explanation of the subtler meanings of life and mind. Its methods are
analytical; it has reached no truly synthetic results in the regions where
knowledge is most to be desired. Its effects on literature are destructive.
Science destroys poetry, dries up the poetic sense, closes the doors of
imagination. The attempt to make science co-operate with poetry is in
itself the promise of failure. The limitations of George Eliot's work are
the limitations of poetry subdued by science. Could she have rid herself of
that burden, been impelled by a faith and an ideal purpose commensurate
with her genius, the result would have been much greater. This limitation
suggests the fact that literature is synthetic and constructive in its
purpose and spirit. It is this fact which has made the classic literatures
so powerful in their effect on modern Europe. They have given unity,
spiritual purpose and ideal aims to the whole modern world. The freshness
as of an eternal spring was in the literature of Greece, the naturalness of
a healthy manhood. That literature is organic, it is one with life, it is
refreshing as nature itself. That literature lives and flames with power
because it is synthetic, buoyant, touched with an eternal spiritual beauty,
great with promise of a growing earth. Its poets do not dissect, but build;
they do not analyze, but create. And this is the literary need of the
present time. There is need of more poetry, a more poetic interpretation of
life, a richer imagination and a finer sense of beauty. The common is
everywhere, but it is not necessarily great or beautiful or noble. It may
have its elements of pathos and tragedy, its touches of beauty and its
motives of heroism. It has in it also the promise of better things to be.
That is the true poetry, the true fiction, which brings out this promise so
that we know it, so that it moves us to better deeds and enchants us with
music of purer living. The world is bad enough without dragging to the
light all its evils and discords; let us rather know what promise it
contains of the better. In one word, the real oppresses and enthralls; the
ideal liberates, and brings us to ourselves.
Genius redeems every fault. It must be taken for what it is, must not be
criticised, is to be used to the highest ends. Only when genius unites
itself to false methods and checks itself by false theories, has the critic
a right to complain. Genius, obedient to its own laws, accepts every fact
life presents, and lifts each one to be an instrument for the enlargement
of man's life. When it deliberately strikes out all that is not human,
however, from man's experience, denies the realty of that impression and
that conviction which comes from other than material sources, it cripples
and denies itself.
XX.
THE LIMITATIONS OF HER THOUGHT.
It must be remembered that George Eliot does not use the novel merely for
the purpose of inculcating certain doctrines, and that her genius for
artistic creation is of a very high order. In dealing with her as a thinker
and as a moral and religious teacher, she is to be regarded, first of all,
as a poet and an artist. Her ethics are subordinate to her art; her
religion is subsidiary to her genius. That she always deliberately set
about the task of introducing her positivism into the substance of her
novels is not to be supposed. This would be to imply a forgetfulness on her
part of her own methods, and a prostration of art to purposes she would
have scorned to adopt. This is evidently true, however, that certain
features of the positive and the evolution philosophy had so thoroughly
approved themselves to her mind as to cause them to be accepted as a
completely satisfactory explanation of the world, so far as any explanation
is possible. So heartily were they received, so fully did they become
incorporated with the substance of her thinking, that she viewed all human
experiences in their light. They had ceased to be theory and speculation
with her. When she thought about the world, when she observed the acts of
men, the positivist explanation was at once applied, and instinctively.
That she did teach positivism is unfortunately true, so far as her literary
touch and expression is concerned. That philosophy affects all her books
with its subtly insinuating flavor, and it gives meaning and bias to most
of them. They thus gain in definiteness of purpose, in moral vigor, in
minutely faithful study of some phases of human experience, and in a
massive impression of thoughtfulness which her work creates. At the same
time, they undoubtedly lose in value as studies of life; in free range of
expression for her genius, her poetry and her art; and in that spiritual
vision which looks forward with keen gazing eyes of hope and confident
inquiry.
Her teaching, like most teaching, is a mingled good and evil. In more than
one direction her ethical and religious influence was most wholesome and
effective. She brought into clear light a few great facts, and made them
the more conspicuous by the strong emphasis she gave them. This is, in the
main, the method of all teaching and of all progress. Development seldom
proceeds in a direct line, but rather, so far as man is concerned, by
forcible emphasis laid on some great fact which has been previously
neglected. The idealism of a previous age had shown the value of certain
facts and tendencies in human nature, but it had exaggerated some faculties
and capacities of man, as well as neglected others. In consequence, our own
time swings to the other extreme, and cannot have too much of evolution and
positivism.
Idealism is in human nature, and will give itself expression. Positivism is
also a result of our experience and of our study of the universe, both
material and mental; it is a result of the desire for definite knowledge.
