Lessons from Literature: The Process of Change (Silas Marner)

Literature can be a goldmine of applicable lessons. Sometimes these lessons can be drawn from the narrative itself, where the character’s actions and words provide a teaching point. An example of this kind of lesson can be seen in the first post of this series that examined a portion of Pride and Prejudice.

Other times, however, an author writing from a position of complete knowledge about the characters and storyline (called an omniscient perspective) will include an aside as commentary that often contains profound nuggets of truth. One such authorial comment can be found in George Eliot’s Silas Marner, first published in 1861.

Let’s begin with a little context.

Silas Marner, the protagonist of the story, is a man who has become obsessed with his gold and who would today be called a “loner,” though he was not always one. But circumstances in his life and his own response to them has caused him to reach the point where it can be said of him that “year after year, Silas Marner had lived in this solitude, his guineas rising in the iron pot, and his life narrowing and hardening itself more and more into a mere pulsation of desire and satisfaction that had no relation to any other being” (68).

One day, to Marner’s horror, he finds that he has been robbed of his precious coins, and he ventures out to the local tavern to make the theft known to the community . . .

This strangely novel situation of opening his trouble to his Raveloe neighbors, of sitting in the warmth of a hearth not his own, and feeling the presence of faces and voices which were his nearest promise of help, had doubtless its influence on Marner, in spite of his passionate preoccupation with his loss. Our consciousness rarely registers the beginning of a growth within us any more than without us: there have been many circulations of the sap before we detect the smallest sign of the bud (108, emphasis added).

Here we find Eliot’s moment of reflection as she displays a truth about the nature of change. It’s easy to think of change as something sudden, an abrupt shift in circumstances or attitude. But as this passage from Silas Marner explains, change is often gradual and even imperceptible, particularly when it is internal.

This knowledge can serve as both an encouragement and a warning, for internal change can be either for the better or for the worse. In the case of Marner’s story, the change is a positive growth instigated by a number of factors, one of which is his interaction with his fellow neighbors in seeking their assistance. But negative characteristics can bud and blossom too, and many times they do so in small, incremental steps or “circulations of the sap” that we fail to notice if we are not vigilant.

Maybe you’ve woken up one day to realize that a friend that you’ve been hanging out with has rubbed off on you in a negative way, changing your attitude or outlook for the worse. Maybe you’ve overlooked slip-ups on the “little things” time and time again to the point where you’ve fallen into a strong trap of sinful thoughts or behavior.

Those of us who are followers of Christ should be reminded that we must be alert and mindful that even small decisions can have a powerful and cumulative effect on our growth in holiness and our relationship with God and others. Thankfully, we don’t have to try to “manage” ourselves on our own (although we do have responsibility in the matter). We have the Holy Spirit within us who convicts us when we go astray and has the power to strengthen us so that we can be alert and can resist the little (and big) temptations that come our way.

Even those that do not know Christ for themselves have God’s gracious gift of a conscience that provides internal signals concerning right and wrong, and the same Holy Spirit brings conviction to them, as well, of “sin and righteousness and judgment” (see John 16:8-11).

But there is the other side to the equation, too; not all internal developments are negative. As we saw with Silas Marner, the result of gradual change can be positive as well. Indeed, positive change often is gradual. Believers especially can find encouragement in this truth, knowing that sanctification (i.e. the process of becoming more like Christ) is a process.

When discouragement is knocking at our door and we feel as if we are not growing in holiness at all, we can remember that God “who began a good work in [us] will bring it to completion at the day of Jesus Christ” (Philippians 1:6, ESV), and we can be confident that God is always at work “circulating the sap” to produce the buds of holiness and the fruit of the Spirit in our lives.

Citation: Eliot, George. Silas Marner (New York: Penguin, 1985).

Problematic Providentialism: Recognizing It When You See It

Last time, I touched on the topic of providential history and explained the problems it can cause, such as perpetuating a skewed view of God and of the United States. Because providentialism can be so problematic, it’s important that we be able to recognize it when we see it.

