It is time to confess: you have never actually read Charles Dickens’s A Christmas Carol. This work is so ingrained in our culture that it lives in the collective subconscious, probably because of all the film adaptations. We all know Scrooge, Bob Cratchit, Tiny Tim, and those ghosts. I was asked to be part of a public reading of this classic at the Provincetown library last week, so I thought I just might give it a read first.
What a wild read it is!
Published in 1843, A Christmas Carol was an instant success. It is a strange and cautionary tale with not much in it to charm the children. You all know the story: the miser Ebenezer Scrooge, described as “hard and sharp as flint” with “a tight-fisted hand at the grindstone,” is transformed overnight into a beneficent lover of all mankind after he is visited by the ghost of his former business partner, Jacob Marley, and then three spirits (ghosts of the past, present, and future) who show him the error of his ways. The chastened Scrooge declares, “I will honor Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year.” That’s it.
So, what is the takeaway? We are none of us Scrooges. Who among us is akin to this misanthrope? I do not personally know a contemporary Scrooge, although Donald Trump and Elon Musk come to mind, and certainly there are Scrooges behind the soulless facades of the corporations that betray human values every day for the sake of profit. Scrooge is described as “an excellent man of business,” but Dickens does not intend this as a compliment. No, we are all above the money-grubbing aspect of this tale, but still there is a message in this 179-year-old story (or “carol,” as he called it, perhaps facetiously). There is a bit of Scrooge in most of us.
Beyond his miserliness, Scrooge is described as “secret, self-contained, and solitary as an oyster.” (Oysters live clumped on top of each other, but each lives somewhat isolated in its own two shells.) He is later seen as “warning all human sympathy to keep its distance.” While very few of us exhibit all these qualities, many have the tendency to lapse into isolation and solipsism — especially at this time of year. Christmas, and the pagan holidays from which it evolved, came along to rescue us from these short, dark days when it is tempting to stay indoors, binge-watch our favorite shows, or do some serious drinking. If we ignore — if we only could ignore — the commercialization of the holiday and focus on the good will and positivism that it represents, a breakthrough is possible.
Beyond the seasonal underpinnings of the holiday, and in contrast to the obscene market forces that try to harness it, it is also a time of year to confront the aching need that exists in our world. “We choose this time,” explain the gentlemen seeking donations from Scrooge, “because it is a time, of all others, when Want is keenly felt….”
Humanity has never exhibited more need than it does this year. The disaster in Ukraine is only the most publicized of the atrocities that exist around the globe; think of those brave people without heat, without light. Closer to home there is food insecurity and a housing crisis, addiction, injustice, and illness. But we cannot let ourselves be overwhelmed and hardened; we cannot give in to the fatigue of so many causes, so many demands on our sympathies. There is hatred in the world but also love and understanding; misery abounds, but there are also examples of joy. There is plenty of despair but also occasions for hope. There is music and poetry and art to feed our souls.
And finally, we have each other. Last night I saw two old friends embracing under lamplight in a cold drizzle. What in the world could be better than the company of other people? What in the world matters more? Get out of yourself. Being alone is no good. Get involved. Join your community. Be a Barbara Rushmore — or be more like her. As Scrooge attests, it is as good for you as it is for others.
And so, from a secular place, I have to echo Tiny Tim’s little voice: “God Bless Us, Every One!”