As a re-action against the excesses of idealism it is a powerful leaven,
and it brings into necessary prominence those facts which are neglected by
the opposite philosophy. It takes account of facts, and scorns mysticism;
and it thus appeals to a deep-seated bias of the time.
George Eliot's books have an interest as an attempt at an interpretation
of life from its more practical and realistic side, and not less as a
re-action against the influences of very nearly all the great literary
minds of the earlier half of the century in England. Under the lead of
Coleridge and Wordsworth, and influenced by German thought and literature,
a remarkable movement was then developed in English literature. The outcome
of that movement has been surpassed only by that of the age of Shakspere.
Freshness of thought, love of nature, profound humanitarian convictions,
and spontaneity wedded to great largeness of ideas, characterize this
period and its noble work. Such an age is almost invariably followed by an
age of re-action, criticism, realism and analysis. An instinctive demand
for a portrayal of the more positive side of life, and the influence of
science, have developed a new literary school. For doctrine it teaches
agnosticism, and in method it cares mainly for art and beauty of form.
Towards the development of the new school George Eliot has been a leading
influence, though her sympathies have not gone with all its tendencies and
results.
If Wordsworth exaggerated the importance of the intuitive and personal,
George Eliot equally exaggerated the value of the historic and hereditary.
It was desirable, however, that the relations of life to the past should be
brought out more distinctly by a literary development of their relations to
the present, and that the influence of social heredity should be seen as
affecting life on all sides. Tradition is a large and persistent element in
the better life of the race, while the past certainly has a powerful
influence over the present. This fact was neglected by Wordsworth, and
especially is it neglected by the intuitive philosophies. They ignore the
lessons of the past, and assume that a new and perfect world is to be
evolved from the depths of consciousness. That to think a better world is
to create a better world, they seem to take for granted, while the fact is
that the truer life is the result of a painful and long-continued struggle
against adverse conditions. What has been, persists in remaining, and the
past, with all its narrowness and prejudices, continues to influence men
more powerfully than does clear thought or regard for the truth. Emotion
and sentiment cling about what has become sacred with age. Channels for
thought and activity having once been made, it is very difficult to abandon
them for untried paths approved even by reason.
The historic view is one of much importance, and is likely to be overlooked
by the poets and novelists. It is also ignored by the radicals in morals
and religion. Much which George Eliot says on this subject is of great
value, and may be heeded with the utmost profit. Her words of wisdom,
however, lose much of their value because they utterly ignore those
spontaneous and supernatural elements of man's higher life which lift it
quite out of the region of dependence on history.
There is something to be said in behalf of George Eliot's attitude towards
religion, which caused her to hold it in reverence, even when rejecting the
objective validity of its dogmas. Yet much more is to be said for that
other attitude, which is faithful to the law of reason, and believes that
reason is competent to say some truer and larger word on a subject of such
vital importance and such constant interest to man. That both reason and
tradition are to be listened to reverently is true, but George Eliot so
zealously espoused the cause of tradition as to give it an undue
prominence. Her lesson was needed, however, and we may be all the better
able to profit by it because she was so much an enthusiast in proclaiming
its value. The even poise of perfect truth is no more to be had from her
pages than from those of others.
The emphasis she laid on feeling and sentiment was a needed one, as a
counterpoise to the exaggerations of rationalism. Man does live in his
feelings more than in his reason. He is a being of sentiment, a creature of
impulse, his social life is one of the affections. In all the ranges of his
moral, religious and social life he is guided mainly by his emotions and
sentiments. It cannot be said, however, as George Eliot would have us say,
that these are human born and have no higher meaning. They are the
outgrowth of spiritual reality, as well as of human experience; they repeat
the foregleams and foresights of a
"far-off divine event,
To which the whole creation moves."
Life is enriched and flooded with light by the emotions, and feeling, true
and tender and pure, is as much the symbol of humanity as reason itself. It
was therefore well that some one should attempt to justify the emotional
life against the aspersions of those who have done it grave injustice. It
is true that man is not a being who wholly arrives at his method of life
through reason, but feeling lends quite as important aid. He does not only
think, but he has emotions as well; he not only weighs evidence, but he
acts by impulse. He is continually led by the emotions, sentiments and
impulses created for him by the life of ages past. Without emotion there
could be no art, no poetry and no music. Without emotion there would be no
religion and no spiritual life. Sentiment sweetens, beautifies and endears
all that is human and natural.
Emotion and the affections, however, seem to be shorn of their highest
beauty and glory when they are restricted to a merely earthly origin and
compass of power. It is altogether impossible to believe that their own
impulse to look beyond the human is a delusion, and that they really have
nothing to report that is valid from beyond the little round which man
treads. To believe in the human beauty and glory of the feelings, and to
rejoice in their power to unite us to our kind, need imply no forgetfulness
of their demand for a wider expression and a higher communion.
