In this choice, as I look back over more than half a century, I
In this choice, as I look back over more than half a century, I can only follow - and trust - the same sort of instinct that one follows in the art of fiction.
Mary Augusta Ward, novelist and thinker of the Victorian age, once reflected with the gravity of one who had lived long and pondered deeply: “In this choice, as I look back over more than half a century, I can only follow—and trust—the same sort of instinct that one follows in the art of fiction.” These words are not casual. They are the confession of a woman who knew that in life, as in literature, the guiding light is not always reason, nor rule, nor calculation, but the deep instinct of the soul. Just as the novelist must feel the pulse of character and story, so too must the human being follow the quiet voice that whispers beneath the noise of the world.
The origin of this thought lies in Ward’s own career. She was a writer of immense influence, whose novels wrestled with questions of faith, morality, and society. But beyond the public face of her work, she also lived in a world of choices—political, personal, spiritual—that could not always be solved by logic alone. To look back upon half a century and say that instinct was her guide is to reveal the truth that human life is itself an art, not a science. Fiction is shaped by intuition, by the sense of what “rings true,” and so is life.
The ancients knew this well. Consider Odysseus, who at many crossroads of his long journey could not rely on reason alone. When he faced the Sirens, or when he chose between Scylla and Charybdis, it was not calculation but instinct—rooted in experience, trust, and inner wisdom—that preserved him. His story shows us that instinct, cultivated by hardship and reflection, becomes the compass that guides us when reason falters. Ward’s words echo this truth: the choices of a lifetime are not equations to be solved, but stories to be lived, guided by the heart’s perception.
We may also see this in the life of Florence Nightingale. When faced with the horrors of the Crimean War, she had no grand strategy prepared by scholars or ministers. What she had was instinct: the inner certainty that cleanliness, order, and compassion would save lives. By following that instinct, she revolutionized the practice of nursing and transformed medicine forever. Like a novelist shaping a story, she trusted what her soul told her was right, even when others doubted. Ward’s wisdom lives in her example: instinct, when married to experience and conviction, becomes a force that reshapes the world.
Ward’s choice of fiction as her metaphor is significant. For fiction is not a random act, but an act of faith. The novelist must trust that words will reveal truth, that characters will live, that meaning will arise even from uncertainty. So too in life: we cannot always see the end from the beginning, yet we move forward by trusting the instinct that guides us. Fiction and life are mirrors of one another—both require courage, both require surrender, both require trust in the unseen thread that binds events together.
The lesson for us is this: cultivate your instinct, and then trust it. Instinct is not mere impulse, but the deep river of wisdom formed from memory, reflection, experience, and conscience. When great decisions face you, do not always expect reason to provide every answer. Listen also to the inner voice that tells you what “feels true.” This is not the voice of rashness, but the same voice that guides the poet in choosing the right word, or the composer in finding the right note. To follow it is to align your life with the deeper rhythm of truth.
Practical action flows easily. Reflect often, so that your instinct is shaped by wisdom. Pay attention to your conscience, for it is the soul’s compass. When you must choose, do not paralyze yourself with fear of imperfection. Step forward as the novelist does, writing the next chapter even without knowing the ending. Trust that if you have cultivated your heart, your instinct will not lead you astray.
Thus Ward’s words endure across time: “I can only follow—and trust—the same sort of instinct that one follows in the art of fiction.” Live your life as an art, guided by instinct, tempered by reflection, and crowned with trust. For in the end, it is not perfect calculation that shapes the story of a life, but the courage to follow the inner thread that binds its chapters together.
MDminh dang
The connection between instinct and fiction in this quote is thought-provoking. It makes me wonder, do we sometimes treat our lives like stories, where the right choices feel like they’re part of a larger narrative? But at the same time, how much of life is really as structured as fiction? Are we truly following an instinctive path, or is it just the patterns of experience and learned behavior guiding us?
LTLy Tran
Ward’s reference to instinct and the art of fiction strikes me as a fascinating way to describe life’s choices. But I wonder, how often does following ‘instinct’ lead to success or fulfillment, and when might it lead to mistakes? Is instinct always the best guide, or do we sometimes need more deliberate thought and analysis, especially when dealing with complex situations that go beyond the simplicity of a fictional narrative?
QHQUANG HUY
This quote seems to suggest a certain faith in the natural unfolding of things, much like following a narrative in a story. But it raises a question—how do you differentiate between instinct and rational decision-making, especially as you grow older and accumulate experience? Is it possible to truly rely on instinct after decades of life, or do we become more calculated in our choices as time passes?
TNLe Thanh Nhan
I find it intriguing that Ward trusts her instincts, especially when making significant choices. The comparison to fiction suggests that, in her view, life unfolds with a certain narrative flow. But how much of this ‘instinct’ is about trust in the process, versus trusting the outcomes? How does this kind of trust play out in reality when life’s choices feel uncertain or complex, and not as easily guided by ‘instinct’?
HVHue Vu
This quote really makes me reflect on the idea of following one’s instinct, especially after such a long period of time. It's interesting that Mary Augusta Ward compares her decision-making process to the art of fiction. Does that mean she sees her life as a narrative that unfolds according to certain guiding principles, like a character in a story? How much of life’s choices are truly instinctual, and how much is shaped by the experiences we've accumulated over the years?