Andreas Capellanus and St. Paul: A Comparison of Views on Love

The Art of Courtly Love by Andreas Capellanus is a testament to his aristocratic ideals of love, which he advocates through a set of “rules” for young men to follow on a path to success. Capellanus’ views contrast sharply with the teachings of St. Paul the Apostle, as espoused most completely in his first Epistle to the Corinthians. While Capellanus sees love as a pastime to occupy the mind with longing and elaborate rhetorical flirting games, Paul describes a strong emotional connection that transcends such trivialities to encompass the totality of the union that a true bond of love creates. Admittedly, they are discussing two very different ideas, Capellanus thinking of eros, the Greek concept of sexually charged relationships; whereas Paul speaks of agape, the Greek concept of unconditional compassion that can exist between any and all beings. In the classical languages, these two concepts are divided for the purpose of not confusing shallow and complex relationships with each other, as is established by the King James Version translation of agape as “charity,” rather than love like in more modern translations. While these are different concepts, they are related, and the distinction does not even exist in the English language.

St. Paul also puts down the idea of erotic love in I Corinthians in favor of agape-based marriages built around mutuality and the controlling of sexual urges. Capellanus’ love as a diversion outside of marriage has no place within the system of morality Paul sets out in I Corinthians 7. For example the advice to simply rape peasant woman is not particularly inspired by any sort of Biblical sentiment, as expressed by either Paul or Jesus Christ himself. Ultimately, Capellanus paints a picture of a bleak and lifeless love, versus the vibrant and kind love extolled by St. Paul.

“Love is a certain inborn suffering derived from the sight of and excessive meditation upon the beauty of the opposite sex” (Andreas Capellanus, The Art of Courtly Love, p. 28). Thus Capellanus begins his treatise on the nature of love, with a definition of his subject matter. Love, in his view, is a painful set of emotions that occur when two people are physically attracted to each other. This seems to be a negative view of an entire set of human emotional experience, casting love as a kind of undesirable madness that people put themselves through purely because their bodies tell them to go forth and multiply. Everything noble that people do is a calculated gambit to make one look better for potential mates.

While Paul does say that love “suffereth long” (I Cor. 13:4), he refers to patience inspired by the emotion rather than the actual substance of what love in fact is. Paul’s conception of love is one of infinite good will, where the individual chooses to show love to others, no matter what they receive in return. Paul’s love is not limited to sexual relations, or even to one-on-one friendships, but extends to all people in all circumstances. While this love is willing to suffer through whatever the object will do, it is not the suffering that forms the substance of the love itself, but the willingness to face the suffering for the sake of the beloved. Not a selfish love, but a selfless love that seeks the good of others.

“II. He who is not jealous cannot love…XX. A man in love is always apprehensive…XXI. Real jealousy always increases the feeling of love…XXII. Jealousy, and therefore love, are increased when one suspects his beloved…XXVII. A slight presumption causes a lover to suspect his beloved” (Capellanus, p. 184). This series of “rules” make a particularly telling point in Capellanus’ opinion of the nature of love as a concept. Jealousy and suspicion is necessary to his conception of love, as the need to possess the other is that which creates the feeling he terms love. A man in love, according to Capellanus, must always be in suspicion of his beloved, and be thinking of his own position in her esteem constantly.

This differs markedly from St. Paul, who says “Charity suffereth long, and is kind; charity envieth not; charity vaunteth not itself, is not puffed up, doth not behave itself unseemly, seeketh not her own, is not easily provoked, thinketh no evil” (I Cor. 13:4-5). These views are mutually exclusive, with Paul saying that love never makes one think ill of another, and is totally unconcerned with position in the eyes of the other. This unconditional nature of Paul’s love sets it apart from Capellanus’ mechanical and vain peacock-like system. In a Capellanus style relationship, it is a constant struggle for dominance and attention, a Darwinian free-for-all of emotions. Paul’s love does not care what the other person thinks, whether any feelings are even returned at all. It is a matter of pure caring for the other, regardless of reciprocal emotions, and is not even limited by being a romantic love. Paul’s love can be extended to all people, all things, though it clearly seems his ideals for marriage, including the “marriage debt”, are based in a similar sort of agape way of thinking.

