It is curious to me that our modern society's definition of personal virtue, character, and morality is so very different even from that espoused by folk of my grandparents' generation and especially that taken for granted in classic literature, Jane Austen's works being a very poignant example. Modern stories all revolve around action and peril and physical lovemaking, while stories from a century or more gone focus on human emotions, moral actions, character development (or lack thereof), affection and virtue, and all those tedious things that comprise the human condition but never yield even a single good explosion, save perhaps of a life or destiny. Our modern stories, like our modern culture, have no soul. We are merely soulless physical machines born only to fornicate and die, at least if you believe the modern tales of romance and the popular 'women's' magazines. But I'm old fashioned and don't believe it for a minute, though the larger culture certainly does, what with suicide rates, the opioid crisis, and people ready to fight to the verbal death with a stranger over something as silly as the 'best' pizza toppings. It is a depressing era to be alive in modern culture, at least if you drink the cultural kool-aid.
But it is a lie as old as Eden. The world is broken, humanity is broken, creation is sick; we all agree on that point, but the doctor, the cure, is not found within the province and knowledge of men. It isn't in sexual freedom. It isn't in getting to choose your sex/age/race... It isn't in a spouse or children. Not in money, power, freedom, fame or any of that. Not even a great car or the perfect job. The 'ancients' knew it, Miss Austen is no stranger to the fact, but we in our 'wisdom' have become blind to the true point of her writing. It is not of romance or the female struggle or even to laugh at social foibles that she mainly writes, but it is of virtue, the development of character, becoming more and more human, the pursuit of all that is good and lovely and right. The 'sequels' written by modern authors are all about the physical aspects of romance and completely miss the point of the original works: her heroines are flawed people who grow in the course of the story and even if they didn't find a worthy man at its end, they were still better people for it. It isn't about getting Mr. Darcy into bed but rather about Elizabeth learning not to judge others so harshly and for Darcy to learn compassion for those less fortunate. But even virtue is not enough to save us.
We must grow and change and become better if we are to thrive and flourish, but building upon a cracked foundation will only undermine the whole edifice, we must root out the broken stones and shore up the clay beneath if we are to succeed. But we did not build ourselves, how can we fix ourselves? We can't. We must let the Builder start a new work in us, then and only then, can we begin to build upon the foundation that He must lay and therein, alone, lies true Joy. Our souls are sick, but there is a Great Physician, but we have to decide we are sick enough to actually see a doctor.
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