Educating the Passions:

Human Reincarnation, Reformation, and Redemption in Wuthering Heights

A Thesis Submitted to the Committee on Graduate Studies

in Partial Fulfillment of the Requirements for the Degree of Master of Arts

in the Faculty of Arts and Science

TRENT UNIVERSITY

Peterborough, Ontario, Canada

© Copyright by Shahira Adel Hathout 2018

English (Public Texts) M.A. Graduate Program

May 2018

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Abstract

Educating the Passions:

Human Reincarnation and Reformation in Wuthering Heights

Shahira Adel Hathout

My thesis proposes to uncover what I term an Emilian Philosophy in the reading of Emily

Brontë’s only novel, and suggests that Wuthering Heights reflects Brontë’s vision of a society

progressing toward social and spiritual reform. Through this journey, Brontë seeks to conciliate

the two contrasting sides of humanity – natural and social – by offering a middle state that

willingly incorporates social law without perverting human nature by forcing it to mold itself

into an unnatural social system, which in turn leads to a “wholesome” (Gesunde) humanity.

While Heathcliff embodies Bronte’s view of a primitive stage of humanity, Hareton reincarnates

the wholesome state of humanity that balances human natural creativity and cravings with

Victorian unrelenting reason. Brontë treats Heathcliff’s death as a point in life, in which mankind

is emancipated from social constraints and is able to achieve ultimate happiness. This view of

death is reassuring as it displaces the anxiety associated with death and separation. My study will

highlight the influence of Friedrich Schiller’s, Jean-Jacques Rousseau’s Philosophical writings

and literary works, as well as the influence of the Franciscan Order in Catholicism and its

founder St Francis of Assisi, patron saint of animals and environment, in framing Bronte’s

philosophy to propose a social and religious reform anchored in nature.

Keywords: Wuthering Heights, Emily Brontë, Reformation, Society, Nature, wholesome

(Gesunde) humanity, Natural Education, Primitive Man, Middle state, Cultivated man, Friedrich

Schiller, Jean-Jacque Rousseau, Reincarnation, St Francis of Assisi.

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Acknowledgements

I would first like to thank my supervisor, Professor Suzanne Bailey, for her friendship,

mentorship, encouragement and timely feedback. Professor Bailey consistently allowed me the

freedom to think, research and create this work while guiding me when I stray; her comments

were invaluable particularly as she helped me highlight the originality of my claims.

I would particularly like to thank Professor Moira Howes for accepting to be my second

reader despite her massive responsibilities and busy schedule, and to Professor Margaret Steffler

for chairing my examining committee. Moreover, I would like to express my gratitude to my

external examiner, and mentor throughout my years at Trent University as an undergraduate

student, Professor Elizabeth Popham.

I am also grateful to the program’s academic administrative assistant, Catherine O’Brien,

for her constant and swift cooperation and support during my time at Trent as a graduate student.

My deepest gratitude and appreciation for my mother and sister for their continuous

support and unswerving faith in me. I must also express my profound gratitude and love to my

husband, Ayman, and my children, Farrah and Ali, for their support, patience and love

throughout the thesis writing process, without which I would never have completed this project.

Finally, I would like to dedicate this work to the memory of my beloved father, the

epitome of wisdom and hard work, whose spirit drove me to persevere, and who will surely be

proud of my accomplishment – Ave Atque Vale.

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Table of Contents

Abstract ii

Acknowledgements iii

Table of Contents iv

Educating the Passions: Human Reincarnation, Reformation, and Redemption in

Wuthering Heights

Chapter One: Introduction 1

Chapter Two: Heathcliff’s Life: The Education of Humanity 43

Chapter Three: Hareton: The Reincarnation of a Reformed Wholesome Humanity 99

Chapter Four: Hareton and a Reformed Humanity / Society: An Emilian Philosophy 127

Works Cited 159

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Chapter One: Introduction

We cannot read many pages of Wuthering Heights without being driven to

construct a theory. Without such a refuge, it would be impossible to proceed

beyond the first chapter. But philosophers are never revolted or disgusted; what

shocks plain incurious natures stimulates the analyser of causes and motives.

(Christian Remembrancer [July 1857], 127)

In writing Wuthering Heights (1847), Emily Brontë is tracing the development or progress of a

universal humanity, starting with what she sees as a primitive savage state and arriving at a point

of maturation and reformation. I contend that Heathcliff is the personification of Brontë’s vision

of humanity. Therefore, by tracing Heathcliff’s development until his death, we trace the

development and transformation of humanity as part of nature. By “humanity” in Wuthering

Heights, I mean human beings as a force of nature and therefore part of the natural world. Thus, I

would agree with David Cecil’s assertion that “to Emily Brontë an angry man and an angry sky

are not just metaphorically alike, they are actually alike in kind; different manifestations of a

single spiritual reality” (qtd. in Stoneman 36). I contend that Brontë is contemplating a

“wholesome humanity” through her narrative, by which I mean one with the ability to

incorporate social laws without suppressing or encroaching on human nature so as to distort or

compromise it. Thus, I argue that the wholesomeness of humanity is embodied in the figure of

Friedrich Schiller’s “cultivated man” who “makes of nature his friend, and honours its

friendship, while only bridling its caprice” (Letters Upon the Aesthetic Education of Man 1793,

Letter IV 6). In addition, I consider the idea of “reincarnation” in Wuthering Heights as part of

this picture: namely, that Heathcliff’s reformed soul continues in the form of the character

Hareton Earnshaw, whose connection with Heathcliff will be closely examined to justify why he

is an appropriate extension for the reformed Heathcliff. My study is an effort to uncover what I

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term an “Emilian Philosophy” that aims at social and spiritual reformation, a philosophy which is

a reaction to the rigid Victorian social and religious laws and traditions that stifle humans’

natural desires, imagination, and creativity. I contend that in Emily Brontë’s narrative, the death

of Heathcliff is a breaking point, after which a socially and spiritually reformed humanity is

affirmed and reincarnated in the character of Hareton.

Emily Brontë’s natural attachment to her home in Haworth and her beloved moors makes

her critical of any man-made organized entity. In Emily Brontë, Winifred Gérin cites Charlotte

Brontë’s Roe Head Journals (1836) where Charlotte explains Emily’s strong attachment to home

and nature, and her revulsion at the conventional modes of life in her contemporary society:

“[Emily] found in the bleak solitude many and dear delights; and not the least and best loved –

was liberty” (qtd. in Gérin 55). Before attending Roe Head school, Emily Brontë used to spend

her time in the seclusion of the village parsonage, amongst the hills bordering Yorkshire and

Lancashire. Charlotte Brontë offers a detailed description of the area where Emily spent most of

her life:

The scenery of these hills is not grand – it is not romantic; it is scarcely striking.

Long low moors dark with heath, shut in little valleys, where a stream waters,

here and there, a fringe of stunted copse. Mills and scattered cottages chase

romance from these valleys; it is only higher up, deep in amongst the ridges of the

moors, that Imagination can find rest for the sole of her foot; and even if she finds

it there, she must be a solitude-loving raven – no gentle dove…. My sister loved

the moors. (qtd. in Gérin 54-5)

Emily Brontë’s move from the natural unrestrictive mode of life in Haworth to Roe Head school

with its disciplined restrictive routine proved to be too confining for her naturally free

disposition:

Her nature proved here (in Roe Head) too strong for her fortitude. Every morning

when she woke, the vision of home and the moors rushed on her, and darkened

and saddened the day that lay before her…the truth was that it was already too

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late to make Emily conform to the normal contemporary standards of female

education. (Gérin 55)

My argument highlights Emily’s philosophical imagination that contemplates nature in relation

to different aspects of life around her, like organized religion and institutions of civil society.

Winifred Gérin rightly asserts that, “the little world of Roe Head had sown not only seeds of

rebellion in her; it had prompted her to evolve her own scale of values, in which failure or

success was not judged by results, but ideals engaged” (57). Indeed, in this sense, academic

excellence or winning awards was not Emily’s primary concern. Her main concern was to

acquire a “philosophic mind,” which, I suggest, can only be achieved through restoring

humanity’s ties with nature.

Wuthering Heights was written in 1845, towards the beginning of the Victorian period.

(1837-1901). However, according to Charles Percy Sanger in his essay “The Structure

of Wuthering Heights” (1926), the events and setting of the novel take place between 1771-1803,

and Emily Brontë uses the distance of time in Wuthering Heights to criticize the artificial and

restrictive conventions of the era that demanded that individuals conform and suppress their

natural human desires. In doing this, Brontë uncovers the hypocrisy of the Victorian society in

which she lives, with its prejudiced class and legal system, and misleading religious institutions.

This motive can be seen in her depiction of Joseph, the servant in the Earnshaw household who

represents hardline traditional religious beliefs:

[He was] the wearisomest self-righteous Pharisee that ever ransacked a Bible to

rake the promises to himself and fling the curses to his neighbours. By his knack

of sermonising and pious discoursing, he contrived to make a great impression on

Mr Earnshaw; and the more feeble the master became, the more influence he

gained. He was relentless in worrying him about his soul's concerns, and about

ruling his children rigidly. He encouraged him to regard Hindley as a reprobate;

and, night after night, he regularly grumbled out a long string of tales against

Heathcliff and Catherine: always minding to flatter Earnshaw's weakness by

heaping the heaviest blame on the latter. (42)

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This passage highlights Joseph’s hypocritical character and how he uses religion to corrupt and

mislead Mr Earnshaw. Catherine’s choice of Edgar as a husband is class motivated: “he will be

rich, and I shall like to be the greatest woman of the neighbourhood, and I shall be proud of

having such a husband” (78). Moreover, the corrupt and faulty man-made legal system appears

to be a tool by means of which Heathcliff can gain control over his enemies:

If you are called upon in a court of law, you'll remember [his wife Isabella’s]

language, Nelly! And take a good look at that countenance: she's near the point

which would suit me. No; you're not fit to be your own guardian, Isabella, now;

and I, being your legal protector, must retain you in my custody, however

distasteful the obligation may be. (150)

This legal system is also a means for Heathcliff to inflict suffering and take revenge. For

example, after Hindley’s death, Nelly declares that,

The guest was now the master of Wuthering Heights: he held firm possession, and

proved to the attorney, who, in his turn, proved it to Mr Linton, that Earnshaw had

mortgaged every yard of land he owned for cash to supply his mania for gaming:

and he, Heathcliff, was the mortgagee. (186)

In this passage, Nelly’s declaration may be seen as a lament about a legal institution that allows

individuals to use it in order to inflict revenge. Hindley Earnshaw’s corrupted nature also appears

to be encouraged by institutions in the society. The fact that Hindley makes use of financial

institutions to fund his gambling suggests a system that is mechanical, careless and only

concerned with material profit. In this narrative, the institutions in society repeatedly appear to

be threats to humanity instead of offering a way to make their lives better.

Wuthering Heights’ concern with human nature reflects what Michael Timko, in “The

Victorianism of the Victorian Literature,” describes as the Romantics’ concern with the

individual’s “inward development” since “culture was indeed thought of as being vitally

connected with the unconscious, and the whole process was more often than not closely

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associated with nature” (619). The influence of German Romantic thought in British literary life

at the time is also reflected in the common philosophical concern with the individual as an

organic unit in a whole that constantly works toward the development (Bildung) of its talents and

abilities, and how this would eventually drive progress and social reformation. Friedrich

Schiller’s “aesthetic theory” is linked to this idea of “organicism.” As Juliet Sychrava explains in

Schiller to Derrida: Idealism in the Aesthetic, Schiller describes an organic rift in society in his

Letters Upon the Aesthetic Education of Man (1793):

Modern society is severed from the physical world, and instead of the organic

harmony of the two that once existed we are left with two extremes: brute nature

and over-abstracted and arid culture. This separation was a historical event –

organic society historically prior to modern civilization, and is superseded by it.

(24)

This “severed” society is reflected in Wuthering Heights: for instance, even the ancient

architecture of the building and interior layout of Wuthering Heights reflect economical, cultural

and historical values that contradict its classification as a farm house:

The narrow windows are deeply set in the wall, and the corners defended with

large jutting stones. Before passing the threshold, I paused to admire a quantity of

grotesque carving lavished over the front, and especially about the principal door;

above which, among a wilderness of crumbling griffins and shameless little boys,

I detected the date “1500,” and the name “Hareton Earnshaw. […] [A]t

Wuthering Heights the kitchen is forced to retreat altogether into another quarter:

at least I distinguished a chatter of tongues, and a clatter of culinary utensils, deep

within; and I observed no signs of roasting, boiling, or baking, about the huge

fireplace; nor any glitter of copper saucepans and tin cullenders on the walls. One

end, indeed, reflected splendidly both light and heat from ranks of immense

pewter dishes, interspersed with silver jugs and tankards, towering row after row,

on a vast oak dresser, to the very roof. The latter had never been under-drawn: its

entire anatomy lay bare to an inquiring eye, except where a frame of wood laden

with oatcakes and clusters of legs of beef, mutton, and ham, concealed it. Above

the chimney were sundry villainous old guns, and a couple of horse-pistols: and,

by way of ornament, three gaudily-painted canisters disposed along its ledge. The

floor was of smooth, white stone; the chairs, high-backed, primitive structures,

painted green: one or two heavy black ones lurking in the shade. In an arch under

the dresser reposed a huge, liver-coloured bitch pointer, surrounded by a swarm of

squealing puppies; and other dogs haunted other recesses. (5; my emphasis)

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The craft of the stonemasonry reflects wealth, as do the silver utensils like “Jugs and tankards”

In the vast kitchen, the date and family name carved on the front of the building suggest its

historical value. I will return to a detailed analysis of the building and its connection to nature

and culture in Chapter Three.

The contrast between the culture reflected by the appearance of the building of Wuthering

Heights and its classification as a farm house is also reflected in Heathcliff himself and is pointed

out by Lockwood:

The apartment and furniture would have been nothing extraordinary as belonging

to a homely, northern farmer, with a stubborn countenance, and stalwart limbs set

out to advantage in knee-breeches and gaiters. Such an individual seated in his

arm-chair, his mug of ale frothing on the round table before him […] But Mr

Heathcliff forms a singular contrast to his abode and style of living. He is a dark-

skinned gipsy in aspect, in dress and manners a gentleman: […] he has an erect

and handsome figure; and [is] rather morose. (5)

Wuthering Heights stands in stark contrast to the lodging of the Linton family, Thrushcross

Grange, which is new and glamorous with an extravagant interior that reflects its economic value

and the inhabitants’ social status:

Ah! it was beautiful – a splendid place carpeted with crimson, and crimson-

covered chairs and tables, and a pure white ceiling bordered by gold, a shower of

glass-drops hanging in silver chains from the centre, and shimmering with little

soft tapers. (48)

By contrast, Wuthering Heights’ pure connection with nature is reflected not only in its name

that is “descriptive of the atmospheric tumult to which its station is exposed in stormy weather”

(4), but also in the abundance of almost wild dogs roaming around in its halls. Thrushcross

Grange is a place of pure civilization and decorum: dogs are employed by the Lintons to attack

poachers and trespassers. There are more examples in the novel that point at this severed unity of

the organic human whole, which I shall be discussing in detail in the coming chapters, but none

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is as powerful as these descriptions of the two main residences in which the action will take

place.

Wuthering Heights also reflects the Victorian concern with social morality and religious

doubt, affirming human dignity and freedom, change and transformation. The Victorian concern

with “social morality” is reflected in the “two planes of being on which Emily lived – that of ‘the

World within’ and of ‘the World without’” (Gérin 173), and which are represented in Wuthering

Heights in the conflict between what Heathcliff desires and what is socially accepted. For

example, Heathcliff is not an acceptable husband for Catherine Earnshaw because it would

degrade her socially to marry someone without family and wealth. The element of Victorian

religious doubt is addressed by Michael Timko when he asserts that the idea of man as being a

“natural” object and a “creation of nature” is unique to the Victorians and would be difficult for a

Romantic to understand. He suggests that the debate of whether or not God and Nature are at

strife is “a line often taken as the touchstone of Victorian doubt, [and] could never be uttered by a

Romantic” (617). Timko points out the Victorian debate abound God and Nature “which had

come to question not how man was related to nature or God, but if in fact he could come to know

anything at all, including his own place in the scheme of things” (612). The nature of the

relationship between God and nature in Wuthering Heights is reflected initially in young

Catherine Earnshaw’s and Heathcliff’s attempts to “picture Heaven so beautifully […] in their

innocent talk” after the death of Mr Earnshaw that they almost convert Nelly and cause her to

“sob” and “wish [they were] all there safe together” (44), and is returned to in a different form at

the end of the novel in the depiction of Heathcliff’s death.

Further, I would argue that the Victorian concern with the assertion of our humanity in

the face of our bestial nature is reflected in Wuthering Height’ confirmation of the essential

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nature of humanity that social traditions and conventions aim at stifling or even erasing, but end

up perverting. The bestial potential of humanity is depicted in Heathcliff’s passionate behaviour

and how the other characters react to him. They assume that he is not “a creature of [Nelly’s]

species” (160), but a creature that “howled, not like a man, but like a savage beast getting goaded

to death with knives and spears” (167), and simply “not a human being” (172). Demonstration of

a passionate nature is to be suppressed and resisted in a Victorian society, and so as Timko

asserts, “to talk of the identification of nature, God, and man was to talk of a dream that had

turned into a surrealistic nightmare of primordial beasts tearing one another to bits or ignorant

armies clashing at night” (613).

The concern in Wuthering Heights with change and transformation reflects what Walter

E. Houghton suggests is the “Zeitgeist itself”: the overpowering impression of the time.

Houghton asserts that “[tremendous changes] are peculiarly Victorian. For although all ages are

ages of transition, never before had men thought of their own time as an era of change from the

past to the future” (1). The change and transformation that take place in Wuthering Heights, I

shall argue, represent a social reformation in which Hareton is the seed of a reformed humanity.

In other words, social reform for Emily Brontë begins with a reform in the natural human

disposition.

Emily Brontë’s great affinity for role playing allows her to dramatize a history of

humanity that starts with Heathcliff as representative of the primitive state of humanity and

traces its progress through his life. Emily Brontë’s family life and deep connection to the natural

setting of the moors become, to her “an integral part of the human drama; they had a meaning

and an intimate relationship with the actors in the drama” (Gérin 214). Her affinity for role

playing and historicizing is reflected in the imaginary world of “The Gondal Chronicles” (1831)

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that she and her younger sister, Anne, established. Their Gondal saga is set on two contrasting

islands in the South Pacific: the northern island, Gondal, which is a realm of moorlands and

snow and the southern island, Gaaldine, which features a more tropical climate. Gaaldine is

subject to Gondal, which may be related to the time period of the early nineteenth-century, in

which Britain was expanding its Empire. In her diary, Emily describes her holiday when she and

Anne travelled on the newly opened Keighley line to Bradford, where they changed trains for

Leeds and then York:

Anne and I went our first long journey by ourselves together, leaving

home on the 30th of June, Monday, sleeping at York, returning to Keighley

Tuesday evening, sleeping there and walking home on Wednesday morning.

Though the weather was broken we enjoyed ourselves very much, except during a

few hours at Bradford. And during our excursion we were, Ronald Macalgin,

Henry Angora, Juliet Angusteena, Rosabella Esmalden, Ella and Julian Egremont,

Catherine Navarre, and Cordelia Fitzaphnold, escaping from the palaces of

instruction to join the Royalists who are hard driven at present by the victorious

Republicans. (qtd. in Barker, The Brontёs 531)

Elizabeth Gaskell, in The Life of Charlotte Brontë (1857), points out how Emily Brontë’s

preference for seclusion, and the fact that she never sought communication with people even if

she knew them, helped her quietly observe details of life events surrounding her. Emily used to

hear people around her and feed her imagination, forming her world view based on these

observations:

She could hear of them with interest, and talk of them with detail, minute, graphic

and accurate; but with them she rarely exchanged a word. Hence it ensued, that

what her mind had gathered of the real concerning them, was too exclusively

confined to those tragic and terrible traits, of which, in listening to the secret

annals of every rude vicinage, the memory is sometimes compelled to receive the

impress. (271)

In Wuthering Heights, the mystery surrounding Heathcliff’s origin, behaviour, rebellion, and

suffering represents a challenge for scholars. I would suggest that Heathcliff’s mysterious origin

confirms the fact that Emily Brontë anchors Heathcliff in nature: Heathcliff’s origin is not

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important in itself; what is important is that he is the product of nature, like the forces of nature –

winds, storms, and human nature – all of which are essentially forces of change. This, I suggest,

implies a reform of a society that perverts human nature. This reform is especially important for

Emily Brontë because of what she described as her “desire” to be free “from the trammels of

physical existence” as a first condition towards “complete union with ‘the soul of nature’” (qtd.

in Gérin 86). This freedom would open up the way for a private communion with God and a

spirituality that is not disturbed by the confusion of different sects of Christianity.

Some critics have used psychological analysis in an effort to shed some light on the

characters’ motivations. Freud’s theory of dreams has been applied, for instance, in “Desire’s

Dreams: Power and Passion in Wuthering Heights” by Susan Jaret Mckinstry. Mckinstry

explores the frustration and attainment of the objects of sexual and financial desire by Heathcliff

and Catherine by means of marriage. Mckinstry maintains that Brontë goes beyond the

convention of life-and-death romances, or love-and-danger Gothics, as representations of adult

desire mediated by social realism. Instead, in Wuthering Heights, children’s desires are based,

like those of adults, on power, sexuality, and mimetic violence: they desire possession of an

unattainable “other” – in this case, adult power. Mckinstry asserts “that we imitate the other even

as we resent the other for being the victorious possessor of the desired object” (142). Thus,

Wuthering Heights represents mimetic desire as the means by which children attempt to escape

from their powerless position: they learn to imitate the adults who control them. But since the

novel sets up only unhealthy adult relationships, the children's relationships are equally

manipulative, triangular and, finally, destructive. I would suggest that this mimetic desire is

firmly rooted in society and represents an external influence that perverts natural dispositions

because it aims at molding desires according to a rigid unnatural man-made model. Thus, when

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Catherine imitates other girls in society and decides to marry Edgar for the convenience of

access to wealth and class, and to escape her brother Hindley’s control and Heathcliff’s

degradation, this relationship ends up being destructive for her. Moreover, once she conforms,

Catherine is compelled to continue performing the role prescribed for her by Victorian

convention. Her only way to escape and to be free from this social trap is to die. This notion is

suggested when Catherine tells Nelly:

I wish I were a girl again, half savage and hardy, and free; and laughing at

injuries, not maddening under them! Why am I so changed? why does my blood

rush into a hell of tumult at a few words? I'm sure I should be myself were I once

among the heather on those hills […]

Look!” she cried eagerly, “that's my room with the candle in it, and the

trees swaying before it; and the other candle is in Joseph's garret. Joseph sits up

late, doesn't he? He’s waiting till I come home that he may lock the gate. Well,

he’ll wait a while yet. It’s a rough journey, and a sad heart to travel it; and we

must pass by Gimmerton Kirk to go that journey! We’ve braved its ghosts often

together, and dared each other to stand among the graves and ask them to come.

(124-5)

The fact that Catherine points out the necessity to “pass by Gimmerton Kirk” (the graveyard) to

go back to her past life suggests the necessity of her dying as a condition to be free from social

constraints. This notion reinforces my argument that Brontë uses death and reincarnation as

turning points, after which humanity is affirmed and liberated rather than being constrained by

social laws.

Mckinsky also claims that Brontë explores the fairy tale’s internal destructions ̶ the

monster within the family (Heathcliff), the evil stepmother (Frances), unnatural family

relationships, and the violent struggle for self-identity ̶ and that they are reflected in the external

horrors of the Gothic ̶ the harsh weather, the pleading, bleeding ghost of Catherine in

Lockwood's nightmare, the haunting of Heathcliff. However, I would suggest that Heathcliff and

Frances, the characters of an unknown origin who are imported into the family at Wuthering

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Heights, represent forces of nature like the strong winds and storms. Their presence anticipates

changes to Wuthering Heights and the Earnshaw family, ones that are not necessarily evil or

monstrous but which cause disruption and lead to reform, as will be highlighted in subsequent

chapters. Mckinsky suggests that, “by combining the child’s nightmare genres of the fairy tale

and the Gothic horror tale, yet refusing to either form with the predicted, satisfying ending that

rewards the good with adulthood and punishes the evil with death, Brontë utilizes all the

psychological and linguistic power in both forms to create a terrifying narrative of possession

manipulated through mimetic desire” (144). She interprets the novel’s ending, in which the

reader is left with the vision of walking ghosts, as “an expression of the power and danger of

fulfilled desire in the children world of a Victorian nightmare fairy tale” (145). I would suggest

that Emily Brontë’s visions of the walking ghosts are an expression of the freedom [each has??]

they have been denied during their lifetimes as a result of social restrictions. Because of her

concern for the freedom of human nature, Emily Brontë refuses to end the novel with Heathcliff

and Catherine being punished with the perpetual confinement of the grave.

Jung’s theory of individuation has also been applied to Wuthering Heights in The Gothic

Psyche: Disintegration and Growth in Nineteenth Century English Literature by Matthew C.

Brennan. Brennan locates Gothic consciousness in terms of its opposition to “the neoclassical

virtues of order, reason, and beauty,” arguing that “[o]bscurity, terror, confusion, transgressed

and open boundaries, and excess of all kinds, but especially of subjective feeling, dominate in

Gothic novels” (2). The Gothic psychology of repression and anxiety is figured in and articulated

through dreams. Brennan uses Jungian psychology to present a new interpretation of the function

of nightmares in the Gothic, using its concepts of the “shadow,” the “anima/animus” and the

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“Sacred Marriage,” to read the Gothic as “cautionary tales about the dangers of neglecting the

unconscious” (9). He argues that,

if heeded, the images of the unconscious can prove positive to responsive

characters [...] becoming curative and creative and promoting individuation. If

ignored, however, the images turn negative and destructive. In Jungian terms, the

main Gothic plots, characters, and symbols portray the failure to achieve

individuation. (9)

Brennan suggests that “Cathy resolves her animus stage by accepting Hareton and eventually

marrying him” (93) and offers compelling reading of Catherine’s various Gothic downfalls as

neurotic failures to adapt to the unconscious. Using this logic, I would suggest that Catherine

underestimates her strong subconscious desire for Heathcliff when she decides to marry Edgar.

Consequently, she suffers from neurosis and finally breaks down and dies in child birth.

Catherine’s dreams exhibit her suppressed desire for freedom, which she can only find in her

union with Heathcliff:

As soon as ever I had barred the door, utter blackness overwhelmed me, and I fell

on the floor. […] Before I recovered sufficiently to see and hear, it began to be

dawn […] I thought as I lay there, with my head against that table leg, and my

eyes dimly discerning the grey square of the window, that I was enclosed in the

oak-panelled bed at home; and my heart ached with some great grief which, just

waking […] I was a child; my father was just buried, and my misery arose from

the separation that Hindley had ordered between me and Heathcliff. I was laid

alone, for the first time; and, rousing from a dismal doze after a night of weeping,

I lifted my hand to push the panels aside: it struck the table-top! I swept it along

the carpet, and then memory burst in: my late anguish was swallowed by a

paroxysm of despair. I cannot say why I felt so wildly wretched. (124)

While psychoanalytic readings offer explanations of underlying motives of the characters,

social analysis of Wuthering Heights offers some insight into how the novel is grounded in

Victorian contexts. In his Introduction to the English Novel, Arnold Kettle argues that,

Wuthering Heights is about England in 1847. The people it reveals live not in

never-never land but in Yorkshire. Heathcliff was born not in the pages of Byron,

but in a Liverpool slum. The language of the Nelly, Joseph and Hareton is the

language of Yorkshire people. (139)

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The basic conflict and motive force of the novel are social in origin, and, as Kettle claims, the

source of Catherine and Heathcliff’s affinity is their reaction to the injustice inflicted on them by

Hindley and his wife Frances. In other words, the fact that Heathcliff belongs to a different race

and social class while Catherine is a woman places them in class categories seen as inferior by

Hindley, the legitimate heir of Wuthering Heights. As Kettle argues, “Heathcliff is a common

rebel. And it is from his association in rebellion with Catherine that the peculiar quality of their

relationship arises” (145). He asserts that bourgeois life seduces Catherine so that she begins to

despise Heathcliff and desire Edgar, and when Heathcliff reappears in her life groomed and

civilized, social conflict is re-emphasized and Edgar does not want him around. Kettle’s view

supports my claim that Victorian society’s unnatural rules and standards subordinate individuals

who are naturally equal.

