Alison Searle THE MORAL IMAGINATION: BIBLICAL IMPERATIVES, NARRATIVE AND HERMENEUTICS IN PRIDE AND PREJUDICE J ANE Austen has been described as the writer above all others whom it is hardest to catch in the act of greatness (Woolf 155). In this essay I shall consider the way in which the third-person omniscient narra- tion of her text provides a moral perspective, despite the supple use of free indirect discourse that enables the introduction of other subjective points of view. The shaping power of omniscient narration, as Austen uses it, balanced by dialogue, has affinities with the method of biblical narra- tion described by Robert Alter and invites a similar kind of imaginative engagement.' I shall then consider the moral vision that informs Austen's text and its relationship to biblical theology and a particular understanding of the ideal human telos, whether Aristotelian, relativistic, Christian, or a synthesis of perspectives,^ examining particularly the form of the novel as comedy and its resolution in a marriage of romance and complementarity. Einally, I will look at Austen's presentation of prejudice and the way it in- tersects with the hermeneutical acuity and challenges that face Elizabeth Bennett and Mr. Darcy especially, in relation to the tiny polis of which they are a part, and their encounters with one another. There are many other moral dimensions which could be explored, but this essay will focus on the concepts of telos, self-understanding, perception and action. These patterns of engagement with the other and growth in self-knowledge are often modelled on a Christian narrative of self-awareness, repentance, and reconciliation leading to transformation and ultimately happiness. This situates Austen's romance within the biblical metanarrative of ultimate salvation imaged in the marriage supper of the Lamb in Revelation 21. In Pride and Prejudice Austen uses the 'imaginative form' of 'dramat- ic prose,' which entails that the 'moral "sense" or "philosophy"' informing the text is implicit in its form. Any attempt to 'translate' this moral phi- losophy of necessity alters or reduces it (Woolf 111); the aim of this essay is to consider the implications of this imaginative form when seeking to elucidate both Austen's moral vision and, more generally, the working of the literary imagination. In refusing to separate 'imaginative form' and 'moral "sense"' in this way, I am following the line of reasoning put for- ward by Martha Nussbaum: Style itself makes its claims, expresses its own sense of what mat- ters. Literary form is not separable from philosophical content, but is, itself, a part of content - an integral part, then, of the search REN 59.1 (Fall 2006) 17 RENASCENCE for and the statement of truth. . . . [C]ertain truths about human life can only be fittingly and accurately stated in the language and forms characteristic of the narrative artist. . . . The telling itself — the selection of genre, formal structures, sentences, vocabulary. .. Life is never simply presented by a text; it is always represented as something. (Love's Knowledge 3,5) Given this premise, the third-person omniscient narration developed by Austen, as she represents a particular fictional world in her novel, has sig- nificance in itself.^ This kind of narration is by no means unique to Austen, and the observations made here can be equally applied to any number of other novelists. However, she was instrumental in forging this method of narration at the initiating stages of the novel's efflorescence in England, (Bray 108-114, 131) and her use ofit enables the connection between bib- lical and literary narrative art to be made explicit, also demonstrating the similar function attributed to the imagination in both. It has frequently been recognised that Austen's method of narration was shaped by her familiarity with the epistolary fiction of the eighteenth- century. Joe Bray suggests that Austen displays her mastery of the style by shifting 'the tensions within consciousness,' which the epistolary novel privileges, to 'the interaction between character and narrator.' Her deploy- ment of free indirect thought enables subtle transitions in point of view from the omniscient perspective of the narrator, to the subjective experi- ence of various characters (108-9). While the shift in form is not disputed, the significance and implications ascribed to Austen's choice have been interpreted in a variety of ways. Bray argues that 'the widespread infiltra- tion' of omniscient narration 'by the perspectives of characters . . . hin- ders moral unity and closure, preventing rather than enforcing judgement.' Rather than restricting subjectivity, third-person narration, as Austen han- dles it, reveals the tension that defines subjectivity through the 'fraught