Scrooge was better than his word. He did it all, and infinitely more; and to Tiny Tim, who did not die, he was a second father. He became as good a friend, as good a master, and as good a man, as the good old city knew, or any other good old city, town, or borough, in the good old world. Some people laughed to see the alteration in him, but he let them laugh, and little heeded them; for he was wise enough to know that nothing ever happened on this globe, for good, at which some people did not have their fill of laughter in the outset; and knowing that such as these would be blind anyway, he thought it quite as well that they should wrinkle up their eyes in grins, as have the malady in less attractive forms. His own heart laughed: and that was quite enough for him.
-Charles Dickens, A Christmas Carol
I saw a question on Twitter the other day, and even though it was patently there just for engagement stats, I often find good grist for the blog mill among such rubbish. It had nothing to do with the quote above --- I suspect the Twit in question has probably never heard of Dickens or his works --- but it’s relevant, and immediately came to my mind, at least.
Can people change? asked the Twit. (Which rather sounds like a line of dialogue Lewis Carroll might have had Alice ask of the Cheshire Cat). Chuck’s answer, seen above, is a resounding yes! Ebenezer Scrooge, that twisted, bitter old man, undergoes a complete makeover at the hands of the three spirits, and gives us a jolly old Yuletide HEA. Yay!
I agree with Dickens… with one major caveat. People can change (thank God), but it generally requires some sort of cataclysmic life event to act as a catalyst, and even then, it’s not a transformation one can take for granted. Why? Well, most people tend to be extremely resistant to change. Change involves the unknown. It requires sloughing off the manacles of inertia, because it’s usually easier to just continue along a course already set --- even if that course is clearly not working. Especially when we’re talking about personal change… we usually cherish our sense of self and don’t like to admit there’s much, if anything, wrong with our values, ethics, habits, worldview, personal hygiene, etc. Making such an admission requires clarity and honesty not everyone seems to possess. Let me give you a few literary examples.
As already noted, Scrooge changed. Did pretty much a complete 180, and I think we all want to agree not simply because he was terrified by the spectre (no pun intended) of what the rest of his life looked like if he didn’t mend his ways. The three spirits managed to wake his dormant compassion and empathy, which had withered as he endured what Will lightheartedly calls the ‘slings and arrows of outrageous fortune.’
Frodo Baggins, Tolkien’s plucky little protagonist in The Lord of the Rings, also changes --- or perhaps grows is a better descriptor. He begins the tale as a pretty carefree hobbit, but is shaped by the awful events occurring around him, and by story’s end, he’s become far more worldly, more knowledgeable, far more aware of loss and sacrifice (which, as Conrad Roth astutely observed, are two completely different things. IYKYK.)
Now, like most things in life, this concept of change we’re discussing is a bit of a double-edged sword. For example, my wife and I just finished watching the television series Breaking Bad. (I know, I know… given the series concluded over a decade ago, we’re pretty late to the party, but… there it is. The fact that my gentle wife, who prefers her television shows to include a good dollop of redemption, with maybe a HEA thrown in for good measure, watched all the way to the show’s grisly and pretty final conclusion, speaks volumes for its high-quality storytelling.) The show’s protagonist, meek, mild-mannered high school chemistry teacher Walter White, undergoes quite a metamorphosis following his cancer diagnosis, becoming a notorious methamphetamine manufacturer who tramples on other people, then kills --- and orders killings --- with nary a qualm. His descent into narcissistic murder, madness and mayhem is a searing tale, and besides being a damning indictment of the American health care model --- Walt’s inability to pay for his cancer treatment on a teacher’s paltry health insurance is the original reason he turns to a life of crime --- is a cautionary lesson on how personal change isn’t always what it’s cracked up to be.
Of course, there’s also the literary characters who… well, don’t undergo any meaningful change over the course of their tales. Back when I was young, naïve and less jaded, I used to find this a headscratcher: it takes a really resistant mindset to undergo those slings and arrows of outrageous fortune I mentioned earlier and come away without really growing as a person. Then again, one has only to glance around at some world leaders --- perhaps one in particular --- to realize with incredulity that yep, it’s perfectly feasible to be so locked into one’s own psychopathy/sociopathy/narcissism that it is all too possible to pass through life-changing circumstances without being changed.
Literary examples of such clods? you ask. Well, at the risk of stirring the ire of their fans… I never liked Katniss Everdeen very much. At her narrative’s beginning, I found her sullen, apathetic, and really unwilling to assume the role fate was attempting --- admittedly unfairly --- to foist upon her. And… must say, I really didn’t see much change in that attitude or growth in her by narrative’s end. I’d also lump Harry Potter into this category --- it’s not always easy to see how he grows throughout the series --- though I admit I side with Ursula K. LeGuin’s rather uncomplimentary view of Harry. (“When so many adult critics were carrying on about the “incredible originality” of the first Harry Potter book, I read it to find out what the fuss was about, and remained somewhat puzzled; it seemed a lively kid’s fantasy crossed with a ‘school novel’, good fare for its age group, but stylistically ordinary, imaginatively derivative, and ethically rather mean-spirited.”)