Class conflict and its destructive impact on human nature in the novel are also

highlighted by Steven Vine in “The Wuther of the Other in Wuthering Heights.” Vine explores

the different meanings of the word “wuther” to suggest that Emily Brontë’s text powerfully

dramatizes conflicts that open up apparent fixities in the “wuther” of the “other” and submit

sexual, psychical, and ideological identities to the tumult that constitutes them. Vine suggests

that “the name of the house compounds geographical inaccessibility with linguistic unfamiliarity,

and Lockwood explains the name as if to counter the strangeness it opens up: ‘Wuthering’ being

a significant provincial adjective, descriptive of the atmospheric tumult to which [the house’s]

station is exposed in stormy weather” (340). He points out the fact that Wuthering Heights is a

house under stress; its very stability is the result of a climatic “tumult” that means its windows

are sunk, desperately and defensively, deep into its walls, and its clean corners are broken up by

15

obtruding stones. Vine argues that, “Wuthering Heights is skewed by extremity: it is an

architectural torsion wuthering between stability and instability” (340). “Wuther” is

[a] variant of Scots and dialect English “whither” [which] can mean “an attack,

onset; a smart blow, or stroke” (the house, in this sense, is constantly under attack

from the outside); but it can also mean “to tremble, shake, quiver,” so that

“wuthering” names “a quivering movement” or “a tremble” that convulses from

within rather than attacks from without. (Vine 340)

The remorseless buffeting that threatens the house’s exterior structure conditions its inside as

well. Further, Vine recalls Terry Eagleton’s notion that Heathcliff is split between the Romantic

sublimities of the Heights (particularly in his relation to Cathy) and the social Heights (both in

his relation to Cathy and the social and economic accommodations of the Grange). Thus, Vine

argues that “in the second half of the novel, Heathcliff darkly parodies the Grange’s capitalist

prerogatives” (342). Eagleton sees Heathcliff as a figure of ideological conflict whose narrative

function “is to open up fixed meanings and identities to otherness to invade the seemingly self-

identical and turn it inside out” (Vine 342). Heathcliff’s entire history in the novel is framed in

terms of taking the place of others. Heathcliff is a foundling who is christened “Heathcliff”

because it is the name of a son who died in childhood in the Earnshaw household. Installed at the

Heights, he takes the place of Hindley in old Earnshaw's affections; later, he takes Hindley's

place as the master of the Heights; and finally, he takes Edgar Linton's place (and Isabella’s and

Cathy Linton’s) as the master of Thrushcross Grange. The relationship between Catherine and

Heathcliff is “a drama of desire and identification, in which their separate selves wuther into the

other, but also where the ‘frame’ of the self is shaken from within and where its coherency is

scripted and erased” (Vine 350). Vine claims that Cathy’s declaration that her miseries have been

Heathcliff’s miseries “is both an identification with Heathcliff's story and a radical loss of her

own story, since for Cathy self-identity coincides with self-loss” (350). Vine concludes that

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Emily Brontë uses Heathcliff and Catherine to “wuther” the ideological worlds that constitute

them early in the novel. Catherine disturbs and displaces the identities of the bourgeois “lady,”

and Heathcliff the capitalist “master,” the roles that Catherine and Heathcliff assume in the

narrative.

Building on the early Victorian view of illness as a societal value system, Dennis

Bloomfield examines how Emily Brontë used illness, injury and death to advance the plot,

arguing that these function as a “metaphor to direct the reader’s interpretation of the personality

of the characters and their importance in the story” (290). Bloomfield declares that “[Lakshmi]

Krishnan’s writing on the psychological implications in Wuthering Heights, points out that

Victorian medical concepts accepted that the will had the power to invoke physical and mental

illness” (289). To support her argument, Bloomfield suggests the following narrative:

[T]he first person to die as the story develops is Mrs Earnshaw, senior […] the

importance of her death lies in the support she had afforded Hindley in rejecting

Heathcliff. Without her, Mr Earnshaw’s support and protection of the child become

unbalanced […] Shortly afterwards, Catherine and Heathcliff contract measles and

Heathcliff becomes “dangerously” ill. Nelly, who has initially sympathized with Hindley,

nurses the young intruder back to health. She modifies her own impressions of Heathcliff

by comparing his uncomplaining attitude with Catherine’s […] Mr Earnshaw, the only

character in the story to attain old age, dies peacefully, four years later, after a gradual

decline. This necessitates Hindley’s return, upon which his loathing of Heathcliff is

unsuppressed as he eliminates Heathcliff’s privileges and places him in virtual slavery.

This treatment, understandably, breeds the hatred that becomes the motivation of

Heathcliff’s life. (290)

Given the attention of Emily Brontë to the symptoms and signs of diseases that infect the

characters in her novel, we can examine the causes of illness and death in the personae of

Wuthering Heights. An example is Bloomfield’s citation of Susan Rubinow Gorsky who

concentrates on psychiatric disorders, suggesting that

Catherine used such illness in largely unsuccessful attempts to manipulate her

friends and foes. She states that “almost certainly” Catherine was suffering from

anorexia nervosa. In support of this theory, she cites repeated references to

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Catherine’s refusing food as a weapon in the response to her unmanageable love

for Heathcliff, her alienation of Edgar and dislike of carrying his child. (294)

Bloomfield observes that Gorsky “bases her diagnosis of anorexia on the numerous references to

Catherine’s wilful and purposeful ‘starving’ or fasting to manipulate the other characters which

eventually led to her own death. She further implies that anorexia possesses the manipulative

element of persuasiveness generally associated with hunger strikes” (295). Bloomfield then links

the illness and sickness in the novel to the personal life of the Brontës, as principal issues that,

“together with poverty, shaped the plans and the outcomes for the family. It is not surprising,

therefore, that the illnesses mirror the manner in which the reader is invited to view the

characters in Wuthering Heights and that the elements of the plot are influenced and moved

forward by these same issues” (298). However, I would suggest that, contrary to Gorsky’s

assertion that Catherine unsuccessfully using her sickness to manipulate people around her,

Catherine’s sickness is a symptom of a nature that has become infected by social constraints.

Thus, her sickness is a product of her nature rebelling against an unnatural society, rather than a

tool to influence this society. Her situation can be compared to Emily Brontë’s sickness during

her time at Roe Head school when restrictive conditions restrained a spirit adapted to the

freedom allowed by her walks in nature.

The culture that produced those restrictive social conditions is the focus of a number of

studies of the novel. For example, in The Structure of Wuthering Heights (1926), Charles Percy

Sanger worked out the chronology of Wuthering Heights by closely examining the text and

investigating the structure of the novel, which deals with three generations in an absolute

symmetry of pedigree. Mr and Mrs Earnshaw at Wuthering Heights and Mr and Mrs Linton at

Thrushcross Grange each have one son and one daughter. Sanger investigates the dates of birth

or death by following clues left by Emily Brontë throughout the novel, but he also highlights

18

Emily’s thorough knowledge of the law, when he explains the legalities that allowed Heathcliff

to acquire the property of both the Earnshaws and the Lintons. Sanger argues that “Wuthering

Heights conforms to an almost legal or logical strictness and exactitude with regard to

probability of detail. This intricate structure demonstrates the vividness of the author’s

imagination” (20). However, I would suggest that, in addition to the symmetry of pedigree

suggested by Sanger, Emily Brontë creates various symmetrical contradictions: Wuthering

Heights, which represents the natural, the old, and the cultural, is set in contrast to Thrushcross

Grange, which represents society, the new, and civilization. In doing this, Brontë highlights the

severed and divided state of humanity that is created to be wholesome. Further, in these

contradictions the difference between culture and civilization is highlighted, as well as the

adverse effects of their severed state.

In “Culture versus Civilization: Oswald Spengler’s and Bertrand Russell’s Social

Prognosis,” William Nathanson cites Spengler’s description of these terms and the relationship

between them:

Culture, to Spengler, is the soul of a nation, civilization is its body. The fate of

civilization, therefore, is the same as that of the body, namely death. The life of

each and every civilization ends with the life of the nation in which a specific

civilization found its expression. And the life, again, of each nation is like the life

of the individual: it has its beginning and its end. A nation, like an individual,

must die sooner or later, and with it dies its civilization. The culture of a nation,

on the other hand, like the spiritual creation of the individual, lives forever, or will

live at least as long as man lasts. (571)

The building of Wuthering Heights reflects all these lasting elements. However, for humanity to

persist, society needs to mend the rift between the spiritual and the natural, and find a figure who

can absorb all these contradictions and reflect a middle state. I maintain that Hareton is the figure

whom Emily Brontë chooses to achieve this purpose.

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However, the focus of the novel is the often frustrating search for this reconciling force.

In “Wuthering Heights and The Rhetoric of Interpretation,” Michael S. Macovski uses rhetorical

interpretation to suggest that the language of the novel presents us with a “missing center.”

Macovski examines the unreliability of Nelly as a narrator; Heathcliff’s frequent inability to

express his inmost feelings before another to break his solitude; and the self-conscious and

deeply flawed model of listening represented by Nelly and Lockwood. Macovski suggests that

Brontë presents the entire novel “as a rendering, as a story reported at one, two, or three

removes. The interpretive valuations of characters like Lockwood, Nelly, and Zillah distort

almost every episode of the story we hear ̶ thereby implicating the reader as the last in a framed

succession of interpreters” (364). Macovski addresses the issue of interpretation and response

that is addressed directly within the text of Wuthering Heights – most explicitly by interrogative

exchanges between characters, and by the rhetorical form of the novel itself. The presence of an

interpreter appears to be vital. For example, no sooner has Heathcliff begun his attempt to “turn

out” his mind to Nelly then he breaks off, saying, “it is frenzy to repeat these thoughts to you”

(321). Heathcliff then concludes: "[m]y confessions have not relieved me" (322). Macovski

compares Heathcliff’s outpouring to Nelly to an undirected “frenzy” since Nelly proves

incapable of any reciprocal response. According to Macovski, Nelly's silence or, in some

instances, refusal to listen “indicates a larger pattern of failed audition, for it implies an inability

to apprehend the ghosts and visions which represent revelation in the novel” (366). When

Catherine, for instance, begins to speak of her vision of heaven, Nelly insists, “Oh! don't, Miss

Catherine […] We're dismal enough without conjuring up ghosts and visions to perplex us” (79).

When Catherine goes on, Nelly cries, “I tell you I won't harken to your dreams, Miss Catherine!”

By refusing to “harken” to these revelatory visions, Nelly misses the pivotal revelation of the

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novel: “the spectral bond between Catherine and Heathcliff, a bond represented primarily by

sightings and visions” (Macovski 366). Macovski further suggests that when the speakers of

Wuthering Heights address a listener, they in effect expose a hidden part of the self – expose it to

the interpretation not only of the other, but of themselves as well. Macovski accounts for the

status of Catherine's cryptic statement, “I am Heathcliff” by reflecting on “Catherine's avowed

need for outness, that desire to define being in terms of an ‘existence […] beyond one's

‘contained’ self. Thus, in the statement ‘I am Heathcliff’ Catherine essentially delimits her

existence by locating it in another, by making her outness one with Heathcliff’s” (379). Thus, it

is this notion of “outness” that also accounts for Heathcliff’s visions of Catherine's specter, for

according to Macovski, “he is essentially living out her stated description of her externality: “If

all else perished, and he remained, I should continue to be” (379).

Finally, Macovski declares that,

as the novel closes, it is this projection of self that finally accounts for the

attenuated image of the second-generation union ̶ for in this couple, not only do

part of Catherine and Heathcliff “continue to be,” but a symbol of their rhetorical

process of outness necessarily lives on […] [W]hen the younger Cathy ultimately

asks Hareton to listen, she necessarily provides a vehicle for her own “affection

and duties towards others,” her own “Definition” of “Conscience” and “Self,” her

own “outness.” (380)

Emily Brontë’s belief in the existence of ghosts and spirits is among the various

philosophical dimensions that have been investigated in Wuthering Heights, and represents an

important element of the spiritual reformation suggested in my articulation of my proposed

Emilian philosophy. In “A Fellowship of Spiritual Needs: The Religious Aesthetic of Emily

Brontë’s Wuthering Heights,” Scott William Connor suggests that the presence of ghostly

apparitions and spirits throughout the novel sets the novel firmly within the “Catholic sensibility

since the Protestant denial of ghosts as spirits of the dead was caught up with their rejection of

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Purgatory. Medieval ghost stories feature ghosts as a soul from purgatory asking for prayers” (8-

9). Thus, Connor contends that Wuthering Heights places Emily Brontë, along with the Pre-

Raphaelites and neo-pagans of the Victorian era, as one of “the generation in revolt” (9). In

Chapter Three, I will argue that, in Wuthering Heights, Emily Brontë also sees the Franciscan

Order within the Catholic Church as modelling a spiritual reform that can potentially reunify

humanity with nature so that it regains its wholesomeness. The reason, I would suggest, is that

Franciscan Order (founded in 1209) emphasized evident material poverty, contemplative prayer

in nature, evangelical preaching, and care of the very poor. All these elements are similarly

emphasized in the novel.

The tensions and affinities between science and religion, and religion and nature, are the

subject of “Between Natural Theology and Natural Selection: Breeding the Human Animal in

Wuthering Heights” by Barbara Munson Goff in which she draws a comparison between Emily

Brontë’s Wuthering Heights and Charles Darwin’s writing. Goff contends that as a scientist,

Darwin lacked Emily’s cover of pseudonymity and narrative indirectness. However, Darwin

devised the harmless persona of an investigator of topsoils and fossils, gentians and flatworms

(Goff 478). Darwin’s notebooks often suggest a decided giddiness in the triumph of his

materialism over the patently ridiculous explanations provided by natural theology. Wuthering

Heights was as provocative in its own way as Darwin’s theory. For both writers, truth had been

revealed in a nature relatively untampered with by mankind, and error proceeded from a human

refusal to recognize the fundamental connection between humans and animals. Goff asserts that

these premises brought both Darwin and Brontë to similar conclusions about human vis-à-vis

animal “nature.” Both were building a case against the prevailing state of British biology and

theology. Thus, Goff argues that Brontë had come to conclusions about the literal descent of the

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Victorian man from his essential animal nature and was comfortable with a personal God who

operated as ruthlessly as Darwin’s “mechanism” in the character of Heathcliff.

Other philosophically oriented readings deal with death in Wuthering Heights,

suggesting a connection between manner of death and the fate of the deceased in the after world.

In “Spaces of Death in Emily Brontë’s Wuthering Heights,” Albert Myburgh explores the idea

expressed by philosophers and social geographers such as Henri Lefebvre, Edward Soja and

Henk Van Houtum that “space” is a social construct. Myburgh applies these ideas to Wuthering

Heights and its depiction and examination of central nineteenth-century ideas and anxieties about

death and the literal and metaphoric spaces allocated to the dead. As Myburgh points out, the

association of death and evil reflects society’s desire to separate itself from death through

banishing it to another realm. However, he also explores death as unifying as well as separating:

“the possibility that husband and wife are reunited in death is suggested in the similarity of their

deathbed scenes” (30). The space Heathcliff occupies in death is suggested in the appearance of

his corpse, which scares Nelly Dean: it is evidence that he was defiant and immoral even while

dying. Thus, the space Heathcliff’s soul occupies in the afterworld is equally terrifying. Myburgh

concludes that the spaces assigned to death change whenever society’s ideas about death do. This

change depends on the ideologies of those in positions of authority, such as dominant religious

institutions, which exploit theology to ensure their continued empowerment. Myburgh declares

that whether a soul goes to hell or heaven is closely linked to the standards of acceptable

behaviour in the society of the living. He contends that

Heathcliff’s, Catherine’s, and Hindley’s apparent rejection of the conventional

spaces of death, for example, may, then, not be meant to indicate their degenerate

characters as such, but to suggest that it is those who challenge social norms who

are considered wicked, that the marginalised can generate new spaces for

themselves to occupy in the afterlife, or even that the conception of spaces of

death such as heaven, hell, and purgatory is artificial. It may therefore also

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demonstrate their rejection of conventional ideas about or theological accounts of

the nature of existence. (13)

Myburgh’s argument is that Victorian religious attitudes and religious institutions link death with

sin and punishment. My project highlights Emily Brontë’s defiance of this view when she

depicts death as a point in life, after which the soul of humanity is reformed and liberated from

social constraints and metaphorically reincarnated in a different form to highlight this reformed

state. Indeed, I will argue that Heathcliff represents humanity in crisis, and Hareton represents

the nascence of a reformed humanity.

In “Heathcliff’s ‘Queer End’ and Schopenhauer’s Denial of the Will,” Ronald B. Hatch

uses Schopenhauer’s philosophical views to analyse Heathcliff’s death. Hatch points out the

change that comes upon Heathcliff before his death when he sees that Catherine’s “features are

shaped on the flags! Every cloud, in every tree – filling the air at night, and caught by glimpses

in every object by day, [he is] surrounded with her image” (56). Hatch suggests that this change

represents Heathcliff’s new perception that all individuals are merely objectifications of the

single world force. Hatch also links this change to Schopenhauer’s innovation in Kantian

thought, the assertion that “as soon as an individual understood completely that phenomenally

different objects were all products of the same world Will, then the individual’s volition would

cease, since he would see that all differences in the world were only seeming differences” (56).

Thus, Heathcliff’s volition ceases as soon as he sees the spirit of his Cathy in the world around

him. Hatch concludes that Heathcliff’s new knowledge of the nature of the world quietens his

will.

In their feminist approach to Wuthering Heights in The Mad Woman in the Attic: The

Woman Writer and the Nineteenth Century Literary Imagination, Sandra Gilbert and Susan

Gubar invoke the idea of “reincarnation” in Wuthering Heights. Gilber and Gubar indicate

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Catherine’s identification with Heathcliff ̶ her statement that “I am Heathcliff” ̶ as a re-

invention of “self.” Based on the novel’s ending, they assert that the powerfully disruptive

possibilities that Heathcliff and Catherine represent may some day be reincarnated at Wuthering

Heights. They suggest that Emily Brontë would consider such reincarnation a consummation

devoutly to be wished.

My project will go beyond Sandra Gilbert’s and Susan Gubar’s feminist interpretation of

the novel, and will propose a different dimension of “reincarnation” that goes beyond the fates of

individual characters to trace the progress of humanity. I will explore a possible “Emilian

philosophy” that envisages Heathcliff’s development as representative of an organic

development of humanity over time, in which Heathcliff is initially the personification of

primitive savage man and undergoes a journey through maturation and toward reformation. I

contend that Heathcliff’s death represents an event or a point of maturity of the human soul, after

which his educated / reformed soul is re-incarnated in the body of Hareton Earnshaw to continue

its earthly existence. Heathcliff’s death scene suggests human defiance in the face of suffering

and of long-established man-made social order that aims at depriving humanity of its freedom,

confining it within its restrictive rules, and condemning it to hell when it refuses to conform.

This is significant since it offers an optimistic view of death as part of life and not the end of it; it

also allows us a glimpse, through Nelly’s description of Heathcliff’s opened eyes, of his afterlife:

Mr Heathcliff was there – laid on his back. His eyes met mine so keen and fierce,

I started; and then he seemed to smile. I could not think him dead: but his face and

throat were washed with rain; the bed-clothes dripped, and he was perfectly still.

The lattice, flapping to and fro, had grazed one hand that rested on the sill; no

blood trickled from the broken skin, and when I put my fingers to it, I could doubt

no more: he was dead and stark! I hasped the window; I combed his black long

hair from his forehead; I tried to close his eyes: to extinguish, if possible, that

frightful, life-like gaze of exultation before any one else beheld it. They would not

shut: they seemed to sneer at my attempts; and his parted lips and sharp white

teeth sneered too! (332)

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His wet face and mutilated hand suggest Heathcliff’s purification and redemption, which is

anchored in nature since the rain and not the church or the priest baptizes and purifies him.

Heathcliff’s “life-like gaze” suggests the existence of life energy even in death. This energy, I

contend, reflects a benign view of religion that appreciates love and rewards it. Heathcliff’s

world view in death is reflected in his open eyes, which, in their refusal to be shut, show his

defiance of a rigid religious belief that insists upon condemning him. Heathcliff’s attitude before

death also reflects his reformed soul. In this light, death is a milestone in the moral reformation

and spiritual redemption of Heathcliff and reincarnation in the body of Hareton represents an

undisturbed continuation in the progress / development of humanity toward reformation. I

contend that Emily Brontë’s philosophical imagination leads her to personify humanity in these

two characters in order to offer an optimistic view of a humanity that is free and reformed.

The philosophical and literary works of Jean-Jacques Rousseau and Friedrich Schiller

provide a strong framework of the ideas related to human nature, moral reformation and

reincarnation which are captured in what I have termed the Emilian philosophy. According to

Rousseau and Schiller, passions need to be educated rather than suppressed to achieve the state

of the “beautiful soul” in which man is morally reformed, and in which passion and reason are

reconciled by the free will of the human individual. There is a similarity between Rousseau’s

depiction of the primitive savage man in his Discourse on the Origin of Inequality and Brontë’s

depiction of Heathcliff in Wuthering Heights. I will argue that viewing Heathcliff’s uncontrolled

passions, desires and natural impulses as characteristics that connect him to Rousseau’s savage

man sheds light on mysterious corners in his character that, because they are not clear, make

Heathcliff seem evil. Examining Heathcliff’s character as representative of the primitive savage

man serves two important purposes: first, it provides a historical dimension to my argument that

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the novel traces humanity’s progress towards redemption with Heathcliff. Secondly, it clarifies

Heathcliff’s natural disposition, which is, in this narrative, sublime because of its close

connection to nature and its forces, and will remain sublime later, in the form of Hareton

(Heathcliff’s spiritual reincarnation).

Moreover, Brontë appears to have been influenced by Rousseau’s model of “natural

education,” in which Rousseau asserts that

People think only of preserving their child’s life; this is not enough, he must be

taught to preserve his own life when he is a man, to bear the buffets of fortune, to

brave wealth and poverty, to live at need among the snows of Iceland or on the

scorching rocks of Malta. In vain you guard against death; he must needs die; and

even if you do not kill him with your precautions, they are mistaken. Teach him to

live rather than to avoid death: life is not breath, but action, the use of our senses,

our mind, our faculties, every part of ourselves which makes us conscious of our

being. Life consists less in length of days than in the keen sense of living. A man

may be buried at a hundred and may never have lived at all. He would have fared

better had he died young […] Our wisdom is slavish prejudice, our customs

consist in control, constraint, compulsion. – Civilised man is born and dies a

slave. (Émile 5)

There is a key similarity between Rousseau’s mode of bringing up children in Émile and

Heathcliff’s mode of raising Hareton. In Émile, Rousseau asks: “Would you keep him as nature

made him? Watch over him from his birth. Take possession of him as soon as he comes into the

world and keep him till he is a man; you will never succeed otherwise” (8). In Wuthering

Heights, Heathcliff takes possession of Hareton: “Now, my bonny lad, you are mine!” (185). In

spite of the difference in motivations between Émile’s guardian and Heathcliff in raising their

protégées, both end up producing moral human beings and citizens. Émile’s guardian is

motivated by his desire to raise “men to humanity, [and] citizens to the state” (8). On the other

hand, Heathcliff is motivated by the desire for revenge on Edgar Linton; as he explains to Nelly,

he wants to “to try his hand at rearing a young one, so intimate to your master, that I must supply

the place of this with my own [Heathcliff’s son, Linton]” (186). Heathcliff isolates Hareton from

27

society and sends him to labour in the land. However, in doing this, Heathcliff ends up

preserving Hareton’s nature by protecting him from the external corrupting influences. This

result suggests that the key elements that pervert human nature are society and its institutions,

and that anchoring our lives in nature will preserve the wholesomeness and balance of humanity.

Schiller’s views on reincarnation, reformation and free humanity are also reflected in

Emily Brontë’s novel. According to Lieselotte E. Kurth-Voigt in Continued Existence,

Reincarnation, and the Power of Sympathy in Classical Weimar, Schiller’s ideas of pre-existence

and reincarnation, inducing reunification with the “other,” and eternal duration of love and

friendship are reflected in his poetry and plays (207). In The Robbers, Amalia and Charles (Karl

in other translations) Moor are in love. And, despite the fact that Moor pronounces himself a

rebel and lives in the woods, Amalia hopes to be united with him in the afterlife in another

existence. Schiller depicts Amalia voices her wish for this eternal spiritual union with Charles

when she sings Hector’ song of farewell and his promise to Andromache that death will not

destroy his love for her. Moreover, in his poems to “Laura” Schiller invokes the idea of the

forceful and inescapable attraction that exist immediately between two strangers:1

Meine Laura! nenne mir den Wirbel,

Der an Körper Körper mächtig reißt!

Nenne, meine Laura, mir den Zauber,

Der zum Geist gewaltig zwingt den Geist!

(“Fantasie an Laura,” ll. 1-4; qtd. in Kurth-Voigt 209) 2

In Wuthering Heights, Emily Brontë depicts an immediate and forceful attraction between

Catherine and Heathcliff, an emotion that endures through life and death. Immediately after

Heathcliff is introduced to the Earnshaw household by Mr Earnshaw, Nelly declares that, “Miss

1 “Imagination to Laura”

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Cathy and he were now very thick” (38). Catherine’s declaration of love for Heathcliff also

suggests the idea of pre-existence:

But surely you and everybody have a notion that there is or should be an existence

of yours beyond you. What were the use of my creation, if I were entirely

contained here? 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: I should not seem a part of it. (81-2)

It is clear in this passage that Schiller’s ideas regarding reincarnation have had a great influence

on Emily Brontë. For example, Schiller argues in his treatise “Philosophie der Physiologie

(1779)” that “The spirit (or soul) is eternal, [and] […] is destined to perfect itself in different

‘spheres’ and ‘circles’ of its lasting existence until it reaches its ultimate goal, the Journey’s end

for the best of souls, as pre-figured in ancient philosophy” (Kurth-Voigt 205). Brontë embodies

this idea from Schiller and other sources, in Heathcliff’s progress and in Hareton’s parentage and

mode of upbringing, both of which qualify him to be the proper extension to Heathcliff, and the

reincarnation of his reformed soul.

Schiller’s concern for reform and the importance of a wholesome humanity are also

reflected in Wuthering Heights. In his Letters Upon the Aesthetic Education of Man, Letter

XXVII, Schiller asserts that: “when we find in man the signs of a pure and disinterested esteem,

we can infer that this revolution has taken place in his nature, and that humanity has really begun

in him” (38). These signs are all reflected in Hareton who is totally disinterested in wealth and

power, but only interested in preserving the dignity of the man who raised him, despite the fact

that Heathcliff is also the usurper of Hareton’s wealth: “[Hareton] said he wouldn’t suffer a word

to be uttered to him, in his disparagement; if [Heathcliff] were the devil, it didn’t signify; he

would stand by him” (318). Schiller also comments on the restricting effects of social institutions

29

(including religious institutions) when he asserts that: “a spirit can only be injured by that which

deprives it of its freedom […] but man rises above any natural terror as soon as he knows how to

mould it, and transform it into an object of his art” (34). Indeed, Hareton is depicted as an

individual with “an artist’s interest” (216) who cultivates the soil of Wuthering Heights with

plants imported from the Grange, which suggests renewal and implies the idea of re-anchoring

society back in nature. This action suggests that Hareton is an initiator of reform.

While Heathcliff acts as the personification of humanity, and Hareton as Heathcliff’s

extension through reincarnation, young Cathy is also a refined extension to Catherine. However,

while Hareton is the product of his natural education and his attachment to Heathcliff, Cathy’s

reformed character may be attributed to genetics and hereditary factors: Cathy is the balanced

product of an intermarriage between the passion-driven Catherine and the reason-driven Edgar.

