Indeed, theological discourse offers its strange jubilation only to the strict extent that it permits and, dangerously, demands of it wokman that he speak beyond his means, precisely because he does not speak of himself. Hence the danger of a speech that, in a sense, speaks against the one who lends himself to it. One must obtain forgiveness for every essay in theology. In all senses.
Interpretation
The quote reflects on the challenges and responsibilities of discussing theology, emphasizing the need for humility and self-awareness.
Jean-Luc Marion's quote delves into the complexities of theological discourse, suggesting that engaging in such discussions requires a deep understanding and awareness of oneself. It highlights the inherent risks of speaking on behalf of a greater truth while acknowledging one's limitations, implying that true theological exploration necessitates both humility and the pursuit of forgiveness for any inadequacies expressed in such profound topics.
In practice
In a seminar discussing the complexities of faith, one might quote Marion to prompt a conversation on the limits of our understanding.
When some remote ancestor of ours invented the shovel, he became a giver: He could plant a tree. And when the axe was invented, he became a taker: He could chop it down. Whoever owns land has thus assumed, whether he knows it or not, the divine functions of creating and destroying plants.
The people cannot be all, and always, well informed. The part which is wrong will be discontented, in proportion to the importance of the facts they misconceive. If they remain quiet under such misconceptions, it is lethargy, the forerunner of death to the public liberty. And what country can preserve its liberties, if its rulers are not warned from time to time, that this people preserve the spirit of resistance? Let them take arms.
Libraries can take the place of God.
Together, they would watch everything that was so carefully planned collapse, and they would smile at the beauty of destruction.
Fame is not just. She never finely or discriminatingly praises, but coarsely hurrahs.
There must be another life, she thought, sinking back into her chair, exasperated. Not in dreams; but here and now, in this room, with living people. She felt as if she were standing on the edge of a precipice with her hair blown back; she was about to grasp something that just evaded her. There must be another life, here and now, she repeated. This is too short, too broken. We know nothing, even about ourselves.
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