Life Beyond Mr. Rochester

I read novels penned by the Bronte sisters for similar reasons people might polar dip in icy waters. There’s a shock in both that alerts the senses. When I read these classics, I’m reminded that my generational mantra which says I deserve to do what feels best for me is not the only option I have. Without a doubt, this idea is appealing and I indulge. I spend too much, inhale chicken pad thai, and drop friends that take more than give. We leave our spouses when the feelings fade, numb out to Netflix, and laugh away our lack of discipline with a personality number. Commercials say we deserve it, which of course we knew all along. 

The Brontes wrote within the 19th century, a time with its own set of sinful fancies. No age in history has been spared a mantra that sweeps away the masses’ attention and desire for what is true and good. Such sweeping sins prove fatal to many inside that generation. We laugh at bygone eras and wonder how they missed it. So I read these women’s works, among others, as one way to fight being fooled. 

I see in myself a gluttony for consuming what I want in the moment. Characters like Jane Eyre and Helen Huntington have a different appetite, crafted over years by small steps of obedience, trust, and regular delight. Instead of looking to please themselves first and foremost, they are committed to the well-being of their relationship with their Creator. At tremendous cost, they lay down desires in order to follow someone greater and more worthy. They quench attraction that would go against their convictions, pass on personal promotions that would elevate but damage their reputation, as well as other heroic feats that no one may ever see but God. With our addiction to self, their decisions look absurd and unnecessary. 

It’s tempting to think these Bronte characters are doing what they do because they were born spinsters, with a puritanical bent and nunlike disposition. However, their vibrant spirits hint otherwise. It’s almost as if they are being drawn, pulled by something stronger than their own will; as if a cord is attached to their chests and connected on the other end to the heart of their Lord. Like God’s behavior towards his people, recorded in Hosea, “I led them with cords of kindness,” (Hosea 11:4a). Such a cord seems to  draw these women into secret places that only those who have made similar sacrifices understand. The cord isn’t cruel, but kind. The destination isn’t gloomy, but as bright as the sun. 

At the end of these novels, the heroine never regrets standing upon what she knows to be right. And isn’t that the case for every human when they lay on their deathbed? Who regrets a decision that benefits both body and soul? 

Jane Eyre says it best when she faces a future without her beloved Mr. Rochester, “I can live alone, if self-respect, and circumstances require me so to do. I need not sell my soul to buy bliss. I have an inward treasure born with me, which can keep me alive if all extraneous delights should be withheld, or offered only at a price I cannot afford to give.” (Charlotte Bronte, Jane Eyre)