debate' between the consciousness of the narrator and that of the charac- ters revealed in free indirect thought (117). April Alliston also observes the transition from epistolary form to free indirect discourse in Austen's novels; however, she claims that the omniscient narration 'frames for the reader the interiors inhabited by her heroines,' 'fixing [the heroine] more squarely in its exemplary frame,' and thus placing her in the tradition of criticism that suggests Austen's third-person narrative provides an authori- tative voice offering 'clear moral judgements' in place of the moral an- archy and untrammelled subjectivity of epistolary fiction (Qtd. in Bray, 117).'' It seems unnecessary to dichotomise these two schools of inter- pretation so rigidly, though. The self-effacing narrative voice of Austen's texts gains an omniscient authority similar to that present in the biblical narratives, through selective disclosure and a general opaqueness of pres- 18 SEARLE ence. But this also foregrounds the individuality of various characters that are effectively dramatised through direct speech and action. Nevertheless, the form of third-person omniscient narration does appear to me at least to frame the interiors of Austen's heroines, in the sense of possessing ul- timate moral authority in the context of the narrative as a whole (Alliston 234-9). Jesse Wolfe explores the implications of this tension between ob- jective morality and individual subjectivity in a slightly different form, which is more specifically related to Austen's method of narration, sug- gesting that her novels have a structure which 'encouraged moralizing of a supple kind. The suppleness grows from an honest and thoroughgoing exploration of human psychology. Ambivalence, partial knowledge, con- fused sexual longing, egocentrism . . .' (130). Wolfe argues that Austen represents a transitional phase in the history of ideas between 'traditional Christian metaphysics and moralism' and 'an amoral behaviorist-existen- tialist view of human conduct' (111). Austen's novels, she asserts, do not assume the presence of God, even in the hand of a directing providence: they explore morality within the constraints of human psychological inte- riority, an objective external standard summarised in Murdochian terms as 'love and justice,' and concern for concrete others (126). Wolfe celebrates what she sees as Austen's ability to 'depict psychological awakenings, or conversions, which have all the profundity, all the weight... of religious awakenings — but are nevertheless thoroughly mundane,' resulting in the curious anomaly of a 'view of reality and morality' that 'can be strategi- cally described as Christian in its ethical outlook, but secular (i.e., strictly non-metaphysical) in its ontology' (113). Additionally, Wolfe speaks ap- provingly of the complex interiority of the moral life as depicted by Aus- ten, suggesting that such complexity is essential to the capacity for moral growth and development, and concluding with a stoic ideal that valorises the process of self-improvement as ennobling in itself and the best that can be hoped for (113). However, there are several problems with this account of Austen's novels. It is far easier to separate the ontological from the moral dimen- sion when 'translating' Austen's vision into 'expository' form, as this in- evitably entails a degree of abstraction from 'the determinate social con- text,'' which both Alasdair Maclntyre and Alan Jacobs see as central to her ability to unite the Christian and Aristotelian themes that Wolfe argues she successfully separates to achieve a supple secularised morality. Against Wolfe's postulation that 'an act of significant faith' is required 'on the part of the reader' to connect the ontological or metaphysical dimensions of Christian belief with Austen's novels, is the notion of a desirable telos 19 RENASCENCE that is written into the very genre of romantic comedy that Austen adopts. This sits oddly with Wolfe's thesis that process is to be celebrated over and above the ultimate hope of moral perfection, though this lies beyond the boundaries which Austen considers appropriate to fiction. For the purpose of analysis in this discussion, I will make the biblical substructure under- lying Austen's work more obvious. The teleological orientation, itself de- pendent upon an implicit acceptance of the biblical metanarrative, can be seen to inform every aspect of the ordinary circumstances, transformation of character, and moral strivings which Austen depicts within concrete social situations: 'she sees the telos of human life implicit in its everyday form' (Maclntyre 226). Additionally, it is her commitment to Christian metaphysics or ontology as well as an Aristotelian practical morality that defines the notions of 'love' and 'justice' against which her characters measure themselves, undergirding also the standards that regulate their relationships to others. Finally, it renders rich and meaningful the 'intel- ligent love' that finds expression in the complementary union of Darcy and Elizabeth at the end of Pride and Prejudice.