I have rarely been so excruciatingly embarrassed as watching this film for 138 minutes. When someone shows you the depth of his soul, it is, I suppose, ungrateful to point out it is an inch deep. But this sort of humbug needs to be exposed.
The visuals and music were New Age kitsch along with the rest of this film. I didn't know if I was watching a National Geographic Special or a lava lamp. There already exists magnificent religious music; why pay some Hollywood hack to counterfeit it as well?
The movie attempted what is called theodicy, that is a justification of how an all-powerful, just God can permit the self-evident cruelties and injustices of life. The logical answer is: "because he doesn't exist" or "because he is a jealous, vengeful God, just as described in the Pentateuch" (mirrored, of course, in the Brad Pitt character who equates love with obedience cf. the Fall of Man.)
But that's not a good enough answer for Malick who needs some warm, fuzzy panacea. Hence the "way of grace," acceptance. "I give you my son," give him to a God who killed his own? Or to the Big Bang, to cosmogony? What does acceptance of the Big Bang mean? What could be more the "way of nature" than the cosmic expansion? The fact that leading critics found this movie "profound" speaks volumes about the spiritual shallowness of the present.