My father was a writer. He wrote all of his life, inflicting upon many of us his novels, plays, articles, essays, and self-help books. Some were marvelous; some merely well-intentioned. But of all the things he wrote, his journal is his legacy: by turns wise and bewildering, it neared 1,100 type-written pages when he died in 2010. Although perused many times, this is the first time it will be read - cover to cover, page after page.
Sunday, August 4, 2013
The Mark of Violence
Each time someone proposes violence as the solution to a problem he acts as though it were a brilliant new alternative rather than a worn and only destructive reply, its different or newness being only in the form of pain or destruction embodied. It is not revelation. Instead it is only violence, the same terrible response that marks our inadequacy or the reluctance we have to progress as a people.
Labels:
epiphany,
limitations,
revelations,
violence
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