Jane Eyre Talks Back

A literary heroine of the 19th century has some words with a literary hero of the 20th century

I’m finally back with another full post! I owe

Jessica Risma

’s post, Revisiting Lazy Murder a shout out for inspiration. Highly recommended reading!

It is a beautiful thing to hear books speaking with one another. Developing the skills to “listen in” on these conversations was one of the most rewarding aspects of my undergraduate great books major: Notre Dame’s Program of Liberal Studies. Though I can no longer spend the majority of my time reading, writing about, and discussing the great books, commonplacing is one way I can still open my ears to hear their conversations. While flipping through my commonplace book in search of inspiration for my next post, I found myself drawn into an unexpected dialogue between two recent rereads: Jane Eyre and The Age of Innocence.

The dialogue originated with Newland Archer, the main character of The Age of Innocence, which centers on New York City’s aristocracy during the Gilded Age. Newland, a member of this aristocracy, has fulfilled societal expectations by marrying May Welland. However, he is desperately in love with May’s cousin, Ellen Olenska. Ellen is also married, though living apart from her abusive husband. As the novel continues, Newland is increasingly determined to conduct a full-blown affair with Ellen. He contemplates this prospect in light of his own pre-marital affair with a married woman, Mrs. Thorley Rushworth:

“Now he saw the matter in a new light, and his part in it seemed singularly diminished. It was, in fact, that which, with a secret fatuity, he had watched Mrs. Thorley Rushworth play toward a fond and unperceiving husband: a smiling, bantering, humouring, watchful, and incessant lie….But in Archer’s little world no one laughed at a wife deceived, and a certain measure of contempt was attached to men who continued their philandering after marriage…Archer had always shared this view…[but] for the first time, Archer found himself face to face with the dread argument of the individual case. Ellen Olenska was like no other woman, he was like no other man: their situation, therefore, resembled no one else’s, and they were answerable to no tribunal but that of their own judgement.”

Newland Archer, like so many of us, finds it easy to judge others for their “sins,” (ironically, even as he aids and abets those sins). When not personally faced with temptation, it is easy to “share the view” of his “little world:” that men should not continue their “philandering” once married. However, once tempted, he justifies his own transgression of the ‘rules’ by appealing to “the dread argument of the individual case.” In his appeal to the “individual case,” Newland echoes the moral relativism of current society; we too refuse to submit to any “tribunal” (whether the tribunal of religious mores, natural law, or tradition) but “that of [our] own judgement.” Whenever we sin, whether as individuals or as a society, some part of our self-justification will always sound like Newland Archer’s: we are like no other man (or woman) and we are the exception to the rule. Like Newland, we believe our right to a perceived good is higher than the right of any outside “tribunal” to judge our actions.

To Newland Archer’s weak-willed surrender to the “dread argument of the individual case,” Jane Eyre offers a rebuttal. After learning that her intended, Mr. Rochester, is already married, Jane laments that she and Mr. Rochester must be forever separated. Or so she thinks. Mr. Rochester, though he can’t legally marry Jane, offers to make her his mistress. And Jane, despite possessing a moral compass far stronger than Newland Archer’s, is seriously tempted to accept the offer. After all, Mr. Rochester’s “marriage” to Bertha is hardly a healthy one. He was pressured into this marriage by an overbearing father, unaware of the congenital mental health issues prevalent in Bertha’s family. By Rochester’s account, Bertha was both unfaithful and intemperate before succumbing to madness. Surely the moral precepts surrounding marriage can be relaxed in such a unique case, when it can be argued that a true marriage no longer exists; if it ever did in the first place. Yet, Jane knows that the “dread argument of the individual case” is a hypocritical and hopeless excuse, and she refuses to bow down before it:

“I will keep the law given by God; sanctioned by man. I will hold to the principles received by me when I was sane, and not mad-as I am now. Laws and principles are not for times when there is no temptation: they are for such moments as this; when body and soul rise in mutiny against their rigour…If by my individual convenience I might break them, what would be their worth? They have a worth-I have always believed; and if I cannot believe it now, it is because I am insane-quite insane…preconceived opinions, foregone determinations are all I have at this hour to stand by; there I plant my feet.”

I read this remarkable passage, and I can barely restrain myself from cheering aloud for Jane Eyre. When Newland Archer’s “body and soul rise in mutiny” against the “laws and principles” of his society, he believes that such mutiny is a sign the laws and principles are themselves flawed. If not flawed, they are hardly applicable to his “situation,” which resembles no one else’s. As a result, they can be discarded. Jane knows that the opposite is, in fact, true. Laws and principles are not “for times when there is no temptation;” they are meant to serve as the firm ground on which we “stand” when buffeted by the tempests of unlawful desire. For Jane, it is not the laws and strictures of society that are “insane;” it is Jane herself who is “mad” for wishing to break them at “[her] individual convenience.” Though Jane, like Newland, believes that her beloved Mr. Rochester is a unique individual, and that their love is a unique love, she refuses to admit that they are thereby exempt from the “law given by God; sanctioned by man.”

