| The Return of the Wuthering Prejudice:
An Exploration of Love
Nora Kuby
Peter Bezanson
3/23/06
Gandhi once said that “it is the law of love that rules mankind” (387). However, Tolstoy also said through his character, Anna Karenina, “I think…if so many men, so many minds, certainly so many hearts, so many kinds of love” (130). Therefore, although it may well be that this “law” that Gandhi speaks of is ingrained within the constitution of all humanity, it is not immutable or confining by any means. Love is neither comprehensively definable nor objective in its nature. It exists to humans as a plethora of varying sensations—pure ardency, calculated admiration, altruistic concern, and physical lust are only a few of the distinctive manners in which a human can exhibit the quality that we, as a species, depend upon and have decided to classify singularly as “love.” It almost seems ridiculous that Elizabeth Bennett can call her thoughtful and analytical emotion by the same name that Heathcliff calls his avaricious and violent ardor. That the term “love” can encompass both the noble solicitude of Diggory Venn and the restless yearnings of Eustacia Vye is nearly inconceivable. Despite the jarring contrasts among them, these characters all pronounce their emotions to be love. Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice, Emily Brontë’s Wuthering Heights, and Thomas Hardy’s The Return of the Native each present an array of characters whom embody not only the aforementioned types of love, but also innumerable combinations and alterations of such forms. However, despite the large number of variations between what each character calls love, the most prominent contrast seems to be that between the rational and the passionate and the selfless and the selfish. These two categorizations of love, although not actually mentioned in Plato’s Symposium, seem to be mirrored in the speeches of many of the Greek philosophers.
In terms of its foundation, love can be either rational (based on reason) or not. Rational love, although always grounded in reason, manifests itself in various forms. Miss Elizabeth Bennett in Pride and Prejudice exemplifies the first of these forms. Elizabeth achieves rational love by performing an almost microscopic observation of Mr. Darcy—it is as if she cannot truly love someone until she has journeyed through a painstakingly analytic and cautious approach as a means of character assessment. Elizabeth’s rational mindset yields monumental success, evidenced through the stark juxtaposition between her initial and final opinion of Mr. Darcy. Her first impression, molded at the Meryton Ball, borders on disgust: “I should take him, even on my slight acquaintance, to be an ill-tempered man” (Austen 88). Only slightly later, her already negative opinion of Darcy worsens after hearing what she trusts as truth from Mr. Wickham:
I had not thought Mr. Darcy so bad as this—though I have never liked him, I had not thought so very ill of him—I had supposed him to be despising his fellow-creatures in general. But did not suspect him of descending to such malicious revenge, such injustice, such inhumanity as this! (Austen 91)
The irony in Elizabeth’s situation is that, although she is a primary example of one who approaches love rationally, she actually begins her journey irrationally, basing her initial convictions on gossip and hasty judgments. Interestingly enough, these mistakes only serve to prove her rationality; her original bias causes the emotional distance that she must traverse in order to finally love Mr. Darcy to become greater, requiring more exploration, scrutiny, and intuition on her part. Unlike many who harbor prejudice against someone, Elizabeth does not abandon either her curiosity towards or her observation of him. When asked by Darcy at the Netherfield Ball as to what purpose she is questioning him, she responds, “Merely to the illustration of your character…I am trying to make it out…I do not get on at all. I hear such different accounts of you as to puzzle me exceedingly” (Austen 107). In a determined fashion, Elizabeth then proceeds to piece together information, translate varied accounts, and gauge the credibility of her sources until she finally amasses enough evidence to overcome her prejudice. When Elizabeth finally announces to her father that she loves Darcy, she means it. She is not assuming anything by marrying for probable happiness. Rather, she is completely assured in her future contentment. Through her rational approach, she has discovered and realized that
…he [is] exactly the man who, in disposition and talents, [most suits] her. His understanding and temper, though unlike her own, would…answer all her wishes…by her ease and liveliness, his mind might [be] softened, his manners improved; and from his judgment, information, and knowledge of the world, she [might receive] benefit of greater importance. (Austen 347-48)
Where vehement prejudice once existed, love, once imposed, must be strong, and this strength directly results from Elizabeth’s rationality.