The inclusiveness of Paul’s doctrine makes it far more useful as a philosophical goal than Capellanus’ eros, which consists almost entirely of how to obtain sexual favors. Everything Capellanus writes is obsessed with how to get someone to agree to sex, with every noble action being a mere gambit to impress the beloved. In Paul, it works the exact opposite way, going from a general will to do good to all, down to the specific love for an individual that creates the mutual bond of marriage. Two more different views on the subject cannot be imagined.

“IV. It is well known that love is always increasing or decreasing…XIII. When made public love rarely endures…XIX. If love diminishes, it quickly fails and rarely revives” (Capellanus, p. 185). Capellanus views love as a transient state that is changeable and mortal in nature. One can fall out of love as easily as falling in love, in such a system. Paul, on the other hand, says “Charity never faileth: But whether there be prophecies, they shall fail; whether there be tongues, they shall cease; whether there be knowledge, it shall vanish away” (I Cor 13:8). Paul’s agape love is unchangeable, immortal, and unconditional. No matter what happens around it, Paul’s style of love will fight through to survive. It is tenacious and energetic, not a limp sort of longing as extolled by Capellanus. Capellanus’ love is obsessed with position, and can easily be distracted by the next best thing over and above what had previously been the object of desire.

Capellanus even has rules stating how one should end an affair, or how long to wait between affairs, and so on and so forth. Paul’s love needs no such rules, because the nature of his love is infinite. There is no way to measure how much love there is in Paul’s system, as it neither waxes or wanes. It is a constant, something that lives on even if the object is dead. But, it is also flexible enough to embrace all things, so it is possible to love everybody, each in their unique way. Capellanus love is limited to obsession with, at most, a few individuals at a time.

Champions of fundamentally different ideas of love in the form of agape and eros, St. Paul and Capellanus are on opposite ends of the spectrum. Capellanus was a cleric, and hence technically a disciple of Paul, showing the 12^th century Frenchman to be a hypocrite ultimately. He is supposed to be following the teachings of Paul and Christ by denying himself worldly pleasures, thinking of things higher and nobler than physical reality. Instead, he decides to write a self-help book about how to get laid. Even if the book is an elaborate joke, as is quite possible given the cultural context it was composed in, the fact that he is thinking about the topic seems to be out of place with the stated philosophy of his chosen path of life. The sort of love he advocates is vain and empty, being nothing more than adolescent trysts sought out by bored aristocrats. The love Paul backs is more universal in nature, and provides a better way to live.

Odin and Loki: A Comparison of Two Tricksters

The American Heritage Dictionary defines a psychopath as “A person with an antisocial personality disorder, manifested in aggressive, perverted, criminal, or amoral behavior without empathy or remorse.” Clearly, this is an apt description of almost every activity that the Norse god Loki participates in, always the consummate trickster figure. Odin, father of the Aesir gods and their self-proclaimed king, displays a remarkably similar pattern of behavior throughout the corpus of Norse mythology, being an equally fickle and untrustworthy being. Loki is consistently depicted in a negative light as a chaotic enemy of civilization, whereas Odin is king of the Aesir, and therefore the ruler of the natural order. While Snorri Sturluson and some of the other Christian redactors are advancing a post-pagan agenda throughout the extant corpus, the Aesir are generally depicted as the “Good Guys”, the noble warrior-sages wearing white hats and fighting the dark forces of the giants. While Odin is their leader and chief wise man, he is often as chaotic and perverted as Loki in his actions, choosing first one side in a conflict, then giving the secrets of war to their enemies solely to gain more recruits for his massive army of the dead. He hides his name, changes his shape, is constantly drunk, and in general creates a mess of things rather frequently. Loki is introduced by Snorri (p. 26, Edda) with a litany of how infamously evil he is, accusations most of which can be said to apply equally to Odin, although the redactors usually praise the exact same traits in Odin. Snorri accuses Loki of being erratic in his behavior, a trait that Odin takes equal part in. Loki causes numerous problems for the gods, but he almost always comes up with the solution himself, while Odin needs his son Thor to clean up his messes with his straightforward approach to problems. Loki and Odin, while ostensibly diametric opposites, are in fact practically the same as beings of elemental chaos with little to no concern for anyone except for their close kin.

