I was listening to two men, one a Catholic priest, speaking of George Eliot’s Middlemarch (which I happen to be reading right now).
As might be suspected, the priest had a reading of the novel which might be thought to impose Catholicism (or at least Christianity) onto it.
Nevertheless, I found the ideas compelling (of course, I’m a Catholic catechumen and so am, also, biased). Here is what he said:
[T]hese small decisions you make about your character do matter—not least because your soul and character matter. That's the small town you have the most control over. Can you give the world one well-ordered soul? That's a great gift, and it will inevitably affect other people no matter what."
The novel, self-described as a “study in provincial life,” takes as its main character the township of Middlemarch, a rural setting which is beginning to grow as a result of industrialism, soon to get its first modern hospital, and undergoing a round of social evolution as it adapts not only to modern economics, but also a rising tide of reform politics. Eliot paints a brilliantly wide panorama of this small, parochial space, replete with fine brushstrokes representing the full psychological color of nearly every character—with these minute details fleshing out the larger canvas of an interconnected culture, complete with ideological, political, and theological differences.
Much of the tension we are shown arises from the economic and socio-cognitive complexity of class, in particular as it is manifested in marriage. Different married couples are contrasted with one another, each of them nevertheless exhibiting its mutually co-interdependent, contingent participation within the matrix of experience connecting all of them.
Will and choice are brought into full focus in characters’ struggles with alcohol and gambling (conventionally construed, as well as metaphorically in terms of professional decisions concerning investment and careerism), as well as “pleasure-seeking” in general. Young women leverage what little agency the culture-at-large gives them with regards to marriage prospects, resisting where preferable and pursuing where necessary. How their lives are shaped by these constrained and overdetermined conditions dictates the great importance such a decision entails. To lead with passion is a very great risk, indeed.
So, while the pressures of circumstance to a great extent dictate the extent to which a choice is available, further intensified by the difficulty inherent in the decision to act with agency and autonomy, there is revealed in Eliot’s portrait the potential for a transformative will to govern behavior for the betterment of oneself and others, if by no other means than by her representation of each character’s rich interior life (or lack thereof).
And whether or not Eliot is herself making a grand moral claim about such a potential, she is nevertheless depicting the fact that it exists. For me, in reading such a book, it is a call to desire just such an exercise of character. What little will I can cultivate seems of the essence.
As a middle-aged man with a problematic past too-defined by a history of drinking, the past two years spent soberly have largely served as an opportunity to tend to my own interior life. At some point it became apparent to me that conditions being what they are, any potential growth in any outward form (career advancement, possibly finding a life partner, that sort of thing) was going to be completely dependent upon my completely, radically accepting things as they are.
My primary means of doing this has been daily prayer, weekly Mass attendance, attention to the sacraments, and practice in Virtue. I have learned, very slowly, to get over resentments and begin to practice forgiveness. Conversation by conversation, I have started to be less self-absorbed and more curious about others, whatever their education level, background, or governing worldview. And I have learned to root this entire endeavor in a fervent love for and fear of my Creator, knowing that whatever merit I can accumulate in this world has come from them, and can be taken away.
But, most importantly, I have given up on the idea of being some kind of hero in some kind of story, and instead sought to learn to empty myself in humility, welcoming the Mercy of God, and accepting myself as simply one more being among beings, not least of these the birds, squirrels, trees, and other flora and fauna which surround me.
This quiet, semi-hermitic life I enjoy (and, honestly, don’t deserve) has allowed me to develop a general sense of gratitude, which I have purchased by constantly asking for forgiveness. My decision to write less and read and pray more has enabled me to slowly build a stable character across interactions, which consistently shows up with humility and very meager Grace. To what extent this can be of benefit to all beings, I offer it, both to my God and to all of You. I could hope for no deeper meaning, nor greater significance.
Affectionately,
Aaron