GEORGE ELIOT: GOD & HUMANISM
George Eliot’s exploration of religion and morality in her work
‘Your pier glass or extensive surface of polished steel made to be rubbed by a housemaid, will be minutely and multitudinously scratched in all directions; but place now against it a lighted candle as a centre of illumination, and lo! the scratches will seem to arrange themselves in a fine series of concentric circles around that little sun. It is demonstrable that the scratches are going everywhere impartially and it is only your candle which produces the flattering illusion of a concentric arrangement, its light falling with an exclusive optical selection.’
p264, Middlemarch
During the nineteenth century, Britain was going through a process of
secularization, largely, one could claim, as a result of
Charles Darwin’s work
The Origin of Species, published in
1859. Whilst neither attacking religion directly, nor providing an alternative explanation for the universe, Darwin’s work did provide a far more likely scenario, in
evolution, for the development of man and his fellow creatures than that laid out in
Genesis. Thus the
philosophers of the day had to meet the challenge, in terms of explaining humanity’s role in a possibly
God-less world. George Eliot herself had a role to play in such discussions, partly due to her translation of the works of the likes of
Strauss and
Feuerbach, but also because of her writing in the ‘Westminster Review’, alongside such luminaries as
Thomas Huxley, and her partner,
G. H. Lewes. Brought up in a highly
evangelical household, Eliot eventually lost her faith and could be claimed to have grappled with religious and ethical issues throughout her work; indeed, it has often been suggested that
Middlemarch was the first
secular,
humanist novel written. However, it could be argued that Eliot was not an
atheist, nor even a true
humanist – for her novels and critical works explore a wide range of philosophies, even alluding to as modern a concept as
existentialism. Therefore, one can argue that George Eliot was not only the greatest
Victorian novelist, but also an important part of the philosophical debate of her age.
When Charles Darwin wrote
It is so easy to hide our ignorance under such expressions as the ‘plan of creation,’ ‘unity of design,’ &c., and to think that we give an explanation when we only restate a fact.
p453
he was quietly asserting that an ignorance of the prevailing
scientific research from the
Church was simply not good enough. This, of course, was at a time when science was changing the face of Britain: the
Industrial Revolution had created a manufacturing industry, sprawling towns and cities and the development of a transport infrastructure, the like of which had never been seen before. The
Methodist movement was attempting to take religion to all the disenchanted poor of the nation, at a time when the
Church of England and politicians remained preoccupied with the role of
Catholics in public life. Meanwhile, the end of the eighteenth century had seen the emergence of the
Enlightenment movement in
France, pioneered by the likes of
Descartes,
Voltaire and
Rousseau, which attempted to place greater emphasis on the individuality and rationale of man – as well as his great achievements. A direct link, can therefore, be drawn from all of these contextual issues at the start of the nineteenth century, and the later development of
romantic,
realist and
humanist thought, all of which Eliot was associated with.
One of Eliot’s first pieces of work was her translation of Strauss’s ‘
The Life of Jesus’ (1846), which argued from a
logical positivist view-point that the
Bible should be laid open to
empirical and historical rigour.
Having shown the possible existence of the mythical and the legendary in the gospels … it remains in conclusion to inquire how their actual presence may be recognized in individual cases?
The mythus presents two phases; in the first place it is not history; in the second it is fiction, the product of the particular mental tendency of a certain community. These two phases afford the one a negative, the other a positive criterion, by which the mythus is to be recognized.
p3
This process of
demythologizing is very similar to that later suggested by
Tillich and
Braithwaite, during the twentieth century, and Strauss appears to draw similar conclusions – that the role of the scriptures, and indeed religion, is one of
metaphor and
symbol, to aid us in both our moral judgements and our understanding of our own spirituality. Eliot, herself, later went on to criticise many of the Church’s clerics (specifically in a piece entitled ‘Evangelical Teaching: Dr Cumming’) for preaching rather than enacting
Christianity, and espoused a role for the Church in which it was there to
support and encourage its flock, rather than judge or
condemn it – and this can be seen in the characters of Irwine, Farebrother and Kenn in
Adam Bede,
Middlemarch and
The Mill on the Floss, respectively. Irwine is cited by Adam Bede as not ‘much of a preacher’, but his ‘influence in his parish was a more wholesome one than that of the
zealous Mr Ryde’; Farebrother admitted to doubts about his profession, but was of great help to Fred Vincy and Mary Garth; while Dr Kenn was the only man in St. Ogg’s who did not judge Maggie Tulliver over her conduct with Stephen Guest.
