Traditionally and Heterosexually Speaking...
Wife Art and an Excuse for Being Me
A soft, golden light suffused the space where Sophia sat, a place that felt both like an ancient library and a sun-drenched, modern cafe. Before her, two figures appeared: Jane, with the keen, observing eyes of an early-19th-century gentlewoman, and György, whose intensity suggested a mind constantly grappling with systems and structures.
Sophia: Welcome, both of you. I've brought you together under the theme of "Wife Art and an Excuse for Being Me," a provocative title, don't you think? It suggests that in the architecture of social life, the role of a wife is both a creation and a justification—for not just the woman, but for the society itself. Jane, I feel your presence most keenly in the first part of this equation. You’ve noted, with such wry precision, that a wealthy bachelor's natural and expected complement is a marital partner.
Jane: Indeed. In my world, to be an eligible man of means was to have a gap in one’s life—a social, domestic, and moral necessity—that a wife was destined to fill. It was less about wild, personal passion and more about completing an economic and social circuit. The very fabric of respectable existence was woven from this assumption. A woman's skill lay in making herself the most aesthetically and practically suitable thread. It was, in a sense, the ultimate domestic art form.
It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.
— Jane Austen (1775-1817)
György: (He leans forward, his gaze dissecting Jane’s words.) That's precisely the point, isn't it? That "social circuit" you mention is the system's own, self-affirming loop. What you describe as a "truth universally acknowledged" is merely the dominant ideology speaking. It's the bourgeoisie's way of ensuring its perpetuation and comfort. The entire elaborate dance of courtship and matrimony acts as a spectacular apologia for the established order of property and hierarchy. It makes the existing state of affairs seem natural and inevitable.
Sophia: So, Jane observes the beautiful, frustrating mechanism of her time, and György names the gears and cogs for what they are—a defense of the status quo. But let’s circle back to the 'excuse for being me.' When the role of 'wife' is such a defining social structure, where does the individual's self truly reside? Jane, did your characters find an authentic space within that constraint?
At this point bourgeois thought must come up against an insuperable obstacle, for its starting-point and its goal are always, if not always consciously, an apologia for the existing order.
— György Lukács (1885-1971)
Jane: They had to be clever. For a woman, accepting the 'wife' role was the only viable path to security and respect. But the clever ones—the Elizabeths and the Annes—used that very structure as their battleground. By skillfully navigating the expectations, by marrying for respect and a degree of love rather than just cold convenience, they found a way to be themselves through the role, not in spite of it. The ‘wife’ became the socially approved excuse to have a house, a voice, and an independent sphere of influence.
György: (He offers a grudging nod.) That's the tragic optimism of the individual under a rigid system. They take the one prescribed structure and try to inscribe their freedom upon it. But even that small, personal triumph only serves, in the larger view, to sweeten the pill of the system itself. If a few find happiness, it makes the institution of marriage—the primary bulwark of capital and property—seem inherently good, rather than merely functional. The individual's escape is the social order's ultimate vindication.
Sophia: Then perhaps the ultimate wisdom lies not in escaping the structure, but in seeing it clearly while living within it. Jane saw the art of being a wife, and György saw the architecture of the excuse. The real question, for all of us, is this: When a role is the only socially sanctioned way to exist, how does one ensure the Art is still one's own, and the Excuse doesn't become the Self?
What do you think is the modern equivalent of the 'good fortune' that necessitates a partner in today's society?
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