Elizabeth’s eventual love, although derived from reason, does, when all is said and done, result in a passionate relationship; that is to say, even though reason grounds her feelings, they are, once developed, warm and passionate as well. However, there are other examples of love that fall into this “rational category” that do not engender passion or real affection, but rather remain stable solely due to the initial reason. A prime example of this solely rational love can be seen in the character of Catherine Earnshaw in Wuthering Heights. Instead of approaching love like Elizabeth, Catherine uses what she believes to be reason as a formulaic rationale for marrying Edgar Linton—it is as if she is trying to convince herself to engage in a relationship that will establish her not as a continuance of who she is, but rather who she wants to be. Catherine’s true self lies in the wild, yet exhilarating recklessness exhibited most clearly in her childhood—a recklessness delightfully shared with her cherished companion, Heathcliff:
…[F]rom the hour she came downstairs till the hour she went to bed, we had not a minute’s security that she wouldn’t be in mischief. Her spirits were always at high-water mark, her tongue always going—singing, laughing, and plaguing everybody who would not do the same. A wild, wicked slip she was—but she had the bonniest eye, the sweetest smile…She was much too fond of Heathcliff…They both promised fair to grow up as rude as savages…[I]t was one of their chief amusements to run away to the moors in the morning and remain there all day…(Brontë 52-53, 58)
However, after a five-week stay with the Lintons, a respectable and wealthy neighboring family, Catherine becomes somewhat tamer and, as a result of the higher society, sophisticated and polite. Enjoying the company of the young Lintons, Edgar and Isabella, while still relishing that spent with Heathcliff as much as ever “…led her to adopt a double character without exactly intending to deceive any one” (Brontë 83). Catherine’s duality of character is mirrored by the setting in which she spent her youth; the heath’s majestic grandeur coupled with its dark and tempestuous violence mirror her internal struggle. Although Catherine believes that she craves a life of stability and material comfort, she in reality, does not, and it is this misconception that shapes her decision to accept Edgar’s hand in marriage. A conversation with her servant, Nelly, clearly manifests her attempted, yet inherently flawed, undertaking:
‘Why do you love him, Miss Cathy?’
‘Nonsense, I do—that’s sufficient.’
‘By no means; you must say why.’
‘Well, because he is handsome and pleasant to be with.’
‘Bad!’…
‘And because he is young and cheerful.’
‘Bad still.’
‘And because he loves me…[a]nd he will be rich, and I shall like to be the greatest woman in the neighborhood, and I shall be proud of having such a husband.’…
‘You love Mr. Edgar because he is handsome, and young, and cheerful, and rich, and loves you. The last, however, goes for nothing: you would love him without that probably; and with it you wouldn’t, unless he possessed the four former attractions.’ (Brontë 97)
Although not superficial in its entirety, the bulk of Catherine’s argument is frail and impotent. She is not, as Elizabeth did, treading reason as a pathway to love, blending emotion with thought; instead, she attempts to justify her decision in the moment and, in so doing, completely disregards her existing sentiment for Heathcliff. Even sadder than neglecting her strong feelings for Heathcliff is the fact that she can acknowledge such negligence, but still marry Edgar. “‘Here! And here!’ replied Catherine, striking one hand on her forehead, and the other on her breast: ‘in whichever place the soul lives. In my soul and in my heart, I’m convinced I’m wrong!’” (Brontë 98). Later, before dying of a violent illness, Catherine tells Edgar that she no longer wants him and that her soul is somewhere else (Brontë 159). Therefore, not only does Catherine fail to eventually enhance her rational love with passionate ardency, as was done by Elizabeth Bennet, but she utterly fails to maintain any love, reason-based or not, for Edgar. Catherine Earnshaw’s example qualifies as one of rational love solely in that it is an attempt at love through reason. Next are instances of those who, though not as triumphant as Elizabeth, find love through reason in their own respective ways and with greater success than Catherine.
In addition to Elizabeth’s character assessment and Catherine’s rationale formation, there is one final type of rational “love”—one in which, although the passion and true sentiments generally associated with love are not fully attained, is sufferable due to the specific disposition and motives of the character in question. Two characters that most embody this approach to love are Thomas Hardy’s Thomasin Yeobright and Jane Austen’s Charlotte Lucas. Thomasin Yeobright’s outlook on love seems to stem from the influence of the place in which she lives. Egdon Heath is described by Hardy as “a place perfectly accordant with man’s nature—neither ghastly, hateful, nor ugly: neither commonplace, unmeaning, nor tame; but like man, slighted and enduring…It had a lonely face, suggesting tragical possibilities” (5). This mediocre depiction of mankind seen through Hardy’s description of the landscape is mirrored in Thomasin’s expression of her feelings for her fiancé, Damon Wildeve: “I am a practical woman now. I don’t believe in hearts at all. I would marry him under any circumstances…I do not plead for him, aunt. Human nature is weak, and I am not a blind woman to insist that he is perfect. I did think so, but I don’t now” (Hardy 141-42). Thomasin’s sense of reason justifies her love for Damon in that it inspires her realization that man is inherently flawed, and therefore, by lowering her expectations, she is able to love him in the same way that a perfectionist could love one who is completely flawless. Due to her somewhat pessimistic, but more importantly, reasonable disposition, Thomasin is able to find love in one like Damon, whose enduring passion for another woman, Eustacia Vye, throughout their marriage, proves that he is far from perfect.