^ Complexity is not an essential prerequisite to moral growth, as Wolfe assumes, though it is often desirable. Jane Bennett's generous and at times indiscriminating charity, for example, stands as a critique of Elizabeth's arrogant pretensions to immediate discernment of character in relation to both Darcy and Wickham. Though quite simple in her goodness, Jane does achieve a degree of moral growth throughout the novel, by refusing to again become the dupe of Miss Bingley's regard. Thus, I would conclude with CS. Lewis that [t]he hard core of morality and even of religion seems to me to be just what makes good comedy possible. 'Principles' or 'serious- ness' are essential to Jane Austen's art... Unless there is some- thing about which the author is never ironical, there can be no true irony in the work. 'Total irony' — irony about everything — frus- trates itself and becomes insipid. (185) Lewis' connection here between 'morality' and 'religion' is not inadver- tent. The kind of supple relativism in ontology and teleology which Wolfe ascribes to Austen would prevent this hard core and consistent, full-blood- ed standard against which all characters are implicitly measured, creating the fixed boundaries that allow both the human depth and the delightfully ironic humour of Pride and Prejudice. While it is easy to make generalisations about morality and genre, if Nussbaum's observations on the intimate connection between form and content, style and truth stand, then it is important to consider how the genre of romantic comedy shapes our understanding of Austen's novel. 20 SEARLE Some critics have seen her decision to end her novels in marriage simply as a concession to novelistic convention or the social norms of early nine- teenth-century England. However, her realistic depictions of marriage, her consideration of the alternatives (it is not a foregone conclusion that each ofher heroines will necessarily marry any man who comes along), and the mutuality and commitment to others which shape the way her heroes and heroines come together, indicate a genuine appreciation of marriage as a covenant of companionship and complementarity that helps to promote the development of a civil society. The notion of marriage as a covenant between two people which furthers the health of society is, itself, a logical deduction from the biblical text (Malachi 2:13-16). Anne Crippen Rud- erman's careful analysis of the way in which Austen valorises happiness over self-fulfilment, interpreting the former to be found in the pursuit of virtue objectively defined, makes attending to the symbolic echoes of the portrayal of marriage in the biblical text that informs her novels a plausible venture (10-14). It is important to note, though, that the happiness which marriage brings to an individual heroine is never the supreme motivating factor in Austen's work. In true biblical spirit, her characters are required to acknowledge principles higher than their own happiness, often involving a denial of self: 'For whosoever will save his life shall lose it; but whosoever shall lose his life for my sake and the gospel's, the same shall save it' (Mark 8:35). For example, when Elizabeth is talking to Darcy at the inn in Derbyshire, and refiecting on whether or not it would be conducive to the happiness of both of them if she should 'employ the power, which her fancy told her she still possessed, of bringing on the renewal of his addresses', she discovers that Lydia has eloped. The supposed implications of this upon her relationship with Darcy are immediately apparent, but 'self though it would intrude, could not engross her' (Austen 234, 245).^ Michael Edwards has commented on the scriptural significance of the 'marriage of the lovers,' which is, he suggests, 'the clearest and most traditional sign of the comic intention.' He argues further that a biblical interpretation would connect it to both the 'Edenic' marriage described in Genesis, and to the church. Adam's well-known observation, 'this is now bone of my bones and flesh of my flesh,' as he beholds the woman created from his rib, is accompanied by the narratorial comment: 'Therefore shall a man . . . cleave to his wife: and they shall be one flesh.' To marry is thus a recovery, in some measure, of the 'primal unity that preceded the Fall.' It can also be connected to the other end of the story: the hero winning the bride corresponds to Jesus acquiring a bride in the form of the church. (Edwards 47). The