Vocation, vocation, Self-Gift and Leisure
Ruminate on your reading. Respond. Share your reflections with us. Thus is fed a community of learners. This essay illustrates the possibility of seeing ourselves in a new light on reading fiction. Thanks to the author for participating in CASPN seminars, workshops and blog!
I reread The Remains of the Day (Kazuo Ishiguro’s Nobel Prize winning novel) while in the thick of planning our new homeschool year. So right from the start I found myself identifying with the butler, Stevens, in a way that I hadn’t the first time I read this book. As he talks about drawing up plans with “good organization and foresight,” the running of a large English manor seemed not unlike all of the moving parts that go into educating four children at home while still trying to maintain some semblance of order (albeit a far cry from the order of Stevens’s pantry) and cleanliness in my house.
Perhaps it was for this reason that as I read, I recognized many similarities between Stevens’s life as a butler and my life as a stay-at-home mom. And yet, thanks be to God, there are many important differences, all of which stem, I think, from the difference between vocation and Vocation.
Stevens talks about his vocation in multiple instances, but his understanding of his job pales in comparison to my understanding of my Vocation to marriage and family life. Stevens’s ideas of striving for perfection and forced emotional restraint led him to a warped idea of dignity. He thinks dignity is something “acquired over many years of self-training” (33), something he “had come to achieve” (228) – related to one’s doing – rather than innate and God-given – related to one’s being.
Toward the end of the book, Stevens offers what seems like a humorous answer to Dr. Carlisle’s question of what dignity is all about when he replies that he “suspects[s] it comes down to not removing one’s clothing in public.” (210) While this answer may have been one of Stevens’s attempts at bantering, this harkens back to earlier in the book when he compares dignity to a man’s suit. “[Butlers] wear their professionalism as a decent gentleman will wear his suit: he will not let ruffians or circumstances tear it off him in the public gaze; he will discard it when, and only when, he wills to do so, and this will invariably be when he is entirely alone.” (43)
This isn’t a merely superficial comparison. Clothing can be closely related to dignity. Consider the white garment that we receive at our baptism and the vestments or habits of religious. The difference is that each of these garments makes the person wearing it more of a person because it signifies a relationship with God and the Church. Whereas the ‘clothing’ Stevens forces himself to never remove is more of a costume or a guise. He eliminates any trace of himself when he chooses to embody his role as butler, and in doing so, he becomes utterly and completely alone.
Stevens is clearly lacking as a human being. Throughout the course of his career, he has over and over again suppressed himself in order to live up to an ideal that he has created for himself – or perhaps, at least to some extent, that his father and possibly even the profession at large, have created for him. At the end of the book, he proclaims, “I’ve given what I had to give. I gave it all to Lord Darlington” (243).
But I think there’s an important distinction here. Stevens is not lacking as a person because of what he has given. In fact, giving of ourselves – including/especially as mothers – is at least part of how we grow as persons. As Catholics we believe that our path to sanctity is through our Vocation. We can, and ought to, give of ourselves to our husbands and our children and our homes, but this is self-gift, and self-gift requires a self.
God and faith are missing from the world Ishiguro creates for us, and so the book itself doesn’t offer us a satisfying solution to Stevens’s diminished humanity. But as Christian readers, we can’t help but notice this incomplete portrayal of reality. One subtle, yet key, example of this is Stevens’s lack of a first – or, ‘christian’ – name. We see the emptiness of leaving one’s fate in the hands of a “great gentleman” versus in the hands of our loving Father. Stevens “trusted in his lordship’s wisdom” (243), whereas we trust in the wisdom of the Lord.
We can also recognize that another reason for his diminished personhood is his incessant work. While there is a dignity in work, to be sure, there is also a need to rest. Stevens recalls how Miss Kenton “following my own example… would not really take days off as such” (170). This is why the journey he undertakes – including the breaks along the way - is so significant. He finds it a “relief not to be motoring,” (231) in both the literal and figurative sense, and engages in leisure; “For the first time in many a year, I’m able to take my time.” (68) As he escapes the confines of his house and his never-ending work, Stevens is able to take in beautiful views of nature, to breathe fresh air, to behold beauty, and to rest - all activities that Miss Kenton had tried to encourage Stevens to try. As he participates in each of these essentially human endeavors, he is also able to reflect on his life.
The book asserts, through the butler on the bench (and, to a lesser degree, through Miss Kenton) that in looking back “you’re bound to get depressed” (243). Yet there is an element of reflection – as distinct from rumination or regret – that is important to us as persons. The Catechism of the Catholic Church teaches that interiority – being sufficiently present to oneself – “is all the more necessary as life often distracts us from any reflection, self-examination or introspection” (1779). And so, as I work to finalize our homeschool timetables, lesson plans and chore charts for the upcoming year, I’ve also scheduled times – in each day, week and month – for my own rest and reflection.
At the end of the book, there are signs of hope for Stevens. His journey has given him an opportunity to come to terms with painful memories, to confess a lack of agency in his own life, and to acknowledge his desire for human connection. He is even able, quite significantly it seems, to admit – to himself and to his reader – when his “heart was breaking” (239), an emotion he had previously repressed.
As Stevens looks ahead to “evening... the best part of the day, the part they most look forward to” (240) with “still plenty of daylight left,” he considers what “remains of my day” (244, emphasis mine). This tiny two letter word is monumental for Stevens, who throughout the course of the book refers to himself in the third person. His use of it shows Stevens taking ownership of his life for once. Yes, he is going back to Darlington Hall, where he will be met with “work, work and more work” (237) but he will return changed, having received a gift during his time away, a glimpse of what it means to truly live.
Nicki Johnston is a frequent contributor to Wonder & Joy., and to Well Read Mom’s blog. She is a home educator, amateur naturalist, CGS Catechist, and avid reader.