In “Gylfaginning”, Snorri sets the lens through which both Odin and Loki are to be viewed throughout the rest of the mythology. Odin is presented to Gylfi as an omnipotent force to be worshipped above all others, while Loki is shown as a chaotic and evil being contrary to all life. This can be viewed with a little skepticism as Gylfi is getting this story from Odin in three of his guises, leading to a slight bias towards the Aesir. Snorri is trying to demonstrate the falsity of the old pagan religion, but it is also possible that he is subtly drawing parallels between the king of the Aesir and the most vile of demonic Giants, to further re-enforce the superiority of his own Catholic religion. Every charge that he lays at Loki’s feet is in some way applicable to Odin. Even the spawning of weird monsters on a Giantess is not thoroughly un-Odinic in nature. Odin spawns both Vidar and Vali solely for vengeance, a monstrous activity if there ever was one. Thor’s mother is also possibly a Giantess, and from a Giantish perspective, nothing could be more monstrous than the murderous thunderer himself. As for the other charges, namely being capricious and cunning troublemaker, these traits are manifestly part of Odin’s personality as well. Loki is shown to be a resourceful problem solver, rescuing Idunn from Thiassi, procuring many useful artifacts from the dwarfs in recompense for his pranks, and aiding Thor on several of his journeys. In fact, the only bit of mischief that Loki doesn’t help to amend is that of Baldur’s death, which the text credits him with making final beyond all repairs. Odin, on the other hand, often creates problems that need an outside force, namely his son Thor, to come in and fix due to his daring exploits in the quest to obtain all knowledge. Odin is credited with the creation of the cosmos through the murder of his maternal grandfather, Ymir. But again, Snorri is telling us this isn’t really so and that this revelation to Gylfi all a trick being pulled on the gullible Swede, which puts Odin even lower than Loki in a moral context as Loki never claims powers of Cosmogenesis. Without the moral superiority of being the creative force of the universe, which Snorri undermines every chance he gets, Loki is no worse than Odin, who is recast as simply a tribal chieftain possessed of especial aggression and violence against his neighbors.

The ever-fickle Odin is accused by Loki of giving what he “shouldn’t have given, victory, to the faint-hearted” (Poetic Edda, p. 88). Odin doesn’t even bother responding with a defense of his choices in favor, but counters by recalling Loki’s act of ‘ergi’. This is a broad range of interlinked negative concepts in Norse culture, constituting deceitfulness, treachery, witchcraft, and worst of all the ultimate humiliation within medieval Icelandic society, being the passive partner in a homosexual act. Odin’s lack of effective counter-argument suggests that Loki is in fact right, and Odin gives victory to those who don’t deserve it because it suits some other ends of his, generally the procuring of the best of warriors for his einherjar army in preparation for Ragnarok, as shown in Eiriksmal in dialogue between Odin and Sigmund over why he robbed Eirik Blood-Axe of victory despite his worth in battle. The story of the Langobards, although not technically part of the Scandinavian corpus, points to an inconstant and changeable nature for Odin, as he is arbitrarily convinced of the worthiness of the Langobards to win because their women show up with their hair in front of their faces. There’s not exactly a strong case against Loki’s accusations of underhanded dealings with his followers.

