I don't suppose St Salieri is local to DC? Would so love to talk theology with him . . .

Raise high the roof beam, carpenters!

This seems v. close to what's going on in the prayer. It seems simply Catholic to me (after all, Henry VIII & his descendants weren't really very thorough Reformers) rather than neoPlatonist. But then I'm a Catholic, & you're a neoPlatonist.

"In spite of my utter inability to be good" is the nub, I think. JA seems to think that we can be--though only with the grace of God (through the merits of Jesus' death) . Which today sounds surprisingly Catholic, for such a very English Protestant lady. 

If that were all she meant--that Jesus is a great example--then I wouldn't be a fan of of the prayer either!

And yet you & Mollie, coming from different places in Protestant Christianity both see something wrong JA's prayer. I gather you both see it as missing the mark in a more or less Catholic direction (you call it latidudinarian, she sees it as Law/works vs. grace/faith). And I can, remembering myself back into my old Protestant theology, sort of see what you mean. Jane Austen seems very unlike the kind of Protestant who is always watching out lest justification-by-works creep in, who sees that as THE great error to be avoided at all costs. I mean, she is very clear on our unworthiness before God, but she also thinks of people as being actually good (as in that very letter where she seems to have softened to evangelicals, where she talks about her niece's suitor and pooh poohs "there being any objection from his Goodness, from the danger of his even becoming Evangelical"). Which makes me think it likely that Giffin (whose book I have not read) may be closer to the truth on the question than you are.

No, what I meant was, does Mollie find Jane Austen's theology not sacramental enough, somehow?

No doubt JA would have been weirded out by my riff on the rosary & the blood of Jesus & the supernatural charity in our daily forbearance.

It's funny, Jane Austen's Protestantism--& even the Protestantism I originally grew up with, though it was changing, as the church I was in became more evangelical--seems further removed from something like a Catholic meditation on the wounds of Christ on Good Friday than almost any Protestantism seems today. It was just so buttoned down & modest & self-controlled--"that sweet Protestant world" as I think C.S. Lewis calls it--& also very keen on staying away from anything graphic, for fear it might lead to idolatry.

And I get this one, too!

Sorry about that, I get it now!

If these lines don't seem Gospel-centered to you, neither would the whole prayer. But here's what I've been thinking about these lines all day--in between doing the Stations of the Cross &c. at church, seeing my Catholic FB friends' pictures and meditations on the Crucifixion, & saying the sorrowful mysteries (which pretty much hit the big scenes in Mel Gibson's The Passion, if you're not familiar with the rosary): that what Jane Austen is talking about--the forbearance in our day-to-day lives, the too-few-and-far-between moments when we are able to yield in little ways to the people we love, instead of demanding that they yield to us--that's where we actually experience grace at work. That's where we touch the Cross, and His blood poured out for us--though I can't imagine Jane Austen thinking about it so graphically (or quasi-sacramentally). It's not about the Law, but about being caught up in supernatural charity. Too Catholic?

Are you joking or serious about nonjudgmental sounding like relativism? I mean, it's pretty absolute--Judge not, that ye be not judged.

One of the most important lessons I think Jane Austen has to teach is that high (and absolute) standards are 100% compatible with compassion and respect for other people--& even with being really easy to get along with. She thought morality was self-evident (though not necessarily obvious to people who'd rather not think about it): "respect for right conduct is felt by everyone." But she also valued self-knowledge (which tends to get you down off your high horse) and "delicacy towards the feelings of other people." Thus the heroine of Mansfield Park, for example,  is "firm as a rock in her own principles" with "a gentleness of character so well adapted to recommend them."

You may be right, Mollie. Unfortunately we don't have anything like "prayers for different liturgical occasions" by Jane Austen, just three bedtime prayers she wrote--& this is actually the most obviously crucifixion-centered passage in any of them.

But your comment--like several of the other comments here this week--also has me thinking about how Protestant Christianity today tends to differ from JA's 18th- & early 19th-c. Anglican Christianity. I can see how she's going to sound very works-oriented to modern Christians who aren't Catholic--and probably she always would have to actual Lutherans and the Reform tradition folks. But are you also missing something more sacramental in her theology?

There is a good bit about the dangers of man-bashing in The Jane Austen Guide. But I don't think the Fields piece is a good example. She's actually resisting the temptation to be really bitter and sarcastic about experiences that would naturally make any woman angry. And I don't think it's likely that she's exaggerating. I wouldn't be surprised if she's moving in circles where there really don't seem to be any viable alternatives to the kind of love life she describes. Her article (and it's not the only one) does make me want to scream, "Who told women they had to put up with this garbage?" But it seems more to the point to tell them that they don't, and to point them to tools for running their love lives differently.

That's my favorite Shakespeare sonnet (since high school)!

A lot of truth in this, though I think it's important to understand that there's a big difference between good-natured eye-rolling about the "Men!" that we really love and respect,  versus angry, bitter man-bashing about men we despise and resent. The latter is a serious handicap to women who are looking--it's seriously counterproductive to get into a state in which anything masculine you notice about a guy seems like evidence he's just another jerk--not to mention, seriously dangerous to your happiness once you're a couple.  (More on this in The Jane Austen Guide to Happily Ever After, naturally!)

You might almost be channeling Anne Elliot: "'Your feelings may be the strongest,' replied Anne, 'but the same spirit of analogy will authorise me to assert that ours are the most tender. Man is more robust than woman, but he is not longer lived; which exactly explains my view of the nature of their attachments.'"