Similarly to Thomasin, Charlotte Lucas possesses a nature that renders a generally lacking marriage to be perfectly adequate for her personal tastes. Mr. Collins, the man whom she marries, is atrociously bothersome, tedious, and affected—qualities that she is more than well aware of when she consents to his proposal. However, Charlotte holds a specific view of matrimony that consequently justifies her decision with respect to her motives:
I am not a romantic, you know. I never was. I ask only a comfortable home; and considering Mr. Collins’s character, connections, and situation in life, I am convinced that my chance of happiness with him is as fair as most people can boast on entering the marriage state. (Austen 144)
Because Charlotte has no aspirations or expectations for traditional romantic love, the “love” for which she is seeking is merely a sense of security in the world. Because this stability will bring her happiness (happiness generally being the primary object of love), it suffices to say that Charlotte’s rationality, by discovering that romantic love holds no allure for her, has led her to acquire what is, for her, real love. Charlotte and Thomasin’s love, which lies in decreased expectations, Catherine’s, which hardly qualifies as love due to her blatant denial of emotion, and Elizabeth’s, which is built on reason, although very different from one another, produce an extremely different effect than those that are not characterized by reason.
When love is not grounded in reason, it falls into the category of passionate love. Whether based on the illogical notion of “love at first sight,” deeply rooted in an impressionable childhood, or grounded in metaphysical concepts, passionate love is, by far, the hardest to define, explain, and comprehend. Perhaps the most passion-based love in any of the three novels is that which occurs between Catherine and Heathcliff. Corresponding to the well-known, and perhaps trite concept of “soul mates,” this subset of passionate love, exemplified in Catherine and Heathcliff’s relationship, directly parallels that which the character of Aristophanes describes in Plato’s Symposium. In his speech, Aristophanes shares the story of what he believes to be the origin of the human race. He claims that human beings used to exist as round, double-sided creatures, each possessing double the traits that they now do (that is to say, four arms, two faces…). When these creatures became overly ambitious and stormed the heavens, Zeus, as a punishment, split each of them in half, causing them to become the single-sided human beings with which we are familiar today. According to Aristophanes, it is due to this bodily division that
…the innate desire of human beings for each other started. It draws the two halves of our original nature back together and tries to make one out of two and to heal the wound in human nature. Each of us is a matching half of a human being…and each of us is looking for his own matching half. (Plato 24)
Although the myth behind this theory is blatantly ridiculous, the final idea in itself is not. The similarities between this legend and passionate love are evident in Catherine’s sentiments regarding Heathcliff: “Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same” (Brontë 100). This statement shows that, for Catherine, love is almost a material oneness. She believes that, regardless of her marriage to Edgar, an eternal and unbreakable connection does, and always will, exist between her and Heathcliff:
My great miseries in this world have been Heathcliff’s miseries, and I watched and felt each from the beginning: my great thought in living is himself. If all else perished, and he remained, I should still continue to be, and if all else remained, and he were annihilated, the universe would turn to a mighty stranger…My love for Heathcliff resembles the eternal rocks beneath: a source of little visible delight, but necessary. Nelly, I am Heathcliff! He’s always, always on my mind: not as a pleasure, any more than I am always a pleasure to myself, but as my own being. (Brontë 102)
As is shown above, not only does Catherine feel inherently intermingled and united with Heathcliff, but she cannot even explain the reason behind such a connection. This element of mystery can be seen in the fact that she claims not to view Heathcliff as a “pleasure” or a “source of delight,” but still as “necessary.” Aristophanes’ description of love seems to corroborate this enigma: “When [someone] meets the very person who is his other half, he is overwhelmed…with affection, concern, and love. These are people who live out whole lifetimes together, but still couldn’t say what it is that they want from each other” (Plato 25). He later suggests that what these “soul mates” want from each other is simply to be fused into one, and that therefore, “love,” by definition, is “the pursuit of wholeness” (Plato 26). This explanation corresponds with Catherine and Heathcliff’s earthy love in that it explains why both seem to lack the “wholeness” that Aristophanes mentions (because they never marry and find happiness together). Catherine makes her incompleteness unmistakably clear when speaking to Nelly: “I [have] been wrenched from the Heights, and every early association, and my all in all, as Heathcliff was at that time, and been converted at a stroke into Mrs. Linton…You may fancy a glimpse of the abyss where I [have] groveled!” (Brontë 156). Heathcliff’s incompleteness is even more apparent. When Catherine dies, he cries, “I cannot live without my life! I cannot live without my soul!” as if to say that a part of himself has been buried in the soil in the form of Catherine (Brontë 208).
