Experiments in Criticism

Jane Austen’s novel Persuasion explores the relationship between judgment–the capacity to form opinions based on reason, understanding, and intuition–and persuasion, convincing others to consider or accept one’s point of view. Austen takes a fairy-tale structure–the forsaken daughter who finds love–and imbues it with persuasive pathos by complementing the plot with irony-tinged commentary on a small set of characters. The fairy tale has a happy ending, but we’re meant to see more than Anne and Captain Wentworth’s marriage. The novel has very little external action. Instead, it gains its drama from how characters judge one another and the tension that comes from whether or not they will be persuaded by the good or bad judgment of others. In the end, the novel demonstrates that good judgments are ethical, not social, and persuasion should be judged by intent, not outcome. 

The trio of Lady Elliot, Lady Russell, and Anne Elliot represent good judgment in the novel. They demonstrate emotional concern for others, exhibit that emotional concern through concrete behavior, and take responsibility for the consequences of those judgments. Lady Elliot, Anne’s late mother, exhibits “judgement and conduct…without indulgence.” The connection between judgment and conduct is crucial. Good evaluation is inextricable from good actions. It is, of course, Anne who elicits Lady Russell’s most favorable judgment: “only in Anne that she could fancy the mother to revive again.” Anne earns Lady Russell’s approbation because she exhibits the same good judgment and conduct as her mother. Lady Russell’s superior evaluation of people is something appreciated by Anne as well as the family attorney Mr. Shepherd. The narrator comments that Shepherd appeals to Lady Russell’s “known good sense…to have just such resolute measures advised as he meant to see finally adopted.” Anne listens to Lady Russell because of this reputation combined with her obvious affection for Anne’s mother and, by extension, Anne herself.

The list of characters with poor judgment is long. Anne’s father and sisters are too selfish to exhibit good judgment. They feel only their own slights and act according to what would be best for them. Consequently, they evaluate everything and everyone poorly. Walter Elliott can’t tell whose good or bad because all he can see is someone’s superficial social position. Elizabeth falls for Mrs. Clay’s sycophancy. Mary misreads her husband, children, and anyone connected to her family. There is little wonder why Anne relies on Lady Russell’s judgment in the absence of her mother. No one inside her family can make good decisions for themselves, much less someone else. 

The novel’s chief theme, of course, is persuasion, and judgment plays a part in someone’s power to persuade and susceptibility to persuasion. At its best, this cycle of judgment and persuasion happens internally. Anne weighs the evidence of Mr. Elliott, her cousin, and finds that although he seems to have good judgment, “she would have been afraid to answer for his conduct.” Her judgment eventually comes down to her assessment of Mr. Elliot as a person: “she could not be satisfied that she really knew his character.” Without that knowledge, she persuades herself not to give him her affections.

Yet, she finds Lady Russell’s judgment potentially persuading. After learning the truth about Mr. Elliot from her friend Mrs. Smith, Anne reflects, “It was just possible that she might have been persuaded by Lady Russell!” Just as Lady Russell unwisely judged Captain Wentworth wanting, she unwisely judged Mr. Elliot as a suitable mate for Anne. Here we find a complication. Someone may exhibit good judgment in particular arenas and have an area of weakness. Lady Russell’s weakness appears to be in the area of determining Anne’s best romantic match. Ironically, her personal care for Anne may play a part in her poor judgment. 

The novel’s action is largely internal, and one thing Anne must come to peace in her own heart and mind with what led her to break off her engagement with Captain Wentworth. She bowed to Lady Russell’s persuasive judgment against her own wishes. Yet, despite the heartache it brought her, she believes it was a correct decision driven by duty, which elucidates how judgment is a function of one’s conscience: “I have been thinking over the past, and trying impartially to judge of the right and wrong, I mean with regard to myself; and I must believe that I was right, much as I suffered from it, that I was perfectly right in being guided by the friend whom you will love better than you do now.” Though Anne regrets the outcome, her decision meets her criterion of judgment. It was an ethical decision to obey Lady Russell as she would a parent. This wisdom in evaluating the nature of her persuadability is a persuasive testament to her maturity and strength of character.