Most literary characters, though, do change over the course of their stories. After all, it’s far more satisfying to watch characters be dynamic, rather than static. As Will would also say… ‘tis a consummation devoutly to be wished.
-Charles Dickens, A Christmas Carol
I saw a question on Twitter the other day, and even though it was patently there just for engagement stats, I often find good grist for the blog mill among such rubbish. It had nothing to do with the quote above --- I suspect the Twit in question has probably never heard of Dickens or his works --- but it’s relevant, and immediately came to my mind, at least.
Can people change? asked the Twit. (Which rather sounds like a line of dialogue Lewis Carroll might have had Alice ask of the Cheshire Cat). Chuck’s answer, seen above, is a resounding yes! Ebenezer Scrooge, that twisted, bitter old man, undergoes a complete makeover at the hands of the three spirits, and gives us a jolly old Yuletide HEA. Yay!
I agree with Dickens… with one major caveat. People can change (thank God), but it generally requires some sort of cataclysmic life event to act as a catalyst, and even then, it’s not a transformation one can take for granted. Why? Well, most people tend to be extremely resistant to change. Change involves the unknown. It requires sloughing off the manacles of inertia, because it’s usually easier to just continue along a course already set --- even if that course is clearly not working. Especially when we’re talking about personal change… we usually cherish our sense of self and don’t like to admit there’s much, if anything, wrong with our values, ethics, habits, worldview, personal hygiene, etc. Making such an admission requires clarity and honesty not everyone seems to possess. Let me give you a few literary examples.
As already noted, Scrooge changed. Did pretty much a complete 180, and I think we all want to agree not simply because he was terrified by the spectre (no pun intended) of what the rest of his life looked like if he didn’t mend his ways. The three spirits managed to wake his dormant compassion and empathy, which had withered as he endured what Will lightheartedly calls the ‘slings and arrows of outrageous fortune.’
Frodo Baggins, Tolkien’s plucky little protagonist in The Lord of the Rings, also changes --- or perhaps grows is a better descriptor. He begins the tale as a pretty carefree hobbit, but is shaped by the awful events occurring around him, and by story’s end, he’s become far more worldly, more knowledgeable, far more aware of loss and sacrifice (which, as Conrad Roth astutely observed, are two completely different things. IYKYK.)
Now, like most things in life, this concept of change we’re discussing is a bit of a double-edged sword. For example, my wife and I just finished watching the television series Breaking Bad. (I know, I know… given the series concluded over a decade ago, we’re pretty late to the party, but… there it is. The fact that my gentle wife, who prefers her television shows to include a good dollop of redemption, with maybe a HEA thrown in for good measure, watched all the way to the show’s grisly and pretty final conclusion, speaks volumes for its high-quality storytelling.) The show’s protagonist, meek, mild-mannered high school chemistry teacher Walter White, undergoes quite a metamorphosis following his cancer diagnosis, becoming a notorious methamphetamine manufacturer who tramples on other people, then kills --- and orders killings --- with nary a qualm. His descent into narcissistic murder, madness and mayhem is a searing tale, and besides being a damning indictment of the American health care model --- Walt’s inability to pay for his cancer treatment on a teacher’s paltry health insurance is the original reason he turns to a life of crime --- is a cautionary lesson on how personal change isn’t always what it’s cracked up to be.
Of course, there’s also the literary characters who… well, don’t undergo any meaningful change over the course of their tales. Back when I was young, naïve and less jaded, I used to find this a headscratcher: it takes a really resistant mindset to undergo those slings and arrows of outrageous fortune I mentioned earlier and come away without really growing as a person. Then again, one has only to glance around at some world leaders --- perhaps one in particular --- to realize with incredulity that yep, it’s perfectly feasible to be so locked into one’s own psychopathy/sociopathy/narcissism that it is all too possible to pass through life-changing circumstances without being changed.
Literary examples of such clods? you ask. Well, at the risk of stirring the ire of their fans… I never liked Katniss Everdeen very much. At her narrative’s beginning, I found her sullen, apathetic, and really unwilling to assume the role fate was attempting --- admittedly unfairly --- to foist upon her. And… must say, I really didn’t see much change in that attitude or growth in her by narrative’s end. I’d also lump Harry Potter into this category --- it’s not always easy to see how he grows throughout the series --- though I admit I side with Ursula K. LeGuin’s rather uncomplimentary view of Harry. (“When so many adult critics were carrying on about the “incredible originality” of the first Harry Potter book, I read it to find out what the fuss was about, and remained somewhat puzzled; it seemed a lively kid’s fantasy crossed with a ‘school novel’, good fare for its age group, but stylistically ordinary, imaginatively derivative, and ethically rather mean-spirited.”)
Most literary characters, though, do change over the course of their stories. After all, it’s far more satisfying to watch characters be dynamic, rather than static. As Will would also say… ‘tis a consummation devoutly to be wished.
RSS Feed