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Seatbelts to Maximum Buckling

If only there were stillness, full, complete.
If all the random and approximate
were muted, with neighbors’ laughter, for your sake,
and if the clamor that my senses make
did not confound the vigil I would keep –

Then in a thousandfold thought I could think
you out, even to your utmost brink,
and (while a smile endures) possess you, giving
you away, as though I were but giving thanks,
to all the living.

— Rainer Maria Rilke, from The Book of Hours (1905)

Many years ago, I was in college and also a huge fan of The Book of Hours by the poet Rainer Maria Rilke. Today I wonder if this was an adolescent infatuation — one of those things you get into fantastically but later feel embarrassed about. Still, I was a spiritual seeker then, trying to read about different religions and all types of literature to figure out what it all meant. I had a kind of frenemy in my freshman year who was a young evangelical, and I shared this Rilke poem with her:

What will you do, God, when I die?

I am your jar (if cracked, I lie?)

Your well-spring (if the well go dry?)

I am your craft, your vesture I—

You lose your purport, losing me.

When I go, your cold house will be

Empty of words that made it sweet.

I am the sandals your bare feet

Will seek and long for, wearily.

Your cloak will fall from aching bones.

Your glance, that my warm cheeks have cheered

As with a cushion long endeared,

Will wonder at a loss so weird;

And, when the sun has disappeared,

Lie in the lap of alien stones.

What will you do, God? I am feared.

My friend very much did not agree with this. She literally said, “I don’t agree with that.” She understandably felt that Rilke was setting the human or the individual above God — as if God depended on us for her or his or its existence, which definitely goes against the tenets of American evangelicalism.

As an agnostic or a seeker, I don’t have a dog in this fight. But I wonder why the poem appealed to me so much at the time. Rilke’s work has been described as “love poems to God,” though I do not think that was his actual wording. It was written when he was young-ish and full of young-ish ardor and curiosity and wondering.

If one says they love God, then what does it mean? The Greeks liked to parcel out love into various different categories, but I think what Rilke was getting at is that our relationship with God, or the great unknown, if there is one, is much like the love we feel for another person. If you truly fall in love, you may feel — what am I without you? We’re two drops of water, as an old Italian saying goes. How can we exist without each other? How could God exist without her creation? I don’t think Rilke was arrogantly placing man above God, as my old friend seemed to think. He was writing a love poem. We are coexistent. And maybe extremely codependent.

Anyway, here are our editors’ reading recommendations for this week:

From the MAGA perspective, snitching is the pejorative liberal word for the exercise of grassroots democracy needed to keep bureaucrats honest and put phoneys from the ‘woke’ intelligentsia in their place. If it hurts corrupt bureaucrats and phoneys, so much the better: this is payback time. Or, as Stalin would have put it, it’s class war.

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