Although Catherine and Heathcliff’s relationship is an almost perfect illustration of Aristophanes’ theory, another possible reason for their deep-rooted love and joint sense of existence lies in the fact that they spent their childhood together at Wuthering Heights. The famous Victorian poet, Alfred Lord Tennyson once said, “I am a part of all that I have met…” This statement seems to imply that one’s experiences determine who one is. Thus, Catherine is a part of her experiences, and they of her; Heathcliff is defined by his experiences, and his mirror Catherine’s. The two spent almost the entirety of their early lives together—whether discovering the surrounding heath, causing mischief, or crying over the death of a loved one, they did it together. In a world modeled after Tennyson’s statement—that is, a world in which our experiences define us, Catherine and Heathcliff are synonymous with one another. With Catherine being a part of the heath, and Heathcliff a part of the Heights; with the Heights shaping Catherine, and Catherine in turn shaping Heathcliff, the identities of the two become so organically and spiritually intermingled that loving each other becomes no greater of a task than knowing themselves. The eternal love represented by Catherine and Heathcliff is, perhaps, the deepest form of love of all—however, that is not to say that it is the best, simply that it is the most deeply rooted. This type of passionate love is, however, extremely rare due to the convention that generally only siblings grow up together. Heathcliff, however, is an adopted orphan, thus enabling such a connection and passionate bond to take root.
Another form of passionate love can be seen in Eustacia Vye, the sensuous yet “saturnine” heroine in The Return of the Native (Hardy 63). Hardy describes Eustacia as “the raw material of a divinity…She had the passions and instincts to make a model goddess, that is, those which make not quite a model woman (58). Eustacia, as described here, seems to be the living embodiment of higher ideals that have been tragically shoved into an insufficient human shell. She possesses “celestial imperiousness, love, wrath, and fervour,” but appears to be abandoned in a mortal world that can neither appreciate nor reciprocate her lofty sentiments:
To be loved to madness—such was her great desire. Love was to her the one cordial that could drive away the eating loneliness of her days. And she seemed to long for the abstraction called passionate love more than for any particular lover. (Hardy 60-61)
Therefore, although Eustacia knows exactly what she needs to be happy, she is not able to experience such happiness because she is attempting to invest something impalpable into a mortal, human relationship. The impracticality of the love she vainly seeks is evident in her remarks to Damon Wildeve: “I should hate it to be all smooth. Indeed, I think I like you to desert me a little once now and then. Love is the dismallest thing where the lover is quite honest…Don’t you offer me tame love, or away you go!” (Hardy 74). Eustacia only desires love in its most overwhelming, extreme, and ardent form, a form that can only exist for a short time by the very essence of its own strength. As Hardy phrases it, for Eustacia “[a] blaze of love, and extinction, was better than a lantern glimmer of the same which should last long years” (Hardy 62). This notion results in a conundrum: Eustacia experiences real love through her passionate approach, but she is unable to sustain her consequent happiness due to an emotional and almost inhuman restlessness. Unlike Catherine’s passionate love, which, although ardent, is based on tangible human experience and abstract ideals, Eustacia’s love, is too passionate to ever be realized, and hence, not as successful.
Another factor that serves to distinguish between different manifestations of love lies in how much each lover regards himself with reference to his beloved. The first possibility is that of selfishness: he loves his partner, but in the sense that he loves the effects that his partner has on him. It should be noted, however, that although the word “selfish” typically connotes negativity, it should not be assumed that this connotation is always the case until further examination. Selfish love does not necessarily imply that he does not love his significant other as a person, but rather that his goal is to gain something for himself through that relationship. This clarification is logical because he would only selfishly desire to gain a person for himself because he loves that person or their qualities in the first place. Therefore, selfish love is not purely, but primarily, based on self-interest. The second type of love with regard to self is selfless love. Selfless love occurs when he loves his partner regardless of his partner’s effects on himself. Although a selfless lover may desire his partner somewhat selfishly, that is to say, for himself, the primary purpose of his love is the welfare of the other person. Selfless love, like the selfish, is not black and white.
