patronizes arts and civilization, founds a city and names it after his son Enoch, who walked with God and did not die. The God of the Old Testament is gracious over generations, and that characterization runs throughout Genesis, beginning and end. God forgives Cain, and Joseph forgives his brothers, claiming he is not in the place of God even as he reflects divine mercy.

 Reading Holistically

The book is a lesson in holistic reading, not a commentary in the traditional sense.

It has two parts: “Reading Genesis,” her extended set of reflections (divided only by spaces in the text, not subheadings or chapters), followed by the King James Version of Genesis. The choice of King James is not explained, but I suspect it is for the age and beauty of its language.

The comments move somewhat along the order of the chapters, but Robinson will look backward and forward in Genesis and throughout the entire Bible to find resonance with parallel events and characters.

While scholars debate the rules and restrictions for making intertextual references, Robinson assumes the role of the attentive layperson who hears readings from both Old and New Testaments every Sunday. But unlike piecemeal Sunday readings, Robinson considers the whole of Genesis, attending to the comparison of characters, often set in contrast. Cain is given a mark to protect him from vengeance; Lamech takes that as lenience and multiplies the crime; then his son Noah receives a law that allows but limits the taking of a life for a life.

Then, later, Abraham’s servant visits Laban with lavish displays of his master’s wealth while Abraham’s grandson Jacob arrives poor and must work for his keep. Laban notices and treats each accordingly, fawning over the servant and swindling Jacob the grabber, but in the end, he will not harm his wily son-in-law or the daughters who leave with him. Love overcomes grievance:

That Laban is moved by feelings that stir in the heart of God is a deep statement about the metaphysics of being human. (158)

Incorporating and Challenging Historical Criticism 

It is also a tour of recent developments in biblical study.

Like Robert Alter’s Art of Biblical Narrative, Robinson challenges the “assured results” of historical criticism for frequently missing the point, yet she makes comparisons with Enuma Elish and Gilgamesh. She contrasts the pantheon of gods that use humanity for their own ends with the one God who loves, leads, and bears with those who are “prone to wander,” as the old hymn puts it.  

And, like Alter, her attention to repetition, characterization, irony, and dialogue encourages close “literary” reading: “no detail should be dismissed” (56). Her emphasis on the sometimes mysterious, always gracious, character of God echoes the renewal of theological interpretation in biblical studies. When Jacob steals both birthright and blessing from his brother so that father and son weep together, Robinson observes: “Love and grief are, in this infinite Creation, things of the kind we share with God” (139).

Robinson’s prose is not always easy to read, but I find that re-reading portions allows me to better understand her point and appreciate the language she uses to make it.

Remembering those reviewers who appreciate but do not share her faith, I’ll recommend Reading Genesis as an apology–not a confession, but a vision of God who cares for beloved creatures. That so many find that vision appealing is instructive. Her example will serve us well as we try to do the same in preaching and teaching.