Her theory of the origin of feeling is not to be accepted. It means
something more than an inheritance of ancestral experience. It is the
result rather than the cause of reason, for reason has an influence she did
not acknowledge, and an original capacity which she never saw. Her view of
feeling was mainly theoretical, for she was led in her attitude towards the
facts of life, not by sentiment, but by reason. Hers was a thoughtful
rather than an impulsive mind, and given to logic more than to emotion.
Her enthusiasm for altruism, her zeal for humanity, lends a delightful
feature to her books. It gives a glow and a consecration to her work, and
makes her as great a prophet as positivism is capable of creating. And it
is no idle power she awakens in her positivist faith in man. She shames
those who claim a broader and better faith. Zeal for man is no mean gospel,
as she gives life and meaning to it in her books. To live for others, too
many are not likely to do. She made altruism beautiful, she made it a
consecration and a religion. Those who cannot accept her agnosticism and
her positivism may learn much from her faith in man and from her enthusiasm
for humanity. No faith is worth much which does not lead to a truer and a
more helpful love of man. Any faith is good in so far as it makes us more
humane and sympathetic. In this regard, the radicalism of George Eliot was
a great advance on much of the free-thinking of our century. She desired to
build, not to destroy. She was no iconoclast, no hater of what other men
love and venerate. Her tendencies were all on the side of progress, good
order and social growth.
Her conception of the organic social life of the race is one of great
value. It led her to believe in the possibility of a social organization in
the future based on science, and better capable of meeting all the wants of
mankind than the more personal and competitive methods have done. This
belief in the organic unity of the race is not necessarily positivist in
its character, for Hegel entertained it as fully as does Herbert Spencer.
The larger social life will come, however, as individuals are moved to lead
the way, and not alone as the result of a general evolutionary process. On
its mental side, her social theory is to be regarded with grave suspicions,
for it brings all minds to the same level. No mind of commanding influence
is to be found in her books. No powerful intellect gives greatness to any
of her plots. Her Felix Holt is not a man of original and positive thought.
We accept, but do not enthusiastically admire him. Deronda is a noble
character, but he in no sense represents the largest things of which a
social leader is capable. He disappoints and is weak, and he has no power
to create the highest kind of leadership. In other words, he is not a great
man. The world's reformers have been of another temper and mettle. He is no
Mazzini, no Luther. George Eliot's social theories loft no room for such
men. They were superfluous in her social system. The man not to be
explained by heredity and tradition had no place in her books; and no
genius, no great man, can ever be explained by heredity and tradition
alone.
George Eliot evidently desired to destroy individualism as a social force.
The individual, according to her teaching, is to renounce himself for the
sake of the race. He is to live, not as a personal being, but as a member
of the social organization; to develop his altruistic nature, not to
perfect his personal character. The finer flavor of personality is brushed
mercilessly away by this method.
Reason needs to be justified in opposition to her excessive praise of
feeling. Meanwhile, the capacity of man to live a life higher than that of
his social state is to be asserted. He is indeed a member of humanity, but
humanity does not absorb him to the cost of his personality. Life is strong
in those ages in which the individual is able to assert his own
personality, in opposition to what is imperfect and untrue in the life of
his time. This failure to recognize the worth and capacity of the
individual is a most serious defect in George Eliot's work, and mars it in
many directions. A very competent critic has shown how serious is the
limitation arising in this manner, and permeating her books with a false
conception of life.
"So far as George Eliot's life is concerned," says Mr. Stopford Brooke,
"she was eager in her self-development, and as eager in her sympathies.
