“It is an uneasy lot at best, to be what we call highly taught and yet not to enjoy: to be present at this great spectacle of life and never to be liberated from a small hungry shivering self — never to be fully possessed by the glory we behold, never to have our consciousness rapturously transformed into the vividness of a thought, the ardor of a passion, the energy of an action, but always to be scholarly and uninspired, ambitious and timid, scrupulous and dim-sighted.”
I will begin by pointing out that I have no idea where this quote is from within the book. And somewhat on purpose, I refuse to look it up. It has a sort of omnipresence to it that I could be convinced of and convince others of my own interpretation of its context.
“Scholarly and uninspired,” says Eliot, in the same sentence as “possessed by the glory we behold.” Dorothea and Casaubon seem like the deer before these headlights. A new couple aged nineteen and about fifty respectively, and one of four main couples the plot revolves around. Throughout the book, we see both their stories as a mirror of their internal workings. And it’s truly quite the contrast — the inspired and passionate wedded to the ambitious and timid.
This quote brings a whole new meaning to the conclusion where Eliot makes her case for the unrecognized, quiet talent that holds up the world. If one isn’t capable of performing unhistoric but brave acts, could they truly perform historic ones?
In the prelude St. Theresa is introduced as a little girl tugging her little brother along to seek martyrdom in the country of the Moors, and that their hearts were already beating to a (national) idea. We generally see Dorothea as a Theresa, but that is because she too practices and embodies this ideal nature demanded of an epic life; whether it does or does not lead to one, that is not the point.
Casaubon is a reflection of the opposite. He hopes to directly achieve this great life without embodying any of the qualities that would truly lead him there. He never seemed to be liberated from his small hungry shivering self. An alternate plot line from the story could have been Casaubon and Dorothea taking on the hospital alongside Bulstrode and truly pushing the medical reform forward. And this never once comes across as an option to Casaubon or the reader until Dorothea suggests that in Chapter 39, and says that she has too much already and later on offers to take over Bulstrode’s role. She was truly present in her life and even though the actual role didn’t work out, like St. Theresa on the way to the Moors, she tried at every chance she could.
In the end of the book, Eliot refers to Dorothea as the river whose strength was broken by Cyrus. But the inverse is also true! A river need not arise from a single source of greatness. In fact geographically, some of the greatest rivers like the Ganga arise as multiple independent streams that care for civilizations around them, before they join to become one grand mighty river.
The mighty river and the St. Theresa born to an unepic life need not lament about their might and potential to perhaps one day reach this ideal life. They must simply be present at this great spectacle of life and embody the ardor of a passion and the energy of an action. We do not practice what we preach. And that’s fundamentally the biggest difference between a Dorothea or a Theresa, and a Casaubon.
This changes the entire narrative of the book’s ending for me. In my own life, I can see examples of my mother and grandmother and great grandmother as Theresas and Dorotheas. My great grandmother arrived in Chennai, Tamilnadu. Although this is a large city now, and still was a relatively big city when she arrived around 1956, the specific area she moved to was a lot newer and underdeveloped. And like Middlemarch it was small. Comparable to 2 or 3 generations before the town as described in the book. In 1947 India had just gotten independence from nearly 200 years of British rule. Chennai, being a major British capital, was going through a lot of political reform. Although I was never old enough to ask her about her story, I know it must have been an incredibly challenging life to move to a city as a newlywed, whose primary income came from farming with her husband, my great grandfather. But they grew the family to over 20 cousins in just my generation. So perhaps 40-50 members in total — this is easily the entirety of characters introduced in Middlemarch.
My grandmother is the oldest daughter of my great grandmother. Born in 1956 as a female child, her being allowed to attend school, even though only till middle school, was a huge change. She learned to read and write and do math. And like Dorothea, she was married at 19. She wanted to be a nurse. My grandmother partly raised me, along with my grandfather. She is one of the clearest examples of a Dorothea in my life. Though a ‘great life’ as assessed by the book never found her, she is the reason my mother, her sisters and I are who we are. She was stubborn that all her daughters would be educated to the highest possible degree, would learn English, could drive and could financially sustain themselves. In a way, I was/am considered her fourth child and these values were also instilled in me.
And my mother. She’s the oldest child of my grandmother. The first woman in my known ancestral lineage to get a school and college degree. A degree in engineering no less, and also a Master’s. She was the first person to take a plane and work abroad. She too faced a plethora of struggles simply for being born in a time and place when her St. Theresadom lacked the best outlets.
And then there’s me. My mother’s oldest daughter. I stand on their shoulders. What am I if not a river resulting from the streams of my mother and her mothers? The argument goes both ways: that beginning from my great grandmother, the river broke into smaller channels with no great name. Or the channels collect into one larger river that will hope to embody the might that Cyrus once carried, that St. Theresa found. I actually think the answer is neither, that it does not matter the ‘size’ of the channel for a river is always flowing until it is not.
We only see that Dorothea was married and had a son. That hardly constitutes a life that is incapable of bearing great might. Knowing Dorothea over 800 pages, I know her story doesn’t simply end where Middlemarch ends. After all, isn’t the book — as titled — about the provincial town’s happenings? Dorothea doesn’t live there anymore. In my version, she still achieved a status worthy of her ambition. Through herself or through the raising of her son. It is simply foolish to think of glory of the known as the glory of the self.
Casaubon could’ve been much more if he wasn’t so caught up with his idea of success had he paid attention to other things he couldn’t have done. Scholarship and ambition are wasted on those too timid and uninspired. To be a Theresa, you must practise without analyzing the throughline of your life as it happens.
And to fully possess the glory we behold, we must understand that might is truly built up from little passionate acts.