The nineteenth century also saw widespread interest amongst philosophers in the idea of
subjectivity.
Hegel was very much against this, and argued for an
objective ‘truth’ which we all grow closer to, as society becomes more ‘humane, civilised and fair.’ However, Feuerbach broke with such a rationalist way of looking at religion – believing, much like
Freud, that religion was a human construct, enabling us to deal better with dissatisfaction in our own lives.
‘We have shown that the substance and object of religion is altogether human; we have shown that divine wisdom is human wisdom; that the secret of theology is anthropology; that the absolute mind is the so-called finite subjective mind. But religion is not conscious that its elements are human; on the contrary, it places itself in opposition to the human, or at least it does not admit that its elements are human.’
p69
Therefore, it is little surprise that Eliot might regard the role of religion as one of fulfilling a human need, rather than chastising humanity for apparent guilt and sins, hence her famous statement, ‘with the ideas of Feuerbach I everywhere agree.’ One area, in particular, that her work and life closely parallels Feuerbach’s philosophy is on the subject of
marriage, for he believed that:
… marriage – we mean, of course, marriage as the free bond of love – is sacred in itself, by the very nature of the union which is therein effected.
FOOTNOTE: Yes, only as the free bond of love; for a marriage the bond of which is merely an external restriction, not the voluntary, contented self-restriction of love, in short, a marriage which is not spontaneously concluded, spontaneously willed, self-sufficing, is not a true marriage, and therefore not a truly moral marriage.
p70
Eliot clearly took this to heart, not only in her relationship with Lewes, which was never
legally or
socially acknowledged, but also in her writing of The Mill on the Floss, in which Maggie is torn between her ‘free bond of love’ with Stephen Guest, and her disgust at
egoism. Eventually this, as well as the judgements of the Christian people of St. Ogg’s, will lead to her disgrace, and ultimately her destruction. But this was undoubtedly a very real dilemma for Eliot, as well as her heroine – because for Eliot, egoism was the greatest
sin. Therefore, in Middlemarch she gave us the perfect portrait of the selfish egoist in Rosamond:
When he was gone, Rosamond left her chair and walked to the other end of the room, leaning when she got there against a chiffonniere, and looking out of the window wearily. She was
oppressed by ennui, and by that dissatisfaction which in women’s minds is continually turning into a trivial jealousy, referring to no real claims, spring from no deeper passion than the vague exactingness of egoism, and yet capable of impelling action as well as speech.
p601
However, Eliot’s distrust of egoism presented her with a problem in terms of her humanist beliefs, because of humanism’s Enlightenment origins, which emphasised man’s
individualism. For a start, we must distinguish between two different types of egoism –
epistemological egoism and
moral egoism. The former acknowledges that the world of each individual is ‘essentially mediated by his perceptions or ‘feelings’, while the latter urges us to be selfish in our choice of moral action. Eliot does not appear to have a problem with the former - Maggie Tulliver might be regarded as an epistemological egoist, while Captain Donnithorne is a moral one. Therefore, while she acknowledges this first type of egoism, she asks that we be aware of the
bias of our own
perceptions and imaginings and counsels us to try and move beyond it, this Maggie does when she pulls away from Stephen at the last minute. Meanwhile, Peter Jones feels it is also the case with Dorothea Brooke:
She reached the view … that knowledge based upon experience undistorted by one’s imagination, enables one to understand others and to act aright; in such cases the course of action becomes self-evident, as if it were ‘chosen for the agent’.
p13
Thus, this acceptance of reality would sit more comfortably with a humanist ideology, which states that, ‘
humanity is made up of beings with unique capabilities which should be recognised, nurtured and rejoiced in for their own sake.’