But it was a different matter in the main drift of her work. She lowered
the power of individualism. Nay, she did not believe in its having any
self-caused or God-caused existence. Few have individualized their
characters more than she did, and of these characters we have many distinct
types. But she individualized them with, I may say, almost the set purpose
of showing that their individualism was to be sacrificed to the general
welfare of the race. The more her characters cling to their individuality
the more they fail in reaching happiness or peace. If they are noble
characters, they are finally obliged, through their very nobility, to
surrender all their ideals, all their personal hopes, all the individual
ends they hoped to develop; and they reach peace finally only through utter
surrender of personality in humanity. The characters in her books who do
not do this, who cling to their individuality and maintain it, succeed in
life, for the most part, if they are strong; are broken to pieces if they
are weak; but in all cases, save one, are not the noble but the ignoble
characters. The whole of her books is a suppressed attack on individualism,
and an exaltation of self-renunciation as the only force of progress, as
the only ground of morality. I leave aside here, as apart from the moral
side of the subject, the view that individual power or weakness of any kind
is the consequence of the past, of race, of physical causes. What a man is
found to do is not affected by that, in her view.... No one can deny that
the morality is a lofty one, and, as far as it asserts self-renunciation,
entirely useful; we have with all our hearts to thank George Eliot for that
part of her work. But when sacrifice of self is made, in its last effort,
equivalent to the sacrifice of individuality, the doctrine of
self-renunciation is driven to a vicious extreme. It is not self-sacrifice
which is then demanded, it is suicide ... Fully accepted, it would reduce
the whole of the human race to hopelessness. That, indeed, is the last
result. A sad and fatal hopelessness of life broods over all the nobler
characters. All their early ideals are sacrificed, all their early joys
depart, all the pictures they formed are blotted out. They gain peace
through renunciation, after long failure; some happiness in yielding to the
inevitable, and harmonizing life with it; and some blessedness in doing all
they can for the progress of those who follow them, for the good of those
that are with them. Their self is conquered, not through ennoblement of
personality, but through annihilation of personality. And having
surrendered their separate personality, they then attain the fitting end,
silence forevermore. It is no wonder that no characters are so sad, that
none steep the reader in such hopelessness of joy, as the noble characters
of the later works of George Eliot. They want the mighty power, the
enkindling hopes, the resurrection of life, the joy and rapture which
deepens towards death and enables man to take up the ideals of youth
again."
If too severe in some directions, this criticism is substantially sound. It
does not matter what theory of personality we adopt, in a philosophical
sense, if that theory upholds personal confidence and force of will. If it
does not do this, the whole result is evil. This lack of faith in
personality saddened all the work done by George Eliot. In theory a
believer in an ever-brightening future, and no pessimist, yet the outcome
of her work is dark with despondency and grief.
Life is sad, hard and ascetic in her treatment of it. An ascetic tone runs
through all her work, the result of her theories of renunciation. The same
sternness and cheerlessness is to be seen in the poetry and painting of the
pre-Raphaelites. The joy, freshness and sunniness of Raphael is not to be
found in their work. Life is painful, puritanic and depressing to them. Old
age seems to be upon them, or the decadence of a people that has once been
great. Human nature does not need that this strain be put upon it. Life is
stronger when more assertive of itself. It has a right to assert itself in
defiance of mere rules, and only when it does so is it true and great. The
ascetic tone is one of the worst results of a scientific view of the world
as applied to literature; for it is thoroughly false both in fact and in
sentiment. The strong, hopeful, youthful look at life is the one which
literature demands, and because it is the nearest the heart and spirit of
life itself. The dead nation produces a dead literature. The age made
doubtful by an excess of science produces a literature burdened with
sadness and pain. Great and truthful as it may be, it lacks in power to
conquer the world. It shows, not the power of Homer, but the power of
Lucretius.
Her altruism has its side of truth, but not all of the truth is in it. Any
system of thought which sees nothing beyond man is not likely to find that
which is most characteristic in man himself. He is to be fathomed, if
fathomed at all, by some other line than that of his own experience. If he
explains the universe, the universe is also necessary to explain him. Man
apart from the supersensuous is as little to be understood as man apart
from humanity. He belongs to a Universal Order quite as much as he belongs
to the human order. Man may be explained by evolution, but evolution is not
to be explained by anything in the nature of man. It requires some larger
field of vision to take note of that elemental law. Not less true is it
that mind does not come obediently under this method of explanation, that
it demands account of how matter is transformed into thought. The law of
thought needs to be solved after mind is evolved.
There is occasion for surprise that a mind so acute and logical as George
Eliot's did not perceive that the evolution philosophy has failed to settle
any of the greater problems suggested by Kant. The studies of Darwin and
Spencer have certainly made it impossible longer to accept Locke's theory
of the origin of all knowledge in individual experience, but they have not
in any degree explained the process of thought or the origin of ideas. The
gulf between the physiological processes in the brain and thought has not
been bridged even by a rope walk. The total disparity of mind and matter
resists all efforts to reduce them to one. The utmost which the evolution
philosophy has so far done, is to attempt to prove that mind is a function
of matter or of the physiological process. This conclusion is as far as
possible from being that of the unity of mind and matter.
That man is very ignorant, and that this world ought to demand the greater
share of his attention and energies, are propositions every reasonable
person is ready to accept. Granted their truth, all that is necessarily
true in agnosticism has been arrived at. It is a persistent refusal to see
what lies behind outward facts which gives agnosticism all its practical
justification. Art itself is a sufficient refutation of the assertion that
we know nothing of what lies behind the apparent. That we know something of
causes, every person who uses his own mind may be aware. At the same time,
the rejection of the doctrine of rights argues obedience to a theory,
rather than humble acceptance of the facts of history. That doctrine of
rights, so scorned by George Eliot, has wrought most of the great and
wholesome social changes of modern times. Her theory of duties can show no
historic results whatever.