Paradoxical Duties

Thinking about when to speak up and when to endure patiently through Elizabeth Gaskell's 'Wives and Daughters'

My four-year-old son is a tender-hearted little boy. One of my favorite examples of this endearing quality is when we finish reading a book together and he says, with a contented sigh, “Oh, it had a happy ending!” From the mouths of babes. As my son reminds me, when we listen to, read, or watch a story with a happy ending, a deep-seated human need is satisfied.

Which is why I will forever have a love-hate relationship with Elizabeth Gaskell’s masterpiece, Wives and Daughters. In one of the greatest literary tragedies in history (at least in my opinion), Gaskell suddenly died before the final section was to be published in Cornhill Magazine. The final ‘chapter’ of the novel consists of a summary of Gaskell’s intentions, written by editor Frederick Greenwood. This is hardly satisfying, considering the unwritten section necessarily includes the reunion of two lovers who haven’t, yet, openly confessed their love for one another. ¹

Alas, we live in a vale of tears, and we must do our best to imagine the happy ending that wasn’t written, content in knowing that a happy ending was intended by the author. Indeed, it is to Gaskell’s credit that this unfinished book is still very much worth the read, as are all of her (completed) works. I owe my discovery of Elizabeth Gaskell to a high school senior I met when subbing for one of my coworkers. It’s nice to think that God’s providence applies to the smaller joys in life, as much as to the greater joys. For without this specific subbing job, I don’t know if, even now, I would have discovered Gaskell’s books. She is, unfortunately, a criminally underrated author.

Wives and Daughters, which was the Gaskell work specifically recommended by the student I talked to, centers around heroine Molly Gibson. Like Cinderella, Molly finds her home peace disturbed when her father suddenly remarries. Though his reasons for remarrying have everything to do with securing Molly’s happiness and well-being, his plan backfires fairly spectacularly. While the Cinderella comparison can be pushed too far, the parallels are obviously intended. The new Mrs. Gibson is selfish and foolish (if not truly malicious) and frequently hurts the long-suffering Molly. On the other hand, Molly’s step-sister, Cynthia, is beautiful and kind, rather than ugly and cruel. Despite observing (and being pained by) the deficiencies of Cynthia’s moral character, Molly comes to love her step-sister. Molly’s father remains alive and, like Molly herself, must suffer the consequences of his ill-advised marriage.

In addition to exploring the ways in which Molly adjusts to her blended family, the novel explores Molly’s relationship with, and influence on, the wider community of her provincial town. She becomes especially close with the Hamley family, landed gentry consisting of a father, an invalid mother, and two brothers. The Hamleys suffer through various tragedies throughout the course of the novel. As is the case with the Gibson family, misunderstandings, selfishnesses, and disparate personalities cause further discord. However, thanks to the efforts of Molly, both families arrive at some level of peace and reconciliation by the end of the story.

There is so much to love about this novel, including Gaskell’s social commentary and ridiculous supporting characters, which feel very Austen-esque. But it is Gaskell’s wonderful heroine that I love most. Molly is hardly an angelic Cinderella figure. She is a very human, and therefore very imperfect, young woman. Nevertheless, she possesses a strong moral compass, a well-formed conscience, and a compassionate heart. Much of the novel’s internal drama arises out of Molly’s attempts to answer a question at the heart of the moral life: how do we live out our convictions in the midst of an imperfect world? For Molly, the question of how to live out her ideals is especially troublesome when it comes to her home life, as she increasingly wrestles with the undeniable truth that her step-mother, and even her beloved step-sister, do not always behave as they ought.

On an afternoon walk she reflects on this fact, and what, if anything, she should do about it: “Something or other had happened just before she left home that made her begin wondering how far it was right for the sake of domestic peace to pass over without comment the little deviations from right that people perceive in those whom they live with. Or whether, as they are placed in families for distinct purposes, not by chance merely, there are not duties involved in this aspect of their lot in life,—whether by continually passing over failings, their own standard is not lowered…”

It’s a small aside in the novel, and one that’s easy to miss in the dramatic event following Molly’s reflection: Cynthia’s engagement to the man Molly is only beginning to realize she loves. But in my second read of Wives and Daughters, I found myself stopping and marking this passage for record in my commonplace journal. For it gets to the heart of one of the most difficult paradoxes in Christian life.