relevant biblical reference, of course, is Paul's exposi- tion of marriage in Ephesians 5: 21 RENASCENCE Husbands, love your wives, even as Christ also loved the church, and gave himself for it; that he might sanctify and cleanse it with the washing of water by the word, that he might present it to himself a glorious church, not having spot, or wrinkle, or any such thing; but that it should be holy and without blemish ... For this cause shall a man leave his father and mother, and shall be joined unto his wife, and they two shall be one flesh. This is a great mystery: but I speak concerning Christ and the church (vv. 25-27, 31-2). Thus 'the marriage of the lovers, which is the success of the comedy, looks towards the supreme success ... in so far as that too is a marriage, both spiritual and eternal' (Edwards 47). Following this kind of analogical cor- respondence, a recent study of the role of religion in Pride and Prejudice has read the idealised family party at Pemberley as an allusion to Para- dise.^ This also needs to be understood within the context of the bibli- cal metanarrative: 'the redemption of our intimate human relationships, indeed like the redemption of our relationships with God, is an already — not yet phenomenon.' So, the biblical presentation of marriage begins with perfection in the Garden of Eden (Genesis 1); it acknowledges sin, tension and death introduced by the Fall (Genesis 3). However, it also presents through Christ the hope that relationships will be redeemed; the interim state for love, caught between sin and the hope of perfection, can be seen in the Song of Songs (Longman 63-70). The concepts of fidelity, a paradise to be obtained, of values that must be cherished above one's own personal happiness when making deci- sions, are all biblical principles that shape Austen's work and exemplify important aspects of what it means to imagine according to the trajectories opened by the biblical text (Proverbs 5:15-21, 12:22; Psalm 16:11; Mat- thew 10:22,39). The euphoric celebration of marriage at the conclusion of her novels often has a symbolic valence that suggests more than the hap- piness of two people: [Elizabeth] began now to comprehend that [Darcy] was exactly the man, who, in disposition and talents, would most suit her. His understanding and temper, though unlike her own, would have an- swered all her wishes. It was an union that must have been to the advantage of both; by her ease and liveliness, his mind might have been softened, his manners improved, and from his judgment, in- formation, and knowledge of the world, she must have received benefit of greater importance. But no such happy marriage could now teach the admiring multi- tude what connubial felicity really was (275-6). ... she looked forward with delight to the time when they should 22 SEARLE be removed from society so little pleasing to either, to all the com- fort and elegance of their family party at Pemberley (342). With the Gardiners, they were always on the most intimate terms. Darcy, as well as Elizabeth, really loved them; and they were both ever sensible of the warmest gratitude towards the persons who, by bringing her into Derbyshire, had been the means of uniting them (345). The importance of purity and faithfulness is underwritten by a commit- ment to principles understood to possess ultimate and eternal significance, orientating life in this temporal world in the light of a future beyond this world. In addition to the theological and moral implications suggested by the biblical stmcture and telos of the novel, Austen explores other themes that are central. These include the relationship between moral development and the ability to interpret and relate to others; the necessity of linking principle to praxis; a vision that is both stringent in its standards and gen- erous in its charity, and the incarnation of these themes in narrative form. Michael Giffin suggests quite persuasively that Pride and Prejudice can be 'read as a novel of neoclassical hermeneutics .... The heroine and the hero recognise the sins of pride and prejudice that influenced [their] first impressions, reason and refiect their way into maturity, and learn to give and receive love' (92). As readers we are invited through 'the normative gaze represented by the unified narrator' to enter a 'fully imagined world,' which is the 'aesthetic effect' of the 'omniscient narration' of characters' thoughts through 'free indirect discourse,' and to experience the 'interiors inhabited by [Austen's] heroines' and to a lesser extent her heroes (Al- liston 234). This deft combination of omniscient narration, incorporating the sub- jective individualities of characters through free indirect discourse, en- ables Austen to create the imaginative experience of each character for