You mustn’t wish for another life. You mustn’t want to be somebody else. What you must do is this: “Rejoice evermore. Pray without ceasing. In every thing give thanks.” I am not all the way capable of so much, but those are the right instructions.

—Wendell Berry, Hannah Coulter

I have long been of the opinion that Mr. Collins of Jane Austen’s classic novel Pride and Prejudice gets a lot more flak than he deserves.

Yet another in Jane Austen’s long line of odious Anglican priests (what did they ever do to you, Jane?), Mr. Collins is one of the most universally derided characters in all of literature or film, whose very name elicits knowing eye rolls and involuntary huffs of annoyance. Why do people hate him so much? I suppose one of the main reasons is that he’s just so annoying. He says the wrong thing, he doesn’t know how to act at a ball, he proposes to women for whom said proposals are clearly undesired. Ironically, of course, much of this could be said of Mr. Darcy. The difference here seems to be that Mr. Darcy is handsome and rich, so his lack of tact is mysterious and interesting, whereas Mr. Collins’ is annoying and selfish. In Mr. Collins’ favor, I would argue that at least he tries! His compliments concerning boiled potatoes may be premeditated, but is that not a better approach than sullen silence? (I’m looking at you, Fitzwilliam!).

The greatest mark on Mr. Collins’ record, of course, is his skin-crawlingly awkward proposal to Elizabeth Bennet. After laying out some very rational reasons for wishing to marry Miss Elizabeth (that it would greatly add to his happiness! that a good pastor should set an example of matrimony for his parish! that it would keep Elizabeth’s childhood home in the family!), he experiences the inconceivable: rejection! Struggling to make sense of this, he attributes this rejection of advances to the “true delicacy of the female character.”

No means no, Mr. Collins! Read the room!

Of course, the whole point of Mr. Collins is that he can’t read the room. That is why we love to hate him. Both in the story and outside of it, Mr. Collins is eminently mockable because we know he doesn’t understand that he’s being made fun of. But for all his flaws, there is a simplicity to Mr. Collins that I admire and enjoy. He lives in a small and imperturbable world where all that matters is Fordyce’s sermons, the securement of a wife for the increase of his happiness, and the distinguished patronage of Lady Catherine de Bourgh. And while we’re all laughing at him, Mr. Collins lives in a state of domestic felicity, blessed with a stable life, a meaningful job, and excellent in-laws, satisfied with the choices he has made in life.

Mr. Collins possesses a secret that evades many of the characters in Pride and Prejudice, and so often evades me: contentment.

Let there be no doubt: Mr. Collins has a lucky life, and many things to be thankful for. Not everyone is so fortunate as to secure the venerable patronage of a person like Lady Catherine de Bourgh, or to inherit such a fine estate as Longbourn. The lines have certainly fallen to him in pleasant places, but I do not think that it is mere good fortune that makes Mr. Collins so pleased with his lot in life. Even the most pleasing of worldly ease is not necessarily a guarantee of satisfaction. We see this clearly in the case of another character who shares almost identical circumstances, and yet manages to make himself and many other people deeply unhappy: Mr. Wickham.

Like Mr. Collins, Mr. Wickham is offered a job as a clergyman on the estate at Pemberley, with the younger Mr. Darcy as his patron in almost the exact same arrangement as Mr. Collins. Mr. Wickham even has the better luck of having his education paid for. However, instead of reveling in his good fortune, seeking a ruby of a wife, and trying to be the best vicar he can, Mr. Wickham sets out to reenact the parable of the prodigal son, squandering his wealth on women and drink, and refusing to be useful, studious, or grateful. Unlike the prodigal son, however, there is no repentance in Mr. Wickham, and he lives out his sullen life making problems and manipulating money out of good people.

My point here is that circumstances can certainly aid us in happiness, but they cannot create it. Mr. Collins is a lucky fellow, but he also has the constitution to enjoy it. Through either personality or practice, he has developed a habit of regarding life in a way that enables him to enjoy it. He makes it a point to notice the things in his life about which he is pleased. And there is no joy too small to celebrate. Be it boiled potatoes, the windowpanes at Rosings, or the momentous advent of shelves in a closet, Mr. Collins gives himself over to delight. To put it simply: he has cultivated thankfulness.

People like to say that the test of a person’s character is not failure but success, but I think this assumes we all succeed a lot more than we actually do. In my experience, failure, rejection, or loss is the much more common and continual test of character in one’s life than success. No matter how clever, or thankful, or well-meaning we are, life simply will not always go our way; someone else will get the job, the girl, the accolade. Much of our happiness will depend on how we handle these losses. Whether we choose to become bitter, or to blame ourselves, or to vow not to put ourselves out there again, or to be satisfied with what we have been given, how we handle loss shapes how we face the future and how we feel about life.

The closest I come to despising Mr. Collins and feeling he truly has shown a vice is after his sloppy and conceited proposal, followed by his astonished refusal to believe that Elizabeth could possibly say no to such a fine catch as himself. (You have to respect the self-confidence.) Now, before we indulge in a Mr. Collins hate-fest, you must remember that in his mind, he was doing right by his cousins. Because he stood to inherit the estate, finding a wife amongst the Bennets would have ensured that none of Lizzy’s four siblings or mother would have to be turned out upon Mr. Bennet’s death. So, he simply surveyed the sisters and picked the best one.

Mr. Collins is simply encountering the uncomfortable reality that every person you date will either marry or break up with you. I suppose in the Regency era, this could be applied to proposals since they seem to skip the courtship, for the most part. The whole endeavor of romance opens us up to the alarming possibility that our happiness could depend on someone else, and other people have minds, wills, and desires that might be entirely dissonant with our own! The horror!

And this speaks to the even larger reality that no matter how kind you are, not everyone in the world will like you. At some point or another, we all encounter rejection.

Be it boiled potatoes, the windowpanes at Rosings, or the momentous advent of shelves in a closet, Mr. Collins gives himself over to delight.

I wish to make the following point: there is a virtue in learning to suck it up, take it on the chin, and carry on with your life.

How do we find it in ourselves to do this? Well, I think first of all, we must have a sense of our own value and dignity. Dignified country vicars do not beg for someone to change their minds! And they certainly do not mope!

After the first sting of rejection, and a dignified public acceptance of defeat, you must learn to privately accept rejection in a way that feeds neither bitterness nor helplessness.

Practicing thankfulness prior to rejection helps soften the blow because you are already aware of how abundant your life is.

Think, again, dear reader, of Mr. Collins. If he had accepted total defeat and crawled into a hole of eternal bachelorhood, he would never have won the treasure of Charlotte, dear Charlotte.

At the end of Pride and Prejudice, I always think to myself how awkward family Christmases must be for the Bennet/Darcy/Bingley/Wickham extended household. You could hardly comment on the weather without mentioning a verboten son-in-law or raising the ire of a sarcastic sister-in-law. But Mr. Collins? He dodges all that. His in-laws are the lovely Lucases, fine, undramatic gentle people.

Though Lizzy’s initial rejection may have stung, Mr. Collins should count his blessings, for they are plenteous. And you know what’s great? I know he will count his blessings!

Perhaps even after all this you will still insist that Mr. Collins is laughable, and I would say that there is one more lesson that we have to learn from him: do not care too much of what other people think of you. Do not care even if they think your life is silly. While we all laugh and chortle about how weird he is, Mr. Collins is living his best life now.

Mr. Collins has the last laugh.

Excerpted from Aggressively Happy © 2022 by Joy Marie Clarkson. Published by Bethany House, a division of Baker Publishing House. Used by permission.