Being a pervert, in the Icelandic concept of ‘ergi’, is a crime that Loki is most definitely guilty of, having given birth to Sleipner after having changed shape into a mare and engaging in intercourse with the stallion Svadilfari (Edda, p. 36-36). This is the ultimate act of ergi, but Odin is guilty of ergi on numerous occasions himself. He constantly lies about his true identity, a sneaky and cowardly thing to do by Norse moral standards, and part of the broader implications of ergi. His complete mastery of the magical arts of seidr manifest a deep and constant state of ergi, a charge which Loki makes directly to Odin in “Loki’s Quarrel” after Odin accuses him of another gender-bending childbearing experience on top of that of Sleipner:

‘But you once practiced seid on Samesey,

and you beat on the drum as witches do,

in the likeness of a wizard you journeyed among mankind

and that I thought the hallmark of a pervert.

This leaves Odin speechless, and he lets off to let the other Aesir have their turn arguing with Loki. Thus Loki beats Odin in a contest of words, the domain over which Odin had obtained mastery, the only such case I can find in the texts. Odin can’t honestly say that Loki is wrong in his accusations, and he also can’t defend his actions as being anything other than they are, blatant acts of ergi. Both Loki and Odin are depicted as perverted practitioners of unnatural magic. Since they are both blatantly guilty, the question of why Odin let Loki win the exchange arises. Since they are both guilty of ergi, why is it that Loki is allowed to keep on going, while Odin sits down with his tail between his legs? The answer is that what Odin did was even worse than Loki. Loki gave birth to Sleipner, and apparently three other children never named, which seems to be as bad as it gets. But Loki’s accusations are worse in that he can’t narrow it down to one or even two examples. The actions of ergi he accuses Odin of actually are consistent behavioral patterns that Odin never wavers from. He is always practicing seidr, like witches do, and he is always wandering among mankind in disguise as a wizardly figure. Brave and virtuous warriors fall in battle all the time due to Odin’s treacherous nature. He is just as guilty of being a beguiling Trickster as is his archenemy Loki, if not far more guilty.

Though they are set up as polar opposites on the moral plane of Nordic myth, Loki and Odin are essentially equivalent in terms of their deeds as agents in the world. Both are users of perverted magic, which requires them to take on female roles contrary to the masculine ethos of Norse society. Both play tricks on people of the very cruelest kinds imaginable, leading to the death of many, and in Odin’s case to the creation of a vast army of the dead. The image in the Edda of Loki and Odin staring each other down from their high halls after the murder of Baldur does not depict two diametrically opposed figures representing good and evil, or order and chaos. They both are looking into a mirror, showing that they are both essentially the same, power-hungry and chaotic beings out to get the best possible advantage from every situation without regard for others, the dictionary definition of psychopaths.

David and Saul, the Anointed of God

Both Saul and David faced a serious problem in consolidating their power over the disparate tribes of Israel. At first, not all the people were willing to accept Saul’s leadership just because Samuel anointed him. David, however, faced the problem of not being the legitimate heir to the dynasty, being an ambitious war hero not related to the previous king except through a childless marriage. It took time and effort to establish their hegemony over the disparate tribes of Israel. The passages found in I Samuel 11 and II Samuel 2 show the first acts of both men as kings, though in David’s case over Judah specifically rather than the whole tribal confederation. The problems they face in their early years of kingship are on one level the same: Saul faces a series of existential threats to the people of Israel, in the form of Ammonites, Philistines, and other ornery neighbors he has to fight off. David has to fight the same enemies, but he defeats them once and for all. On top of the external threat, David had to establish his rule over Israel itself through a protracted civil war, making his rise to power bumpier than Saul, who had no competition for the newly established throne. David’s greatness lies in his ability to manipulate the public, as seen in II Samuel 2 by his high praise for Jabesh-gilead’s heroic kindness in saving Saul’s body from the stakes the Philistines had stuck it on. He gives all the appearance, sincere or not, of grieving for the death of his predecessor, which he does whenever possible. Saul, on the other hand, is not so great in public, and given to bouts of paranoia. His only real advantage is being really tall compared to the average man. These chapters demonstrate the character of these two different men, through their actions and the reaction of Israel.