The most explicit example of selfish love can be see in Heathcliff’s feelings for Catherine. When Catherine dies, it is clear that Heathcliff has a separate motive for loving her in addition to, or perhaps even instead of, her well-being:
May she wake in torment…I pray one prayer—I repeat it till my tongue stiffens—Catherine Earnshaw, may you not rest as long as I am living! You said I killed you—haunt me, then…Be with me always—take any form—drive me mad! Only do not leave me in this abyss, where I cannot find you! Oh, God! it is unutterable! (Brontë 208)
Wishing away the eternal peace of one’s avowed lover is blatantly selfish; although not intentionally done for the purpose of injuring one’s lover, it sacrifices the beloved’s eternal bliss for the sake of one’s own earthly happiness. Although it may not seem to be the case that Heathcliff is putting his own happiness over that of Catherine because Heathcliff is not “happy” in the conventional sense while Catherine haunts him, the completeness that he feels when she is with him translates into his own form of happiness. As twisted as this happiness may be, the fact that he gains it at the expense of Catherine makes his actions selfish. This selfishness is especially visible when juxtaposed with the words of Nelly. Even Nelly, who generally disapproved of Catherine while she lived, prayed that Catherine would “wake…kindly in the other world” (Brontë 208). Heathcliff’s violent sentiment most likely results from the sheer magnitude of his love for Catherine: “If [Edgar] loved with all the powers of his puny being, he couldn’t love as much in eighty years as I could in a day” (Brontë 185). An interesting aspect of Heathcliff is that because his love is so powerful, it actually has an extremely fragile nature. That is to say that, because his love is so passionate and vehement, a turn of events can quickly engender a transformation from love to what seems to border on hate, as happens when Catherine dies. The rash propensity of selfish love most likely results from its foundation; because passionate love is generally built on something unexplainable, mysterious, or, one could say, irrational, it is not difficult to imagine that the death of a loved one could irrationally or mysteriously convert that love into hate, even though it is not the beloved’s fault that she died. However, this is not to say that passionate love is irrational and always tends towards selfishness, but rather that it may seem irrational due to the fact that we cannot always comprehend its exact foundation. Therefore, in the case of Heathcliff’s feelings for Catherine, the selfish love exhibited evolves from the already existing passionate love that he harbors.
The next instance of selfish love is also typified by a passionate lover: Eustacia Vye. Eustacia’s love for Clym Yeobright is selfish in many ways. First, her love is selfish in a material way—Eustacia had always been weary of her surroundings and the immensely dull life she believed to stem from such an atmosphere. When Clym arrives to Egdon on a visit, Eustacia is already looking to take advantage of the opportunities that a relationship with him could provide: “A young and clever man was coming into that lonely heath from, of all contrasting places in the world, Paris. It was like a man coming from heaven” (Hardy 98). Based on such self-centered desires as these, the ensuing relationship will always contain an element of selfish love. However, as she later begins to know him, Eustacia does claim to actually love Clym, and she assures him of this fact: “Don’t mistake me, Clym: though I should like Paris, I love you for yourself alone. To be your wife and live in Paris would be heaven to me; but I would rather live with you in a hermitage here…” (Hardy 180). Although this sentiment, if it is to be believed, somewhat compensates for the original motive, the fact that the initial act of loving was created so self absorbedly most likely translates into a selfishness that can never fully disappear.
Eustacia’s love seems to have no real motivation other than her hope of reaching Paris someday. However, as is shown above, she does proclaim her love for Clym regardless of his ability to realize this dream. Therefore, there must be something other than his Parisian background that encourages her love—another aspect of Clym’s nature. Interestingly enough, Eustacia and Clym seem to be fundamental opposites of one another: “Take all the varying hates felt by Eustacia Vye towards the heath, and translate them into loves, and you have the heart of Clym” (Hardy 157). The pair’s different standpoints regarding the world as a whole also evidence their contrast in character: “Yeobright loved his kind…He wished to raise the class at the expense of the individual rather than individuals at the expense of the class. What was more, he was ready at once to be the first unit sacrificed” (Hardy 155). Clym’s genuinely generous and optimistic nature is strongly juxtaposed with Eustacia’s resentful, pessimistic disposition: “I have not much love for my fellow-creatures. Sometimes I quite hate them” (Hardy 168). Therefore, although Eustacia’s love is fundamentally selfish, the fact that she, being so selfish, can love one who is so selfless, raises the possibility that she may harbor at least some sort of “good” motive for loving Clym, unconscious as it may be. This sentiment partially diminishes Eustacia’s overall selfishness, but even if this saving grace did exist, it would not be enough to eclipse the mainly selfish groundwork for the relationship. Therefore, we will continue to view Eustacia’s sentiments as an example of selfish love.
