PART FIVE
THE PRACTICE
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The Second Proposal
How love grows through failure
"You showed me how insufficient were all my pretensions to please a woman worthy of being pleased."— Mr. Darcy, Pride and Prejudice
Darcy proposes to Elizabeth twice. The first time, he fails. The second time, he succeeds.
Between these two proposals lies one of literature's great transformations—and one of love's most important lessons: failure is not the end of love but can be its beginning.
We have already examined Darcy's pride and Elizabeth's prejudice as obstacles. Now we look at what happened after the obstacle was revealed—how Darcy used his rejection not as a wound to nurse but as a mirror in which to see himself clearly for the first time.
This is the deepest practice of love: letting failure teach you, letting rejection refine you, letting the one who says "no" show you why you weren't yet ready for "yes."
THE FIRST FAILURE
Let us revisit Darcy's first proposal, not to judge it but to understand what it reveals.
He comes to Elizabeth certain of success. Why wouldn't she accept him? He is wealthy, respectable, handsome. He loves her—genuinely loves her—despite his better judgment. Surely she must recognize what he offers.
"In vain have I struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you."— Mr. Darcy, Pride and Prejudice →
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Every word reveals his assumption: that his struggle against loving her is a compliment, that his condescension is generosity, that her acceptance is inevitable. He has not considered that she might refuse. He has not imagined that his behavior requires examination.
Elizabeth's refusal shatters this certainty. She does not merely decline—she indicts:
"From the very beginning—from the first moment, I may almost say—of my acquaintance with you, your manners, impressing me with the fullest belief of your arrogance, your conceit, and your selfish disdain of the feelings of others, were such as to form the groundwork of disapprobation on which succeeding events have built so immovable a dislike."— Elizabeth Bennet, Pride and Prejudice →
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Arrogance. Conceit. Selfish disdain. Darcy has never heard himself described this way. He has never seen himself through eyes that were not already deferential.
THE WORK BETWEEN
Darcy could have responded to rejection in many ways. He could have dismissed Elizabeth as beneath him. He could have rationalized her refusal as foolishness. He could have nursed his wounded pride and convinced himself she was wrong.
Instead, he examined himself.
"Your reproof, so well applied, I shall never forget: 'Had you behaved in a more gentlemanlike manner.' Those were your words. You know not, you can scarcely conceive, how they have tortured me."— Mr. Darcy, Pride and Prejudice →
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"Tortured me." Elizabeth's words became a mirror that Darcy could not look away from. For the first time, he saw his behavior as it appeared to others—not as the natural privilege of his station but as the arrogance of a man who had never learned to consider anyone else.
And then he changed.
Not performatively, not to win Elizabeth back, but genuinely. He helped Lydia and Wickham in secret, expecting no credit. He treated Elizabeth's family with respect. He became, as Elizabeth later observes, "properly humbled."
"I have been a selfish being all my life, in practice, though not in principle. As a child I was taught what was right, but I was not taught to correct my temper. I was given good principles, but left to follow them in pride and conceit."— Mr. Darcy, Pride and Prejudice →
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This is radical self-knowledge. Darcy recognizes that his virtue was theoretical, that his principles were undermined by his practice. He sees the gap between who he thought he was and who he actually was—and he works to close it.
THE SECOND PROPOSAL
When Darcy proposes again, he is a different man.
Gone is the assumption of acceptance. Gone is the condescension about Elizabeth's family. Gone is the framing of his love as a sacrifice he makes despite himself.
He approaches with uncertainty, with humility, with genuine respect for Elizabeth's right to refuse him again. He has done the inner work that makes him worthy of the woman he loves—not because he has performed worthiness, but because he has genuinely become someone different.
"You taught me a lesson, hard indeed at first, but most advantageous. By you, I was properly humbled."— Mr. Darcy, Pride and Prejudice →
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"By you, I was properly humbled." Darcy credits Elizabeth with his transformation. He does not resent the pain she caused him; he thanks her for it. Her rejection was the catalyst for growth he could not have achieved otherwise.
This is what the second proposal teaches: rejection is not defeat. It is information. It is opportunity. It is the painful gift of seeing yourself through another's eyes.
THE STOIC FRAMEWORK
The Stoics understood failure as essential to growth. They had a word for it: premeditatio malorum—the premeditation of evils. By anticipating setbacks, we prepare to learn from them.
"The impediment to action advances action. What stands in the way becomes the way."— Marcus Aurelius, Meditations →
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Elizabeth's rejection was Darcy's impediment. But it became his way—the obstacle that forced him to examine himself, the resistance that built his character. Without the rejection, there would have been no transformation. The marriage would have been unequal, Darcy unchanged, the love incomplete.
Seneca taught the same:
"Difficulties strengthen the mind, as labor does the body."— Seneca, Letters from a Stoic →
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Darcy's difficulty—the shattering of his self-image—strengthened his capacity for genuine love. The labor of self-examination built the humility that made the second proposal possible.
Key Insight
Darcy's transformation between proposals shows that failure in love is not the end but can be the beginning. His first proposal failed because he could not see himself clearly—his pride masked as love, his condescension as generosity. Elizabeth's rejection became a mirror, showing him who he actually was. Instead of defending or denying, he examined and changed. The second Darcy is not the first pretending—he is genuinely transformed. The obstacle became the way. This is love's deepest practice: letting failure teach you, letting rejection refine you, becoming worthy of the love you seek.
The Discernment
How have you responded to rejection or failure in love? Did you defend yourself, rationalize the other's judgment, nurse your wounded pride? Or did you let their words become a mirror? Darcy was "tortured" by Elizabeth's assessment—but he used that torture for transformation. Consider: what have partners, past or present, told you about yourself that you dismissed? What would happen if you took their words seriously, not as attacks but as information? The second proposal is available to anyone willing to do the work between.
Attention, kindness, growth through failure—these are the practices that sustain love across time. But what about love that faces the ultimate test: loss, age, the approach of ending?
In Part Six, we turn to love that endures—not just through difficulty but through the deepest challenges life brings. What remains when everything changes. What love looks like in the long view.