At the time of the Ammonite threat to the city of Jabesh-gilead, Saul does not wield true monarchial power as seen in 1 Samuel 10:27a, where “some worthless fellows” refuse to accept him as king. When he gathers the armies of Israel to fight Nahash, he does so in the same way a Judge from earlier times would, through the explicit threat of death to those who dare to break the treaty of tribal confederation. Indeed, his actions in cutting up the yoke of oxen are reminiscent of the Levite chopping up his concubine and calling for the destruction of the Benjaminite town of Gibeah, Saul’s own hometown interestingly enough, for its crimes in Judges 19. Saul at this moment isn’t leader because of Samuel anointing him in the name of the Lord, but because he is the man willing to call on the house of Israel to fight against an offense to tribal honor. He is a traditional warlord, rather than a divinely appointed king. Only after his spectacular victory over the Ammonites do the people say to him, “Who is it that said, ‘Shall Saul reign over us?’ Give them to us so that we may put them to death” (1 Samuel 11.12). Saul magnanimously overrides this death sentence, but the point is that now he has the authority to say who lives or dies. Only after demonstrating his worth to the people is he really the king of Israel. The ‘renewal’ of the kingship at Gilgal is not really a re-pledging of allegiance to Saul, but the first moment in which he is actually made king. Now, instead of tribal confederacy, it is the power of monarchy that protects Israel from threats external and internal. From this point forward, whenever the enemies of Israel come together, it is Saul or his successors who lead the army into battle.

When David first assumes power, he does so only after having consulted the Lord as to whether it’s the right course of action, as is right in the eyes of the Deuteronomist. His actual assumption of power, however, amounts to essentially an opportunistic military power-grab backed up by his extended kin group. Of the whole nation of Israel, only David’s own tribe supports his bid for the throne. The sons of Zeruiah, David’s sister, are instrumental in fighting the war against Saul’s house, and his power is initially based in the significantly large army he had gathered in his exile as a mercenary warlord. David also has a serious case of Thomas Becket Syndrome, especially with his nephew Joab. People who get in David’s way die, and then he gets very upset and punishes whoever did the killing, except for Joab, who gets away with it all the time. This chapter in particular shows Joab in his role of violent aggression, pursuing and fighting Abner from Gibeon to Ammah. It is significant that David does not take part in this battle himself. His nephew prosecutes the really messy civil war, while David stays out of the picture. David is the great warrior and general, yet he isn’t leading his men at the decisive crisis. David can’t lead his army in civil war in the Deuteronomist’s worldview, because that would look like the perfect servant of God fighting against Israel, the chosen people of God. Surely David would never do such a thing! Though instances of David doing wrong make it into the text, such as Bathsheba, David never fights against Israel, despite being a mercenary in the hire of the Philistine lords and being the center of two major civil wars over the course of his reign. David gets all the credit for victory over the Philistines, or over Ammon, but when a civil war breaks out, suddenly Joab is the one responsible for all the violence and murder. He is responsible for the convenient death of a huge number of David’s political and personal enemies, from Abner to Uriah. Abner himself is a kinsman of Saul, further highlighting the tribal nature of the conflict. The twelve youths at the pool of Gibeon represent Judah and Benjamin, not Judah and Israel. This is painted not as a lone tribe against all of Israel, but as two tribes fighting for the respect of the rest.