Selfless love fundamentally differs from selfish love. There seems to exist two forms of selfless love, evident within two separate characters: Fitzwilliam Darcy in Pride and Prejudice and Diggory Venn in The Return of the Native. In the first form, the lover performs a selfless action for the purpose of attaining the love that he desires (in the hope that his action will form the basis of a relationship). However, this is not to say that the lover performed the action solely to spark the said relationship—that would be a form of selfish love. Rather, this form of selfless love implies that although the lover wants his partner to be happy by any means, if possible, he would prefer it to be with him. In the second form of selfless love, the lover performs a selfless action for his loved one without regard to himself. Of course, this type of selfless lover would delight in being in a relationship with his beloved if he knew that the relationship would make his partner happy, but this urge for reciprocation is not at all the purpose or meaning of his love. To be clearer, the first form contains within itself the actual hope of eventually obtaining the object of its selflessness, whereas the second does not.
The character who best represents the first form of selfless love is Mr. Darcy in Pride and Prejudice. The selfless action that Darcy performs is in response to a calamity that befalls Elizabeth’s family. When Elizabeth’s sister, Lydia, shamefully elopes with George Wickham, the Bennets are left in a state of social embarrassment and despair. All seems lost until Darcy unexpectedly saves the Bennet family, locating as well as settling Lydia in a somewhat proper state of marriage. Elizabeth immediately realizes the selflessness of Darcy’s actions:
[H]e had taken on himself all the trouble and mortification attendant on such a research; in which supplication had been necessary to a woman whom he must abominate and despise, and where he was reduced to meet,…reason with, persuade, and finally bribe, the man whom he had always most wished to avoid, and whose very name it was punishment to him to pronounce…Her heart did whisper that he had done it for her…They owed the restoration of Lydia, her character, everything to him. (Austen 364-365)
The fact that Darcy, a mature and respectable man, was able to put his pride aside solely for Elizabeth’s happiness and reputation, especially when, in the process, he had to help the very man whom had once done him so much wrong, clearly demonstrates the depth of his love for Elizabeth. Even more astounding is the fact that Darcy did all this for a woman who had formerly rejected his proposals, mortifying his pride. However, although Darcy’s action is extremely selfless, he continues to harbor the hope that Elizabeth could love him, and this hope makes it quite likely that his action was aimed not only to secure Elizabeth’s happiness, but also to procure her affection additionally. This hope is made clear when he later proposes for a second time, hoping that Elizabeth’s feelings have changed. However, if there are, due to this second proposal, any doubts as to whether Darcy’s actions truly are selfless, the following statement should remove them: “If your feelings are still what they were last April, tell me so at once. My affections and wishes are unchanged, but one word from you will silence me on this subject forever” (Austen 409-410). Here, Darcy makes it clear that although he wishes to marry Elizabeth, he will abandon his pursuit the moment that she asks him to do so. Therefore, his former action remains almost entirely altruistic.
The character who best represents the second and stronger form of selfless love is Diggory Venn, a peasant boy who loves Thomasin Yeobright. One day, Venn encounters a distressed Thomasin on the heath—her intended wedding with Damon Wildeve had not taken place that day as planned due to the fickleness of her fiancé. Venn, still in love with Thomasin, who had rejected his proposals long before, happily gives her a ride home in his cart:
[S]till loving her well, [Venn] was excited by this accidental service to her at a critical juncture to vow an active devotion to her cause…After what had happened, it was impossible that he should not doubt the honesty of Wildeve’s intentions. But her hope was apparently centered upon him; and dismissing his regrets Venn determined to aid her to be happy in his own chosen way. That this way was, of all others, the most distressing to himself, was awkward enough; but [his] love was generous. (Hardy 72)