This focus on Heathcliff is signalled at the end of the novel when a little boy claims that he saw

“Heathcliff and a woman” wandering the moors (333; my emphasis). In spite of her rebellious

nature, Catherine conforms and yields to the social and religious conventions: she marries within

the proper class and stays in her unhappy marriage until she dies in childbirth. In a conversation

with Nelly, Catherine claims to be “reconciled to God and humanity” (9), and Nelly describes

Catherine’s death in peaceful terms: “she lies with a sweet smile on her face; and her latest ideas

wandered back to pleasant early days. Her life closed in a gentle dream” (167). In contrast,

Heathcliff’s death is described in fearful terms:

Mr Heathcliff was there – laid on his back. His eyes met mine so keen and fierce

[…] [H]e seemed to smile […] [H]is face and throat were washed with rain; the

bed-clothes dripped, and he was perfectly still. The lattice […] had grazed one

hand […]; no blood trickled from the broken skin, and when I put my fingers to it,

I could doubt no more: he was dead and stark! […] I tried to close his eyes: to

extinguish, if possible, that frightful, life-like gaze of exultation before any one

else beheld it. They would not shut: they seemed to sneer at my attempts; and his

parted lips and sharp white teeth sneered too! (332; my emphasis)

30

In this narrative, Catherine appears to have completed her social and spiritual development

before her death, while the language in this passage suggests that Heathcliff remains defiant,

lacking the reformation and redemption required by society for a peaceful slumber. Thus, the

unidentified “woman” seen by the little boy wandering the moors with Heathcliff could be any

kindred soul who shares Heathcliff’s defiance of convention and organized religion. Indeed, this

woman could be Emily Brontë herself.

As my contention is that Emily Brontë’s world view was shaped by her family life, social

culture, and the literary and philosophical atmosphere of the time, which culminated in what I

would term an Emilian philosophy, it is important to understand the context of Brontë’s life.

Emily Brontë lived in close proximity to death. Her mother died when she was only three years

old. Then, her older sister, Maria, died of tuberculosis, followed by Elizabeth who died of

typhoid fever. In Pattern for Genius, Edith Kinsley asserts that Emily and her brother, Branwell,

were close:

From infancy, they had united in truancy, in running away to the moors. It was

intellectual revolt which effected an inseparable alliance between them. Emily

was the more rational and resolute of the two. In becoming an unbeliever, and this

was a colossal adventure for the child of a clergyman in the l820's – she formed

new concepts for herself, concepts greater and more satisfying than she had lost;

therefore, she took her freedom of thought without guilt. (qtd. in Morgan 19; my

emphasis)

In this passage, Kinsley not only points out Emily and Branwell’s closeness, she also emphasizes

the critical way in which Emily viewed organized religion. This fact is confirmed by Winifred

Gérin who contends in Emily Brontë: A Biography that

Emily had not much regard for the clergy or the conventional forms of religion.

The obligatory attendance at church services certainly gave her the opportunity to

judge what they had to offer – and to develop her own personal views on the ways

God should be worshipped. (81; my emphasis)

31

Her defiance and refusal to conform to the conventional forms of religion are very much related

to her insistence on the importance of human freedom. She views organized religion as an

institution like any other that aims at confining human freedom of thought and expression.

Brontë sees human nature as created by God free and thus confining and shaping it through

different sects of Christianity as unnatural. Accordingly, as Gérin argues, Emily Brontë aspired

to a personal communion with God in nature, away from the restrictive precepts of organized

religion. This desire is reflected in Wuthering Heights when Heathcliff refuses to have a priest to

attend to him on his death bed when Nelly urges him to allow her to summon one:

You are aware, Mr Heathcliff,” [Nelly] said, “that from the time you were thirteen

years old you have lived a selfish, unchristian life; and probably hardly had a

Bible in your hands during all that period. You must have forgotten the contents

of the book, and you may not have space to search it now. Could it be hurtful to

send for some one – some minister of any denomination, it does not matter which

– to explain it, and show you how very far you have erred from its precepts; and

how unfit you will be for its heaven, unless a change takes place before you die?”

I’m rather obliged than angry, Nelly,” [Heathcliff] said, “[…] No minister

need come; nor need anything be said over me. – I tell you I have nearly attained

my heaven; and that of others is altogether unvalued and uncovered by me. (330)

This narrative suggests that Emily Brontë finds faults in formal religion’s loss of

spirituality and views it as in dire need of reform. She implies that the only way for reform –

social and spiritual – is through returning to nature and re-grounding society in nature. Therefore,

Hareton, who represents the reincarnation of the reformed Heathcliff, is raised in nature,

labouring in the land. Hareton was not sent to schools and even Joseph neglects teaching him

religion. Thus, Hareton is free from the constraints that Emily Brontë rejects in her own life:

formal education and organized religion.

Evidently, Emily’s failure at Roe Head, because of her homesickness, resulted in two

important things in her life: firstly, she became even closer to her brother Branwell who shared

her critical views regarding the hypocrisy and perverting effects of organized religion, and who

32

had failed to secure a place in London’s Royal Academy of Arts. Secondly, she was motivated to

aim at something higher: to cultivate “the philosophic mind” (Gérin 57), the ability to transcend

and criticize reality. Branwell’s moral drifting and weakening faith resulted from the sudden loss

of his elder sister Elizabeth and his recurrent artistic failures, and his cynicism may have affected

Emily and cast doubt on the conventional forms of Christianity. This notion can be seen in

Wuthering Heights in Nelly’s declaration: “I felt that God had forsaken the stray sheep there to

its own wicked wanderings, and an evil beast prowled between it and the fold waiting for time to

spring and destroy” (106).

Out of Emily Brontë’s religious doubt sprang her concern for the human soul. According

to Daphne du Maurier, in The Infernal World of Branwell Brontë, Charlotte Brontë’s letters

reflect the evangelical concern with the soul:

Branwell would not pray with his father. He did not believe in prayer. Prayer had

never been answered. What had to be endured would be endured, but with anger,

with rebellion, with mockery; if he must be damned, let it be with justification, so

that, like Lucifer, he would go defiant to perdition. (282)

Instead of rejecting religion altogether like Branwell, Emily formed her own philosophy. When

Nelly, concerned about Heathcliff’s soul, asks him to allow her to bring a priest to teach him

about the Bible. her concern about the fate of the soul after death is one that has been troubling

Emily Brontë because of her own skepticism regarding institutionalized religion. Indeed, Emily’s

concern with the soul and redemption may have arisen from her concern for her brother’s soul.

Branwell died two months before Emily, of alcoholism, chronic bronchitis and marasmus

(wasting of the body). In a letter to W.S. Williams, Charlotte Brontë explained that:

[She herself], with painful, mournful joy, heard him [Branwell] praying softly in

his dying moments, and to the last prayer which my father offered up at his

bedside, he added “amen.” How unusual that word appeared from his lips, of

course you, who did not know him, can not conceive. (qtd. in du Maurier 302)

33

Emily and Branwell were connected in more than one respect: Not only did they share religious

doubt, but they also died without receiving medical attention. According to du Maurier, “when

Emily was dying and refused all treatment, Charlotte did at least write to a London specialist,

asking for advice. No such action was taken for her brother. Dr. Wheelhouse of Haworth

suggested abstention from alcohol, and nothing more” (293). Gérin asserts that “to Martha

Brown and her sisters, loyal servants of the Brontë family, there never appeared to be any doubt

that Emily died of grief for her brother” (242), and Emily’s refusal to be seen by a doctor may

have been a final act of solidarity with her brother. Ultimately, Branwell was not reformed in

life, and his spiritual redemption before his death remained uncertain despite Charlotte’s

assertion that she “heard him [Branwell] praying softly in his dying moments, and to the last

prayer which my father offered up at his bedside, he added ‘amen’” (qtd. in du Maurier 302).

Rebecca Fraser reports in The Brontës that during his terminal period Branwell sketched

“funerary sculptures of himself consumed by the flames of hell” (qtd. in Townsend 67).

This concern for the fate of the soul after death is certainly implied in Wuthering Heights.

Critics Sandra M. Gilbert and Susan Gubar, in The Madwoman in the Attic suggest that,

“Wuthering Heights is about heaven and hell […] partly because Nelly Dean raises the questions:

What is heaven? Where is hell? Perhaps more urgently than any other speech in an English

novel” (253). Barry Qualls in “‘Speak What We Think’: The Brontës and Women Writers,”

quotes Dante Gabriel Rossetti’s comment in 1854 that Wuthering Heights “is a fiend of a book,

an incredible monster […] The action is laid in Hell” (373). Heathcliff is described throughout

the novel as an “imp of Satan” (39), “a devil” (134), “most diabolical” (220), and “a ghoul or a

vampire” (327). Gilbert and Gubar suggest that Wuthering Heights’ one indisputable area of

overlap with Christianity is that “the story of Wuthering Heights is built around a central fall”

34

(253). In their reading, Wuthering Heights reflects Emily’s philosophical approach to religion,

and critically contemplates her evangelical values of trusting in Christ to receive eternal life. In

“The Spirit of Evangelical Christianity,” Gerald Birney Smith suggests that:

The Evangelical movement was primarily concerned to create in each individual

an experience of salvation which should generate love and devotion.

Evangelicalism did not rely on the heavy hand of authority with its penalties and

discipline. […] Evangelicalism sought to present the message of salvation so

persuasively that man would gladly trust in the saving grace of God in Christ.

(630; my emphasis)

It would be safe to assume that writing Wuthering Heights was an experience that allowed Emily

to find her own way to her faith, starting from a point far away from the institutionalized

religion. Similarly, Heathcliff’s life represents a learning experience that allows him to find his

own way to faith and in society by starting from a point far away from Christianity and

civilization – as an embodiment of Rousseau’s “savage man.” Heathcliff is then offered a second

chance, through reincarnation, to continue his development towards reformation and redemption.

Having established that Emily Brontë formed her own worldview separate from Christian

orthodoxy, and that this worldview is reflected in Wuthering Heights, my project is to

demonstrate that her philosophy offers a more re-assuring lens, through which death is to be

regarded as a stage in continuous reformation of the soul. Thus, in the example of Heathcliff and

his foster son, Hareton, Emily Brontë is offering the unredeemed soul a chance for redemption

before transcending its earthly existence and being admitted to Heaven by anchoring salvation in

human nature than institutions. Her optimistic view is suggested in the final paragraph in

Wuthering Heights:

I lingered round them, under that benign sky; watched the moths fluttering among

the heath, and hare-bells; listened to the soft wind breathing through the grass;

and wondered how any one could ever imagine unquiet slumbers, for the sleepers

in that quiet earth. (334)

35

Emily’s sympathy for her brother may have inspired her optimistic view. Her philosophy is born

out of love and sympathy; it reconciled her to the prospect of imminent death, by the possibility

of redemption and peace for the “unquiet” soul.

Emily Brontë was raised at the heart of English evangelicalism. Patrick Brontë was an

evangelical Anglican clergyman who authored two religious novels and contributed to The

Pastoral Visitor (1815) two articles entitled “On Conversion.” In The Brontës and Religion,

Marianne Thormählen maintains that:

Patrick Brontë’s apparent readiness to allow his children to evolve their own

beliefs will not only have been due to personal distaste for indoctrination and

respect for the unadulterated perspicacity of the young: the spirit of unfettered

enquiry in religious matters that gradually gained ground in the Britain of his

youth is surely a factor, too. (14; my emphasis)

An example of Emily Brontë’s inquisitive approach to religion and social institutions is

highlighted by Thomas J. Wise and J. Alexander Symington in Brontës: Correspondence,

Volume II:

Once their friend Mary Taylor mentioned that at Haworth someone asked her

“what religion I was of,” trying to pin down her perspective. She replied that the

answer to that question was between God and her. At that comment, Emily Brontë

exclaimed, “That’s right.” Mary Taylor later commented, “This was all I ever

heard Emily say on religious subjects. (qtd. in Townsend 69)

Her poetry reflects a philosophic mind that strives for a spiritual understanding. Rebecca Fraser,

in Brontës, highlights two lines in her poem no. 68 “Stanzas”: “I’ll walk where my own nature

would be leading: / It vexes me to choose another guide” (ll. 13-4). Fraser suggests that, “taken

at face value, the lines are a declaration of independence from God” (294). However, these lines

may also signify Emily’s belief in the natural instincts given to her by God. In these lines, she

asserts that these divine instincts will be her guide instead of the organized Christianity with its

diverse denominations. Thus, rather than being independent from God, Emily is declaring that

36

she is one with God. Indeed, she separated God from the institutions that represented God on

earth. The evangelical minister’s daughter evidently formed her own beliefs and used art to

transcend the limited boundaries of organized religion, concurring with Schillerian philosophy

with regard to maintaining an active psyche not determined by social externalities – nation,

gender, origin, and religion ̶ but merely based on pure human love. This notion also accords

with the evangelical view that “a Christian commitment to God was a matter of the heart […]

[S]uch efforts to try to live according to Christ’s example, must be informed by love”

(Thormählen 22). In Wuthering Heights, Heathcliff’s and Hareton’s destinies are informed and

influenced by their love for Catherine and young Cathy, respectively.

Haworth, where Emily lived, formed her first impressions of human life as well as her

philosophy that nature is central to human social and spiritual reform. Elizabeth Gaskell points

out the “peculiar forms of population and society” (15) in Haworth, in her book The Life of

Charlotte Brontë, describing “the remarkable degree of self-sufficiency [that] gives them an air

of independence rather apt to repel a stranger” (15). Additionally, citing Charlotte Brontë,

Gaskell asserts the Yorkshiremen tendency to “endure grudges”: “Keep a stone in thy pocket

seven year; turn it, and keep it seven year longer, that it may be ever ready to thine hand when

thine enemy draws near” (16). She also draws attention to the people’s “independence of

character, their dislike of authority, and their strong powers of thought, [which] predisposed

them to rebellion against the religious dictations of men such as Laud” (17), a seventeenth-

century Archbishop who tried to impose conformity to the doctrines and organisation of the

Church of England at the time when Yorkshire people were attracted to the Calvinistic doctrines

and discipline of the Puritans.

37

The characteristics of the place and population of Haworth that seeped through Emily’s

life to form her character are reflected in Wuthering Heights. The attitude towards strangers is

evident in the rejection that Heathcliff encounters on his arrival as a child to Wuthering Heights,

and is directly mentioned when Nelly tells Mr Lockwood that “we don’t in general take to

foreigners here” (46). The tendency to hold grudges is reflected in Heathcliff’s enduring revenge

against his enemies. Further, the independence, strong mindedness and religious independence of

the Yorkshire people are mirrored in Emily’s unorthodox approach to religion in her poems and

in Wuthering Heights.

In The Life of Charlotte Brontë, Elizabeth Gaskell suggests that Patrick Brontë “formed

some of his opinions on the management of his children” based on Rousseau’s ideas on

education in Émile (43). Thus, it was natural that Emily Brontë would be influenced by Jean-

Jacques Rousseau’s “Romantic” views on the development and growth of the individual

exemplified in Émile. In Émile, Rousseau advocates a “natural education” that arises out of

observation and experiences of nature, for example, through cultivating the land and working

with animals in a farm. For Rousseau, the countryside preserves human nature and protects it

from the corrupting influence of the city with its artifice and social constraints that would pervert

human nature. Anthony Quinton in Philosophical Romanticism describes “Romanticism” as

[f]avour[ing] the concrete over the abstract, variety over uniformity, the infinite

over the finite; nature over culture, convention and artifice; the organic over the

mechanical; freedom over constraint, rules and limitations. In human terms, it

prefers the unique individual to the average person, the free creative genius to the

prudent person of good sense, the particular community or nation to humanity at

large. Mentally, the Romantics prefer feeling to thought, more specifically

emotion to calculation; imagination to literal common sense, intuition to intellect.

(778)

This “Romantic” influence is clearly evident in Wuthering Heights in the depiction of nature and

the concern with reconciling the “natural” and “civil” models of society.

38

In “Emily Brontë and the Influence of the German Romantic Poets,” Maggie Allen

suggests that “the great influx of German literature coming to England in the early decade of the

nineteenth century brought with it the work of Goethe [and] Schiller” among other poets (7).

Beside finding support from English literary figures like Thomas Carlyle, Sir Walter Scott,

Shelley, and Byron, their work was frequently published in Blackwood’s and Fraser’s literary

magazines. Friedrich Schiller’s “Poems and Ballads” were translated and published in

Blackwood’s Magazine from September 1842 till August 1843 by editor Buwler Lytton.

According to Winifred Gérin, in Emily Brontë: A Biography, Blackwood’s Magazine was

received regularly by the Brontë family and read by Emily Brontë: “one of [Emily’s] daily tasks

was to read to her father the political comments” (145).

The influence of Friedrich Schiller’s philosophical views on Emily Brontë is pointed out

by Gérin in Emily Brontë: A Biography. Gérin suggests that Schiller demonstrates a kindred

mind to her own in the allegory “The Sharing of the Earth,” published in Blackwood’s Magazine

in September 1842 (Gérin 145). In this poem, the speaker is left with a sense of alienation when

the riches of the earth are divided out between the grasping squirarchy, the merchants, the clergy,

and the kings:

All too late, when the sharing was over,

Come the Poet – He came from afar –

Nothing left can the laggard discover,

Not an inch but its owners there are. (ll.13-16)

This sense of alienation is reflected in Wuthering Heights where Heathcliff finds everything

already divided among the residents of Wuthering Heights and the Grange, even the girl he

loves, with nothing left for him but the name of Earnshaw’s dead infant.

In Aristotelians and Platonists: A Convergence of the Michaelic Streams in Our Time,

Luigi Morelli describes Friedrich Schiller’s views with regard to “reincarnation”:

39

[D]eath is not the end of life; after death, the soul moves on into another reality,

another vantage point from which to look at its past life. And from there Schiller

explores the possibility that the soul need to repeat this experience several times,

therefore implying reincarnation. (104)

In his lecture on “Schiller and the Present,” Rudolf Steiner asserts that, “For Schiller, the human

soul evolves – just like the chrysalis changes into a butterfly – and this guarantees human

immortality” (3). I would argue that the presentation of Hareton as Heathcliff’s reincarnation in

Wuthering Heights may be the result of the influence of German philosophy in general, and

Schiller in particular, on Emily Brontë’s thought. The notion would have found resonance with

her since it grants Heathcliff’s soul another chance in life to find the redemption that Emily

would have hoped for her brother, Branwell.

As I have demonstrated, Emily’s critical understanding of Christianity reflects the

influence of German Historicism, which, as Matthew Arnold observed, “embraced cosmology,

biology, geology, anthropology, archeology, philology, and the new Higher Criticism of the

Bible, to yield a new relativistic, comparativistic understanding of human phenomena” (qtd. in

ApRoberts 260; my emphasis). Returning from Brussels where she and Charlotte studied in

1842-43, Emily avidly pursued German thought – Friedrich Schlegel and F. W. J. Schelling, for

instance – which explored the idea of dialectic and the notions of dualism and romantic irony.

Gaskell contends that “anyone passing by the kitchen door, might have seen [Emily] studying

German out of an open book, propped up before her, as she kneaded the dough” (110). As

Maggie Allen suggests, “the German Romantic movement was firmly established in Britain at

the time Emily Brontë was writing” (10). Thus, many of the philosophical views that are

apparent in Schiller’s poems and works find their way to Emily Brontë’s poems and her novel,

Wuthering Heights, despite the difference in country and culture.

40

With the German philosophy that reached Britain through the German Romantic poets,

came the German Bildung tradition. In “The German Bildung Tradition,” James A. Good asserts

that, for Johann Gottfried Herder, one of its chief proponents,

[P]hilosophy is, quite simply, the theory of Bildung; more precisely, philosophy is

the theory of how the individual develops into the sort of organic unity that will

constantly work toward the full development of its talents and abilities and that

will drive social progress or social Bildung. For Herder, properly understood,

philosophy must transform individuals and, at the very same time, it must have a

broad social impact. (3; my emphasis)

In Wuthering Heights, Heathcliff undergoes a journey of Bildung – Self-realization or education.

This education is realized when Heathcliff’s soul finds its vocation through Hareton, a calling to

which he is well-suited and that contributes to the growth and maturation of the culture in which

he lives. Ultimately, as suggested by the ending of Wuthering Heights, Emily Brontë suggests

that satisfaction is not found simply in a romantic transcendence of social bonds, but in the

activities of concrete social life. As suggested by the happy union between Hareton and Cathy

and the symbolic cultivation of a flower bed at Wuthering Heights, the individual harmonizes not

only mind and body, but also self and society. During Heathcliff’s life, self-realization had been

unattainable because of his submersion in his own narrow emotions or self-interest. However, in

the theory of Bildung, education of the passions and the philosophical idea of reincarnation

“show how the one grows humanely and naturally out of the other” (4). This general idea of

education was reflected in the works of Goethe and Schiller during the Weimar Classicism

movement, which sought the “liberation of man through an organic unification and

harmonization of thought and feeling, mind and body” (Good 3).

The following figure demonstrates the components of Emilian philosophy, as implied in

Wuthering Heights:

41

• Heathcliff’s life

• “Moral Teething”

• Jean-Jacques

Rousseau

• Friedrich Schiller

Figure 1: An “Emilian” Philosophy

Chapter Two will deal with components A and B of my thesis – “Educating the Passions” and

“Death” – in order to trace Heathcliff’s development in life. Emily Brontë initially depicts

Heathcliff as Rousseau’s savage man presenting him as a personification of humanity and tracing

his development and reformation. In his “Discourse on the Origin of Inequality” Rousseau

depicts the primitive savage man as a man in a state of nature: though rough yet, innocent,

passionate, strong, independent, and carries natural pity for sentient creatures. Rousseau’s and

Schiller’s views shed light on how, in Wuthering Heights, Emily Brontë presents Heathcliff’s

development both as a reflection of the development of humanity, and as an educational

experience (Bildung), in which he suffers while his unbridled passions are in the process of

development and education. However, suffering has an important role in the education and

reformation of humanity.

Chapter Three will deal with component C of my thesis, considering Hareton’s role as the

“reincarnation” of Heathcliff, and how he embodies the wholesomeness of his reformed soul. I

will provide a brief review of the literature of “reincarnation” beginning with classical Greek and

Roman philosophy (Pythagoras, Plato, and Virgil), and progressing to contemporary German and

French philosophy (Herder, Schiller, and Diderot) and British authors and philosophers (Thomas

Carlyle and James Macpherson). Then, I will demonstrate how this literature is reflected in

Wuthering Heights. Additionally, I will demonstrate the different ways that literary critics see

• Heathcliff’s

afterlife

• Hareton

• Heathcliff

Reincarnate

• Hareton

• Social and Spiritual

• World within

• World without

A. Educating

the Passions D. Reformation B. Death

• Heathcliff’s death

• “Stands

unredeemed”

• Point of maturity

C. Reincarnation

42

reincarnation in Wuthering Heights and will demonstrate how Hareton is revealed as the

reincarnation of a reformed humanity after Heathcliff’s corporeal death.

Finally, Chapter Four will deal with component D of my thesis – “Reformation”

discussing how Hareton’s character is shaped by his parentage, the conditions of his upbringing,

and his relationship with Heathcliff to be reflective of a reformed humanity that has regained its

lost spirituality and culture. I will engage with views of philosophers, authors, and historians

such as Matthew Arnold, Ernest Renan, Margaret Oliphant, and John Ruskin regarding the

Franciscan Order as a spiritual reform movement. Finally, I will highlight Emily Brontë’s views

on Nature and Society and how her view of the “world within” and the “world without”

represents how a final reconciliation between them can achieve a much sought-after social and

spiritual reformation of a wholesome humanity. This view, I would suggest, culminates in an

Emilian Philosophy.

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Chapter Two

Heathcliff’s Life: The Education of Humanity

[Hareton] sat by the corpse all night, weeping in bitter earnest. He pressed its

hand, and kissed the sarcastic, savage face that everyone else shrank from

contemplating; and bemoaned him with that strong grief which springs naturally

from a generous heart, though it be tough as tempered steel. (332)

This chapter will deal with components A and B of my proposed Emilian philosophy:

Heathcliff’s life and the process of “educating the passions” and the theme of death. I shall argue

that Emily Brontë deals with Heathcliff’s development in life as an educational experience ̶

Bildung. Theodor W. Adorno argues that “Bildung signifies a process that at once is to bring

about cultivation and civilization, and criticism of the existing social order” (qtd. in Thompson

4). I maintain that, in Wuthering Heights, Heathcliff’s suffering represents a process of

development and education and that, as his death is the culmination of all his suffering, it

represents the prospect of reform, which would never have taken place without the introduction

of Heathcliff to the Heights. I contend that Emily Brontë sets Heathcliff as the personification of

humanity and that, in Wuthering Heights, she traces the development of humanity from its

primitive savage state and to the maturation and reformation that Brontë sees as proper and

healthy for a dignified humanity in the face of the materialism of Victorian civil society. In this

sense, Wuthering Heights represents Brontë’s aspiration to achieve a more humane and

harmonious society.

Heathcliff’s life can be divided into three main stages according to the changes

happening to his character/perceptions as he interacts with society: “natural / primitive” savage

stage, “civilized” barbarian stage, and finally Heathcliff’s “maturation and prospects of

reformation.” There is a tangible connection between the thought of Jean-Jacques Rousseau and

44

Friedrich Schiller, and the philosophical imagination of Emily Brontë in their contemplation of

the relationship between humanity, the laws of Nature, and the laws of civil society. However, it

is important to point out that this chapter is not an “influence study” – although the issue is

inevitably addressed – as much as it is a close examination of ideas that find echoes in Emily

Brontë’s convictions. Despite the philosophical influence, Wuthering Heights remains the

original product of Emily Brontë’s imaginative thinking, but Rousseau’s and Schiller’s views

provide an invaluable theoretical framework that clarify this part of the Emilian philosophy

reflected in Wuthering Heights.

In “Savages in the Scottish Enlightenment’s History of Desire,” Pat Moloney cites the

opinion of Henry Home, Lord Kames, a major figure in the Scottish Enlightenment and a

contemporary of Rousseau, who asserted that,

The savage state is the infancy of a nation during which the moral sense is feeble,

yielding to custom, to imitation, to passion […] [S]avagery was spoken of as

human society’s youth, a phase characterized by weak and undisciplined passions.

(246)

Ville Lähde, in “Rousseau’s Natural Man as the Critic of Urbanised society,” suggests that

Rousseau’s depiction of the “savage man” may be interpreted as the “development continuity

between the pure state of nature and the historical development of humanity” (83). Similarly, I

contend that the stages of Heathcliff’s development represent Emily Brontë’s mental construct, a

fiction intended to engage us in her search for a reformed world that encompasses nature with its

innate spirituality and a civil society that separates itself from nature.

In Wuthering Heights, Emily Brontë’s vision of the reformed world suggests that

salvation is a natural concomitant of reform. In “Jean-Jacques Rousseau (1712-1778) – Social

Inequality, Émile, Gender Considerations,” Sevan G. Terzian explains Rousseau’s self-alienation

from formal religious institutions and other institutions of society, his demeaning their authority

45

and assertion that the original goodness in human nature is a way for salvation. Terzian contends

that, for Rousseau,

The only salvation […] rested not with God but society itself. A better society,

with civil equality and social harmony, would restore human nature to its original

and natural state and thereby serve the intent of God. Therefore, Rousseau’s brand

of religious education attempted to teach the child that social reform was both

necessary and consistent with God’s will. (2)

I suggest that Emily Brontë sees civil society and spirituality – present in nature – as a single

whole. Accordingly, in order to affirm our humanity and engage with the natural spirituality that

resides inside us, we need to achieve and maintain this wholesomeness. This idea also connects

to the etymology of the word “nature” which is derived from the Latin word natura, meaning the

essential qualities and innate disposition. In ancient times, “nature” literally meant “birth.” Thus,

being in tune with our humanity amounts to a rebirth or a reform and a regaining of innocence.