Strangely, his first action as king over Judah is to commend the city of Jabesh-gilead, far to the north, out of his realm of his influence in Judah, for their kindness to in burying Saul and Jonathan. This links the rise of David directly with the rise of Saul, and demonstrates the ways in which the Deuteronomistic History keeps track of places and events, weaving together different strands to create a whole. Jabesh-gilead is only mentioned in three episodes: as the town that sent no soldiers to fight the Benjaminites at Gibeah in Judges, as the town that Saul saves, and as the town that heroically saves Saul’s body under cover of darkness. These three episodes are importantly linked, as Gibeah is also the hometown of Saul, and the other episodes directly involve Saul. Saul’s kingship rested firmly on his actions in saving Jabesh-gilead from the Ammonites, and David begins his kingship by showering the same city with honor for their actions in saving Saul’s remains. This public relations move is so typical of David, always the consummate politician. Jabesh-gilead, as the notes to the text say, is one of Saul’s primary enclaves of support, due to his pivotal role in saving them from the Ammonites. His ultimate goal is to be king over all of Israel, so he needs to make those who loved Saul love him as well. He promises the loyal followers of Saul reward for their loyalty to their king, even as he tries to overthrow the legitimate son of Saul. This double-speak is the modus operandi of David throughout his reign, speaking sorrow and sympathy for his enemies who have an unfortunate habit of dying.

The link between Jabesh-gilead and Saul is also reflected in the Judges passage, which some scholars think was a propagandistic addition to denigrate Saul and his dynasty. The important role Jabesh-gilead plays in the episode, as the one town that doesn’t send men to fight against the tribe of Benjamin, is probably an integral component of the message the author of that tale was trying to get across to his ancient Israelite audience. One possibility is that is a cautionary tale told to Saul loyalists, demonstrating the fate of those who defy the will of the Lord. Not accepting David as king due to Saul’s serious blunders is as bad as not purging gang rapists from the house of Israel.

What do these two passages tell us about the Deuteronomistic History as a whole? Even though many sources, often contradictory, were used, the redactors managed to construct a complex, interweaved narrative that carries characters, events, places, and themes throughout. We learn that Saul and David are very different sorts of men, yet face the same essential problems in trying to rule a chaotic, disobedient people like the Israelites. Tribal concerns can be more important than taking the long view, such as the loyalty the tribes of Judah and Benjamin show to their respective sides during the civil war between David and Ishbaal. These chapters also encapsulate the cyclical nature of the Deuteronomistic History, as the problems of unity and leadership David and Saul face are the same ones faced by the Judges and kings throughout the pre-exilic history of Israel.

"On the New Year: Or, The Earth Abides Forever"

Another year rolls down the calender
The world marches to the same old drumbeat
I found out this week that my cousins kid is
Monomaniacal about Bionicles
Which is fun to say, but I don't grok it
Just as when my cousin did not believe
Children my age watched a TV show called
"Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles"
One generation follows another
Babel isolating by division
When the boy comes of age, and my children
Play their innocent games, explaining how
Heroes defeat villains, good trumps evil,
And everyone sits down to drink some tea
in Valhalla after a hard days fight
He shall look on, bemused, not "getting it"
Just as now my brows furrow when he
Talks about robot champions of his youth

The Destrucive Locomotive, part I

“Sestina dé Slacker” by Sam Urfer

I

I think I’ll talk about boredom
While I sit here in my privacy
Leaning back as I move my pen
Over the plain notebook paper
Seeking to attain a sense of ease
As I ponder what to write

II

It is no small matter to write
It does not always come with ease
Sometimes I just sit there and look at the paper
Hesitating to lift my pen
Afraid to put an end to my boredom
And break my wall of privacy

III

All I have is my privacy
Where I can be myself at ease
Alone with my blank white paper
Trying to fill it with my pen
Seeking inspiration to write
Through my great Muse, Lady Boredom

IV

What can I say about Boredom?
Without her prompt, why ever write?
She stirs in my heart's privacy
When she speaks, she makes a prison of ease.
So I get up and take my pen
Seeking release in this paper

V

It taunts me, this piece of paper
As I sit here and try to write
Distracted in my idle ease
Seeking relief for my boredom
In my foolish, accursed privacy!
Be Thou my Salvation, O Pen!

VI

This sly traitor, my false friend “Pen”
Leads me to this attempt to write
Despair grips me in my boredom
Steals from me any sense of ease
Oh, how I hate my privacy
My only companion this dead paper!

