I am working through a reading project, a Century of Reading —reading one book published in each year from 1851-1950. My choice for a book published in 1852 was Nathaniel Hawthorne’s The Blithedale Romance. It’s not a long novel, a little over 200 pages, but it took me the entire month of January, reading a couple of chapters at a time, to finish it. And then, I was confused.
Questions (with spoilers): What was the relationship between Zenobia and Westervelt? Why was Priscilla so docile and weak-willed? Was Coverdale actually in love with one of the two women in the story? What was the meaning of the masquerade scene at the end? How did Zenobia lose her money? Why does Zenobia commit suicide? What kind of person is Coverdale really? Is he a reliable narrator or an unreliable one? What do the personal love lives of these four main characters have to do with the experimental farm called Blithedale? Is the failure of such a utopian community inevitable? Why?
I already knew about the connection between Hawthorne’s experiences at Brook Farm, the failed Transcendentalist experiment in communal living, and this novel written many years later. I read the Introduction by John Updike in my Modern Library edition and found not much to illuminate or answer my questions. I read the Wikipedia article, and a few other pieces, mostly feminist musings on the character of Zenobia, and still no answers. Then, I found this article, Love Conquers All, at an online journal called The New Atlantis. Although it didn’t answer all of my questions, it certainly was helpful, giving me some perspective on the novel.
I think, whether he knew it or not, Hawthorne was writing in part about the dangers of idol worship. Each of the main characters in the novel is looking for someone or something to worship, someone or something to give his or her life meaning and purpose. And God, for the most part, is ignored or given short shrift. Hollingsworth is completely wrapped up in his scheme of reforming criminals. Zenobia worships Hollingsworth and accommodates even her most cherished views to his overpowering sermons. Priscilla silently worships Zenobia and Hollingsworth, but her high god is shown to be Hollingsworth. Coverdale flits from one god to another: the community and its high purpose, his own poetry, his own individuality, the beauty he finds in Zenobia and in nature itself, maybe Priscilla. Coverdale can never commit to anything or anyone, and that is his tragedy.
The great tragedy for all of the characters in this novel is that they try to create heaven without God, and they all end up without any meaning or purpose at all. They give lip service to a Creator, but like all of us, their foolish hearts try to find Him in the worship of the things and people He has created. I recently heard a story about a Bible study group that was studying the book of Romans, and one of the members asked incredulously, “You mean good people who try to do everything right are not righteous in God’s sight? A good person will not necessarily go to heaven?” This novel (and the book of Romans) show how being good, having good intentions, trying to worship good things, is never enough. We are more deceived, even as we look into our own hearts, than we can know.
For although they knew God, they neither glorified him as God nor gave thanks to him, but their thinking became futile and their foolish hearts were darkened. Although they claimed to be wise, they became fools and exchanged the glory of the immortal God for images made to look like a mortal human being and birds and animals and reptiles. . . . But you see, at just the right time, when we were still powerless, Christ died for the ungodly. Very rarely will anyone die for a righteous person, though for a good person someone might possibly dare to die. But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.
Romans 1:21-23; 5:6-8
And yet there is hope. Here’s what Hawthorne wrote about Zenobia’s body, recovered from the stream after her suicide.
“One hope I had; and that, too, was mingled half with fear. She knelt, as if in prayer. With the last, choking consciousness, her soul, bubbling out through her lips as it may be, had given itself up to the Father, reconciled and penitent. . . . The flitting moment, after Zenobia sank into the dark pool–when her breath was gone, and her soul at her lips–was as long, in its capacity of God’s infinite forgiveness, as the lifetime of the world.”
p.213, The Blithedale Romance
