According to Rebecca Mead’s “My Life in Middlemarch,” the writer George Eliot warns against ‘men of maxims’ in her book “The Mill on the Floss,” with the claim that all people of “broad, strong sense” are skeptical of such men, “because such people early discern that the mysterious complexity of our life is not to be embraced by maxims, and that to lace ourselves up in formulas of that sort is to repress all the divine promptings and inspirations that spring from growing insight and sympathy.”
Which comes off as a sort of maxim against maxims, and as such one should be skeptical of such a claim and look at the larger context in which that notion dwells, she sells seashells by the sheshore, hoor.
So as you might know, I turn a skeptical eyeball on sayings that say we should always be happy happy happy or that Dog has a plan or various other affirmational posterchilds, because it comes off as a marketing strategy selling conformity to someone’s ideal that they often don’t live up to - Eliot also had the notion that men of maxims are less likely to live up to their maxims than others who stroll along without the need to parrot and howl their ideals from the hills. Howevs, in the larger context of Eliot’s notions and potions, one otter try being sympathetic with others, which makes sensical to moi given how I’m often intolerant of folks who’ve traits I don’t mind in moiself, elf.
But ‘tis interesting to listen to folks say this or that and contradict themselves in the same sentence or paragraph or behaviour or actions, factions. I tend to prefer misanthropes and curmudgeons with a hidden heart of gold to the sort of la-di-da critters who feel a burning need to tell youse they’re all dat and a bag of chips, pips.
So, now that I’ve prostelitized moi upliftational, affirmational, and empowering missive, all of youse need to conform to moi norm - trust and obey, there is no other whey, gay.