Humanity's better moments
My dad claimed to have bought a superfluous copy of Middlemarch, and so the week before last, he sent me the fine Everyman's Library edition. I've just finished rereading the novel, and Chapter LXXVI, in the "Sunset and Sunrise" section, is one of my favorites. The chapter epigraph is by Blake, from the Songs of Innocence, and reads, in part:
For Mercy has a human heart,
Pity a human face;
And Love, the human form divine;
And Peace, the human dress.
Dorothea consoles Lydgate about his misfortunes:
"Tell me, pray," said Dorothea, with simple earnestness; "then we can consult together. It is wicked to let people think evil of anyone falsely, when it can be hindered."
Lydgate turned, remembering where he was, and saw Dorothea's face looking up at him with a sweet trustful gravity. The presence of a noble nature, generous in its wishes, ardent in its charity, changes the lights for us: we begin to see things again in their larger, quieter masses, and to believe that we too can be seen and judged in the wholeness of our character. That influence was beginning to act on Lydgate, who had for many days been seeing all life as one who is dragged and struggling amid the throng. He sat down again, and felt that he was recovering his old self in the consciousness that he was with one who believed in it.
***
Nobody in real life, I think, is an exact analogue of a Lydgate, or a Will "Plot Device" Ladislaw, or even poor old Casaubon -- it's fashionable to diagnose fictional characters with things, so let's go ahead and call Casaubon an Aspie struggling in a world of clueless neurotypicals.
I don't know if I've ever been a Dorothea. I've met a few Dorotheas, in several genders.
For Mercy has a human heart,
Pity a human face;
And Love, the human form divine;
And Peace, the human dress.
Dorothea consoles Lydgate about his misfortunes:
"Tell me, pray," said Dorothea, with simple earnestness; "then we can consult together. It is wicked to let people think evil of anyone falsely, when it can be hindered."
Lydgate turned, remembering where he was, and saw Dorothea's face looking up at him with a sweet trustful gravity. The presence of a noble nature, generous in its wishes, ardent in its charity, changes the lights for us: we begin to see things again in their larger, quieter masses, and to believe that we too can be seen and judged in the wholeness of our character. That influence was beginning to act on Lydgate, who had for many days been seeing all life as one who is dragged and struggling amid the throng. He sat down again, and felt that he was recovering his old self in the consciousness that he was with one who believed in it.
***
Nobody in real life, I think, is an exact analogue of a Lydgate, or a Will "Plot Device" Ladislaw, or even poor old Casaubon -- it's fashionable to diagnose fictional characters with things, so let's go ahead and call Casaubon an Aspie struggling in a world of clueless neurotypicals.
I don't know if I've ever been a Dorothea. I've met a few Dorotheas, in several genders.