Also, natura is a Latin translation of the Greek word physis (φύσις), which originally related to

the intrinsic characteristics that plants, animals, and other features of the world develop of their

own accord and which connects to the idea of free will. Thus, reform / rebirth should happen

freely and should originate from within.

Emily Brontë’s philosophical mind allows her to look at life, nature and society, as an

organic whole. Thus, I would argue that Wuthering Heights offers a template for her method to

reconcile them in order to re-establish harmony within this organic whole. In “The Nature of

Suffering in Schiller and Dostoevsky,” John D. Simons argues that both Schiller and Dostoevsky

also “attempt to solve the problem of man and his relationship to society, and that their solution

is based on the principles of suffering and love […] both believed in a ‘universal guilt’ […] and

are aware of a ‘communal sin’” (170). Similarly, I would argue that Wuthering Heights

represents Brontë’s attempt to solve the problem of the humanity’s relationship with society and

46

materialism, as embodied in Heathcliff, by highlighting his deep suffering and love which

become the way to achieve harmony and reform. In his lecture “What is, and to What End Do

We Study, Universal History?” (1789) Friedrich Schiller maintains that:

The philosophical mind unites. He early convinced himself, that everything is

intertwined in the field of understanding as well as in the material world, and his

zealous drive for harmony cannot be satisfied with fragments of the whole. All his

efforts are directed toward the perfection of his knowledge; his noble impatience

cannot rest until all of his conceptions have ordered themselves into an organic

whole, until he stands at the center of his art, his science, and until from his

position outward he surveys its expanse with a contented look. (256-7)

I would venture to assert that Emily Brontë’s philosophic mind also seeks to unite nature and

society and find harmony in a world that is split between the natural (God-made) and the social

(man-made), and that Wuthering Heights is her way to achieve this harmony. Additionally,

Emily Brontë’s fascination with German thought calls attention to the importance of examining

“Bildung” in Wuthering Heights as analogous to human development. For Johann Gottfried

Herder, philosophy is the theory of Bildung: it must transform the individual and it must have a

social impact. In Primitive Passions: Men, Women, and the Quest for Ecstasy, Marianna

Torgovnick asserts that Herder’s articulated ideas not only “galvanized American

transcendentalists like Ralph Waldo Emerson,” but also influenced British poets and authors.

Torgovnich quotes Herder saying that “the power which thinks and acts in me is from its nature

as eternal as that which holds together the Sun and the Stars […] [thus] the foundation of my

being (not my corporeal frame) are as fixed as the pillars of the universe” (216). In this sense, the

stress is on the human soul rather than matter, and “[a] similar impulse runs through a variety of

literary creations of novelists and poets such as William Blake, Emily Brontë, Emily Dickinson,

Walt Whitman, Virginia Wolf, and Dylan Thomas” (216). To this list, I would add Emily Brontë,

47

as she traces the progress and development of humanity by tracing the growth and development

of Heathcliff’s soul from his primitive savage state onward.

Figure 2

Stage 1 Heathcliff: The “Natural / Primitive” Savage

This stage extends from the day Heathcliff arrives at the Heights until his departure after

overhearing Catherine’s declaration that she will marry Edgar. It depicts and dramatizes the idea

that primitive / savage stage represents the infancy or youth of humanity, in which moral sense is

yet feeble and the instinct and spontaneity are the forces that drive human actions. During this

stage, I would argue that Heathcliff reflects qualities of the savage man described by Jean-

Jacques Rousseau and Friedrich Schiller. In Book II of Rousseau’s treatise on education, Émile,

Rousseau describes the nature of the primitive savage man as follows:

The first impulses of nature are always right; there is no original sin in the human

heart […] The only natural passion is self-love or selfishness taken in a wider

sense […] his self-love only becomes good or bad by the use made of it and the

relations established by its means. (29)

Similarly, in Letters Upon the Aesthetic Education of Man (1793), Schiller describes the savage

man as one who “despises art and acknowledges nature as his despotic ruler” (Letter IV 6).

Emily Brontë evokes the image of man in his primitive / savage stage by juxtaposing

Heathcliff’s savage state, when he first arrives at the Heights, and the state of the Earnshaw

children (Catherine and Hindley):

Stage 2. The “Civilized”

Barbarian

Stage 3. Heathcliff’s “Maturation

and Prospects of Reformation”

Stage 1. The “Natural /

Primitive” Savage

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We crowded round, and, over Miss Cathy’s head, I had a peep at a dirty, ragged,

black-haired child; big enough both to walk and talk – indeed, its face looked

older than Catherine’s – yet, when it was set on its feet, it only stared round, and

repeated over and over again some gibberish that nobody could understand. I was

frightened, and Mrs Earnshaw was ready to fling it out of doors: She did fly up –

asking how he could fashion to bring that gypsy brat into the house […]

[A]ll that I could make out, amongst her scolding, was a tale of [Mr

Earnshaw’s] seeing it starving, and houseless, and as good as dumb, in the streets

of Liverpool, where he picked it up and inquired for its owner. Not a soul knew to

whom it belonged. (36-7)

From this passage, we understand that Heathcliff has an unknown origin; his language is

characterized as “gibberish” and so it is incomprehensible for the Earnshaws. Heathcliff’s looks

identify him not just as foreign, but a primitive savage who belongs outside of the civilized

society, as implied by the phrase “gypsy brat.” On the other hand, the Earnshaw children

(Catherine and Hindley) are depicted in a state of civilized domesticity; they are at home with

both their parents. Catherine and Hindley are of known origin; they belong to an old family. The

inscription on the building itself – “the date 1500 and the name ‘Hareton Earnshaw’” (Brontë 4) ̶

suggests history and generational succession, which in turn suggests the possibility of change

and development.

Moreover, Brontë depicts Heathcliff’s first introduction to the Earnshaw children and

household as a form of an entertainment and a show or a spectacle. Mr Earnshaw loses the gifts

he buys for Catherine and Hindley, but instead he brings Heathcliff with him. In this sense,

Heathcliff becomes the distraction and the entertainment. Moreover, Brontë places Heathcliff in

the center of attention and highlights how out of place he is, and how unfit in the orthodox

paradigm of the Victorian civil society. This spectacle is reminiscent of the “freak shows” where

exotic peoples were brought to the United Kingdom to be exhibited since the sixteenth century.

In Spectacle of Deformity: Freak Shows and Modern British Culture, Nadja Durbach argues that:

49

Accounting for the physical differences among races and for bodily deformities

that occurred even among the most “favoured” races was central to British

attempts to manage anxieties around bodily fitness at a crucial moment in its

history. The freak show was part and parcel of this process, as it explicitly

underscored the distinction between civilized and savage, modern and ancient,

evolved and primitive, white and black, and, by implication, governing and

governed. It is for this reason these shows featured not only those born with

congenital anomalies, but also non-Western people. (29; my emphasis)

This notion is indeed reflected in this passage, where Brontë highlights the distinction between

Heathcliff and the Earnshaws and how it is accompanied by an instantaneous feeling of contempt

aroused by Heathcliff’s appearance.

The contempt suggested in the language Nelly uses to describe Heathcliff’s appearance,

along with Mrs Earnshaw’s reaction, reflects the deeply rooted sense of superiority that Victorian

society feels in comparison to people whom they deem to be different. Mrs Earnshaw describes

Heathcliff as a “gypsy brat.” According to the OED, “gypsy” is member of a wandering race (by

themselves called Romany), of Hindu origin, which first appeared in England about the

beginning of the sixteenth century. Gypsies have dark skin and black hair; they make a living by

basket-making, horse-dealing, fortune-telling, among other things. Historically, Gypsies were

objects of suspicion because of their nomadic life and habits. Their language (called Romany) is

a greatly corrupted dialect of Hindi, with a mixture of words from various European languages.

Even the use of lower case “g” in “gypsy” suggests contempt, for as Diane Tong suggests in

Gypsies: An Interdisciplinary Reader, “the word Gypsy, is a proper noun designating an ethnic

group, and thus deserves the dignity of an upper case ‘G’” (Tong xiv; emphasis in original).

Heathcliff is also called “a little Lascar” by Mrs Linton (50), which means Indians who served

on British ships under “lascar agreements,” which suggests subordination. This description is

reminiscent of the British imperialism and British colonies; it is also reminiscent of the social

prejudices entrenched in the Victorian civil society. On the other hand, Rousseau describes the

50

savage man’s attitude toward the civil society when he asserts that, “the case of the savage is

very different; he is tied to no one place, he has no prescribed task, no superior to obey, he

knows no law but his own will” (43). This explains Heathcliff’s attitude toward the pretence and

vanity that characterize society.

However, despite the differences between Heathcliff and the Earnshaws, Emily Brontë

implies an organic connection between them. Brontë simultaneously creates two paradoxical

feelings regarding Heathcliff: one is a feeling of potential belonging, and the other is a feeling of

alienation. This notion is reflected in Nelly’s declaration: “I found they had christened him

‘Heathcliff’: it was the name of a son who died in childhood, and it has served him ever since,

both for Christian and surname” (37-8). The suggestion of the potential for belonging is that the

name “Heathcliff” belongs to the Earnshaw family, since it belongs to the dead infant. The

reason for the alienation is that “Heathcliff” (whether dead or a replacement) does not belong to

the same world of the Earnshaws, since one is dead and the other is utterly different. In either

case, Heathcliff would not be governed by the same rules of civil society. Therefore, Emily

Brontë creates a problematic relationship at the beginning of Heathcliff’s journey toward

spiritual and social development, anticipating a possibility of social change instigated by

Heathcliff’s existence.

Ultimately, I would argue that Emily Brontë introduces Heathcliff to the Heights to bring

out and de-naturalize the prejudices and pretences entrenched in Victorian society. Mr Earnshaw

is the patriarch of the household at the Heights: if the Heights were a state, Mr Earnshaw would

be the head of the state. Thus, the fact that Heathcliff is introduced by Mr Earnshaw is significant

because the change is forced from top down in the social hierarchy. Consequently, rebellion

ensues. Mrs Earnshaw is the Victorian mother whose interests are to adhere to the conventions

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that would preserve herself and her family in terms of material interests and social hierarchy.

Mrs Earnshaw fails to regard Heathcliff as a human being; she only sees him in terms of the

“other.” When Mrs Earnshaw dies, Nelly asserts that:

From the very beginning, he bred bad feeling in the house; and at Mrs Earnshaw’s

death […] [Hindley] had learnt to regard his father as an oppressor rather than a

friend, and Heathcliff as a usurper of his parent’s affections, and his privileges,

and he grew bitter with brooding over these injuries. (38)

By contrast, the kinship between Heathcliff and Catherine represents a form of solidarity and

rebellion against the oppression that they both encounter at the Heights. As Nelly observes:

“Miss Cathy and he were now very thick” (38). As a female, Catherine is not allowed the same

social privileges as her brother, Hindley; yet her choice of presents – “a whip” (36) – suggests

her love for authority. In this society, Catherine is expected to marry well if she wants to secure

social position. Heathcliff, despised and regarded as an outsider, is being mistreated by Hindley

who considers him a threat and wants to protect his paternal-filial status and his material interests

in the Heights. In this narrative, Brontë highlights how the laws of civil society mechanize the

relationship between human beings so that they become indifferent to each other’s plight and

focused on the social status and material gains they can get out of society. Hindley is insensitive

to the fact that Heathcliff is an orphan in need of love, food and shelter. Similarly, the servant

Nelly Dean associates herself with the matriarch of the Earnshaws (the ruling class) and puts

Heathcliff “on the landing of the stairs, hoping it might be gone on the morrow,” and it is Mr

Earnshaw and not Mrs Earnshaw who punishes Nelly for her “cowardice and inhumanity” (37).

Therefore, Mrs Earnshaw’s death initiates change as Brontë appears to replace the Victorian

mother’s self-interested treatment of Heathcliff with the “natural disposition” of both Catherine

and Hindley. In other words, Emily puts Heathcliff and Catherine together and allows nature to

52

take its course to instigate a change and to cause the integration of Heathcliff into the household

– as a human being – despite Hindley’s objections.

From the first, Emily Brontë suggests a close kinship between Heathcliff and nature.

Brontë’s choice of the name “Heathcliff” connects him etymologically to the rugged natural

landscape: the word “Heath” comes from the Old English hæð, which means “untilled land” or

“tract of wasteland,” especially flat, shrubby, and desolate land (OED). Also, “heath” in

Heathcliff comes from Old High German heida “heather,” and from Proto-Indo-European

kaito “forest” or “uncultivated land.” The “Cliff” in Heathcliff’s name comes from Old

English clif, and from Old High German klep, German Klippe, which means “rock, promontory,

steep slope” (OED). Thus, Heathcliff’s name connects him to the uncultivated, wild, and

dangerous side of nature. However, Heathcliff’s name also connects him to the awe-inspiring

sublime which in the Romantic era was also linked to spirituality and as nature is where the

individual experiences the divine. In “The Sublime and the Sacred,” Ryan Shinkel points out

that, “in scripture, wherever God is represented as appearing or speaking, everything terrible in

nature is called up to heighten the awe and solemnity of the divine presence” he adds that “for

Burke, the Sublime in nature is necessary to experiencing the sacred of religious sensibilities”

(2). Thus, in this narrative, the name “Heathcliff” gives us some insight about Heathcliff’s

character and his significance. In “Wordsworth on the Sublime,” James A. W. Heffernan

explains that “Wordsworth uses the term “Sublime” to characterize not merely the God-

reflecting unity of natural objects, but also the power and amplitude of mind required to embrace

that unity” (607). Thus, Heathcliff becomes the potential promoter of a wholesome / united

society, a transition which he would achieve before his death.

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Rousseau’s assertion that “the first impulses of nature are always right; there is no

original sin in the human heart,” is reflected in Heathcliff’s immediate attachment to Catherine.

In Émile, Rousseau depicts the nature of the sentiment and reason unique to the savage man:

True love […] will always be held in honour by mankind; for although its

impulses lead us astray, although it does not bar the door of the heart to certain

detestable qualities, although it even gives rise to these, yet it always presupposes

certain worthy characteristics, without which we should be incapable of love. This

choice, which is supposed to be contrary to reason, really springs from reason.

[…] The first sentiment of which the well-trained youth is capable is not love but

friendship. The first work of his rising imagination is to make known to him his

fellows; the species affects him before the sex […] Our common sufferings draw

our hearts to our fellow-creatures. (91-4)

Indeed, the relationship between Heathcliff and Catherine starts off as a close friendship that

grows and strengthens in proportion to the challenges they face. Their relationship offers no

material benefits to either of them. They are bound by their empathy toward one another by

virtue of being sentient beings. Heathcliff’s solidarity with Catherine motivates him to tolerate

Hindley’s abuse and degradation as long as Catherine remains by his side: “I’d not exchange, for

a thousand lives, my condition here, for Edgar Linton’s at Thrushcross Grange” (48). In this

sense, Heathcliff’s emotions are reasonable and justified; they are not driven by blind passion,

but by human loyalty and love, the two essential requirements for a wholesome humanity.

According to Rousseau, this relationship becomes the seed of a society that puts human needs

ahead of material gains: in the “Discourse on the Origin and Foundations of Inequality among

Men” (1755), he declares:

The habit of living together then gave rise to the sweetest [les plus doux]

sentiments known to men: conjugal love and Paternal love. Each family became a

little society all the better united because mutual attachment and liberty were its

only bonds […] [W]ith their softer life, the two sexes also began to lose

something of their ferocity and vigor. But while each one separately became less

suited to combat savage beasts, on the other hand it was easier to assemble in

order to jointly resist them. (72)

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Because Catherine and Heathcliff live under the same roof, and face the same circumstances they

develop a close relationship that comprises something like conjugal loyalty. Theirs is a

relationship in which both freely pledge solidarity against the “savage beasts,” which, in this

context, are represented in the prejudices and values of civil society that condemn Heathcliff by

virtue of his being different. Brontë reflects this idea in Wuthering Heights, in this first stage of

Heathcliff’s life, when Catherine and Heathcliff live the life of the savage man:

Heathcliff bore his degradation pretty well at first, because Cathy taught him what

she learnt, and worked or played with him in the fields. 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, and the after

punishment grew a mere thing to laugh at. (46)

As a primitive savage man, Heathcliff has what Rousseau calls a preservative “amour de soi”

(self-love), which is the basic concern for one’s well-being, regardless of others’ evaluations.

According to Wayne M. Martin in his review of Rousseau’s Theodicy of Self-Love: Evil,

Rationality, and the Drive for Recognition by Frederick Neuhouser,

Amour de soi, on Rousseau's account, is primarily concerned with an organism's

self-preservation. I exhibit my amour de soi when I seek shelter and sustenance,

defend myself against threats, or flee from danger. At its core, this form of self-

love finds no need to compare my own well-being with that of others; in

principle, it is a form of self-love that could be entirely solipsistic ̶ even if in fact

it regularly requires forms of cooperation with others. (2)

Heathcliff’s amour de soi can be demonstrated in his feelings – or maybe lack of feelings – for

Mr Earnshaw, as suggested by Nelly’s comment that, “[Heathcliff] was not insolent to his

benefactor; he was simply insensible, though knowing perfectly the hold he had on his heart”

(Brontë 39). In “Gentle Savages and Fierce Citizens against Civilization: Unraveling Rousseau's

Paradoxes,” Matthew D. Mendham suggests that,

It is the healthy and natural expression of love of oneself (amour de soi), which –

apart from the corruption of society and the development of pernicious self-love

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or vanity (amour-propre) – tends toward one’s simple self-interest with a

minimum of harm to others, due to the influence of pity. (7)

Therefore, as long as Heathcliff finds the necessities of life: food, shelter and at least two people

(Catherine and Mr Earnshaw) sympathizing with him, and treating him as a fellow sentient

being, this suffices for him and makes him indifferent to any abuse. This idea is reflected in

Wuthering Heights in the following passage:

This endurance [of Hindley’s blows] made old Earnshaw furious when he

discovered his son persecuting the poor, fatherless child, as he called him. He

took to Heathcliff strangely, believing all he said (for that matter, he said precious

little, and generally the truth), and petting him up far above Cathy, who was too

mischievous and wayward for a favourite. (38)

When Heathcliff arrives at the Heights, Nelly recounts that despite Hindley’s blows and harsh

treatment:

he seemed a sullen, patient child; hardened, perhaps, to ill- treatment: he would

stand Hindley's blows without winking or shedding a tear, and my pinches moved

him only to draw in a breath and open his eyes, as if he had hurt himself by

accident, and nobody was to blame. (38)

And when Heathcliff falls “dangerously sick,” Nelly relays that

“[W]hile he lay at the worst he would have me constantly by his pillow: I suppose

he felt I did a good deal for him, and he hadn't wit to guess that I was compelled

to do it. However, I will say this, he was the quietest child that ever nurse watched

over. The difference between him and the others forced me to be less partial.

Cathy and her brother harassed me terribly: he was as uncomplaining as a lamb;

though hardness, not gentleness, made him give little trouble.” (38)

Thus, Heathcliff gets what he needs for his self-preservation (amour de soi), without

contemplating any underlying social motivations (property or wealth). As a savage man,

Heathcliff believes that all sentient beings are equal: having the same needs and experiencing the

same suffering in life. This example highlights the dimension of Heathcliff’s amour de soi, and

shows him to be lacking the interpersonal or communicative register of those who belong to

society and play by its rules. This notion is outlined by Rousseau in Émile, Book III:

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He thinks not of others but of himself, and prefers that others should do the same.

He makes no claim upon them, and acknowledges no debt to them. He is alone in

the midst of human society, he depends on himself alone, for he is all that a boy

can be at his age. He has no errors, or at least only such as are inevitable; he has

no vices, or only those from which no man can escape. His body is healthy, his

limbs are supple, his mind is accurate and unprejudiced, his heart is free and

untroubled by passion. Pride, the earliest and the most natural of passions, has

scarcely shown itself. Without disturbing the peace of others, he has passed his

life contented, happy, and free, so far as nature allows. (88)

Mendham elaborates on Rousseau’s concept as laid out in the preface to his “Discourse on the

Origin and Foundations of Inequality among Men” (1755):

[S]ince primitive man's passions are minimal, and his reason and amour-propre

are uncultivated, there are no temptations to disobey the “gentle voice [douce

voix]” of pity, and he will naturally seek his own good with the least possible

harm to others, being fierce only occasionally and as preservation requires [...]

Thus, vengeance is only mechanical and immediate, seldom leading to bloodshed;

for such reasons Rousseau declares them “fierce [farouches]” rather than

“wicked.” (179)

In the case of Wuthering Heights, this “gentle voice of pity” belongs to both Mr Earnshaw and

Catherine, even though her character is far from gentle. The fact that she pities Heathcliff and

offers him understanding and companionship qualifies her to be described as gentle. As Arnold

Kettle suggests in his description of the children’s response to Hindley’s neglect,

[A]gainst this degradation Catherine and Heathcliff rebel, hurling their pious

books into the dog-kennel. And in their revolt, they discover their deep and

passionate need of each other. He, the outcast slummy, turns to the lively, spirited,

fearless girl who alone offers him human understanding and comradeship. And

she, born into the world of Wuthering Heights, senses that to achieve a full

humanity, to be true to herself as a human being, she must associate herself totally

with him in his rebellion against tyranny of the Earnshaws and all that tyranny

involves. (144-5; my emphasis)

At this stage, Catherine and her father are the only characters who have managed to see beyond

the rigid set rules of civil society and fully identify with Heathcliff as a fellow suffering human

being. This fact is evident when Mr Earnshaw who “took to Heathcliff strangely, believing all he

57

said” (38), and when Catherine declares that, “my great miseries in this world have been

Heathcliff’s miseries, and I watched and felt each from the beginning” (81).

When Emily Brontë depicts Heathcliff in Wuthering Heights, she sees him as

representing the common condition of all humanity at a certain point in time. In this sense, the

development of Heathcliff’s soul is set in parallel to the generational succession of the

Earnshaws. In other words, Heathcliff represents a stage in the history of humanity, and the

Earnshaws’ heirs represent the history of the Earnshaw family through time since “1500” when

Wuthering Heights was first constructed. Thus, Emily Brontë is setting a comparison between

the development of humanity and the development of generations in civil society, using it to

point out how society has deviated from its essential humanity. This deviation is suggested in the

alienation, degradation and suffering that Heathcliff experiences at the hands of the Lintons and

Hindley in this first stage of his development. Moreover, I would contend that Brontë’s view is

universal and not specific to a race or culture; it is the condition of humanity in general that is

under examination. In “The Genesis of Romanticism,” Arthur Lovejoy points out that, on the

model set out by Schiller,

The poet […] must address himself exclusively to those feelings which are

uniform and common to the race; and in order to do this, he must […] strip

himself of all that is peculiar and distinctive in his own personality […] Schiller's

rage against the unique, the individual as such, goes so far, in this “classical”

period of his aesthetic opinions, that he does not shrink from asserting the singular

paradox that “every individual man is the less man, by so much as he is

individual.” And in “objective” art the thing portrayed, as well as the mind of the

artist, must be generalized, purged of all that is specific or idiosyncratic. (2)

Thus, the setting of Wuthering Heights is in a remote moor area in which nature is

represented in the Heights:

“Wuthering” being a significant provincial adjective, descriptive of the

atmospheric tumult to which its station is exposed in stormy weather […] [O]ne

may guess the power of the north wind blowing over the edge, by the excessive

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slant of a few stunted firs at the end of the house; and by a range of gaunt thorns

all stretching their limbs one way, as if craving alms of the sun. Happily, the

architect had foresight to build it strong: the narrow windows are deeply set in the

wall, and the corners defended with large jutting stones.

Before passing the threshold, I paused to admire a quantity of grotesque

carving lavished over the front, and especially about the principal door; above

which, among a wilderness of crumbling griffins and shameless little boys […]

[The house] includes kitchen and parlour, generally; but I believe at Wuthering

Heights the kitchen is forced to retreat altogether into another quarter […] Above

the chimney were sundry villainous old guns, and a couple of horse-pistols […]

The floor was of smooth, white stone; the chairs, high-backed, primitive

structures, painted green: one or two heavy black ones lurking in the shade. In an

arch under the dresser reposed a huge, liver-coloured bitch pointer, surrounded by

a swarm of squealing puppies; and other dogs haunted other recesses. (4)

In this description, the Heights is depicted as immersed in nature and part of it. Its exposure to

the winds suggests the possibility of gradual change, which makes this change enduring. The

imagery in this passage suggests social rituals from different cultures and times: “gaunt thorns all

stretching their limbs one way, as if craving alms of the sun.” Once he passes the threshold, the

“crumbling griffins and shameless little boys” carved into the stonework suggests a sense of

moving away from nature and a loss of human creativity. The roaming and breeding of wild

animals in the hall among the Heights inhabitants suggests a harmonious world – like paradise,

in which all creatures appear to feel safe that no one will harm them.

On the other hand, civilization and order are represented in Thrushcross Grange:

It was beautiful – a splendid place carpeted with crimson, and crimson-covered

chairs and tables, and a pure white ceiling bordered by gold, a shower of glass-

drops hanging in silver chains from the centre, and shimmering with little soft

tapers. (48)

Indeed, the Grange reflects all what the Victorian society stands for: vanity and artifice. The

luxury offered by society as a way to assert superiority and grandeur. The wind and “sun” of

Wuthering Heights are replaced by the “tapers.” The “chains” of the crystal chandelier reflect the

man-made rules of society that restrain and oppress. The Linton family’s only pet is a “little dog,

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shaking its paw and yelping,” which is afraid of the inhabitants, suggesting a separation between

natural creatures. By the time Lockwood first sees the house, Catherine is dead and Heathcliff

has returned, intent on revenge, to take possession of the Heights, but the house still reflects his

innocence and disinterested amour de soi, an ideal of a simple form of life, although civil

society, represented in the opening pages of the novel by Lockwood, sees him as an outsider. In

the first stage of his development, Heathcliff was just trying to live as ordinary a life as possible

and his only ambition was to stay close to Catherine. Through all the stages of his life,

Heathcliff is associated with animals. In this stage, Heathcliff is compared to a “lamb” and a

“dog” (38-9); his hair is likened to a “colt’s mane” (58).

Heathcliff has, what Schiller calls, in “On the Pathetic” (1793), the “sublime of

disposition,” which “causes itself to be seen, for it rests upon coexistence.” Schiller asserts that it

represents

the work of his moral character […] immediately and according to the laws of

freedom, when it selects the suffering out of respect for some duty. The

conception of duty determines it in this case as motive, and its suffering is an act

of will. (7-8)

In the first stage of his development, Heathcliff’s sublime of deposition is suggested in his choice

to stay in the Heights near Catherine, despite suffering through Hindley’s degradation. This “act

of will” contrasts with his lack of motivation when he instinctively and spontaneously saves

Hareton’s life when Hindley, being drunk, drops him down the staircase, despite the fact that

Hareton is the son of the man who degrades him. Nelly recounts the episode:

Hindley leant forward on the rails to listen to a noise below; almost forgetting

what he had in his hands. “Who is that?” he asked, hearing some one approaching

the stairs’-foot. I leant forward also, for the purpose of signing to Heathcliff,

whose step I recognised, not to come further; and, at the instant when my eye

quitted Hareton, he gave a sudden spring, delivered himself from the careless

grasp that held him, and fell. There was scarcely time to experience a thrill of

horror before we saw that the little wretch was safe. Heathcliff arrived underneath

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just at the critical moment; by a natural impulse he arrested his descent, and

setting him on his feet, looked up to discover the author of the accident. [my

emphasis] (74)

This passage reflects Heathcliff’s essentially moral disposition, as does Nelly’s description of

Heathcliff’s reaction after saving Hareton’s life: “it expressed, plainer than words could do, the

intensest anguish at having made himself the instrument of thwarting his own revenge […] [W]e

witnessed his salvation” (74). If anything, Nelly’s declaration represents what she, who belongs

to society and adopts its reasoning, would have done and felt had she been in Heathcliff’s

position, but does not represent Heathcliff’s real feelings. Indeed, Heathcliff’s feelings are

mysterious because of his lack of communicative skills in this stage in his development.