VII

Still, here I put pen to paper,
Out of boredom set out to write,
Seeking ease in my privacy.

Emma Woodhouse, world-weary and rising

How Emma Woodhouse Developed Through Her Experiences In Jane Austen’s novel Emma

By the end of Jane Austin’s novel Emma, the title character has experienced many changes in her life, and much of what she thought she knew has been overturned. The reader is left to question how much Emma has changed over the course of the narrative, and if so to what extent. On the surface level, it seems as if she’s changed, as that is what she tells herself in regards to her relationship with Mr. Knightley. Clearly in her own opinion, Emma has learned from the example of her recent experiences, both of her own infallibility and of Mr. Knightley’s superior wisdom born of age. On the other hand, the careful reader must consider the possibility, even probability that Emma’s internal self-assessment might fail to successfully gauge the extent to which she has undergone change. Emma is a very emotionally driven, impulsive woman who is not given to following through on her grand plans. There is an implication in the book that Emma is given to beginning projects with great vigor and deliberation, only to abandon them when they begin to bore her, or other pet projects come up that get in the way of her ambitious goals. Emma has a tendency to tackle ends higher than her means and her belief in her own internal change is to an extent exaggerated, I nevertheless find that the narrative leads to the conclusion that she does grow as a person and experience true change.

At the beginning of the novel, Emma is introduced as “Emma Woodhouse, handsome, clever, and rich… had lived nearly twenty-one years in the world with very little to distress or vex her” (Jane Austen, Emma, 7). She has several personal virtues, but she has lived her life up to this point with little in the way of solid experience, and has had practically no personal challenges since her mother died. She has been sheltered from having to face life head on, and hence has a somewhat skewed view of how the world works. Lacking actual experience, she turns to her imagination when dealing with other people, creating matches and secrets where none exist in reality. As Mr. Knightley tells her concerning her own actions, "If you were as much guided by nature in your estimate of men and women, and as little under the power of fancy and whim in your dealings with them, as you are where these children are concerned, we might always think alike" (Emma, 94-95). Having been acquainted with the family for many years, Mr. Knightley’s is reasonably familiar with Emma’s reasonable faculties, and he knows "I have still the advantage of you by sixteen years' experience, and by not being a pretty young woman and a spoiled child” (Emma, 95). He is not being proud when he says this, merely pointing out the factual difference in life experience. Emma thinks there isn’t much of a difference in sixteen years, but when all twenty-one of her years have been sheltered while Mr. Knightley is engaged constantly in affairs of business, sixteen years are an eternity. This unfortunate disparity in understanding owes as much to the misogynistic attitudes of English society during the Enlightenment as it does to age. Emma, like other women of her time and class, is prevented from ever seeing the real world almost entirely by her family. Harriet being rescued from the gypsies by Frank Churchill is a more overt example of this sheltering instinct that breeds the lack of insight seen in the character of Emma. Emma’s fatal flaw, in other words, is a commentary by Austen on the flaws of her own society.

Every mistaken impression that Emma makes is countered with Mr. Knightley seeing what’s really going on, even if he does say at one point “I do not pretend to Emma’s genius fir foretelling and guessing” (Emma, 37). Emma thinks Frank Churchill is courting her, when he is in fact courting Jane Fairfax, a fact which Mr. Knightley suspects and even informs Emma of. She merely laughs such an idea off, "Oh! you amuse me excessively. I am delighted to find that you can vouchsafe to let your imagination wander” (Emma, 329). It is in fact Emma who is imagining situations that aren’t there, whereas Mr. Knightley alone has seen to the heart of the matter. Emma is too busy dreaming to see the truth that is right under her nose the whole time, not seeing the forest for the little flower on the edge. Austen shows her gift for satire in small touches such as this.