Venn’s selfless nature is clearly apparent in the above excerpt. Even though he believes that Thomasin’s fiancé, Wildeve, is unfaithful, Venn understands that Wildeve makes Thomasin happy. He therefore resigns himself to doing whatever he can to assist Thomasin in her course of happiness. The generous Venn aids Thomasin for no motive but her own happiness, and this motive remains strong despite his memory of her harsh and definite refusal to his proposals: “I cannot, Diggory, marry you, or think of letting you call me your sweetheart…it is better that we should not meet” (Hardy 71). After such a rejection, Venn cannot possibly sustain any hope of Thomasin’s reciprocated love. This instance, at first glance, seems fairly similar to Darcy and Elizabeth’s situation. Therefore, one might ask why, if Darcy continued to harbor hope for Elizabeth’s love after rejection, Venn could not do the same. The answer to this question lies in the fact that Darcy was able to remain hopeful because Elizabeth rejected him based on assumptions of his character that he knew to be false. Venn, however, knows that Thomasin was aware of the truth of his nature and situation when she declined his affections. Thus, we can assume that Venn now, as he continues to love Thomasin, entertains no hope that Thomasin will return his affection. Therefore, Venn’s love is completely and undeniably unselfish. Later on, Venn, knowing that Wildeve is having an affair with Eustacia, attempts to persuade Eustacia to abandon her interest in Wildeve so that Wildeve and Thomasin can be married. Venn’s action seems similar to Darcy’s in that each aims at patching up a scandalous situation for the sake of a loved one. However, unlike Darcy, who was patching up a shameful elopement for the sake of Elizabeth’s reputation and familial happiness, Venn attempts to secure Thomasin and Wildeve’s marriage for the sake of Thomasin’s heart and romantic happiness. This fact only furthers the selflessness of Venn’s action—not only does he have no aims in securing Thomasin for himself, but, instead of helping her simply in a material way, as Darcy did Elizabeth, Venn also aids Thomasin in finding what she believes to be love. Venn’s action requires significantly more generosity and selflessness than Darcy’s due to the fact that Venn’s basically renounces any hope whatsoever in obtaining Thomasin’s hand. Darcy’s action on the other hand, although selfless, does not separate him from Elizabeth in the same way that Venn’s does him from Thomasin.
Now that the broad spectrum of love has been examined in its myriad of forms and peculiarities, there only remains to discover the relative quality of each. For, in The Symposium, Pausanias states that “Every activity in itself is neither right nor wrong…So not every type of loving and Love is right and deserves to be praised, but only the type that motivates us to love rightly” (Plato 13). Thus, the question to be answered pertains to which of the four forms of love that have been discussed—rational, passionate, selfish, and selfless—are considered to be “right.” With regard to selfish and selfless love, The Symposium seems to advocate the selfless over the selfish. In Pausanias’ speech, when speaking of the homoerotic relationship between the “lover” and the “boyfriend,” he says, “Our view is that if someone is willing to put himself at someone else’s service in the belief that the other person will help him improve in wisdom or some other aspect of virtue, the willing slavery isn’t wrong…” (Plato 16). Therefore, for a relationship to be “right” according to Pausanias, it must be both symbiotic and mutual in its nature. Although, in this case, the two partners are giving each other different things, both are giving something, and that is what seems to be important. It is not the particulars that count—although Plato is writing about homoerotic love, his words, like the rest of The Symposium, may be applied to heterosexual relationships as well. And, although the “gratification” mentioned here implies a sexual act, the critical idea to recognize is that in order for a relationship to be “right,” it must exist in both directions. Pausanias seems to exalt this type of love, when done correctly, above all others: “…[I]t is absolutely right to gratify a lover in the hope of gaining virtue. This is the heavenly love that…is a source of great value to the city and to individuals because it forces the lover to pay attention to his own virtue and the boyfriend to do the same” (Plato 17). Therefore, Heathcliff, as an example of a selfish lover, would not fit the mold that Pausanias has created for a member of a “right” relationship. By wishing Catherine to haunt the earth for the sake of his own pleasure, Heathcliff has completely ignored his lover’s desires, and consequently the relationship is “wrong.”
As much as Plato critiques selfish love, he champions selfless love. Phaedrus, in his speech comments that “[I]t’s only lovers who are willing to die for someone else” (Plato 11). Phaedrus mentions a story in which a woman died for her husband, noting, “…how much …the gods value[d] [her] commitment and courage that came from love” (Plato 11). For the ancient Greeks, the gods represented the highest morality; therefore, the fact that Phaedrus mentions how fondly the gods looked upon sacrifice and selfless love shows just how much Plato advocates selfless love through his character. Furthermore, if Plato admires the selfless love between a husband and wife, imagine how much honorable regard he would bestow on one such as Diggory Venn, who, without any reciprocation of sentiments from the object of his love, still practices selfless love.