Heathcliff’s “blank countenance” may be interpreted as reflecting that he is learning new things

about himself: that he is actually good and moral and not the “fiend” or “vagabond” that

everyone brands him with.

This evidence of spontaneous goodness and “natural impulse” reflects the influence of

the German thought on Emily Brontë’s world view. In Rousseau and Romanticism, Irving

Babbitt suggests that “this notion of the soul that is spontaneously beautiful and therefore good

made an especial appeal to the Germans and indeed is often associated with Germany more than

any other land” (Babbitt 132). In “On the Grace and Dignity” (1793), Schiller associates

instinctive spontaneity with beauty, describing the “beautiful soul” as

a state where the moral sentiment has taken possession of all the emotions to such

a degree that it may unhesitatingly commit the guidance of life to instinct […] in a

beautiful soul individual deeds are not properly moral, rather, the entire character

is […] [I]t carries out the most painful duties of humanity, and the most heroic

sacrifice which it exacts from natural impulse. Hence, the beautiful soul knows

nothing of the beauty of its deeds […] [I]t is thus in a beautiful soul, that

sensuousness and reason, duty and inclination harmonize, and grace is its

epiphany. Only in the service of a beautiful soul can nature at the same time

possess freedom and preserve her form, since the former she forfeits under the

rule of a strict sentience, the latter, under the anarchy of sensuousness. (368)

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The fact that Heathcliff “arrested [Hareton’s] descent” and then “[set] him on his feet”

anticipates the continuing role of Heathcliff in Hareton’s life. Indeed, the natural education that

Hareton receives at the hands of Heathcliff would arrest his descent into the fallen world of the

Victorian civil society, and reinforce a sense of empathy in his soul. Emily Brontë uses this

incident to establish a spiritual connection and a unique kinship between Heathcliff and Hareton,

which I shall discuss in detail in Chapter Three.

Furthermore, this incident sheds light on Heathcliff’s “intuitional side of ethics” for the

first time. In “Schiller and Shaftesbury,” Allan L. Carter suggests that, for Schiller, “[t]he

transition from the ethical to the aesthetical is much more immediate [...] Schiller brings his

ethics and aesthetics into closer relations by his suggested educative process” (212). Thus, this

incident educates both us and Heathcliff, as we become aware of the naturally ethical side of

Heathcliff, and his uncorrupted state of humanity in this first stage. And, when Heathcliff later

describes Hareton as “gold put to the use of paving stones” (217), we can relate the same

description to young Heathcliff himself and understand the reason for the natural empathy that

grows between Heathcliff and Hareton.

Carter draws attention to a story from a letter sent from Schiller to Christian Gottfried

Körner, in 1789, which highlights a kind of spontaneity similar to that demonstrated by

Heathcliff. I believe that it is important to quote the story since Emily Brontë may have come

across it herself, and (if so) it would shed light on Heathcliff’s mysterious and misunderstood

character:

[A] man who had fallen among thieves, lost his clothes, and was forced to stay by

the roadside in cold weather awaiting help, Schiller has five travelers pass by, all

of whom wish to help, but only one of whom is capable of performing an ideal

moral act. This man, without reasoning and without calling up possible kinds of

conduct before the bar of stern justice, simply acts with absolute directness [...]

The first man is unable to look upon any human suffering, and he absolves

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himself by leaving his purse […] The second traveler requires pay for his

services. The third reluctantly consents to the use of his horse and of his cloak,

fearing that he may be the one to suffer from exposure. The next who passes is an

enemy of the wounded man, but from sheer pity he consents to help, though not to

forgive. Acting from mere impulse, the last man who chances to pass sets down

his bundle to take up and carry the wounded man. (213-4; my emphasis)

The “spontaneous, unasked, and undebated” action of the last man in Schiller’s story resembles

Heathcliff’s action when he simply puts out his arms and catches Hareton without thinking.

Equally, Rousseau comments on the importance of natural pity and spontaneity that characterizes

the savage man, and Heathcliff as well:

[P]ity is a natural sentiment, which, by moderating in each individual the activity

of the love of oneself, contributes to the mutual preservation of the entire species.

Pity is what carries us without reflection to the aid of those we see suffering. Pity

is what, in the state of nature, takes the place of laws, mores, and virtue, with the

advantage that no one is tempted to disobey its sweet voice. Pity is what will

prevent every robust savage from robbing a weak child or an infirm old man of

his hard-earned subsistence, if he himself expects to be able to find his own

someplace else. Instead of the sublime maxim of reasoned justice, Do unto others

as you would have them do unto you, pity inspires all men with another maxim of

natural goodness, much less perfect but perhaps more useful than the preceding

one: Do what is good for you with as little harm as possible to others. In a word,

it is in this natural sentiment, rather than in subtle arguments, that one must search

for the cause of the repugnance at doing evil that every man would experience,

even independently of the maxims of education. Although it might be appropriate

for Socrates and minds of his stature to acquire virtue through reason, the human

race would long ago have ceased to exist, if its preservation had depended solely

on the reasonings of its members. (64; italics in the original, underlined in my

emphasis)

In Rousseau’s terms, Heathcliff’s natural uncontemplated impulse to preserve Hareton’s life and

the Earnshaws’ line of succession originates from his natural pity. This incident also creates a

spiritual humane connection between Heathcliff and Hareton that will contribute to his

reformation. Had Heathcliff contemplated his action and decided to punish Hindley by letting

Hareton take the fall and die, the Earnshaw line of succession would have ended and with it the

significance of the Heights as representative of nature. Wuthering Heights is different from the

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Grange in that it is, like Heathcliff, etymologically and physically associated with the rugged

landscape and the forces of nature: “Wuthering being a significant provincial adjective,

descriptive of the atmospheric tumult to which its station is exposed in stormy weather” (4).

Annihilating the Heights by ending its line of succession would suggest the end of humanity and

spirituality altogether. However, the novel’s ending suggests that this is not Emily Brontë’s

purpose. I would argue that Brontë’s purpose is the attainment of a healthy society, which can

only be achieved through the integration of society in nature.

Another connection between Heathcliff and nature is implied in the pathetic fallacy in

which the forces of nature answer to Heathcliff’s suffering. “Nature” appears to sympathize with

Heathcliff just as Mrs Earnshaw sympathizes with her children in the presence of an outside

threat – Heathcliff. Evidently, “storms” accompany Heathcliff on his arrival to and his departure

from the Heights. Heathcliff’s stormy arrival anticipates an imminent change that would take

place in the Heights, and Heathcliff’s departure, on hearing Catherine saying that “it would

degrade her to marry him” (80), appears to invoke a storm that is seen by Nelly as a judgment

upon them. Nelly concludes that a sin has been committed against the Heathcliff stands for:

About midnight, while we still sat up, the storm came rattling over the Heights in

full fury. There was a violent wind, as well as thunder, and either one or the other

split a tree off at the corner of the building: a huge bough fell across the roof, and

knocked down a portion of the east chimney-stack, sending a clatter of stones and

soot into the kitchen-fire. We thought a bolt had fallen in the middle of us; and

Joseph swung on to his knees, beseeching the Lord to remember the patriarchs

Noah and Lot, and, as in former times, spare the righteous, though he smote the

ungodly. I felt some sentiment that it must be a judgment on us also. (84; my

emphasis)

This imagery of the fear-inspiring storm is sublime, since the “bolt” of thunder falls in the

“middle of [them],” making them a part of the storm. The use of the pronoun “us” suggests a

universal judgement of them all. Indeed, they are immersed in the tumult and their energies are

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joined with the mighty energy of the thunder and the storm. Thus, Joseph and Nelly, along with

the other inhabitants of Wuthering Heights, become participants in the scene and experience the

fear inspired by the sublime. They are reminded of their humanity and the limitations associated

with their human state. Therefore, in this instant, the power assumed by society and its social

hierarchy diminishes in the face of an enraged Nature that echoes God’s wrath.

Brontë’s language of the sublime in this passage resembles Wordsworth’s poetic

experiences in nature. For example, in The Prelude (1850), Wordsworth engages us in an

exchange with nature. He places us among the high crags and the region of the clouds and then

down among the trees:

Winds thwarting winds, bewildered and forlorn,

The torrents shooting from the clear blue sky,

The rocks that muttered close upon our ears –

Black drizzling crags that spake by the wayside

As if a voice were in them – the sick sight

And giddy prospect of the raving stream,

The unfettered clouds and region of the heavens,

Tumult and peace, the darkness and the light,

Were all like workings of one mind, the features

Of the same face, blossoms upon one tree,

Characters of the great apocalypse,

The types and symbols of eternity,

Of first, and last, and midst, and without end.

(The Prelude, Book Six, ll. 630-42)

In these lines, God is revealed in nature, and so when we are in touch with nature we are in the

presence of God. It is a humbling experience that brings God closer to humanity, and adds

spirituality to our life. The same idea that the voice of God is to be found in nature is explored by

Rousseau. In Émile, Rousseau suggests that “conscience is the voice of the soul […] [I]t is to the

soul what instinct is to the body. He who obeys his conscience is following nature and he need

not fear that he will go astray” (127). Similarly, Brontë brings the storm and the thunderbolts

inside and paints a picture, in which humans are reminded of the “[c]haracters of the great

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apocalypse” (Wordsworth l. 573) that they tend to forget in their intoxication with power in civil

society. In this situation, it appears that Brontë adopts Schiller’s concept of the pathetic sublime

to convey an apocalyptic image in an effort to highlight the extent of Heathcliff’s suffering and

the magnitude of injustice committed against him. According to Frederick C. Beiser, in Schiller

as Philosopher: A Re-Examination, for Schiller:

In the case of the pathetic sublime, however, the object is actually destructive, so

that the imagination not only can but must see it as dangerous. Even here,

however, we are spectators of suffering. We do not suffer ourselves but simply see

someone else who suffers. If we were to suffer ourselves, then no aesthetic attitude

would be possible, the aesthetic attitude demands some degree of quiet

contemplation, and we cannot foster such an attitude where we really are in

danger. Hence, the suffering involved in the pathetic sublime must be someone

else, and it must be of strictly sympathetic kind. Furthermore, even sympathetic

suffering will be too excessive for our sensibility if the suffering is actually taking

place outside us; even empathetic pain overwhelms aesthetic enjoyment. Only

when the suffering is a mere illusion or fiction, only when it is presented to the

imagination and not to the senses, is it possible for the object to be sublime. (262;

my emphasis)

The image of the thunder bolt is destructive and dangerous: it brings to Nelly’s imagination and

conscience the wrong that has been done to Heathcliff. This interpretation of “the storm” that is

“rattling” as “a judgement” suggests that Brontë may have used Schiller’s observation that the

pathetic sublime creates an “aesthetic attitude” to imply that a sinful injustice has befallen

humanity.

Catherine’s betrayal of Heathcliff for the sake of pursuing material ambitions is a sin

against humanity. When Catherine abandons Heathcliff to marry Edgar, and satisfy her craving

for social position − “[Edgar] will be rich, and I shall like to be the greatest woman of the

neighbourhood, and I shall be proud of having such a husband” (Brontë 80) − she willingly

bends to the yoke of the man-made convention and acts against God-given natural inclinations

and dispositions. Arnold Kettle, in An Introduction to the English Novel, rightfully argues that

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[I]t is from [Heathcliff’s] association in rebellion with Catherine that the

particular quality of their relationship arises. It is the reason why each feels that a

betrayal of what binds them together is in some obscure and mysterious way a

betrayal of everything, of all that is almost valuable in life and death. Yet

Catherine betrays Heathcliff and marries Edgar Linton, kidding herself that she

can keep them both, and then discovering that in denying Heathcliff she has

chosen death. The conflict here is, quite explicitly, a social one. (145; my

emphasis)

Since Heathcliff and Catherine’s relationship is based on human empathy, breaking it for social

considerations amounts to a betrayal of humanity for the sake of materialism, and here lies the

sinfulness of Catherine’s action. Joseph’s allusion to “Noah and Lot” recalls God’s wrath when

the people in Noah and Lot’s time were immersed in materialism, and God destroyed them. In

her description of the storm, Nelly does not suffer herself, but her contemplation of the storm in

this passage as well as Joseph’s invocation of Noah and Lot suggest that she feels pathos for

Heathcliff’s suffering; she also feels the sinfulness of Catherine’s desertion, and reaches the

conclusion that the storm “must be a judgement on [them]” (84). According to Schiller, this

pathetic sublime is strictly sympathetic and of an aesthetic attitude – as reflected in the violent

imagery of the storm and Nelly’s reaction to it.

I contend that Emily Brontë suggests that Catherine’s desertion causes a symbolic split in

the organic wholeness of society. This organic split is implied in the image of the thunder that

“split a tree off at the corner of the building” (84). When Catherine offers Heathcliff human

understanding, comradeship and shares his misery, she takes the side of humanity and together

they form an organic whole, symbolized by the “tree.” Had Catherine adhered to her instinct and

stood by Heathcliff’s side, their love would have challenged the role prescribed for her by

society as well as the existing social prejudices: their union might have integrated a cold

mechanized society with humanity, in a spiritual sense, and caused its reform. However,

Catherine is dazzled by the Lintons’ home and social position as well as Edgar’s handsome

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appearance. I would assert that, when Brontë presents love and loyalty as powerful enough to

reform society in the face of social challenges, her line of thought concurs with Rousseau’s

philosophical ruminations about life and humanity in Émile:

Why is my soul subjected to my senses, and imprisoned in this body by which it

is enslaved and thwarted? I know not […] If man’s soul had remained in a state of

freedom and innocence, what merit would there have been in loving and obeying

the order he found established, an order which it would not have been to his

advantage to disturb? He would be happy, no doubt, but his happiness would not

attain to the highest point, the pride of virtue, and the witness of a good

conscience within him; he would be but as the angels are, and no doubt the good

man will be more than they. Bound to a mortal body, by bonds as strange as they

are powerful, his care for the preservation of this body tempts the soul to think

only of self, and gives it an interest opposed to the general order of things, which

it is still capable of knowing and loving; then it is that the right use of his freedom

becomes at once the merit and the reward. (130-1; my emphasis)

Rousseau highlights the conflict between our God-given natural desires and inclinations, as

physical individuals, and the man-made rules of civil society. He asserts that God created man

innocent and free to choose, and that his happiness should increase when he tolerates and resists

the bonds and temptations offered by the civil society in order to hold on to his right to choose

freely, because “the right use of his freedom becomes at once the merit and the reward.” This

concept is reflected in Wuthering Heights. In choosing Edgar, Catherine forsakes her God given

natural desires and inclinations and submits to the man-made rules of civil society, and

consequently she loses her freedom. Additionally, Catherine’s choice of position and social

perfectibility would be seen to have estranged humanity altogether from social considerations.

Her reason is socially constructed, and it takes total charge over her emotions and eclipses her

human desires and natural inclinations.

This idea also connects to Schiller’s view of human weakness in the face of social

temptations and amour-propre. In his Letters Upon the Aesthetic Education of Man (1793), he

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states that, “in our day, it is necessity, neediness, that prevails, and bends a degraded humanity

under its iron yoke” (Letter II 3):

Culture, far from giving us freedom, only develops, as it advances, new

necessities; the fetters of the physical close more tightly around us, so that the fear

of loss quenches even the ardent impulse toward improvement, and the maxims of

passive obedience are held to be the highest wisdom of life. Thus, the spirit of the

time is seen to waver between perversions and savagism, between what is

unnatural and mere nature, between superstition and moral unbelief, and it is often

nothing but the equilibrium of evils that sets bounds to it. (Letter V 7)

Schiller’s assertion is significant because it highlights the restraining as well as perverting

influence of civil society, which Brontë appears to believe to be in dire need of reform. By

dissociating herself from Heathcliff, Catherine not only dissociates herself from humanity, but

she also gives up her own “liberty,” and willingly delivers herself to the imprisonment of the

luxurious walls of social convention. Later on, Catherine admits that her decision to forsake

Heathcliff for Edgar has been “an angry rebellion against Providence,” for which she endures

“very, very, bitter misery” (99). Then three years later, when Heathcliff returns and is reconciled

with Catherine, she asserts that Heathcliff’s return “has reconciled [her] to God, and humanity!”

(99) This assertion confirms Heathcliff’s positioning, in Wuthering Heights, as the

personification of that humanity.

The concept of “liberty” that is associated with “Nature” is reflected in Heathcliff

account to Nelly of one of his youthful escapades with Catherine, in which “liberty” is contrasted

with the “Grange lights”: “Cathy and I escaped from the wash-house to have a ramble at liberty,

and getting a glimpse of the Grange lights, we thought we would just go and see whether the

Lintons passed their Sunday evenings standing shivering in corners” (48). The “liberty” that

Catherine experiences with Heathcliff on the moors contrasts with Catherine’s later description

of her body, after marrying Edgar and moving to the Grange, as the “shattered prison” (160) of

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her soul, which implies that her physical existence is forced to conform to the social expectations

of her as a Victorian wife. Catherine’s body restrains her soul that yearns for freedom. This

image suggests an unnatural state which results in suffering and agony. The mechanization of the

life that Catherine chooses over Heathcliff is reflected in her description of the Lintons’ faces as

“cold” (121). Later in her life, Catherine yearns for the warmth of the liberating exertions she

used to experience with Heathcliff, and her soul seeks the “liberty” provided by her association

with Heathcliff, whose demands represent the common natural demands of humanity: love and

loyalty. In this sense, Brontë connects Heathcliff to a humanity that is uncorrupted by the

materialism-driven society. She emphasizes that the soul that is free and can only be shaped by

God-granted reason and not man-made rules. This association of Heathcliff and liberation from a

state of social imprisonment may be extended to Catherine’s buried body and the fact that

Heathcliff has

[…] struck one side of the coffin loose – and covered it up […] and I bribed the

sexton to pull it away, when I’m laid there, and slide mine out too. I’ll have it so,

and then, by the time Linton gets to us, he’ll not know which is which! (285-6)

The idea that civil society swaddles and confines humanity is also pointed out by Rousseau. In

Émile. Rousseau asserts that:

Our wisdom is slavish prejudice, our customs consist in control, constraint,

compulsion. – Civilised man is born and dies a slave. The infant is bound up in

swaddling clothes, the corpse is nailed down in his coffin. – All his life long man

is imprisoned by our institutions. (5)

Thus, if Heathcliff cannot liberate Catherine in this world because of her choice to conform to

social conventions, Brontë gives him the chance to liberate her in death. The symbolism in

breaking down the side of her coffin and instructing the sexton to do the same for him, after his

death, suggests Heathcliff’s fierce loyalty and understanding of the significance of freedom.

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Heathcliff liberates Catherine from her earthly eternal confinement – her coffin – in defiance of

the social traditions.

Heathcliff’s incessant attachment to Catherine is his way to re-instate equality and their

common humanity, since there has been no sense of domination in their relationship. The

importance of love to achieve true humanity is also pointed out in Bildung. In “The Neo-

Humanistic Concept of Bildung Going Astray: Comments to Friedrich Schiller’s Thoughts on

Education,” Aagot Vinterbo-Hohr and Hansjörg Hohr contend that “Wilhelm von Humboldt

(1793) argues for a complementary relationship between the sexes in the sense that man and

woman represent different parts of a whole and only in love may reach true humanity” (223).

Finally, I would argue that, in this stage, Brontë establishes the novel’s original sin as the

“communal sin” (Simons 170) of “materialism” against Heathcliff would pervert his natural

goodness and thus humanity. In this, she echoes Schiller, who as Simons argues

attempts to solve the problem of man and his relationship to society, and his

solution is based on the principles of suffering and love. Schiller believed in a

“universal guilt” and in the idea of brotherly love as one way to restore the

question of man’s position towards society. Those heroes who obtain salvation do

so by recognizing the unity of all men and by becoming aware of a “communal

sin. (170)

In Émile, Rousseau asserts that,

God makes all things good; man meddles with them and they become evil. […]

Prejudice, authority, necessity, example, all the social conditions into which we

are plunged, would stifle nature in him and put nothing in her place. (2)

Brontë, throughout Wuthering Heights, also seeks to reconcile society with humanity with all its

spiritual connotations − the material with the spiritual − in order to achieve human freedom and

reform.

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Stage 2 Heathcliff: The Civilized Barbarian

This second stage marks Heathcliff’s evolution from the simple primitive savage uncorrupted by

civil society, to the more complex state of a “civilized” barbarian. When he returns to Wuthering

Heights, Heathcliff demonstrates a civilized appearance, but he still has a barbarian soul.

According to Schiller, “Man is a barbarian if his narrowly defined rational principles destroy his

capacity for the feelings associated with agapic love” (Wertz 118). With this development, the

amour de soi that renders Heathcliff lacking in communicative skills evolves into amour-propre.

According to Niko Kolodny, amour-propre has several features:

First, amour-propre […] is general: the desire is to be equal or superior to all

others and to be evaluated as such by all others. Second, […] inflamed amour-

propre is pervasive. In particular, it doesn’t simply afflict the highborn or the rich.

Third, inflamed amour-propre cannot be satisfied. (171)

Heathcliff, in this stage, engages more with society, which sheds light upon his character that has

been a mystery in the first stage because of his initial persecution and banishment from society at

the hands of Hindley.

In this stage, Brontë highlights how a society that stands apart from nature perverts

human nature to the extent that it becomes unnatural: an internal split happens to the human

individual in society. When Heathcliff abruptly leaves the Heights, Catherine marries Edgar.

Nelly describes Catherine’s behaviour after marrying Edgar: “she behaved infinitely better than I

dared to expect. She seemed almost over fond of Mr Linton” (96; my emphasis). Catherine’s

behaviour, in this description, appears to be unnatural, forced, and mechanical, however, it is

completely in line with social expectations ascribed to a Victorian wife. Catherine’s true feelings

are only implied in the occasional episodes of depression, when she fails to pretend anymore:

“Catherine had seasons of gloom and silence, now and then” (91). In Schiller to Derrida:

Idealism in Aesthetics, Juliet Sychrava describes this split as “society become severed from the

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physical world, and instead of the organic harmony of the two that once existed, we are left with

two extremes: brute nature and over-abstracted and arid culture” (24). Thus, we end up with a

world that suffers from a rigid dichotomy between nature and society.

Contrary to the perverse situation in Wuthering Heights, humanity belongs to nature,

since God created it, but humanity also belongs to society and the ultimate accomplishment of an

ideal society is to harmonize nature (and our natural inclinations and desires) and society (duty

and reason). However, in Wuthering Heights, Catherine becomes invested in one drive – society

– at the expense of the other, which is agonizing for her because of the resulting lack of

harmony. Schiller explains the internal split in the individual human. He declares that, “every

individual man carries, within himself, at least in his adaptation and destination, a purely ideal

man. The great problem with his existence is to bring all the incessant changes of his outer life

into conformity with the unchanging unity of this ideal” (Letter IV 5). For this reason, suffering

is a pronounced motif in the novel. The lure of the civil society that is weighed against a

possible, though morally necessary, ideal of society and the tension not only splits Catherine and

Heathcliff’s unity, but it also splits each one of them internally. Thus, Catherine becomes like the

walking dead, soulless and mechanical, until Heathcliff returns. Heathcliff’s internal natural

harmony is also disturbed by his separation from Catherine. This split is the focal point of his

discord and consequent education in this second stage. Schiller comments of this split: “Man can

not be fully man as long as he satisfies only one of the two drives exclusively or only one after

the other successively. He is truly man only when both drives act at the same time. Only then

does he have a complete intuition of his humanity” (Wertz 94; my emphasis).

According to Schiller, education and the restoration of harmony are connected, and this

connection is reflected in Wuthering Heights through Heathcliff’s external transformation and

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experience in society in this second stage. In his Letters Upon the Aesthetic Education of Man.

Schiller maintains that, “education looks at this problem of man’s divided nature as it manifests

itself in society” (Letter VI, qtd. in Sychrava 24). When Heathcliff returns to the Grange, after

disappearing for three years, his appearance is transformed in a manner that would admit him

into civilized society:

He had grown tall, athletic, well-formed man; beside whom my master seemed

quite slender and youth-like. His upright carriage suggested an idea of his having

been in the army. His countenance was much older in expression and decision of

feature than Mr Linton’s; it looked intelligent, and retained no marks of former

degradation [...] [H]is manner was even dignified, quite divested of roughness

though too stern for grace. (95)

This passage highlights the physical difference between Heathcliff and Edgar, and Heathcliff’s

superiority over Edgar signals the first transition in Heathcliff’s character from “amour de soi,”

that is essential to the primitive savage man self-preservation, to an inflamed “amour proper,”

which is the insatiable concern with achieving superiority in wealth and power that depends on

convention and consent (Kolodny 171). Indeed, Heathcliff is depicted as not only matching but

surpassing Edgar in manliness and power. The use of the word “army” to describe Heathcliff’s

upright carriage anticipates the war or the punitive action that Heathcliff plans to inflict upon

Edgar whose society has contributed to his initial degradation and constant suffering. The

allusion to the “army” also implies a possible change of authority, which would lead to a

possible social change, and Heathcliff is the initiator of this change.

In this stage of Heathcliff’s development, I would suggest that Emily Brontë is influenced

by Schiller’s depiction of Charles Moor’s suffering in The Robbers when he is faced with social

injustice. Schiller highlights the destructive effect of leaning toward one drive on the expense of

the other in his play, The Robbers. In his revolt against being unjustly disowned by his father,

Charles Moor (known as “Karl” in other translations) rejects reason. Moor’s passionate

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lamentations reflect the intensity of the rift that happens inside him between his reason and his

natural passions:

There was a time when my tears flowed so freely – oh, those days of peace! –

Dear home of my fathers – ye verdant halcyon vales! – O all ye Elysian scenes of

childhood! Will you return, – will your delicious breezes never cool my burning

bosom? – Mourn with me, Nature, mourn! – they will never return! Never will

their delicious breezes cool my burning bosom! – they are gone! – gone!

Irrevocably gone! (72; my emphasis)

In this passage, Moor’s inner pain is conveyed in the Schillerian poetical rhapsody. Moor’s

strong emotions are reflected in the apostrophe “O all ye Elysian scenes.” Moor detaches himself

from reality and addresses an imaginary, yet ideal society, that stands in stark contrast to the

world he lives in. In “Schiller and Romanticism,” Irving Babbitt points out that Schiller sees

Elysium, “like Rousseau's state of nature,” as plainly idyllic, suggesting that to Schiller Elysium

represents “the source of the contrast between the ideal and the real” (262). Moor’s gestures,

questions and exclamations reflect the force of the rift and rapture that occur within him. The

repetition of words like “mourn,” “never,” and “gone” and his appeal to “Nature” to mourn him

highlight Moor’s great bitterness at society. Also, these repeated words suggest that Moor, at this

moment, has entered a different stage, in which he hands over the reins of his actions to his

unbridled passions and forsakes the reason that upholds the laws of the society that misjudged

him. This notion is further emphasized later on when Moor decides to shun society and

commune with nature in the woods which symbolize his wild, uncontrollable and destructive

passions. Ultimately, Moor’s rebellion against the laws of society lacks the control of reason,

which makes it destructive.

Similarly, in Wuthering Heights, Heathcliff blames society and its temptations for his

estrangement from Catherine and for Catherine’s death:

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You loved me – then what right had you to leave me? […] – for the poor fancy

you felt for Linton? Because misery and degradation, and death, and nothing that

God or Satan could inflict would have parted us, you, of your own will, did it. I

have not broken your heart – you have broken it; and in breaking it, you have

broken mine. (160-1)

Heathcliff’s lack of trust for the Lintons, who represent society, drives him to blame Edgar for

Catherine’s choice. Heathcliff sees society as corrupting and evil, and thus his revenge – like

Moor’s – is on civil society and its temptations. Catherine’s withering and subsequent death

mark the ultimate social injustice committed against Heathcliff, and Heathcliff’s contempt of

mechanical social duty is demonstrated in the language he uses to describe the nature of care

Edgar offers Catherine: “that insipid paltry creature attending her from duty and humanity! From

pity and charity! He might as well plant an oak in a flower-pot, and expect it to thrive, as

imagine he can restore her to vigor in the soil of his shallow cares!” (151) Heathcliff is

scandalized at the ostensible understanding of human virtues shown by Edgar. The emphasis in

this passage is on whether or not these virtues are genuine and deep enough to restore Catherine

to health. Moreover, this passage confirms my initial argument that nature, as signified by

Catherine, cannot be integrated into society, any more than an “oak” can be planted in a “flower-

pot.”