her readers, whilst simultaneously maintaining a framing moral vision. Charmed by Elizabeth, delighted by her wit and sympathetic to her frus- trations as a dependent young woman and member of the Bennett family, the reader finds it easy to sympathise with her initial dislike of Mr. Darcy, as she allows the prejudice inspired by her wounded pride to colour all her subsequent contact with him and knowledge about him. Austen clearly demonstrates that Elizabeth has sufficient information to question her set- tled opinion about him, but so wholly does the heroine engage us as read- ers, that it is not until her moment of 'undeception' (in Lewis' terms) that we actually realise just how prejudiced and wilful Elizabeth's response to Darcy has been. Here the balance between the subjective experience of the 23 RENASCENCE character and the authoritative moral frame of the omniscient narration plays a crucial role. As readers we are taken upon the same epistemologi- cal journey as the heroine, being educated in the process as to the way that a prejudice engendered by hurt pride can lead to unjust interpretations of others. Imaginatively, we engage with Elizabeth's initial self-deception, growing self-awareness, repentance, and gradual reconciliation to Darcy as she herself learns to lay aside her initial prejudice when interpreting his character, through a 'hermeneutics of love.'^ The vocabulary with which Elizabeth registers both her mistake and the need for repentance indicates Austen's moral concerns and the theo- logical presuppositions that underpin her text: Every line proved more clearly that the aifair, which she had be- lieved it impossible that any contrivance could so represent, as to render Mr. Darcy's conduct in it less than infamous, was capable of a turn which must make him entirely blameless throughout the whole... She grew absolutely ashamed of herself. — Of neither Darcy nor Wickham could she think, without feeling that she had been blind, partial, prejudiced, absurd. 'How despicably have I acted!' she cried. — 'I, who have prid- ed myself on my discernment! — I, who have valued myself on my abilities! who have so often disdained the generous candour of my sister, and gratified my vanity, in useless or blameable distrust. — How humiliating is this discovery! —Yet, how just a humilia- tion! — Had I been in love, I could not have been more wretchedly blind. But vanity, not love, has been my folly. — Pleased with the preference of one, and offended by the neglect of the other, on the very beginning of our acquaintance, I have courted prepossession and ignorance, and driven reason away, where either were con- cerned. Till this moment, I never knew myself (182, 185). Elizabeth recognises the self-centered preoccupation that has rendered her incapable of interpreting either Wickliam or Darcy accurately, 'pleased with the preference of one, and offended by the neglect of the other.' In addition to this, she has succumbed to the vanity that is a perennial tempta- tion for one as quick-witted and humorous as herself: to be 'uncommonly clever in taking so decided a dislike to him, without any reason. It is such a spur to one's genius. . .'(199). As Lewis observes, Elizabeth employs the 'abstract nouns' of the moralists in order to define her own fault, critiquing herself for a failure in 'generous candour,' and concluding with a knowledge of self that will provide the foundation for a right appraisal, a more mature and just rela- 24 SEARLE tionship with Darcy and Wickham, and the capacity to grow (178). This pattern can be seen as both classical and Christian; it fulfils the Socratic injunction to: 'Know thyself,' but also evidences the desire of the psalmist: 'Search me, O God, and know my heart: try me, and know my thoughts: And see if there be any wicked way in me, and lead me in the way ever- lasting' (139:23-24). Austen emphasises the need for 'generous candour' and 'humility' in order rightly to judge and understand others. The latter virtue is Christian rather than classical, and finds expression in the apostle Paul's injunction: 'Let nothing be done through strife or vainglory; but in lowliness of mind let each esteem others better than themselves. Look not every man on his own things, but every man also on the things of others' (Philippians 2:3-4). Elizabeth acknowledges that she has been motivated by a 'vainglory' which has blinded her to the needs and worth of others. None of this is to suggest, however, that Elizabeth had no grounds for offence in her original encounter with Darcy. But, as she notes later when conversing with her friend Charlotte Lucas, her pride was wounded by his and it was this that made his refusal to dance with her so offensive. Darcy was at fault, but his masculine arrogance and class prejudice are no