With regard to rational and passionate love, The Symposium seems to elevate the passionate over the rational. When discussing the true object of love, Diotima, a female philosopher, claims that it is “[r]eproduction and birth in beauty” (Plato 44). Having prior to this claim stated that “…love is the desire to have the good forever” because love is the desire for beauty and the good is beautiful, Diotima justifies her definition of the object of love by stating that you cannot have the good forever without immortality. And, according to her, reproduction is the closest that humans can ever come to achieving immortality (Plato 43-44). However, this “reproduction” can either refer to pregnancy of body in the form of children or pregnancy of mind in the form of wisdom and virtue. Diotima then begins her description of the phases that one must journey through to obtain true love, and it is here where the passionate is elevated over the rational. She claims that one is initially attracted towards one beautiful body. Then, upon discovering the interrelatedness of all bodies, one will realize that, to obtain “beauty of form,” one must view all bodies as equally beautiful. From there, one will realize that the beauty of the mind far surpasses that of the body (Plato 47-48). Although this process thus far seems to advocate rational love in that it praises the recognition of the beauty of the mind over that of the body, this misconception is not the case. Plato is elevating rational love over passionate love in a lustful and physical form. However, as the process continues, one will gradually begin to see a more universal concept of beauty develop that closely mirrors the forms of passionate love that have already been discussed:
Looking now at beauty in general and not just at individual instances, he will no longer be slavishly attracted to the beauty of…any particular person at all…Instead, he will be turned towards the great sea of beauty…(Plato 48)
An additional description of the nature of this higher beauty solidifies the fact that Plato advocates passionate love: “…[T]his beauty always is, and doesn’t come into being or cease; it doesn’t increase or diminish…Nor will [it] appear to him in the form of a face or hands or any part of the body; or as a specific account or piece of knowledge” (Plato 49). Diotima presents the recognition of a pure yet abstract form of beauty as the aim of love and, rational love, which relies on earthly specifics, clearly does not harmonize with such a sentiment. Being mysterious, inexplicable, and transcendent, passionate loves seems to coincide much more with the universality seen in the above description. For example, Catherine’s comparison of her love for Heathcliff to “eternal rocks” almost perfectly mirrors Diotima’s statement that this higher form of beauty “always is, and doesn’t come into being or cease.” Catherine’s passionate love for Heathcliff is, like the higher form of beauty, based on something other than material particulars. That passionate love is idealized in The Symposium is further corroborated in the case of Eustacia’s love for Clym, which also coincides with this beauty. The fact that “[Eustacia] seem[s] to long for the abstraction called passionate love more than for any particular lover” (Hardy 61), demonstrates that she comprehends the journey that Diotima set forth as the correct pathway to love; she has realized that the general essence of beauty is higher than any mortal or physical manifestation of such beauty. Although Eustacia does not actually experience this special beauty like Catherine does, simply by understanding it, she illustrates that the correct way to achieve love is through passion.
Rational love blatantly conflicts with the method that Diotima proposes of achieving love. For example, Elizabeth Bennet’s rational love is based on her understanding of Darcy’s mind, character, and actions. However, Diotima states that “[Renewal] applies not only to the body but also to the mind: attributes, character-traits, beliefs, desires, pleasures, pains, fears—none of these ever remain the same in each of us, but some are emerging while others are being lost” (Plato 45). Because the qualities listed above are the premises upon which Elizabeth’s rational love is built, it is clear that her love is based on characteristics that are unfixed and changeable. These two qualities directly oppose the fixedness of the beauty in Diotima’s theoretical approach to love, and therefore, only accentuate Plato’s elevation of passionate love.
Although there exist, as have been enumerated, various forms of romantic love, only select instances of them triumph under the strict moral guidelines of Plato. Passionate and selfish love seem to almost perfectly coincide with Plato’s sense of virtue, whereas the rational, although not condemned, does not quite meet the standard. Selfish love, in contrast to the former three, seems to contradict virtually every criterion for virtue that Plato offers. The question follows as to whether someone like Heathcliff, who loves both passionately and selfishly, loves rightly at all—although he loves virtuously through passion, does his selfish love detract from such virtue? This question opens up a whole new area of inquiry with regard to human love. However, it may go unanswered; for, although the logic in this paper is credible, perhaps it is true that, as Blaise Pascal once said, “love has reasons which reason cannot understand,” and sometimes, philosophy cannot find the answer where emotions are concerned.
Bibliography
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Brontë, Emily. Wuthering Heights. New York: The Modern Library, 2000.
Gandhi, Mohandas. Non-Violent Resistance (Satyagraha). Mineola, New York: Dover Publications, Inc., 2001.
Hardy, Thomas. The Return of the Native. New York: Bantam Books, 1981.
Plato. The Symposium. Trans. Christopher Gill. London: Penguin Books, 1999.
Tolstoy, Leo. Anna Karenina. Trans. Constance Garnett. New York: Fine Creative Media, Inc., 2003. |