In fact, Newland Archer, in contemplating an affair with Ellen Olenska, is employing arguments similar to those Mr. Rochester uses when he attempts to enter into a bigamous marriage with Jane Eyre. He asks Jane, who does not yet understand the full purport of his conversation, if a person would be “justified in overleaping an obstacle of custom—a mere conventional impediment which neither [their] conscience sanctifies nor [their] judgment approves” in order to secure the “society” of another who could help them to live a better life. Mr. Rochester, like Newland Archer, views the ‘rules’ surrounding marital relationships as mere “obstacle[s] of custom,” rather than reflections of objective moral “laws and principles.” Like Newland, Mr. Rochester believes that the goodness of his love (both the love itself and the object of his love), justifies his overcoming “a mere conventional impediment” in order to consummate that love. Like Newland, Mr. Rochester appeals to the “dread argument of the individual case,” believing that his “judgement” alone suffices to guide and direct his actions. Finally, like Newland, Mr. Rochester plans on resorting to a “watchful, incessant lie” in order to achieve his goals.

When Jane discovers Mr. Rochester’s duplicity, he repents of his lie, but not of his desire to live with Jane as man and wife, though they cannot be so in actuality. He attempts to convert Jane to his point of view, revealing the tragic history of his marriage. He also discusses previous mistresses with whom he sought solace in the wake of Bertha’s total descent into madness. He speaks of these mistresses with contempt, describing them as “inferiors” with whom he lived a “groveling fashion of existence.” Jane, in turn, realizes that, were she to “forget myself and all the teaching that had ever been instilled into me” so as to “become the successor of these poor girls,” Mr. Rochester will eventually think of her with the same disgust he feels for his past mistresses. Unlike Newland and Mr. Rochester, Jane is wise enough to know that when sinful means are used to achieve an otherwise good end (such as love and companionship), the good end is ultimately poisoned by the manner in which it was secured.

Jane’s internal declaration that she will hold fast to the moral principles whose “worth” she has always recognized, despite the “mutiny” of her “body and soul” against their “rigour,” comes just after Mr. Rochester’s final appeal that she “transgress a mere human law, no man being injured by the breach.” With Mr. Rochester’s words echoing Newland Archer’s own reasoning, Jane’s declaration is as applicable to Newland Archer as it is to Mr. Rochester. Jane and Newland are indeed in conversation with one another, despite their creators’ separation in time and space. And just as Jane abandons Mr. Rochester for his own good, Newland is abandoned by Ellen Olenska in an act of self-sacrifice.

Ellen, like Jane, knows that if she and her beloved embark on a long-term adulterous affair, they will truly cause “irreparable harm.” Ellen fears that a full-blown affair will degrade their love for one another; make it as mean and commonplace as the affairs conducted by others in their social set. Indeed, she begs Newland; “don’t let us be like all the others.” Newland’s arguments about their “individual case” notwithstanding, Ellen knows, deep down, that all such sins share a banal, degrading likeness. Such fears echoes the ones Jane has when she refuses to become the successor to Mr. Rochester’s previous mistresses, all of whom he now despises.

Unlike Jane, Ellen succumbs to temptation so far as to agree to spend one night with her beloved before leaving him forever. Such a concession leaves her open to the risk of entering into the long-term relationship she knows they ought to avoid. Indeed, after Ellen agrees to come to Newland just the one time, Newland prepares to permanently leave May for Ellen. However, May reveals to Archer what she has previously (and purposefully) revealed to Ellen: May is pregnant. Faced, in a new way, with the “irreparable harm” that would be caused by setting aside moral principles for her “individual convenience,” Ellen removes to Europe immediately, without meeting Newland for the promised one time. Both Jane and Ellen leave out of love, love for what they ultimately know to be right, love for their own sense of self-worth, and love for what is good in their feelings for their beloved, a good they do not wish to be sullied by the banality of sin.

I have outlined only a part of the fascinating conversation between these two books, and their characters, for there is more, so much more to listen to. I hope that those of you who have read these books are encouraged to listen for the rest of it on your own. Furthermore, I hope that, like me, you find yourself moving from being a listener, to being an active participant, in this dialogue. For in listening to Jane and Newland argue with one another about whether or not “laws and principles” can be set aside for the “dread argument of the individual case,” I find myself examining my own life. I recall those times when I too wanted a perceived good so badly, that I was willing to “mutiny” against the “rigor” of precepts I professed to be true. I remember all the times when I have judged with “contempt” those who succumb to selfishness and self-indulgence, only to find myself acting no better when faced with temptation. I think back to all the times I have sat in the confessional, repeating variations of the same theme: that in a moment of moral “insanity,” I believed myself to be “answerable to no tribunal but that of [my] own judgement.” And as Newland, and Jane, and Mr, Rochester, and Ellen know all too well, that judgement is a flawed one indeed. Such literary examinations of conscience are one of the truest (and most humbling, and most painful) pleasures that can come from reading. When our ears are open to hear bookish conversations, it turns out we open up our hearts too. Such vulnerability can seem frightening. In the end, though, it is always rewarding.

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