ex- cuse, though they provide extenuating reasons, for Elizabeth's readiness to credit Wickham's tale and her own 'immoveable . . . dislike' (172). Darcy himself acknowledges a measure of justice in her emotional response to his behaviour: 'What did you say of me, that I did not deserve? Eor, though your accusations were ill-founded, formed on mistaken premises, my be- haviour to you at the time, had merited the severest reproof (326). It is one of the charms of Pride and Prejudice that the hero and heroine are equally fallible and equally open to transformation, rendering the mutual- ity of Austen's ideal of 'intelligent love' in this novel more satisfying than if Darcy played the role of mentor-lover. While the coming to self-aware- ness and moral transformation of the hero is not represented with the same narrative intimacy as that of Elizabeth, Darcy also learns to recognise the blindness induced by his pride, and the 'unpardonable' arrogance of his behaviour towards a woman 'worthy of being pleased,' though she had relatives whom he could not respect (326, 328). The writer of Proverbs notes: 'When pride cometh, then cometh shame: but with the lowly is wis- dom' (11:2). Darcy, like Elizabeth in relation to Jane, implicitly comes to endorse the more 'generous candour' of his friend Bingley, who had earlier observed of the elder Bennett sisters: 'If they had uncles enough to fill all Cheapside ... it would not make them one jot less agreeable' (31). Darcy describes his growth into self-knowledge and gradual recognition of the need for repentance and moral development in the same strong vo- cabulary as Elizabeth. He acknowledges the f'orce ofher reproofs, 'though it was some time' before he was 'reasonable enough to allow their justice' 25 RENASCENCE (326). He refuses to credit the philosophy that the past should be thought of only 'as its remembrance gives ... pleasure,' stating that the past cannot be thus ignored. He traces over his childhood and youth recognising that though taught right principles, he was never nurtured in right practice, fol- lowing the moral and social standards his parents inculcated with motives of selfishness and disdain. Again, it is humility that is the requisite virtue, which ultimately enables him to value the worth and gain the favour of 'a woman worthy of being pleased' (327-28). The magnanimity and rectitude of the aristocrat is insufficient. Prin- ciples must be linked to practice, and action needs to be informed by love. In the words of 1 Corinthians 13:1,4: 'Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, and have not charity, I am become as sounding brass, or a tinkling cymbal . . . Charity suffereth long, and is kind . . . charity vaunteth not itself, is not puffed up.' Darcy, when refiecting upon the fa- milial education that had shaped his character, recognised his inability to follow the 'good principles' he had received with a right heart. Only when his desire to act was tempered by humility could he truly respect and lov- ingly reach out to those 'beyond (his) own family circle' (328). This link- ing of principle and practice is crucial to a biblical religion of the heart: 'Pure religion and undefiled before God and the Eather is this, to visit the fatherless and widows in their affliction, and to keep himself unspotted from the world' (James 1:27). Biblical love requires an empathetic, self- giving of oneself for the other, not a detached altruism: one may do, but not necessarily be, and the one who has not loved is still in debt to the other, 'for he that loveth another hath fulfilled the law' (Romans 13:8). The necessity of a correlation between inner principle or emotion and external action runs throughout the entire biblical text. To cite just one reference in order to make the point: God says to the prophet Samuel when he is choos- ing a king, 'Look not on his countenance, or on the height of his stature; because I have refused him: for the LORD seeth not as man seeth; for man looketh on the outward appearance, but the LORD looketh on the heart' (1 Samuel 16:7). Humility, self-knowledge and love are crucial to the progress of both Elizabeth and Darcy in coming to a true knowledge and appreciation of each other that facilitates a complementary mutuality in 'all the comfort and elegance of their family party at Pemberley' (342). But the novel also probes further than their relationship, examining the connection between intelligence, love and discernment in interpreting or responding to others, and the necessity of linking conviction to action, through the characters of Mr. Bennett, Mr. Bingley and Jane. As noted earlier, Elizabeth and Darcy in a moment of self-revelation compare themselves unfavourably to the 'generous candour' of both sister and friend, recognising that had they 26