In this second stage, Catherine’s death precipitates Heathcliff’s agony and internal split:

May she wake in torment!” he cried, with frightful vehemence, stamping his foot,

and groaning in a sudden paroxysm of ungovernable passion. “why, she’s a liar to

the end! Where is she? Not there – not in heaven – not perished – where? Oh! you

said you cared nothing for my sufferings! And 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! The murdered do haunt their

murderers. I believe – I know that ghosts have wandered on earth. Be with me

always – take my form – drive me mad! Only do not leave me in this abyss, where

I cannot find you! Oh, God! It is unutterable! I cannot live without my life! I

cannot live without my soul! (167; original emphasis)

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Unlike Moor, Heathcliff does not break the law in retaliation for injustice. In Heathcliff’s case,

reason completely takes over, which proves to be equally as destructive as Moor’s unbridled

passions. Heathcliff’s initial spontaneity transforms into “cunning”: he uses the civil law of the

land and social decorum to make those who uphold them suffer. This strategy is reflected in

Rousseau’s assertion in Émile that, “in human society man is the chief tool of man, and the

wisest man is he who best knows the use of this tool” (77). Heathcliff dissembles himself to fit

into Edgar Linton’s society in order to counter and defeat him, since he holds the Lintons

accountable for luring Catherine away from him because of social consideration. Further,

Heathcliff uses the laws of civil society to punish the Lintons for the contempt shown him to a

degree proportionate to the esteem in which he holds himself. Eventually, it is the law of the land

that allows Heathcliff to attract Isabella, marry her and gain legal possession of both the property

of the Earnshaws and the Lintons. During their brief courtship, Isabella Linton starts to see

Heathcliff as “an honourable soul” (102) instead of her initial impression of him as a “frightful

thing” (50). Isabella is tempted by Heathcliff’s civilized appearance, decides to marry him and

defies her brother’s wish.

I would argue that Emily Brontë uses the Schillerian rhapsodic style to highlight

Heathcliff’s agony after Catherine’s death. According to Schiller, “the intensity of the unchecked

passions takes the injured party back to his primal form of a savage” (Letter IV p.6). This notion

explains why Nelly feels she is in the presence of “a savage beast getting goaded to death with

knives and spears” (167). Again, Nelly’s description casts a biblical shadow on Heathcliff; he is

being sacrificed, “goaded” by a cruel society to his death. This implicit comparison of Heathcliff

to Christ, whose message is love, sincerity and forgiveness, confirms that Heathcliff is placed by

Brontë in the Heights with a message that privileges humanity over materialism. The image has

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religious implications that suggest that Heathcliff’s suffering will allow him to achieve his

salvation and thus the salvation of humanity. As in The Robbers (1781), Heathcliff’s rhapsodic

speech, repeated exclamations, and questions reflect the force of his passions. The choice of

words like “stamping,” “groaning”,” stiffens,” “sufferings” confirms Heathcliff’s frustration,

great bitterness and deep sorrow.

Heathcliff’s bursts of emotion connect him to the bestial side of humanity unleashed by

great suffering, which suggests that he has the freedom to express his emotions without any

regard for social restrains and so defies a repressive Victorian society. In “The Victorianism of

the Victorian Literature,” Michael Timko suggests that, in this period, “to talk of the

identification of nature, God and man was to talk of a dream that had turned into a surrealistic

nightmare of primordial beasts tearing one another to bits or ignorant armies clashing at night”

(613). Thus, in a society that chooses to deny the association of humanity and God with nature to

confirm their civilized state, passions are repressed. Heathcliff’s imaginative search for

Catherine in heaven and everywhere − “Where is she? Not there – not in heaven – not perished –

where?” − in addition to the apostrophe in the illogical resort to the supernatural − “haunt me,

then! The murdered do haunt their murderers” (167) − suggest that Heathcliff’s strong passions

separate him the realm of civil society.

In this passage, Emily Brontë’s view of nature suggests the influence of the

Wordsworthian idea of “Nature” being haunted by the presence of God. In the previously quoted

lines from The Prelude, Wordsworth depicts “Nature” as echoing the voice of God. For

Rousseau, conscience reflects the voice of God within Man who is also part of nature:

Conscience is the voice of the soul, […] [C]onscience never deceives us; she is

the true guide of man; it is to the soul what instinct is to the body. He who obeys

his conscience is following nature and he need not fear that he will go astray […]

Conscience! Conscience! Divine instinct, immortal voice from heaven; sure guide

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for a creature ignorant and finite indeed, yet intelligent and free; infallible judge

of good and evil, making man like to God! In thee consists the excellence of

man’s nature and the morality of his actions. (127-30)

Before her death, Catherine accuses Heathcliff of killing her: “you have killed me” (Brontë 158).

However, in this passage, Heathcliff’s appeal for Catherine’s soul to haunt him may be

interpreted as his appeal to the voice of his conscience to alert him and punish him, to “drive me

mad,” if her claim is true. In both The Robbers and Wuthering Heights, the sonorous style and

the apostrophe in the manner of Lear (who would also participate in the energies of the universe)

involve us in a sublime experience in which the spectator cannot help but feel pathos for the

unjustly wronged party.

Indeed, Catherine’s desertion unleashes in Heathcliff all the negative passions, like

revenge and contempt for love. Heathcliff transforms into the Schillerian barbarian who “laughs

at nature, and dishonours it, but he often proceeds in a more contemptible way than the savage,

to be the slave of his senses” (Letter VI 6). The transformation of the savage man corrupted by

society is also pointed out by Rousseau in his “Discourse on the Origin of Inequality” (1755),

Rousseau asserts that the “sweet and tender feeling insinuates itself into the soul and at the least

opposition becomes an impetuous fury. Jealousy awakens with love; discord triumphs, and the

sweetest passion receives sacrifices of human blood” (Discourse Part II 73). This idea is

reflected in the scorn Heathcliff shows Isabella for claiming to have fallen in love with him. As

he explains to Nelly Dean,

She abandoned [the Lintons] under a delusion, picturing in me a hero of romance,

and expecting unlimited indulgences from my chivalrous devotion. I can hardly

regard her in the light of a rational creature, so obstinately has she persisted in

forming a fabulous notion of my character, and acting on the false impressions

she cherished […] She cannot accuse me of showing a bit of deceitful softness

[…] But no brutality disgusted her – I suppose she has an innate admiration of it,

if only her precious person were secure from injury! […] Tell your master, Nelly,

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that I never, in my life, met with such an abject thing as she is. (149; my

emphasis)

Despite his brutality, Heathcliff’s ability to boldly strip away the veil of familiarity and expose

the hidden truths that are unfamiliar (and undiscussed) in civil society makes us, as readers,

sympathize with him. Heathcliff points out Isabella’s vanity and brutality as a reason for his

scorn when he says that “no brutality disgusted her – I suppose she has an innate admiration of

it” (148-9). Earlier, Emily Brontë hints at Isabella’s innate admiration of violence when she first

meets Hindley after her marriage to Heathcliff. Isabella tells Nelly:

I surveyed the weapon inquisitively; a hideous notion struck me. How powerful I

should be possessing such an instrument! I took it from his hand, and touched the

blade. He looked astonished at the expression my face assumed during a brief

second. It was not horror, it was covetousness. He snatched the pistol back,

jealously; shut the knife and returned it to its concealment. (138)

Despite being raised in civil society to conform to the rules of civil decorum and modesty,

Isabella appears to harbor an innate savagery reflected in her covetousness of Hindley’s weapon.

The weapon is associated with violence, and the fact that she envisions herself in possession of it

concurs with Heathcliff’s assumption that Isabella has “an innate admiration” of violence.

Moreover, the blade of the weapon serves as a phallic symbol, and the way Isabella handles it

implies her sexual desire; and it also highlights a masculine side of Isabella’s character, which

views Heathcliff as an object who could provide her with sexual satisfaction. This idea would

render her immodest in the eyes of a rigid Victorian society. This passage also highlights

Isabella’s craving for power, which further suggests that her marriage to Heathcliff is motivated

by social ambitions and not purely love as she claims.

In Wuthering Heights, I contend that, like Schiller, Emily Brontë views suffering as a

path towards the development and education of humanity. In “The Nature of Suffering in

Schiller and Dostoevsky,” John D. Simons argues that “Schiller felt that man must make his way

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through the machinery of life and suffering in order to become aware of life’s real value – which

is freedom” (163). Heathcliff’s suffering represents the suffering of humanity in the sense that it

changes and is changed by society until it reaches its ideal state. Emily Brontë invites us to

sympathize with Heathcliff, to see beyond his apparent bestiality and feel his suffering and the

cruelty of civil society. In Émile, Rousseau suggests that “those of us who can best endure the

good and evil of life are the best educated; hence it follows that true education consists less in

precept than in practice” (Rousseau 4). In “On the Pathetic” (1793), Schiller argues that:

The more decisive and violent the emotion now expresses itself in the field of

animality, without, however, being able to assert the same power in the field of

humanity, the more this latter becomes known, the more the moral independence

of man manifests itself gloriously, the more pathetic is the representation and the

more sublime the pathos. (4)

In this sense, suffering is crucial not only for Heathcliff’s growth and development but also for

those who witness this suffering and are moved by it. When suffering arouses pathos in the

spectator, it creates a desire for change and reform that is driven by free will.

The influence of German Romanticism with its distinctive forcefulness is apparent in

Wuthering Heights. In The Brontës, Mary A. Ward places Emily Brontë’s writing with the strain

of Romantic literature that embraces life, asserting that it is with all that is “sane, strong and

living in literature” (157). In Wuthering Heights, suffering drives the development and education

of humanity. As Heathcliff confides to Nelly, “I have no pity! I have no pity! The more the

worms writhe, the more I yearn to crush out their entrails! It is a moral teething; and I grind with

greater energy in proportion to the increase of pain” (150). Heathcliff describes his battle with

society as persistent in inflicting pain on him through its prejudices and morally corrupting laws.

The phrase “moral teething” suggests Heathcliff’s growth and development; it also suggests pain

and suffering associated with growth. The fact that it is “moral” suggests Heathcliff’s ethical

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struggle and the dilemma that his reaction to being hurt inflicts hurt. Thus, Brontё conveys the

sense that Heathcliff is inevitably compelled to cause suffering in reaction to the pain inflicted on

him. In doing this, she appears to be soliciting the reader’s sympathy for Heathcliff since – in

this narrative – causing suffering appears to be against his essentially good moral disposition, but

he is being driven to strike back. The “worms” symbolize corruption, reflecting a corrupt and

decaying society that tries to corrupt Heathcliff’s nature despite his resistance. “Worms” also

symbolize transformation and renewal, which implies the development and evolution of

humanity over multiple cycles of life. Rousseau also emphasizes the importance of suffering for

a free, reformed humanity. He maintains that:

It is not to be endured that man should become the slave of pain, disease,

accident, the perils of life, or even death itself; the more familiar he becomes with

these ideas the sooner he will be cured of that over-sensitiveness which adds to

the pain by impatience in bearing it; the sooner he becomes used to the sufferings

which may overtake him, the sooner he shall, as Montaigne has put it, rob those

pains of the sting of unfamiliarity, and so make his soul strong and invulnerable;

his body will be the coat of mail which stops all the darts which might otherwise

find a vital part. Even the approach of death, which is not death itself, will

scarcely be felt as such; he will not die, he will be, so to speak, alive or dead and

nothing more. (49-50; my emphasis)

In this light, if suffering in Wuthering Heights is linked to the development and education of

humanity, and death should be the culmination of all the knowledge and experience that

Heathcliff accumulates while suffering through life. Therefore, I would assert that death for

Heathcliff is a return to an ideal nature and a hope for a better and happier life.

Heathcliff’s attitude towards death contributes to our understanding of his character in

this second stage. In the “Discourse on the Origin of Inequality” (1755), Rousseau suggests that

[Savage man] knows not what [death] means; but accustomed as he is to submit

without resistance to the law of necessity, he will die, if die he must, without a

groan and without a struggle; that is as much as we can demand of nature, in that

hour which we all abhor. To live in freedom, and to be independent of human

affairs, is the best way to learn how to die. (88)

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Indeed, death for Heathcliff is the only event of his life that would relieve his suffering and bring

him closer to Catherine: “Now, since I’ve seen her, I’m pacified – a little. It was a strange way of

killing: not by inches, but by fractions of hair-breadths, to beguile me with the spectre of a hope

through eighteen years!” (288) This idea coincides with Rousseau’s assertion that, “if [the savage

man] feels [suffering], his sufferings make him desire [death]; henceforth it is no evil in his eyes.

If we were but content to be ourselves, we should have no cause to complain of our lot” (Émile,

125). There should be no fear of death: it represents hope and a move towards a better place,

more reformed than the current existing society.

In Wuthering Heights, Emily Brontë weighs conventional or institutionalized religion

against natural religion and appears to be in favour of the latter. Earlier in this chapter, I

established that Heathcliff’s instinctive actions associate him with Schiller’s definition of the

“beautiful soul” that is the manifestation of the divine quality of grace. However, In Rousseau

and Romanticism, Irvine Babbitt asserts that

The doctrine of the beautiful soul is at once a denial and a parody of the doctrine

of grace; a denial because it rejects original sin; a parody because it holds that the

beautiful soul acts aright, not through any effort of its own but because nature acts

in it and through it even as a man in a state of grace acts aright not through any

merit of his own but because God acts in him and through him. The man who saw

everything from the angle of grace was, like the beautiful soul or the original

genius, inclined to look upon himself as exceptional and superlative. (133)

Babbitt suggests that “the usual result of the doctrine of grace when sincerely held is to make a

man feel desperately sinful at the same time that he is less open to reproach than other men in his

actual behaviour” (134). Babbitt points out the role of the German pietists in offering “some

approximation to the point of view of the beautiful soul […] in which the sense of sin is

somewhat relaxed and the inner light very much emphasized” (134) This account may shed some

light on Heathcliff’s religious orientation, as well as suggesting the influence of German thought

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on Emily Brontë and her rejection of conventional religious creeds. From her poems and

Wuthering Heights, it is evident that Brontë sees God in everything that lives. In her poem “No

Coward Soul is Mine” (1846), Brontë rejects the idea of God being contained in different creeds:

“Vain are the thousand creeds /That move men's hearts” and she stresses that this idea is

“unutterably vain” (ll. 9-10). Therefore, I suggest that in Wuthering Heights, Emily Brontë seeks

to mend the rift that happens to Christianity and unite its “thousand creeds” in one universal

Christian creed that is personal. This idea reflects Emily Brontë’s deep concern that this rift in

the Christian religion participates in the rift in the society.

In this second stage, Brontë sheds some light on Heathcliff’s understanding of religion

through his interactions with society. Despite Heathcliff’s rejection of the show of religiousness,

there is nothing in the novel that conclusively suggests the Heathcliff is not a believer. Heathcliff

is deemed to be a “heathen,” “imp of Satan,” etc. by virtue of being different. However, there are

indications that imply his belief in an individual, personal sense of God that is similar to Brontë’s

own view of God. Rousseau points out the hypocrisy in organized religious practices and how

they drive people away from religion rather than bringing them closer, asserting that

For the sake of a show of preaching virtue you make [children] love every vice;

you instil these vices by forbidding them. Would you have them pious, you take

them to church till they are sick of it; you teach them to gabble prayers until they

long for the happy time when they will not have to pray to God. (35)

I suggest that Emily Brontë concurs with Rousseau’s stance on this issue as suggested by her

portrayal of Joseph’s character. Nelly describes Joseph as

the wearisomest, self-righteous Pharisee that ever ransacked a Bible to rake the

promises to himself, and fling the curses on his neighbours. By his knack of

sermonizing and pious discoursing, he contrived to make a great impression on

Mr Earnshaw, and the more feeble the master became, the more influence he

gained. (42)

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Indeed, in this description, Joseph’s show of religion amounts to vanity, which is one of the

seven deadly sins, and therein lies the paradox in his character. Joseph’s religiousness lacks the

personal dimension represented in meditation and thought. The choice of words like “Pharisee,”

“ransacked,” and “fling” suggests that Joseph’s religiousness is motivated by envy and is

employed to emphasize his superiority in order to compensate for his position as a “servant” in

the Heights.

More importantly, Joseph represents the dangers of man-made institutionalized religion,

which uses its customized sermons to confirm social class / hierarchy and, in doing that,

compromises its alleged position as a source of religious truths. Ultimately, Joseph uses religion

to break the familial bonds between Mr Earnshaw and his children instead of reinforcing them:

[H]e was relentless in worrying [Mr Earnshaw] about his soul’s concerns, and

about ruling his children rigidly. [Joseph] encouraged him to regard Hindley as a

reprobate; and, night after night, he regularly grumbled out a long string of tales

against Heathcliff and Catherine. (42)

Emily Brontë contrasts Joseph’s religion to Rousseau’s model of natural religion in order to

highlight that the orthodox, socially constructed idea of religion has a hypocritical self-serving

dimension that is in need of reform. Heathcliff and Catherine’s wanderings on the moors allow

them the opportunity for meditation, to see God in Nature, and associate Him with liberty,

contrary to the artificiality and tyranny in Joseph’s teachings. Hence, Catherine “turn[s] Joseph’s

religious curses into ridicule” (Brontë 43) as a way of criticizing his self-interested manipulation

of religion. Shortly after Mr Earnshaw’s death:

[Nelly] ran to the children’s room: their door was ajar, I saw they had never lain

down, though it was past midnight; but they were calmer, and did not need me to

console them. The little souls were comforting each other with better thoughts

than I could have hit on: no parson in the world ever pictured heaven so

beautifully as they did, in their innocent talk; and, while I sobbed and listened, I

could not help wishing we were all there safe together. (44; my emphasis)

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Heathcliff’s and Catherine’s depiction of heaven almost converts Nelly. Heathcliff’s and

Catherine’s view of heaven does not arise from Joseph’s teachings: it is a product of their

innocent imaginations and is motivated by nothing but their true personal feelings of how heaven

is supposed to be. Their enlightenment comes from within and not forced upon them by an

external influence, which is exactly what Rousseau argues for in teaching Émile about religion:

“we will not attach [Émile] to any sect, but we will give him the means to choose for himself

according to the right use of his own reason” (114). Rousseau rightly contends that “[i]t would

be better to have no idea at all of the Divinity than to have mean, grotesque, harmful, and

unworthy ideas; to fail to perceive the Divine is a lesser evil than to insult it” (113). The idea that

the relationship between God and man is a personal experience is also suggested by Rousseau in

Émile:

The service God requires is of the heart; and when the heart is sincere that is ever

the same. It is a strange sort of conceit which fancies that God takes such an

interest in the shape of the priest’s vestments, the form of words he utters, the

gestures he makes before the altar and all his genuflections. Oh, my friend, stand

upright, you will still be too near the earth. God desires to be worshipped in spirit

and in truth; this duty belongs to every religion, every country, every individual.

As to the form of worship, if order demands uniformity, that is only a matter of

discipline and needs no revelation. (132)

The influence of Rousseau’s thought can be seen in Brontë’s depiction of Heathcliff and his

attitude toward organized religion and its rituals. Emily Brontë criticizes – even mocks – the

tradition of teaching children the catechism when Heathcliff and Catherine decide to ramble in

the moors and watch the Lintons in the Grange:

[W]e thought we would just go and see whether the Lintons passed their Sunday

evenings standing shivering in corners, while their father and mother sat eating

and drinking, and singing and laughing, and burning their eyes out before the fire.

Do you think they do? Or reading sermons, and being catechised by their

manservant, and set to learn a column of Scripture names, if they don’t answer

properly? (47-8)

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Brontë clearly agrees with Rousseau’s assertion:

If I had to depict the most heart-breaking stupidity, I would paint a pedant

teaching children the catechism; if I wanted to drive a child crazy I would set him

to explain what he learned in his catechism. You will reply that as most of the

Christian doctrines are mysteries, you must wait, not merely till the child is a

man, but till the man is dead, before the human mind will understand those

doctrines. To that I reply, that there are mysteries which the heart of man can

neither conceive nor believe, and I see no use in teaching them to children, unless

you want to make liars of them. Moreover, I assert that to admit that there are

mysteries, you must at least realise that they are incomprehensible, and children

are not even capable of this conception! At an age when everything is mysterious,

there are no mysteries properly so-called […] No doubt there is not a moment to

be lost if we would deserve eternal salvation; but if the repetition of certain words

suffices to obtain it, I do not see why we should not people heaven with starlings

and magpies as well as with children. (112-3)

It appears to be the purpose of religious institutions to capitalize on the ignorant and innocent

minds in order to tighten their controlling grip on society.

In Schiller to Derrida: Idealism in Aesthetics, Juliet Sychrava argues that “sense and

reason, in Schiller’s case, are not opposing faculties but are used to describe complete

individuals, types, cultures, races” (31). I would add “creeds” to Sychrava’s list. In the case of

Wuthering Heights, I would contend that Emily Brontë looks at a wholesome humanity as a way

to overcome the dilemma introduced by the existence of different creeds in Christianity and to

restore “to man his lost natural and sensuous state in a new harmony with his later cultural

awakening and sophistication” (31). In Religion, Redemption, and Revolution: The New Speech

Thinking of Frank Rosenzweig and Eugen Rosenstock-Huessy, Wayne Cristaudo quotes

Rosenstock-Huessy: “Christianity, torn and sundered in itself, seemed to slowly distance and

divide itself. In objection and resistance, however, it finds its essence” (20; my emphasis).

Ultimately, it is the essence of Christianity that concerns Emily Brontë and Heathcliff and not the

denomination.

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Throughout the novel, Heathcliff’s religious inclination is a mystery; however, while

characters judge Heathcliff harshly on the basis of religion, the tension between the different

creeds becomes apparent. One example is after Catherine’s funeral when Isabella describes

Heathcliff’s behaviour as follows:

Heathcliff – I shudder to name him! has been a stranger in the house from last

Sunday till to-day. Whether the angels have fed him, or his kin beneath, I cannot

tell; but he has not eaten a meal with us for nearly a week. He has just come home

at dawn, and gone up-stairs to his chamber; locking himself in – as if anybody

dreamt of coveting his company! There he has continued, praying like a

Methodist: only the deity he implored is senseless dust and ashes; and God, when

addressed, was curiously confounded with his own black father! After concluding

these precious orisons – and they lasted generally till he grew hoarse and his voice

was strangled in his throat – he would be off again; always straight down to the

Grange! (173; my emphasis)

It is important to point out that Isabella’s opinion is motivated by her vanity and her anger at

having her love scorned by Heathcliff. Nevertheless, this passage proves that, when Heathcliff

loses Catherine, he actually turns to God. Isabella criticizes Heathcliff by comparing him to a

Methodist, and his soliloquies to “orisons,” prayers and appeals to God in this time of crisis. In

this language, Brontë highlights the hypocrisy of having Christianity divided into creeds, in

which each creed sees the other as inferior. The racism and contempt in Isabella’s speech stands

in stark contrast to Christian compassion, justice and equality. Human equality is emphasized in

Genesis 1:27 “So God created mankind in his own image, in the image of God he created them;

male and female he created them.” In this passage, the emphasis is on equality among people

regardless of class, race, culture or gender − everything that Victorian civil society does not

reflect, despite its show of religiousness.

This passage highlights a tension between the different sects of Christianity that appears

to have no spiritual basis: it brings under examination the Primitive Methodist movement, and

how, historically, it was rejected by the Wesleyan Methodist Church. The Primitive Methodist

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movement started in 1810. This movement was known for holding open-air regular prayer

meetings by its founders: Hugh Bourne and William Clowes. Eventually, in 1832, it merged with

the Wesleyans to become the Methodist Church of Great Britain. The birthplace of the

movement was the village of Mow Cop, which fringes the Cheshire Plain to the west and the

hills of the Staffordshire Moorlands to the east. The location of the village is reminiscent of the

geography in Wuthering Heights. The open-air prayer appears to be a clue that would help solve

the mystery of Heathcliff’s behaviour in the manner Isabella describes. Even though many

people were converted to Christ at that meeting, now called “Mow Cop,” the leaders of the

Wesleyan church of that day found this innovation unbearable, and firmly refused to allow any

of the Mow Cop converts to join their churches. The initial rejection experienced by the

Primitive Methodists and their converts is reflected in Isabella’s condescending attitude towards

Heathcliff’s prayers for Catherine.

Contrary to Isabella, Nelly sympathizes with Heathcliff, and Brontë’s choice of Nelly as

the sympathizing party is connected to Nelly’s awakened conscience at Heathcliff’s initial

departure from Wuthering Heights and her sense of a sin that needs to be atoned for. Thus, when

Heathcliff refrains from eating and appears to be expiring, Nelly offers to send for

some minister of any denomination, it does not matter which, to explain [the

Bible], and show [Heathcliff] how very far [he has] erred from its precepts, and

how unfit [he] will be for its heaven, unless a change takes place before [he]

die[s]. (330)

This passage confirms the idea of the “essence” of Christianity: that which unites all the Creeds

of Christianity. Nelly assumes and accepts that Heathcliff is a Christian who belongs to a

denomination that may be different from hers but may still carry the same convictions. In this

narrative, Emily Brontë implies that despite the differences between human beings, the fact that

they are human makes them bound by common laws of natural religion. Heathcliff’s reply

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confirms this argument: “No minister need come, nor need anything be said over me – I tell you,

I have nearly attained my heaven; and that of others is altogether unvalued, and uncoveted by

me!” (330). Heathcliff’s reply recalls the heaven he used to picture with Catherine in childhood,

and the heaven that Catherine has seen in her dream. In both cases, it is not the heaven prescribed

by the priests or ministers in churches:

I dreamt once that I was [in heaven] […] and I broke my heart with weeping to

come back to earth; and the angels were so angry that they flung me out into the

middle of the heath on the top of Wuthering Heights; where I woke sobbing for

joy” and declares that “heaven did not seem to be my home. (80)

It seems that, for Heathcliff, heaven is not a place as much as a feeling of being whole again.

This wholesomeness for Heathcliff is achieved anywhere he becomes united with Catherine. In

this context, what comprises “Heaven” is different for every human being, but what is common

is that “Heaven” is where humans become whole and consequently happy. Heathcliff is religious

in his own subtle way without having to demonstrate his devoutness or views. As an inherently

savage man, he would be “noted, not only for [his] keen senses, but for great subtility of mind”

(Rousseau 43).

In Wuthering Heights, Emily Brontë appears to imply that religious and social institutions

in general are responsible for instilling the fear of death. Heathcliff’s rejection of the views of

social institutions allows him to face death without fear. This fact is evident in Heathcliff’s

refusal to admit a priest lest he die unredeemed. Heathcliff asserts that “No minister need come;

nor need anything be said over me. – I tell you I have nearly attained My heaven; and that of

others is altogether unvalued and uncovered by me” (330). Heathcliff also refuses to admit a

doctor, and when Nelly fetches Dr Kenneth on hearing “Heathcliff groaning, and murmuring to

himself,” Heathcliff “bids [them] be damned. He was better, and would be left alone; so, the

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doctor went away” (331). It appears that Emily Brontë concurs with Rousseau in his advice in

Émile:

Would you find a really brave man? Seek him where there are no doctors, where

the results of disease are unknown, and where death is little thought of. By nature,

a man bears pain bravely and dies in peace. It is the doctors with their rules, the

philosophers with their precepts, the priests with their exhortations, who debase

the heart and make us afraid to die. (11)

In this second stage, despite his civilized appearance, Heathcliff still retains the essential

characteristics of the natural savage man. By literally abiding by the laws of civil society

regarding marriage and obtaining property, Heathcliff suffers and inflicts suffering. Thus, this

stage comprises an educational experience for Heathcliff and for those whose lives are touched

by him. Indeed, Heathcliff confronts them with the evils of their man-made civil laws by

applying these to them.

