The Ethics of George Eliots Works | Page 7

Joshuas even then; only when the soul
first begins to apprehend that its true relation to God is to be realised
only through the Cross--is there conscience and habitual "respect unto
the recompense" of any reward.
In 'Adam Bede,' the first of George Eliot's more elaborate works, the
illustrations of the great moral purpose we have assigned to her are so
numerous and varied, that it is not easy to select from among them. On
the one hand, Dinah Morris--one of the most exquisitely serene and
beautiful creations of fiction--and Seth and Adam Bede present to us,
variously modified, the aspect of that life which is aiming toward the
highest good. On the other hand, Arthur Donnithorne and Hetty
Sorrel--poor little vain and shallow-hearted Hetty--bring before us the
meanness, the debasement, and, if unarrested, the spiritual and
remediless death inevitably associated with and accruing from that
"self- pleasing" which, under one form or other, is the essence of all
evil and sin. Of these, Arthur Donnithorne and Adam Bede seem to us
the two who are most sharply and subtilely contrasted; and to these we
shall confine our remarks.
In Arthur Donnithorne, the slight sketch placed before us in Captain
Wybrow is elaborated into minute completeness, and at the same time
freed from all that made Wybrow even superficially repellent.
Handsome, accomplished, and gentlemanly; loving and lovable;
finding his keenest enjoyment in the enjoyment of others;
irreproachable in life, and free from everything bearing the semblance
of vice,--what more could the most exacting fictionist desire to make

up his ideal hero? Yet, without ceasing to be all thus portrayed, he
scatters desolation and crime in his path. He does this, not through any
revulsion of being in himself, but in virtue of that very principle of
action from which his lovableness proceeds. Of duty simply as duty, of
right solely as right, his knowledge is yet to come. Essentially, his ideal
of life as yet is "self- pleasing." This impels him, constituted as he is, to
strive that he shall stand well with all. This almost necessitates that he
shall be kindly, genial, loving; enjoying the joy and well-being of all
around him, and therefore lovable. But this also assures that his
struggle against temptation shall be weak and vacillating; and that
when, through his paltering with it, it culminates, he shall at once fall
before it. The wood scene with Adam Bede still further illustrates the
same characteristics. This man, so genial and kindly, rages fiercely in
his heart against him whom he has unwittingly wronged. Frank and
open, apparently the very soul of honour, he shuffles and lies like a
coward and a knave; and this in no personal fear, but because he
shrinks to lose utterly that goodwill and esteem of others,--of Adam in
particular, because Adam constrains his own high esteem,--which are to
him the reflection of his own self-worship. Repentance comes to him at
last, because conscience has never in him been entirely overlaid and
crushed. It comes when the whirlwind of anguish has swept over him,
scattered all the flimsy mists of self-excuse in which self-love had
sought to veil his wrong-doing, and bowed him to the dust; but who
shall estimate the remediless and everlasting loss already sustained?
We have spoken of Captain Wybrow as the prototype of Arthur. He is
so in respect of both being swayed by that vital sin of self-pleasing to
which all wrong-doing ultimately refers itself; but that in Arthur the
corruption of life at its source is not complete, is shown throughout the
whole story. The very form of action which self-love assumes in him,
tells that self though dominant is not yet supreme. It refers itself to
others. It absolutely requires human sympathy. So long as the man lives
to some extent in the opinion and affections of his brother men,--so
long as he is even uncomfortable under the sense of being shut out
from these otherwise than as the being so shall affect his own
interests,--we may be quite sure he is not wholly lost. The difference
between the two men is still more clearly shown when they are brought

face to face with the result of their wrong-doing. With each there is
sorrow, but in Wybrow, and still more vividly as we shall see in Tito
Melema, it is the sorrow of self-worship only. No thought of the
wronged one otherwise than as an obstacle and embarrassment, no
thought of the wrong simply as a wrong, can touch him. This sorrow is
merely remorse, "the sorrow of the world which worketh death." Arthur,
too, is suddenly called to confront the misery and ruin he has wrought;
but in him, self then loses its ascendancy. There is no attempt to plead
that he was the tempted as