Austen’s Persuasion offers a rich study of how judgment and persuasion can intersect and influence each other, inviting us to reflect on how closely intertwined good character and good judgment are

Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, or the Modern Prometheus asks readers to wrestle with perplexing questions about the nature of monstrosity and justice. These are ethical concerns. Who gets to say that the monster is more or less monstrous than the man who made him? Is it Frankenstein or his creation that is the novel’s true hero? Shelley does more than dramatize poor judgment. She asks her readers to examine their judgment, which is unavoidably theological.

The novel’s title character, Frankenstein, displays a shocking lack of self-awareness. He tells Walton, “I possessed a coolness of judgment that fitted me for illustrious achievements. This sentiment of the worth of my nature supported me when others would have been oppressed.”  This self-perception contrasts starkly with his poor judgment throughout the novel. He indulges his selfish desires, succumbs to intense mood swings, and shirks from the responsibilities of caring for the creature he has made. His inability to make a selfless sacrifice or display genuine repentance lays bare the ironic dissonance between his self-judgment and reality. 

Curiously, Frankenstein’s skewed self-perception finds a receptive audience in the story’s narrator Walton who evaluates Frankenstein this way: “an intuitive discernment, a quick but never-failing power of judgment, a penetration into the causes of things, unequalled for clearness and precision.” This admiration may be reflective of Walton’s flawed judgment. As the narrator of the novel’s frame, Walton identifies with Frankenstein, seeing a peer in him—another adventurer chasing fame through a perilous journey into the unknown.

In stark contrast to the tragic duo of Walton and Frankenstein, the monster’s pleas for understanding illuminate a different aspect of judgment—compassion. He asks his creator, “Listen to my tale; when you have heard that, abandon or commiserate me, as you shall judge that I deserve,” hinting at his yearning for justice and humanity. This longing is further exemplified in the monster’s interaction with the blind man, whose acceptance of him, based solely on his words, serves as a poignant reminder of judgment devoid of visual bias. Regrettably, such compassionate judgment eludes Frankenstein.. 

Through diverse characters and circumstances, Shelley underscores judgment’s necessity and profound consequences. It is something Walton, Frankenstein, and the monster cannot avoid. Neither, too, can the reader, who must ethically judge the characters in the novel by some standard. The monster reads history (Plutarch) and poetry (Milton) but never scripture. Frankenstein likewise submits himself to the moral judgment of the universe rather than the revealed scripture of the Bible. This is shocking in a novel that continually alludes to Paradise Lost, an epic version of the fall. Shelley is not pointing us back to God, but without the God of the Bible, we can’t render the judgments that make her novel powerful.

I talked with an English prof friend of mine today about The Lord of the Rings. I’m reading it again though it’s not my thing because I know it resonates with devoted readers in general and Christian readers in particular. As someone who cares about readers (i.e. people) more than books, I am interested in books that excite people, even if they’re not the kind of books that excite me.

The Lord of the Rings is an outlier. Its longevity isn’t owing to its being a part of the official school curriculum.

Rather, the book has an incredible word-of-mouth reputation. Readers tell readers about the books. This is where the power of connections begins.

Moreover, as a trilogy, the books offer readers an extended world that, combined with books like The Hobbit and the Silmarillion, comprise a contained universe. If you want more of the world Tolkien has created, there’s more. None of the books are duplications of the others. They’re all parts that work together. Fellowship wouldn’t work without Two Towers, and none of them would work as well without The Hobbit.

Finally, the book thrives on its connection to a particular context. It is a book where the reading experience is particularly memorable because it is often solitary and done outside of school. Readers who encounter it at a young age want to have the experience of rereading it, even though the world they encounter inside it is nothing like the world they know.

I describe these three connections from Bharat Anand’s The Content Trap here. Even more interesting is that they all describe the Bible: the word shared among people in the community, the way the Bible’s books connect to each other, and finally, the contexts of the community and those intertextual connections.

If one was looking for a taxonomy to explain literary power, you could do worse than this one.