Sometimes spotting providentialist language is easy, but other times the cues can be subtle, so let’s take a closer look at the example mentioned last time—Peter Marshall and David Manuel’s The Light and the Glory.

Right off the bat, there’s a big red flag in the banner topping the cover, which reads “God’s Plan for America.” What’s wrong with that? Doesn’t God have a plan? Well, yes, but remember that we move from believing in God’s providence to espousing providentialism when we propose to identify that plan for a specific geopolitical entity, such as America.

At the end of what functions as the first preface, Marshall and Manuel write, “Almost two and a half centuries later, the key to the moral and spiritual crisis now plaguing this country remains: Did God have a plan for America? If He did, then the reason we are wandering in a moral wasteland, no longer knowing who we are, is that we have lost His plan” (12, emphasis original).

First of all, notice that the authors’ diagnosis for America’s rampant immorality is not that individuals do not have a personal, life-changing relationship with Jesus but that we have failed to fulfill God’s plan for us collectively and thus have lost sight of our [supposed] identity as God’s second chosen people. This is a common theme of providential history—a focus on corporate morality and virtue as both a means to and a measure of prosperity instead of on individual regeneration through Christ that leads to increased holiness through sanctification for the purpose of glorifying God. 

But there are other providentialist characteristics in the passage quoted above. Notice the use of the past tense “did” and the final phrase about losing God’s plan. The implication is that God’s purposes can be thwarted by human behavior, which of course is utterly false. While it is true that we can live in a way that is contrary to His will as revealed in Scripture, to suggest that our doing so somehow derails His divine plan for the course of human history is to suggest that God is not truly sovereign. Thus, in this instance, providentialism is directly counter to the doctrine of God’s providence.

Later, the authors suggest that “at times of great crisis God raised up great leaders to protect America from destruction so that His plan for us might have a chance of success” (24). Notice anything fishy here? How about the word “chance”? A theologically sound view of God’s providence includes the understanding that God’s plans will prevail no matter what. They don’t need a chance to succeed; they will succeed. Period.

Another red flag to watch for is selective memory, particularly when it comes to American history. Once again, Marshall and Manuel provide a prime example in a passage that I quoted in the previous post. They stated that “the first settlers consciously thought of themselves as a people called into a covenant relationship with God similar to the one He had established with ancient Israel” (17). The context of this quotation reveals that the authors are referring to the Pilgrims who arrived in America in 1620.

Admittedly, the Pilgrims did come to the New World for primarily religious reasons. But by the time the Pilgrims arrived, the settlement at Jamestown had been in existence for thirteen years and had produced a number of subsequent settlements along the James River (see Hatch 1957). These settlers, while they may or may not have been genuine believers, were certainly motivated by other factors than the desire to expand God’s kingdom on earth.

And that’s just the English settlers. If the Pilgrims were truly God’s chosen people to settle the New World, then what do we make of the Spaniards who settled St. Augustine half a century before? Similarly, Marshall and Manuel identify Columbus as “the person that [God] used to bring Europeans to the Americas,” saying nothing about the Vikings who predated Columbus’s voyage by hundreds of years (19). This kind of picking and choosing only those facts and sources that support their argument is bad history and is also highly frequent in providentialist writings.

In summary, here’s what to watch for: attempts to identify the specifics of God’s plan in the details of historic or current events (aside from those identified in Scripture, e.g. fulfillment of prophecies concerning the coming of Christ), disproportional mentions of morality instead of salvation, conditions placed on the fulfillment of God’s purposes, and selective acknowledgment or dismissal of historic facts and/or original sources.

If you encounter any of these characteristics in articles, books, sermons, television shows, or documentaries, there’s a good chance what you’re dealing with is providentialism.

Citations: Hatch, Charles E. Jr. The First Seventeen Years: Virginia, 1607-1624. Charlottesville, Vir.: University of Virginia Press, 1957. 

Marshall, Peter and David Manuel. The Light and the Glory: 1492-1793. Rev. and expanded ed. Grand Rapids: Revell, 2009.