Stage 3: Maturation and Prospects of Reform

This third stage in Heathcliff’s development marks his understanding of the meaning of true love

and what it entails, based on observing the development of the relationship between Hareton and

Cathy, and comparing it to what he shared with Catherine. Heathcliff matures when he perceives

his much-desired reform materializing and made palpable in the union of Cathy and Hareton. In

earlier chapters, during his youth with Catherine in the Heights and before he leaves the Heights,

Heathcliff

struggled long to keep up an equality with Catherine in her studies, and yielded

with poignant though silent regret: but he yielded completely; and there was no

prevailing on him to take a step in the way of moving upward, when he found he

must, necessarily, sink beneath his former level. Then personal appearance

sympathised with mental deterioration: he acquired a slouching gait and ignoble

look; his naturally reserved disposition was exaggerated into an almost idiotic

excess of unsociable moroseness; and he took a grim pleasure, apparently, in

exciting the aversion rather than the esteem of his few acquaintances. (67)

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From this passage, we can sense Heathcliff’s loneliness, even when Catherine is around. In a

way, Catherine has contributed to Heathcliff’s degradation by moving forward and leaving him

behind. Later in the novel, after Heathcliff’s return to the Heights, he decides to take his revenge

on Hindley by degrading his son, Hareton as he had been degraded. Heathcliff expects Hareton

to face a fate similar to his own:

Now, my bonny lad, you are mine! And we’ll see if one tree won’t grow as

crooked as another, with the same wind to twist it! [...] I have a fancy to try my

hand at rearing a young one; so intimate to your master (Edgar) that I must supply

the place of this with my own. (185)

Heathcliff assigns Hareton to physical labour in the farm, expecting that Hareton will be “safe

from [Cathy’s] love” (215), just as, in the past, his own degradation deprived him of Catherine’s

love. However, contrary to his expectations, Cathy does not forsake Hareton. A bond forms

between them similar to what Heathcliff and Catherine had, but firmer. Rather than forsaking

Hareton because of his degradation and seeking social perfectibility like Catherine (her mother),

“Cathy teaches Hareton to write and stops laughing at his ignorance” (Kettle 152). Consequently,

as Nelly reveals,

[Hareton’s] honest, warm, and intelligent nature shook off rapidly the clouds of

ignorance and degradation in which it had been bred; and Catherine’s sincere

commendations acted as a spur to his industry. His brightening mind brightened

his features, and added spirit and nobility to their aspect: I could hardly fancy it

the same individual I had beheld on the day I discovered my little lady at

Wuthering Heights, after her expedition to the Crags. (318-9)

Emily Brontë captures the moment that reveals the germination of a reformed society and a new

meaning of civilization that encompasses a spiritual aspect of humanity in the following

depiction of Cathy and Hareton’s solidarity:

The red fire-light glowed on their two bonny heads, and revealed their faces

animated with the eager interest of children; for, though he was twenty-three and

she eighteen, each had so much of novelty to feel and learn, that neither

experienced nor evinced the sentiments of sober disenchanted maturity. They

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lifted their eyes together, to encounter Mr Heathcliff – perhaps, you have never

remarked that their eyes are precisely similar, and they are those of Catherine

Earnshaw. The present Catherine has no other likeness to her, except a breadth of

forehead, and a certain arch of the nostril that makes her appear rather haughty,

whether she will, or not. With Hareton the resemblance is carried farther: it is

singular at all times – then it was particularly striking; because his senses were

alert, and his mental faculties wakened to unwonted activity. I suppose this

resemblance disarmed Mr Heathcliff: he walked to the hearth in evident agitation;

but it quickly subsided as he looked at the young man: or, I should say, altered its

character; for it was there yet. He took the book from his hand, and glanced at the

open page, then returned it without any observation; merely signing Catherine

away – her companion lingered very little behind her […] (219; my emphasis)

In this passage, Hareton’s and Cathy’s unity and harmony are reflected in the synchronised

movement of their eyes to “encounter” Heathcliff. The fact that both their eyes resemble those of

Catherine prompts Heathcliff that his fight is over and that what he stands for has really

materialised in the form of Cathy and Hareton’s union. By isolating Hareton from the influence

of civil society, Heathcliff unknowingly succeeds in bringing up a reformed human being. In

return, Hareton, the silent witness to Heathcliff’s suffering, loves, pities and forgives him. The

image of Hareton and Cathy together reveals some truth to Heathcliff, which is that a change has

occurred and reform has started, and this revelation alters the character of his agitation.

The triumph of love against class consideration is an achievement of and an improvement

on? the Victorian social way of thinking. As Kettle reminds us in Introduction to the English

Novel,

[I]t is very necessary to be reminded that just as the values of Wuthering Heights

and Thrushcross Grange are not simply the values of any tyranny but specifically

those of Victorian society, so is the rebellion of Heathcliff a particular rebellion,

that of the worker physically and spiritually degraded by the conditions and

relations of the same society. (154; original emphasis)

The passage has a spiritual undertone. The innocence and spontaneity suggested by Cathy and

Hareton’s movement, and the vision-like image of their faces hallowed by the warm light of the

fire, mark a wholesome humanity that is united by love, sincerity, and forgiveness, since Hareton

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forgives Cathy’s initial rudeness towards him. The materialism that took Catherine away from

Heathcliff has lost its ground in the face of the spirituality of Cathy and Hareton’s feelings. This

fact marks a societal transformation and reformation, and Heathcliff sees this transformation. I

would contend that this passage suggests a society regaining its innocence after an initial fall as a

result of ambition and materialism. Additionally, I argue that Brontë believes that this reform can

only be achieved through love and loyalty.

Cathy’s and Hareton’s union symbolizes the birth of a new reformed and healthy society.

The fact that Cathy and Hareton “were busy planning together an importation of plants from the

Grange” to cultivate in the soil at the Heights also suggests the founding of a healthy civilization

that is rooted in nature (314). This image stands in contrast to what Heathcliff accuses Edgar of

doing to contribute to Catherine’s demise: “he might as well plant an oak in a flower-pot, and

expect it to thrive, as imagine he can restore her [Catherine] to vigour in the soil of his shallow

cares!” (151). The reason is that Hareton and Cathy integrate society, in the form of “plants from

the Grange,” into nature, signified by the Heights, which suggests that Emily Brontë believes

that a reformed society should be rooted in nature and cultivated by Man.

In this narrative, Emily Brontë uses Heathcliff as a beacon of humanity, the catalyst that

she inserts into the Heights in order to cause a change to and reform of a rigid materialistic

Victorian society. That suffering is the cost of this change is reflected in Heathcliff’s reaction to

the image of Hareton and Cathy reading together:

It is a poor conclusion, is it not? […] An absurd termination to my violent

exertions […] My old enemies have not beaten me – now would be the precise

time to revenge myself on their representatives – I could do it; and none could

hinder me – But where is the use? I don’t care for striking, I can’t take the trouble

to raise my hand! That sounds as if I had been labouring the whole time, only to

exhibit a fine trait of magnanimity. It is far from being the case – I have lost the

faculty of enjoying their destruction, and I am too idle to destroy for nothing.

(319-20; my emphasis)

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Heathcliff’s speech mirrors that of Charles Moor in The Robbers, when he voluntarily surrenders

himself to the law of the social order, which he has rejected in the first place. Moor declares that,

“[F]ool that I was, to fancy that I could amend the world by misdeeds, and maintain law by

lawlessness […] I go to deliver myself into the hands of justice” (Schiller 128-9). This epiphany

contributes to the sublimity of Moor’s recovery since it signals the transformation from extreme

rebellion to extreme conformity, which takes place not through a despotic power but through his

own free will. Indeed, Moor’s determination to face his guilt and its consequences shows a

genuine intent to reform. Furthermore, Moor wants his return to the bosom of the law of civilized

society to be an act of “freewill atonement.” His final act of charity reflects his desire for

redemption: “I remember, on my way hither, talking to a poor creature, a day-labourer, with

eleven living children. A reward has been offered of a thousand louis-d’ors to any one who shall

deliver up the great robber alive – That man shall be served” (129). Similarly, in this passage,

Heathcliff’s refraining from disposing of Wuthering Heights and Thrushcross Grange and

sparing Cathy and Hareton his revenge is also sublime, since Heathcliff reaches this conclusion

through his own free will.

Heathcliff’s act of forgiveness brings my argument full circle, since Heathcliff’s action

may be described in the light of Schiller’s Philosophical Letters, as “a free act, an activity of the

person, which by its moral intensity moderates the sensuous intensity, and by the sway of

impressions takes from them in depth what it gives them in surface or breadth” (Letter XIII 17).

Thus, I would contend that Heathcliff, in this final act of charity, represents a humanity that is

dignified and purified after its initial degradation. Evidently, Heathcliff’s action does not “result

from moral impotence, from a relaxation of thought and will, which would degrade humanity”

(17), for Heathcliff asserts that he “could do it; and none could hinder [him]” (320). This act of

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“magnanimity” arises from his own free will. Heathcliff’s purification is also signalled in Nelly’s

description of his appearance when he dies: “he seemed to smile. I could not think him dead: but

his face and throat were washed with rain; the bed-clothes dripped” (332). This image suggests

Heathcliff’s final baptism. Heathcliff’s funeral procession is dignified and inspires deep pathos:

Earnshaw and I, the sexton, and six men to carry the coffin, comprehended the

whole attendance. The six men departed when they had let it down into the grave:

we stayed to see it covered. Hareton, with a streaming face, dug green sods, and

laid them over the brown mould himself. (333)

Heathcliff’s language changes in this third stage; it softens and leans towards the religious. Thus,

Emily Brontë indirectly suggests that Heathcliff fulfills the precepts of the Bible with regard to

heaven but in his own way. As Heathcliff confesses before he dies, “my confessions have not

relieved me – but, they may account for some, otherwise unaccountable phases of humor which I

show. O, God! It is a long fight, I wish it were over!” (322). When Nelly tells Heathcliff later

how “unfit [he] will be for its heaven, unless a change takes place before [he] die[s],” Heathcliff

informs her (and us) that indeed a change is about to take place. Ultimately, Heathcliff’s final

days highlight the fact that humanity does not need to be associated with a demonstration of

piousness. It only requires human beings to abide by their innate spirituality and be sensitive to

one another as genuine sentient beings who suffer.

Heathcliff ’s death scene suggests his redemption. Heathcliff’s death reflects how

comfortable he is in it: “he seemed to smile” (332). Indeed, Heathcliff seems alive in death: “I

could not think him dead.” The energy emitted from Heathcliff’s unflinching eyes confirms the

notion of death as a relief of suffering. His wet face, “his face and throat were washed with rain,”

suggests his purification. Moreover, Heathcliff’s salvation is suggested in his mutilated hand:

“The lattice, flapping to and fro, had grazed one hand that rested on the sill no blood trickled

from the broken skin” (332). This image recalls the cultural saturation of Christian images of

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mutilation in literature in which physical modification represents spiritual transformation. In art,

Christ's hands and feet are grotesquely misshapen in stiffened reaction to the iron nails, and

Emily Brontë would be familiar with some of these paintings. For example, Hans Holbein the

Younger’s painting, The Body of the Dead Christ in the Tomb (1520-22), depicts Christ’s

mutilated body:

Figure. 3

The painting resides now in Kuntsmuseum Basel, Switzerland. In “Art for Lent (46),” Patrick

Comerford cites the French philosopher and atheist Michel Onfray who notes Christ’s emaciated

body and the fact that “no one has taken the trouble to close his mouth, or to close his eyes [...]

Or perhaps Holbein wants to tell us that, even in death, Christ still looks and speaks” (Comerford

3). Comerford also points out that the Russian writer Fyodor Dostoevsky in The Idiot (1869)

refers to this painting many times. Dostoevsky’s protagonist, Prince Myshkin, having viewed the

painting in the home of Rogozhin, declares that it has the power to make the viewer lose his

faith. Yet Comerford also cites popular historian Derek Wilson, who has written a biography of

Holbein and more recently a study of the King James Version of the Bible [to mark its four-

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hundredth anniversary,] as saying: “No other picture expresses more eloquently the faith of the

Reformation” (qtd. in Comerford 5).

I would argue that Heathcliff’s final starvation is reminiscent of Christ’s emaciated body

in Holbein’s painting. The motion of the flapping lattice that grazes Heathcliff’s hand “to and

fro” resembles the driving of the nail through the hands of Christ. Heathcliff’s exulted “life-like

gaze” gives Nelly and us as readers a chance to sense and see what Heathcliff sees in death: that

his “heaven” appears to be a happy place for him is suggested by his “exulted” look, and that the

sarcasm in his look suggests his victory in finding his heaven as he has believed it to be. The

open window stands in contrast to the closed lid of Christ’s coffin in the painting, which Mia

Mochizuki describes, in “Hans Holbein the Younger, Dead Christ Entombed,” as “the door that

brooks no exit” (1). Mochizuki suggests that “If we accept the charge of looking at annihilation,

at confronting the iconoclastic dismantling of convention before us, we must also admit that

images like this one are hard on the eyes” (1). However, the contrast depicted in Emily Brontë’s

textual painting of the open window suggests freedom and the possibility of reform. In “The

Dead Body of Christ,” René Dowil comments that the open eyes of Christ in the painting imply

that “Hans Holbein had to express his doubts about the real death of Jesus” (1). Similarly, the

fact that Nelly cannot close Heathcliff’s eyes confirms Heathcliff’s role as a representation of

humanity, and expresses the same doubts about the reality of his death. In “Naïve and

Sentimental Poetry,” Schiller asserts:

The sentimental poet would not lead us backward to our childhood […] but rather

would lead us forward to our majority [...] He would take as his task an idyll,

which realizes that pastoral innocence, even in the subjects of culture and among

all conditions of the most active, most ardent life, of the most extensive thought,

of the most refined art, of the highest social refinement, which, in a word, leads

the man, who can now no longer return to Arcadia, up to Elysium. (qtd. in Wertz

86)

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I suggest that Brontë agrees with Schiller’s assertion, and that this image of Heathcliff suggests

that she has led Heathcliff, as the representative of humanity, up to Elysium. Influenced by

Schiller, Emily Brontë depicts death “as a point in life, which completes one circle. [In death]

matter is reduced to its elements, yet the soul will endure and return to this world because its

earthy development is not yet complete” (Schiller. “Philosophie der Physiologie”). Therefore, in

this third stage, Heathcliff’s savage body is dead, while the soul of humanity has to persist in

order to reflect the concept of evolving humanity. I contend that Heathcliff’s educated soul

reappears reincarnated in the body of Hareton. This idea will be the focus of discussion in

Chapter Three.

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Chapter Three

Hareton: The Reincarnation of a Reformed, Wholesome Humanity

History, as it lies at the root of all science, is the first distinct product of man’s spiritual

nature; his earliest expression of what can be called Thought. It is looking both before

and after; as, indeed, the coming time already waits, unseen yet definitely shaped,

predetermined, and inevitable, in the Time come; and only by the combination of both is

the meaning of either completed. (Thomas Carlyle, “On History,” 1830)

This chapter will discuss component C of the Emilian philosophy that places Hareton as the

reincarnation of Heathcliff’s reformed soul. In The Belgian Essays, Sue Lonoff points out the

opinion of Charlotte and Emily Brontës’ professor of rhetoric in Belgium, M. Héger, that Emily

Brontë was a “great navigator or a historian” (xxxiii). In this light, Wuthering Heights may be

seen as a historical record of the progress of humanity in the person of Heathcliff, from its

primitive state, when (as discussed in the previous chapter) Heathcliff is compared to Rousseau’s

savage man who represents a wholesome humanity that is in touch with its natural desires,

instinctive pity and love of God granted freedom. This is followed by Heathcliff’s fall and loss of

wholesomeness as a result of the social and religious prejudices that stifle his natural desires and

freedom, and replace his instinctive affectionate feelings of pity with revenge. In this second

stage, I would argue that Hareton represents humanity after regaining its lost wholesomeness.

Finally, I see Heathcliff’s reform before his death (discussed in the previous chapter) to be the

result of achieving his desire to unite with his beloved Catherine in death (also discussed in the

previous chapter). In this chapter, I suggest that Hareton represents Heathcliff’s reincarnation as

a means to continue the progress of humanity after Heathcliff’s corporeal death.

Here I will examine the concept of reincarnation in the works and essays of ancient

philosophers like Pythagoras, Plato, and Virgil. I shall also consider thoughts and views of

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philosophers and theosophists like Franciscus Mercurius van Helmont, John Toland, Thomas

Carlyle, Herder, Diderot, Goethe and Schiller, whose works were published in England, and by

whom Emily Brontë may have been influenced. Further, I shall highlight the different

perspectives on reincarnation in the work of literary critics of Wuthering Heights.

The belief in reincarnation – the transmigration of the soul – forms the basis of ancient

schools of philosophy. Ancient philosophers like Empedocles, Pythagoras, Plato, Socrates and

Homer all considered the worldly rebirth of an imperfect soul as a proper means of retribution,

atonement, and, most importantly, reform. In Continued Existence, Reincarnation, and the

Power of Sympathy in Classical Weimar, Lieselotte E. Kurth-Voigt explores Pythagoras’

suggestion that the soul is independent from the body, unfettered by permanent ties to perishable

matter: “it is a substance or essence that existed before the birth of the body it temporarily

inhabits and continues to live on after the death of each shell. In every cycle of reincarnation, the

soul may experience a fate different from its previous existence” (3). Kurth-Voigt cites the tenth

book of Plato’s The Republic, which offers a detailed account of pre-existence and reincarnation

in the story told by Er of his experiences in the underworld. In the story, Er

[o]bserves the many that are gathered there [in the underworld] to be tried,

sentenced, and sent back into the world. Some have come out of earth, and they

tell of the terrible suffering they have endured for thousand years of punishment.

Others, returning from above, tell a more pleasant tale of the heavenly delights

they have enjoyed and the divine beauty they have seen. Their souls will now be

assigned another earthly body, and each is allowed to select the kind of life he

wants it to lead in its next incarnation. (9; my emphasis)

In Wuthering Heights, Heathcliff’s death scene (discussed in the previous chapter) suggests that

he belongs to the second category of people in Er’s story, the souls that would be given the

choice of another earthly body and life. Indeed, the exalted, animated stare of his permanently

opened eyes engages us in the heavenly delights he appears to be relishing in death. Moreover,

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Heathcliff symbolically selects his next earthly incarnation, Hareton, when he decides to raise

him away from society.

The Aeneid, an epic in which reincarnation played an important role, records the history

of the founding of the nation of Italy. In the Aeneid, book VI, Aeneas travels to the underworld

to visit the spirit of his father Anchises, and asks for advice. The following passage highlights the

idea of reincarnation as a way of perpetuating and reforming the human race, or in this case, the

Roman people. In the following passage, Anchises points out to Aeneas the souls of Romulus,

the other early kings of Rome, the great generals of Rome, and the spirit of Augustus himself

waiting in the underworld for their next reincarnation:

All these that you see, when they have rolled time’s wheel through a thousand

years, the god summons in vast throng to Lethe’s river, so that, their memories

effaced, they may once more revisit the vault above and conceive the desire of

return to the body.” Anchises paused, and drew his son and with him the Sibylla

into the heart of the assembly and buzzing throng, then chose a mound whence he

might scan face to face the whole of the long procession and note their faces as

they came. “Now then, the glory henceforth to attend the Trojan race, what

children of Italian stock are held in store by fate, glorious souls waiting to inherit

our name, this shall I reveal in speech and inform you of your destiny. (Virgil

628-897)

According to the records of the Brontë Society,3 a copy of The Works of Virgil, translated by

John Dryden, is one of the books found in the Parsonage at Haworth. Also, in his study of what

influences shaped Emily Brontë’s thought in The Birth of Wuthering Heights: Emily Brontë at

Work, Edward Chitham points out Emily Brontë’s competence in reading and translating

complex Latin texts – specifically Virgil’s Aeneid, Horace’s Ars Poetica, and The Four Gospel

(18-27). Thus, we can assume that Emily Brontë may have been influenced by Virgil and his use

3 The Brontë Society is responsible for running the famous Brontë Parsonage Museum in

the village of Haworth in West Yorkshire, once the home of the Brontë family and also for

promoting the Brontës’ literary legacy within contemporary society. The Brontë

collections at the Brontë Parsonage Museum are the largest and most important in the

world and continue to inspire scholars, writers and artists.

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of the idea of reincarnation to trace the history and progress of a race. Indeed, I contend that

Brontë incorporates the idea of reincarnation in Wuthering Heights to trace the progress of

humanity, as incarnated in Heathcliff and reincarnated in Hareton.

As E. L. Harrison points out in “Metempsychosis in Aeneid Six, in the perspective of the

Aeneid,” all Roman history still lay in the future at the time of Aeneas. In order to trace the

history of the founding of Rome, Virgil’s “solution, therefore, was to employ the Orphic-

Pythagorean doctrine of metempsychosis” (194). In “The Doctrines of the Orphic Mysteries,

with Special Reference to the Words of Anchises in Vergil's Sixth Aeneid 724-51,” George

Norlin explains the Orphic Pythagorean doctrine of metempsychosis, citing Abel’s Orphica;

Empedoceles’s Stein; Plato’s Phaedo; and Virgil’s Aeneid, respectively:

By the law of the Orphic Fate the soul is condemned to an indefinite series of

incarnations. It must again and again take on a perishable body. “Clothed in a

strange garment of flesh,” it must wander in this “meadow of woe,” “this roofed-

in cave,” “this cheerless realm of wrath and death and throngs of dooms and

loathsome disease and decay.” Each existence on earth is a punishment, each

body a tomb-like prison, in which the soul is exiled from its rightful home and

deprived of its fellowship with the Gods. (93)

The concept of the body as the prison of the soul is reflected in Wuthering Heights in Catherine’s

reference to her body as “this shattered prison” (160). However, Heathcliff also yearns for death

as an escape from his material existence on earth, and in the hope of reuniting with Catherine:

I cannot continue in this condition! I have to remind myself to breathe – almost to

remind my heart to beat! And it is like bending back a stiff spring […] [I]t is by

compulsion that I do the slightest act not prompted by one thought; and by

compulsion that I notice anything alive or dead, which is not associated with one

universal idea…. I have a single wish, and my whole being and faculties are

yearning to attain it. They have yearned towards it so long, and so unwaveringly,

that I'm convinced it will be reached – and soon – because it has devoured my

existence – I am swallowed up in the anticipation of its fulfilment. […] O God! It

is a long fight; I wish it were over! (321-2)

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In this passage, the pain and suffering reflected in Heathcliff’s words echo Norlin’s description

of Orphic Pythagorean philosophy, in which “each existence on earth is a punishment.”

Moreover, I contend that Wuthering Heights is a crucible in which culture and religion

are fused to form a universal Christianity at a time when the religion had become subordinated to

social interests, hierarchy and convention, thus destroying its prophetic elements. Emily Brontë’s

depiction of Heathcliff’s agony in this passage resonates with the Roman Catholic doctrine of

purgatory, which is a place or state of suffering inhabited by the souls of sinners who are

expiating their sins before going to heaven. Reincarnation is a doctrine that is upheld by Eastern

religions, and ironically, the Catholic doctrine of purgatory and the doctrine of reincarnation

were both regarded with suspicion by Evangelical Anglicans in the Victorian period. Regardless

of any religious prejudice and her evangelical faith, Emily Brontë explores both in the context of

a collective spirituality − one that is not divided into different creeds and that is more personal −

to follow the progress of humanity until it achieves wholesomeness. In The Brontës and

Religion, Marianne Thormählen asserts that,

[t]he Evangelicals were not, on the whole, greatly interested in ecclesiastical

polity and never managed to resolve the contradiction between two fundamental

notions of the Church: and ah-hoc gathering of professing Christians, and the

visible Holy Catholic Church. Hence, Evangelicalism – in the words of

Congregationalist divine, R. W. Dale – “encouraged what is called an

undenominational temper.” In this limited and specific sense, the Evangelical

home of the Brontës may be said to have promoted the individualistic licence with

which they moved in the sphere of religion. (43)

The “sphere of religion” in Wuthering Heights encompasses not just Christianity with all its

different sects, but also other doctrines that would enable Brontë’s personal endeavour to trace

the progress of a humanity that is universal and open to diversity. This endeavour is reflected in

the description of Heathcliff as “dark” (36), “a little Lascar, an American, or Spanish castaway”

(50), and Nelly’s conjecture that Heathcliff’s “father was Emperor of China, and [his] mother an

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Indian queen” (57). Indeed, the influence of ancient and Eastern doctrines, as well as Emily

Brontë’s free thinking in matters of religion, which was informed by her affection for fellow

human beings and her engagement with the passions, prompted some critics at the time to call

her a “pagan” or “pre-Christian” (Thormählen 73). Indeed, her depiction of the body as the

“prison” of the soul, and of a heaven that is different from the “Heaven” prescribed by

Christianity (“no parson in the world ever pictured Heaven so beautifully as [Catherine and

Heathcliff] did, in their innocent talk” (44), reflects Emily Brontë’s “robust unconcern with

dogma” (Thormählen 47). This disregard for dogma allows Brontë the freedom to develop her

ideas without constraint.

Henry More (1614-87) represented the theosophical and mystical branch of the

Cambridge movement within the Church of England, which addressed the subject of the soul’s

immortality and reincarnation. In his essay “The Immortality of the Soul” (1659), More contends

that

The soul of man being reborn in another human body, is a distinct possibility,

especially for unlucky souls that did once “subsist in some other state,” not a

divine realm but in this world, where they “forfeit the favour of their Creator”

[…] [T]he pervasive presence of evil in this world and God’s toleration of men’s

misdeeds become less of an enigma, he believes, if one accepts the concept of

metempsychosis and the notion of retributive justice. (qtd. in Kurth-Voigt 35)

In 1684, Franciscus Mercurius van Helmont, Dutch physician, alchemist, and theosophist

acknowledged More’s views and provided the first extensive treatment of metempsychosis

(reincarnation) in the context of Biblical scholarship in Two hundred queries moderately

propounded concerning the doctrine of the revolution of humane souls and its conformity to the

truths of Christianity (1684). According to Kurth-Voigt, “the introductory query (3) justifies the

unusually liberal interpretation of the Scriptures with a citation from the Bible” (36). This mode

of thinking, which takes a liberal approach to interpreting the Scriptures to facilitate a better

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understanding of the sacred text, would vindicate both English and German freethinkers’

subjective approach to the sacred text of Christianity (36). Van Helmont relies on mysticism, the

Kabbalah, Platonism and Christian theology to support his thesis, and I suggest that this liberal

approach to the Bible would appeal to Emily Brontë’s philosophical mind. Van Helmont uses the

Socratic method of rhetorical questions to support his conception of a close correspondence

between the belief in transmigration and the teachings of the Scriptures. For example, he

suggests that, before the Deluge, God granted man a long life so that he had sufficient time on

earth to repent for his sins. Yet, after the Flood the span of man’s life was “exceedingly

shortened.” Helmont thus deduces that God probably supplies more time for penitence in “some

other way,” more specifically during a repeated existence on earth (qtd. in Kurth-Voigt 36). This

is an idea that implies reincarnation.

Moreover, van Helmont interprets numerous other passages from the Bible to

demonstrate that the Church is not justified in excluding the Pythagorean doctrine of

metempsychosis from its teachings, citing passages that have become standard documentation

among Christian advocates of reincarnation. For example, one of the Psalms that van Helmont

regards as conclusive evidence of reincarnation is “Thou turnest man to destruction and sayest,

Return ye children of men: for a thousand years in thy sight are but yesterday, when it is past,

and as a watch in the night” (90:3-6). Van Helmont uses the Socratic rhetorical questions to

interrogate the Psalm: “is this day, a thousand years for some, but in another sense merely ‘a

watch in the night,’ not the equivalent of the ‘day of visitation,’ that is, another life, given to the

wicked so that they may repent? Does this implied prediction not ‘signify’ the ‘Revolution. Or

Return of Souls?’” (qtd. in Kurth-Voigt 37).