Mr. Knightley demonstrates Emma’s tendency to abandon her endeavors eloquently when he says of her:

“Emma has been meaning to read more ever since she was twelve years old. I have seen a great many lists of her drawing-up at various times of books that she meant to read regularly through--and very good lists they were--very well chosen, and very neatly arranged--sometimes alphabetically, and sometimes by some other rule. The list she drew up when only fourteen--I remember thinking it did her judgment so much credit, that I preserved it some time; and I dare say she may have made out a very good list now. But I have done with expecting any course of steady reading from Emma. She will never submit to any thing requiring industry and patience, and a subjection of the fancy to the understanding. Where Miss Taylor failed to stimulate, I may safely affirm that Harriet Smith will do nothing.-- You never could persuade her to read half so much as you wished.--You know you could not.” (Emma, 36)

Emma loves to start out on projects, giving them all her industrious energy and intellectual attention, at least for a time. Her tendency to grow bored with things such as reading lists indicates her quicksilver nature. As a spoiled child, she did not need to learn patience or perseverance, and thus is inclined to making plans but then failing to follow through. This leaves some room for concern about her future with Mr. Knightley after the dénouement, but marriage is not the same kind of engagement as reading books. While she has a small attention span, it doesn’t mean she is incapable of commitment.

When Emma learns of Harriet’s engagement to Robert Martin at the end of the novel, she is surprised, but doesn’t act with anywhere near the same vehemence that she did early on in the book. Mr. Knightley fears she will be upset over the match as she was before, but she says "You need not be at any pains to reconcile me to the match. I think Harriet is doing extremely well. Her connections may be worse than his. In respectability of character, there can be no doubt that they are” (Emma, 442-443). She recognizes now that Mr. Knightley is a better judge of character than she is, and so she gives Mr. Martin the benefit of the doubt.

Near the end of the book, after Mr. Knightley and Emma are together, Emma’s line of internal reflection turns to her future: “What had she to wish for? Nothing, but to grow more worthy of him, whose intentions and judgment had been ever so superior to her own. Nothing, but that the lessons of her past folly might teach her humility and circumspection in future” (Emma, 445). While perhaps Emma hasn’t fundamentally changed her nature in response to her recent experiences, she has a new attitude on life. Before, she was obstinate in her belief in the accuracy of her own fancy, and that at twenty-one years of age she did, in fact, know everything. Now, she has finally come to the conclusion that she should listen to the one who was always right in his judgments, Mr. Knightley. This is the key to Emma’s shift in personality. No longer is Emma a self-centered dreamer, but someone willing to listen to others with more experience and knowledge than she has. This change is significant, even if subtle. She may not have made a one-eighty turnaround in basic personality, but her experience has taught her one very important lesson: to listen.

Emma starts off as a sheltered little girl. She has natural intelligence, but she lacks sufficient knowledge to give her intellect direction, and lacks the focus to gain knowledge systematically. Her troublesome experiences with Harriet, Mr. Elton, Frank, and Jane all lead her to the conclusion that she, in fact, knows nothing. After she and Mr. Knightley come to their understanding, she is willing at last to listen to his advice born out of personal experience. She doesn’t suddenly transform into a world-wise sage, or become a more focused person. Simply, she has discovered the virtues of listening to other people, rather than trying to formulate elaborate fantasies built out of nothing. She remains proud, and her thoughts when Mr. and Mrs. Weston are expecting: “She had been decided in wishing for a Miss Weston. She would not acknowledge that it was with any view of making a match for her, hereafter, with either of Isabella's sons” (Emma, 431). Though she won’t admit it out loud, she still fancies matches between others, even those only newly born. So she has not become a totally different person, merely one more willing to listen to the advice of others, which is still a huge shift from where she was at the beginning.

Aure Entuluva!

Following Steve's lead, I've decided to post my sundry essays, poetry, and other thoughts for public consumption. Over the course of earning my Bachelors degree, I have written a good deal that deserves a better fate than rotting on my hard drive. This will also provide a convenient outlet for my random ramblings. Check often for further updates!