As Christians, we are called, among many other things, to two seemingly contradictory tasks. On the one hand, we must “go into all the world and preach the gospel to the whole creation.”² And preaching the gospel necessarily includes preaching about the reality of sin, both in our lives and the lives of others. When a brother sins, Jesus urges us to “go and tell him his fault, between you and him alone.”³

On the other hand, we are also called to forbear with our brothers and sisters, remembering very clearly that we ourselves are sinners. After all, Jesus also tells us that we must first take the “log” out of eyes before we can “see clearly to take the speck out of [our] brother’s eye.”⁴ St. Paul reminds us that we must “live peaceably” with all “so far as it depends on [us].”⁵ He also urges Christians to live with “lowliness and meekness, with patience, forbearing one another in love,” preserving unity as much as possible. ⁶

So, as Molly wonders, what are we to do when we perceive the “little deviations from right” in those with whom we associate? Should we “pass over without comment” these deviations, “forbearing” with these faults for the sake of preserving unity? Or do we acknowledge the “duties” we have to call others to repentance, pointing out their “failings” so that neither their “standards,” nor ours are, “lowered?”

God, in his wisdom, provides us with scriptural guidelines that steer us away from two dangerous extremes: the extreme of complete inaction when confronted with the sins of others, and the extreme of constant harping on the sins of others. In between those extremes, we must depend on the guidance of the Holy Spirit to discern when love of neighbor demands that we speak hard truths, and when it demands that we forbear with patient endurance.

Molly, like any well-formed Christian, is sensitive to the “little deviations from right” in those with whom she most closely associates. And this first point is important-Molly isn’t wondering about admonishing a stranger, or a mere acquaintance. She is wondering about how to deal with the sins of those she is closest to. Molly rightly believes that people “are placed in families for distinct purposes, not by chance merely.” Since this is so, Molly would seem to have a certain “right,” indeed a special duty, to care for the moral and spiritual welfare of her family. In addition, even as Molly worries about her step-mother and step-sister’s moral faults, she worries about the degrading influence they might have on her own conscience. She wants to avoid developing greater “logs” in her own eyes, having her moral vision clouded by “continually passing over” the “failings” of others.

In the spiritual life, Jesus invites all of us sinners into a familial relationship with himself as part of the process of calling us to repentance. At the Mass, he breaks bread and gathers around the table with sinners. He calls us his brothers and sisters. Rooted in that familial relationship, he is able to lovingly, and honestly, point out our sins. Molly, like Jesus, wishes to help those with whom she breaks bread. Furthermore, she is contemplating an intervention only after she has spent significant time with, (and in Cynthia’s case) developed genuine affection for, her new family members. Nor does Molly wish to confront Mrs. Gibson or Cynthia publicly. She knows the wisdom of Jesus’ directive to “go and tell the sinner [her] fault, between you and [her] alone.” For example, despite the ways in which Mrs. Gibson harries Molly, Molly never gossips or complains about her. When Cynthia speaks disparagingly of her mother, who has been as poor a parent to Cynthia as she is to Molly, Molly is disturbed and refuses to join in. If Molly is to do her step-mother any good by confrontation, she knows it must be completely private.

On the other hand, Molly genuinely struggles to discern if such a confrontation is desirable, or even necessary. She is well-aware that “domestic peace” is a desirable quality. She values, and continually practices, the traits of meekness, patience, and forbearance. She knows that she is young, and that it is possible her perception of Mrs. Gibson’s and Cynthia’s little deviations from right (as she thinks of them) is faulty. As the novel progresses, she comes to realize that though they are her family now, there is much Molly doesn’t understand, or even know, about Mrs. Gibson and Cynthia’s troubled past. The more she learns, the more compassion she feels for both Mrs. Gibson and Cynthia (Cynthia especially), realizing that their moral failings are colored by difficult circumstances. Finally, immediately after the passage as quoted, Molly grieves the fact that her father doesn’t act to correct his wife or his new step-daughter. Molly, again showing her wisdom, knows that there are times when a sinner needs to be admonished, but we may not be the ones best suited to do that admonishing.

Wives and Daughters doesn’t offer an easy answer to Molly’s dilemma, one she continues to wrestle with for the rest of the novel. In Gaskell’s novel as in the real world, when it comes to discerning how best to love our neighbor, difficulties abound. Nevertheless, we are called to try our best. And if we do so, we may hope, like Molly, to leave our families, our communities, and our world, better for our having been a part of them.

1. Thankfully the BBC made a pretty fantastic adaptation of the novel with their own ending. While not exactly what Gaskell envisioned (according to friends and editors), it is still lovely.

2. Mk 16:15 (All quotes from the Revised Standard Version of the Bible, Catholic Edition)

3. Mt 18:15

4. Mt 7:3-5

5. Rm 12:18

6. Eph 4:2-3