While the term ‘humanism’ was only coined in the nineteenth century by
Friedrich Niethammer, its origins date back much earlier: it is deeply rooted in both the Enlightenment and the
Renaissance, and its foundations could even be traced back to
Ancient Greece. It emphasises man’s development and
artistic and
scientific achievements. Lydgate, therefore, could be regarded as a symbol of humanist
ideology – as he rejoices in scientific advancement and medical excellence. Humanists also believe in an objective morality, perhaps alluded to by Eliot when she talked of God, Immortality and
Duty and labelled the first as unbelievable, the second inconceivable and the third peremptory. However, there does appear to be some doubt amongst critics as to whether Eliot believed in an objective morality or not. Suzy Anger argues that she does, while Kerry McSweeny points to Eliot’s acceptance of Feuerbach’s views of a ‘subjective, humanised Christianity.’ In The Mill on the Floss she certainly appears to endorse a flexible,
subjective morality, as,
… moral judgements must remain false and hollow, unless they are checked and enlightened by a perpetual reference to the special circumstances that mark the individual lot.
p517
This is opposed to an objective, legalistic morality made up of maxims, which fail to take account of the ‘mysterious complexity of our life’. She goes onto attack the holders of such a view, for their laziness of thought, devoid of,
… patience, discrimination, impartiality, without any care to assure themselves whether they have the insight that comes from a hardly earned estimate of temptation, or from a life vivid and intense enough to have created a wide fellow feeling with all that is human.
p519
Such a subjective view of morality and
religion, therefore, closely resembles
Kierkegaard’s model of existentialism that, like Eliot, rejects religion as an organised body, and Hegel’s assessment of it purely through
reason – instead believing it to be a matter of
faith. Similarly, they both reject the idea of morality as a series of maxims. Kierkegaard went onto say that,
It is perfectly true, isolated subjectivity is, in the opinion of the age, evil; but ‘objectivity’ as a cure is not one whit better. The only salvation is subjectivity, i.e. God as infinite compelling subjectivity.
p160
Therefore, he believes that religion is a subjective choice, not based on historical facts or reason. This is what Strauss argued in his work ‘The Life of Jesus’. Newton, meanwhile, says that,
… for George Eliot it was the essential human content of religions and systems that was important and not their objective truth … this way of looking at religions and systems of thought differs markedly from the rationalist – Enlightenment tradition of thinking, which believed in objective truth.
p6
This view of Eliot’s does not just differ from Enlightenment thinking, however, but also the accepted view of humanism, as already discussed. While, it would be a huge and unsustainable leap to then label her as an existentialist, especially given her rejection of an egoist philosophy, it does at least suggest that George Eliot, far from pigeon-holing herself into any accepted philosophical box, was actively pushing the boundaries of
contemporary thought.
Throughout her work George Eliot has explored questions of religion and morality – and this can be of little surprise, given her relationship with G. H. Lewes and her close association with Thomas Huxley, amongst others. Her agreement with Feuerbach, with regards to
organised religion, is alluded to in all three of the novels examined here, while her rejection of
theistic belief as something concrete and open to empirical examination would appear to go hand in hand with the works of Strauss, whom she translated, and therefore some of the philosophies of Kierkegaard, also. While it remains unclear as to whether she accepted the general humanist view of an objective morality, it would appear, again from her novels and her association with Feuerbach, that she found a subjective view far more satisfactory. Also her disgust at the selfishness of egoism means that she could never be labelled an existentialist, but some of the parallels between her ideals and Kierkegaard’s would suggest that her views were not as humanist as some biographers and critics would like to paint. In fact, George Eliot appears to be a woman incredibly difficult to pin down wholly to any one philosophy. Therefore, instead of regarding her novels as a series of moral assertions, it would perhaps make more sense to view them as an attempt to address questions of religion and morality. This is a feat with which she appeared to have little difficulty, given her insightful understanding of the philosophy of the day.
Bibliography
The Origin of Species by Charles Darwin (Penguin Classics, 1985)
The Oxford Companion to English Literature ed. Margaret Drabble (Oxford University Press 2000)
Adam Bede by George Eliot (Penguin Classics, 1985)
Middlemarch by George Eliot (Penguin Classics, 2003)
The Mill on the Floss by George Eliot (Penguin Classics, 2003)
Selected Critical Writings by George Eliot (Oxford University Press, 1992)
Philosophy and the Novel by Peter Jones (Oxford University Press, 1975)
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