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I suggest that van Helmont’s liberal interpretation of the Scriptures to include

metempsychosis (reincarnation) is reflected in Wuthering Heights in the different views of

“Heaven” introduced by Heathcliff and Catherine. Early in the novel, when Mr Earnshaw dies,

Emily Brontë juxtaposes Joseph – the fanatically religious Calvinist servant – who “was

relentless in worrying [Mr Earnshaw] about his soul’s concerns” (42) to Heathcliff and Catherine

who imagined a heaven of their own; one in which people they love would be happy:

The little souls were comforting each other with better thoughts than I could have

hit on; no parson in the world ever pictured Heaven so beautifully as they did, in

their innocent talk; and while I sobbed, and listened, I could not help wishing we

were all there safe together. (44; my emphasis)

Thus, Brontë interrogates orthodoxy in light of spiritual needs of humanity, and replaces it with

her own personal understanding of God and her belief that “mercy and forgiveness are the

divinest attributes of the Great Being who made both man and woman” (xlv).

Furthermore, the idea of the return of the soul is implied in Wuthering Heights on more

than one occasion. Before she actually marries Edgar Linton, Catherine justifies her choice of

Edgar over Heathcliff to Nelly, explaining that her decision would not bring her real happiness.

However, Catherine claims that her marriage would save Heathcliff from Hareton by making

Edgar “shake off his antipathy, and tolerate [Heathcliff]” (81). In this conversation, Catherine

tells Nelly about her dream, in which the idea of the return of the soul is strongly implied:

[H]eaven did not seem to be my home; and I broke my heart with weeping to

come back to earth; and the angels were so angry that they flung me out into the

middle of the heath on the top of Wuthering Heights; where I woke sobbing for

joy. (80)

Indeed, after Catherine’s corporeal death, Heathcliff encounters her spirit when he

tries to reopen her coffin after her burial:

I was on the point of attaining my object, when it seemed that I heard a sigh from

some one above, close at the edge of the grave, and bending down […] There was

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another sigh, close at my ear. I appeared to feel the warm breath of it displacing

the sleet-laden wind […] I felt that Cathy was there: not under me, but on the

earth. A sudden sense of relief flowed from my heart through every limb. I

relinquished my labour of agony, and turned consoled at once: unspeakably

consoled. Her presence was with me: it remained while I re-filled the grave, and

led me home […] I was sure I should see her there. I was sure she was with me,

and I could not help talking to her. (286-8)

Shortly after his arrival, Lockwood also encounters Catherine’s spirit in his dream, when he was

forced to stay at the Heights because of a storm. Lockwood dreams of Catherine entreating him

to admit her back in her room in Wuthering Heights: “‘Let me in – let me in!’ ‘Who are you?’

[…] ‘I'm come home: I’d lost my way on the moor!’ As it spoke, I discerned, obscurely, a child’s

face looking through the window” (25). These examples from the novel suggest the possibility of

the soul outliving the body and roaming the earth, which is a view that contradicts what the Bible

says about the fate of the soul after death: “the dust returns to the ground it came from, and the

spirit returns to God who gave it” (Ecclesiastes 12:7). However, in Wuthering Heights, the idea

of “return” of the soul to earth is associated with a yearning for the return of childhood,

innocence and freedom. When the dying Catherine tells Nelly Dean, “I wish I were a girl again,

half savage and hardy and free […] and laughing at injuries, not maddening under them!” (124)

In this sense, “return” of the soul to earth and the “return” of childhood connote freedom to

achieve one’s desires without having to succumb to social constraints. This aspiration for

“return” suggests a nostalgia for a lost innocence and the hope for another chance to live a better

free and reformed life, which Emily Brontë allows through reincarnation.

In 1696, English deist John Toland drew a connection between the primitive man and

reincarnation. Toland accepted van Helmont’s approach, which advocated that thoughts should

be entirely free in the explication of Biblical passages. However, in his treatise, Christianity not

Mysterious, Toland endorsed the Biblical doctrine of the Resurrection and supported the Biblical

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promise of immortality, which, he declared, like other mysteries, was “made known, manifested

and declared” and consequently remains “no longer a Mystery” (qtd. in Kurth-Voigt 38; original

emphasis). Toland presented the ancient beliefs that imagine “a pre-existent state, wherein the

Soul […] might have contracted some extraordinary Guilt” and agreed with Plato that, as a way

of punishment, the soul is “thrust into the Body,” which is sometimes “compar’d to a Prison, but

oftner to a Grave” (qtd. in Kurth-Voigt 38). He suggested that these views represent the origin of

the idea of transmigration: that those who believe in it try to understand the injustice prevailing

on earth, which seem to suggest the indifference of an excessively liberal God toward the evil in

this world. Toland concluded that the doctrine of immortality was “gladly and universally”

received because it flattered men with the hope that their existence will continue beyond the

grave. Yet, he acknowledged that transmigration, at some point in history, met the needs of

primitive peoples, the Gauls and Celts, for instance, whose priests promised them another

worldly existence whenever they sacrificed their lives in battle (Kurth-Voigt 39). Toland’s idea

of primitive people who, he suggested, believe in reincarnation, can be seen in Wuthering

Heights. I would suggest that the fact that Emily Brontë depicts Heathcliff as a primitive Man (as

previously discussed in Chapter Two) invokes the idea of incarnation and reincarnation, and

directly links the concept to Heathcliff.

Literary critics also connect Heathcliff to the idea of reincarnation in Wuthering Heights.

For example, in The Madwoman in the Attic, Sandra M. Gilbert and Susan Gubar suggest that

[t]here should always have been three children in the [Earnshaw] family [which]

is clear from the way other fairytale rituals of three are observed, and also from

the fact that Heathcliff is given the name of a dead son, perhaps even the true

oldest son, as if he were a reincarnation of the lost child. (264; my emphasis)

If Heathcliff is the reincarnation of the eldest of Mr Earnshaw’s offspring who died in infancy, as

suggested by Gilbert and Gubar, he indirectly achieves his role in preserving the Earnshaw

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heritage when he saves Hareton’s life in infancy, when he rescues Hareton’s inheritance from

Hindley’s wasteful gambling hands, and, finally, when he passes on Wuthering Heights back to

Hareton when he grows up. In this sense, I would suggest that Heathcliff is engaged in a chain of

reincarnations of the human soul through time as it progresses and reforms, and that, by causing

power to be re-centered in the established bloodline in Wuthering Heights, he chooses Hareton

as his next reincarnation. In turn, Hareton ensures the continuity of the process of human

reformation and regaining of wholesomeness.

The belief in reincarnation is characteristic of South and East Asian traditions, but also in

ancient Middle Eastern religions like the Greek Orphic mysteries based on the teachings and

songs of the legendary Greek musician Orpheus. In “Orpheus and Orphism,” Liz Locke explains

that “Orpheus is well known as the singer and lyre player whose music was so enchanting that it

would calm wild beasts and move trees, rocks, and rivers to gather about him to listen” (4).

Orpheus is believed to be the founder of an exclusively male religious sect known as Orphism:

Extremely influential in the sixth century B.C.E., [Orphism] apparently espoused

a quasi-Pythagorean doctrine of metempsychosis (belief that the soul reincarnates

in a new body after death), but allowed that eternal, blissful salvation could be the

eventual reward of initiates to the Orphic Mysteries. Its practices were more

ascetic than was usual for Greek religion, disallowing sexual intercourse with

women, blood sacrifice, and, inexplicably, the eating of beans. Since the Hymns

of Orpheus, a diffuse collection of writings, taught that Orpheus had received his

Mysteries while visiting the Underworld in search of Eurydice. (Locke 5)

Locke adds that, after analysing great many ancient texts, classicists have inferred that Orphism

as a “dogma, community, priesthood, living religion, or loosely connected set of stories and

texts,” may have “constituted a belief in the reality of evil, a belief that the body is separable

from the soul, metempsychosis, immortality of the soul, heritable guilt for sin, an afterlife of

varying duration with rewards for the initiated and punishments for the uninitiated, a refusal to

participate in blood sacrifice, and an ascetic world view” (5). This belief in the immortality of the

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soul creates a hierarchy, which places a higher value on the disembodied soul than on its

physical “housing,” which is the body. In this sense, the body becomes an obstacle to the soul’s

eternal redemption and happiness. Thus, Locke points out that there was a “partial shift in Greek

attitudes toward death” in the archaic period (c. 700-c. 480), since death ceases to be seen as an

“inescapable evil” (13).

Examining Wuthering Heights in the light of the Orphic beliefs in the preceding passage,

I would argue that the asexual nature of Heathcliff’s and Catherine’s relationship in Wuthering

Heights reflects some similarity to Orphic beliefs. Many critics have commented that the

relationship between Heathcliff and Catherine lacks the sexuality / sensuality warranted by the

strong passion between them. In his Review of Wuthering Heights (1848), George Washington

Peck comments on the nature of their relationship:

There is in these characters an absence of all that natural desire which should

accompany love. They are abstract and bodiless. Their love is feline; it is tigerish.

Yet the work is carried on with such power that it excites a sense of shame to turn

back to many of its most “thrilling” scenes, and reflect that we were able to read

them with so little disgust […] [T]he children know too much about their minds

and too little about their bodies; they understand at a very early age all the

intellectual and sentimental part of love, but the “bloom of young desire” does not

warm their cheeks. The grown-up characters are the mere tools of fixed passions.

(Emily Brontë: Wuthering Heights; qtd. in Stoneman 16)

Moreover, the Orphic belief in the reality of evil can be seen in what Thormählen calls “variety

of hellish discourse” in the novel. Heathcliff is constantly being referred to as a devil, demon,

goblin, Satan, or fiend (103).

More importantly, the idea of immortality of the soul and metempsychosis (reincarnation)

essential to Orphic beliefs are also central to Wuthering Heights. When Catherine informs Nelly

of her decision to marry Edgar, Catherine brings up “the notion that there is, or should be, an

existence of yours beyond you” (81). The “yours” in Catherine’s assertion may be interpreted as

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referring to the soul. Thus, Catherine has the conviction that her soul will exist beyond the

material decay of her body, which implies its immortality. Further, Brontë borrows the Socratic

rhetoric of questions and answers when depicting Catherine arguing for her and Heathcliff’s

wholesomeness: “what were the uses of my creation if I were entirely contained here? […] If all

else perished, and [Heathcliff] remained, I should still continue to be; and if all remained, and he

were annihilated, the Universe would turn to a mighty stranger” (81). This view links Heathcliff

to the idea of a collective humanity since, if humanity were to be annihilated, the universe would

indeed be unnatural and strange. Therefore, Emily Brontë sets Heathcliff up as the representation

of the soul of a collective humanity that is made wholesome by the power of love and that loses

that wholesomeness by the loss of love.

The imagery of Heathcliff’s and Catherine’s corporeal dissolution and reunion after death

in Wuthering Heights also implies the idea of reincarnation. Denis Diderot, the French

philosopher and scientific theorist of the Enlightenment who connected the newest scientific

trends to radical philosophical ideas such as materialism, had been especially interested in the

life sciences and their impact on traditional ideas like of the nature of humanity and the

individual. In the following passage, from Letter VII from Diderot’s Letters to Sophie Volland

(1761), Diderot uses the language of chemistry and dissolution to depict the joint burial of lovers

as a space for corporeal reunion that compensates for the coldness and estrangement of death:

Perhaps those who have loved one another in life and have themselves buried side

by side are not as mad as we think. Perhaps their ashes come together, mingle,

and unite. Who knows, perhaps they have not lost all feeling or all memory of

their former state? Perhaps they still have the remains of warmth and life, which

they can enjoy in their own way in the confines of their cold urn. (38)

According to the records in the Brontë Society, Emily Brontë’s father owned Humphry Davy’s

book, Elements of Chemical Philosophy (1812). In Emily Brontë – Writers and Their Work,

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Stevie Davies argues that Emily’s knowledge of this book would explain the metaphors of

affinity and dissolution in Wuthering Heights (Stoneman 117). Heathcliff’s visualization of a

joint burial with Catherine reflects this notion:

I got the sexton, who was digging Linton’s grave, to remove the earth off her

coffin lid, and I opened it. […] I struck one side of the coffin loose – and covered

it up – not Linton’s side […] and I bribed the sexton to pull it away, when I’m

laid there, and slide mine out too. I’ll have it made so, and then, by the time

Linton gets to us, he’ll not know which is which! […] I dreamt I was sleeping the

last sleep by that sleeper, with my heart stopped and my cheek frozen against

hers. “And if she had been dissolved into earth, or worse, what would you have

dreamt of then?” [Nelly] said. “Of dissolving with her, and being more happy

still!” he answered. (285-6)

Indeed, the intimacy afforded by being buried together offers Heathcliff some consolation as it

corresponds to his initial appeal for Catherine’s soul to “haunt” him in life. Heathcliff’s burial

arrangement reflects his belief in posthumous love and his hope that their earthly affections

would be consummated in the bones of their dead bodies. The fact that Emily Brontë studied

French on the Continent in Belgium (1842) suggests that she may have read Diderot’s work and

been influenced by his idea of a joint burial of lovers. I would also suggest that Heathcliff’s plan

implies the idea of reincarnation. In Heathcliff’s vision of his burial with Catherine, Heathcliff’s

and Catherine’s united bodies in the grave would give rise to a different human shape that would

incorporate both of them and would host both their souls: “by the time Linton gets to us, he’ll not

know which is which!” (285-6). I suggest that this image implies reincarnation, and that the new

human form that incorporates Catherine and Heathcliff is Hareton. Indeed, Emily Brontë

emphasizes Hareton’s grief at Heathcliff’s death, implying the natural affinity between the two

and introducing his reincarnation immediately after the corporeal death of Heathcliff:

He sat by the corpse all night, weeping in bitter earnest. He pressed its hand, and

kissed the sarcastic, savage face that every one else shrank from contemplating;

and bemoaned [Heathcliff] with that strong grief which springs naturally from a

generous heart, though it be tough as tempered steel. (332; my emphasis)

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In this detailed expression of “strong grief,” Brontë very briefly recapitulates the past history of a

primitive humanity embodied in Heathcliff with his unrefined and threatening passions, and then

gracefully moves on to the present natural progress of this humanity in Hareton who is described

as having “a generous heart, though it be tough as tempered steel.” The transition is gradual: it

incorporates natural passions but without the threatening edge of savagery. In this sense, Brontë

focuses on the continuity of Heathcliff with the natural process of life in the new form of

Hareton. The fact that Heathcliff asserts that they will be “more happy,” suggests a healing of the

split that has happened when Catherine forsook Heathcliff and married Edgar. According to

David Cecil, “the shock of [Catherine’s] infidelity and Hindley’s ill-treatment of [Heathcliff]

[…], in its turn, disturbs the natural harmony of Heathcliff’s nature” (qtd. in Stoneman 38). Thus,

there is a sense of a regained wholesomeness materializing as a result of Heathcliff’s and

Catherine’s eternal corporeal union in death, which also reinforces Cecil’s assertion that

“Heathcliff’s death removes the last impediment to re-establishment of harmony” (qtd. in

Stoneman 39).

Stevie Davies calls attention to more possible sources of inspiration for Emily Brontë,

some of which entertain the idea of the return of the soul and reincarnation, arguing that Emily

Brontë was consciously influenced by German Romanticism “not via poetry and novels but

directly through philosophical essays and English review articles in Blackwood’s Magazine”

(Stoneman 117). Davies summarises these influences as follows:

Through the 1820s-1840s, de Quincey, Carlyle and Emerson worked to

popularize its avant-garde ideas: dualist and dynamic idealist philosophy

(Schelling and Schlegel); emphasis on the infinity of the “world within,” the

night-world and the “love-death” (Novalis); the pathology of “split personality”

(G.H. Schubert), with its electrifying effect on Hoffmann; the distinction between

conscious and unconscious minds; the concept of “Romantic irony”; the

recreation of folk poetry and the Märchen, or folktale, as significant literary

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forms. These concepts would confirm Emily Brontë’s binary mental world, at the

stressful conjunction of idealism and realism. (qtd. in Stoneman 117)

I would add James Macpherson’s The Poems of Ossian (1787), Johann Gottfried Herder, and

Friedrich Schiller to Davies’ list. Emily Brontë would have read their work, which was published

in Blackwood’s Magazine.

As mentioned in the preceding passage, the Scottish philosopher, essayist and historian

Thomas Carlyle was one of the sources of Emily’s inspiration for tracing the progress of

humanity through Heathcliff – as representative of the savage state – and to Hareton as

representative of the reformed state of humanity over time. Thomas Carlyle analysed the

condition of the Victorian age in his essay “Characteristics,” published in Edinburgh Review in

1831. In establishing the connection between the past and the present, Carlyle used the ideas of

the immortality of the soul and reincarnation to assert that:

The true Past departs not, nothing that was worthy in the Past departs; no Truth of

Goodness realised by man ever dies, or can die; but is all still here, and,

recognised or not, lives and works through endless changes. If all things, to speak

in the German dialect, are discerned by us, and exist for us, in an element of

Time, and therefore of Mortality and Mutability; yet Time itself reposes on

Eternity: the truly Great and Transcendental has its basis and substance in

Eternity; stands revealed to us as Eternity in a vesture of Time. Thus, in all

Poetry, Worship, Art, Society, as one form passes into another, nothing is lost; it

is but the superficial, as it were the body only, that grows obsolete and dies; under

the mortal body lies a soul which is immortal; which anew incarnates itself in

fairer revelation; and the Present is the living sum-total of the whole Past. (15)

In Wuthering Heights, Hareton would be the “Present,” which is the reincarnation of the “living

sum-total of the whole Past” that is the wholesome Heathcliff after his regained posthumous

union with Catherine.

I also suggest that Wuthering Heights contains some of the philosophical views found in

James Macpherson’s The Poems of Ossian (1760). The Brontës kept a copy of Macpherson’s

work at Haworth, according to the records of the Brontë Association. In “Romantic Historicism

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and the Afterlife,” Ted Underwood explores the way Macpherson’s poems imagine history

through conversations between ancient bards and yet-more-ancient (but earthly and material)

ghosts. Underwood suggests that, in Ossian,

By naturalizing the afterlife – moving it out of the grave and into the “roaring

winds” – Macpherson echoes a project that was becoming central to philosophic

thought in 1760s: an attempt to rob death of its terrors by focusing on its

continuity with the natural process of life. (240)

Underwood further suggests that “the afterlife in Ossian is about historical difference, and

therefore in a sense otherworldly, nevertheless it remains surprisingly earthly” (Underwood 240).

The reason is that the Celts believed that “the souls of the dead were material, and consequently

susceptible of pain” (Underwood 240). Underwood points out that

What late eighteenth-century thinkers object to is not materiality but confining

particularity; this is why writers from James Macpherson to Emily Brontë insist

on moving the afterlife outside the graveyard gates, into the winds and mists.

While assuredly more physical than heaven, these boundless phenomena do a

better job of emblematizing universality. (242)

By moving Heathcliff’s soul (his ghost) out of the grave – “the country folks, if you asked them,

would swear on their Bible that he walks” (333; original emphasis) ̶ Emily Brontë maintains

Heathcliff’s continuing presence on earth despite his material death. Moreover, in this quotation,

Emily Brontë places the “Bible” in the same sentence with “he walks” and italicizes it. The irony

here lies in the fact that the implied endurance of the soul on earth beyond the death of the body

is negated by the Christian faith. In this way, Emily Brontë offers a secular, personal philosophy

that grows out of her private creative imagination without the intention of promoting a specific

doctrine. I contend that the mention of the “Bible” confirms her strong Christian belief, since it

suggests that Brontë holds the “Bible” as the ultimate proof of authenticity. However, this

quotation also suggests that Brontë’s faith would not stand in the way of her philosophical mind

and creativity. Instead, her faith would confirm her creativity.

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Despite the Christian rejection of the idea of reincarnation as a means of achieving

continued existence of the soul on earth, Johann Gottfried Herder, theologian and pastor,

believed in the possibility of Continued Existence in bodily form. In Continued Existence,

Reincarnation, and the Power of Sympathy (1999), Kurth-Voigt points out that, while Herder

was expected to “relay [the church’s] promise of salvation and resurrection to his parishioners,”

he occasionally included in his sermons allusions to the possibility of a kind of Continued

Existence different from Christian beliefs. For example, wondering at the deathly silence

surrounding the grave of the departed, Herder suggested that “uncertainty is to be our lot,”

adding that “yet as a free and active, rational and thoughtful being, man should dare to inquire

into the state that follows death. He should look beyond the grave and search for visions of his

future existence” (qtd. in Kurth-Voigt 129). This notion can also be seen in Lockwood’s

contemplation at Heathcliff and Catherine’s graves at the end of the novel:

[Lockwood] lingered round them, under that benign sky: watched the moths

fluttering among the heath and harebells, listened to the soft wind breathing

through the grass, and wondered how any one could ever imagine unquiet

slumbers for the sleepers in that quiet earth. (334)

This passage, I believe, reflects Lockwood’s uncritical mind, as he completely and mechanically

denies the possibility of the return of the souls of the dead. Brontë’s sarcasm here arises from the

fact that, at the beginning of the novel, it is Lockwood who initially evokes the idea of the

“unquiet sleeper” when he dreams of Catherine’s ghost entreating him to let her into Wuthering

Heights. It seems that Emily Brontë shares Herder’s belief in the importance of rational human

inquiry and of keeping an open mind when exploring controversial ideas like the immortality of

the soul and the possibility of a continued existence.

In his essay “On Human Immortality” (1791), Herder explains the essence of human

immortality as follows:

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Each day we enjoy and use thousands of inventions that have come to us from the

past and in part from the most distant regions of the earth […] [T]his is the

invisible, hidden medium that links together minds through thoughts; hearts

through inclinations and drives; senses through impressions and forms; societies

through laws and institutions; families through harmonious friendship. Within this

binding medium we are, then, bound to and will influence our own and others’

descendants. This is the essence of genuine human immortality. (59)

Thus, humanity endures through the natural bonds and inclinations that form among human

beings. These strong bonds are evident in Wuthering Heights: the strongest bonds in the novel

are formed between Heathcliff and Catherine, and between Hareton and Heathcliff, a bond which

Nelly describes as “stronger than reason could break” (318). In her awareness of the great value

and power of love, Emily Brontë tries to preserve this strong human natural emotion in the more

contained and “tempered” manner embodied in Hareton. Indeed, Hareton is depicted by

Heathcliff as the embodiment of the unified Heathcliff and Catherine, and therefore as

representative of a harmonious state of humanity:

Five minutes ago Hareton seemed a personification of my youth, not a human

being; I felt to him in such a variety of ways, that it would have been impossible

to have accosted him rationally. In the first place, his startling likeness to

Catherine connected him fearfully with her […] Hareton’s aspect was the ghost of

my immortal love; of my wild endeavours to hold my right; my degradation, my

pride, my happiness, and my anguish. (320-1)

In this passage, Heathcliff’s past experiences and sufferings, along with his undying passion for

Catherine, are embodied in Hareton. Ultimately, despite the fact that Heathcliff initially usurps

Hareton’s inheritance, Hareton loves Heathcliff, and Heathcliff develops a deep empathy toward

Hareton. In this narrative, the attachment that Heathcliff feels toward Hareton goes even beyond

their having similar childhoods and is viewed as an extension of his spiritual bond to Catherine.

Similarly, Hareton regards Heathcliff as a “father,” which is a fact confirmed by Hareton’s

asking Cathy “how she would like him to speak ill of her father?” when she accuses Heathcliff of

usurping Hareton’s wealth: “and then [Cathy] comprehended that Earnshaw took the master’s

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reputation home to himself” (318). The link that binds Heathcliff, Hareton and Catherine is

personal, natural and spiritual. Reason and society have nothing to contribute to this relationship.

When Heathcliff dies, Nelly is surprised at the intensity of Hareton’s grief and blindly believes

that Hareton is “the most wronged” by Heathcliff. Nevertheless, I suggest, Hareton is privileged,

since Heathcliff raises him to be a human being with good nature, as will be discussed in the next

chapter. Evidently, from the preceding passage, Hareton embodies both Catherine and

Heathcliff, who together represent a wholesome humanity.

As I argued in the previous chapter, Emily Brontë has also been influenced by the

German philosopher, poet, and playwright Friedrich Schiller. In “Emily Brontë and the Influence

of the German Romantic Poets,” Maggie Ellen points out this influence:

The prose and poetry of Goethe, Schiller, and Novalis were well circulated in

Britain, and […] the Brontë family owned a number of books containing German

language and literary texts […] The themes and imagery used by Emily strongly

echo those used by the German Romantics. (9)

I suggest that Emily Brontë was influenced by Schiller’s idea of reincarnation in his

philosophical essays as well as his literary works. Kurth-Voigt asserts that:

Ideas of pre-existence and reincarnation, the efficacy of inherent sympathies,

including reunification with the other, and the eternal duration of love and

friendship are significant components of [Schiller’s] early poetry. (207)

In an early treatise (1780), Friedrich Schiller argues that, through reincarnation, “[t]he soul [that]

is eternal […] is destined to perfect itself in different ‘spheres’ and ‘circles’ of its existence until

it reaches its ultimate goal,” thus “Death is a point in time, which completes one circle. [In

death] matter is reduced to its elements, yet the soul will endure and return to this world because

its earthly development is not yet complete” (“Philosophie der Physiologie” (1779); qtd. in

Kurth-Voigt 205; my emphasis). For Schiller, the human soul evolves – just like the chrysalis

changes into a butterfly. This notion of perpetual progress, in which the soul makes toward the

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perfection of its nature and its immortality, implies reincarnation. Using Benjamin Franklin’s

metaphor, Schiller likens life to a book that will be taken up a second time for continued study.

In this sense, reincarnation is a perpetual process of education of the soul.

In Wuthering Heights, I would suggest, the “ultimate goal” of humanity is to continue its

social and spiritual reformation. Despite the fact that Charlotte Brontë, in the Preface to

Wuthering Heights, claims that Heathcliff “indeed stands unredeemed” (xlvi), I would argue that

Heathcliff’s redemption has already been achieved before he dies. Earlier in the novel, Emily

Brontë depicted Heathcliff rescuing Hareton from a fatal fall down the stairs at Wuthering

Heights, after which Nelly contended that “we witnessed [Heathcliff’s] salvation” (74). Also,

Heathcliff performs a final act of generosity when he relinquishes Wuthering Heights and

Thrushcross Grange to their rightful owners, Hareton and Cathy, in an act that Heathcliff himself

describes as “a fine trait of magnanimity” (320). Additionally, the imagery of Heathcliff’s at? his

death – “his face and throat were washed with rain; the bed-clothes dripped, and he was perfectly

still” (332) ̶ suggests a symbolic Baptism and purification, which confirms his final redemption.

The fact that he “was perfectly still” suggests that he has voluntarily given in to this heavenly

purification, since nature (rain) is the source of purification and not a priest. This notion signals a

spirituality that is rooted in nature and love. In The Disappearance of God , J. Hillis Miller

suggests that in Wuthering Heights:

God is an amiable power who can, through human love, be possessed here and

now. The break through into God’s world of Heathcliff and Catherine has made

institutionalized religion unnecessary. The love of Heathcliff and Catherine has

served as a mediator between heaven and earth […] and had made any other

mediator for the time being superfluous. (qtd. Stoneman 62)

Thus, I would contend that Heathcliff’s soul will continue on, through Hareton, to complete the

process of reformation that had started right before his death. Heathcliff, described by Charlotte

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Brontë as “goblin-like” (xlvii), through reincarnation becomes Hareton, whose “honest, warm

and intelligent nature shook off rapidly the clouds of ignorance and degradation in which it had

been bred; and Cathy’s sincere commendations acted as a spur to his industry. His brightening

mind brightened his features, and added spirit and nobility to their aspect” (318-9).

In The Robbers (1781), Schiller describes “Elysium” from Greek mythology as the

“heaven” in which lovers hope to continue their existence. For example, Amalia hopes for

reunion with Charles (Karl) Moor in another existence:

Yes, sweet it is, heavenly sweet, to be lulled into the sleep of death by the song of

the beloved. – Perhaps our dreams continue in the grave – a long, eternal, never

ending dream of Charles – till the trumpet of resurrection sounds – and

thenceforth and forever in his arms! (Schiller 36)

Borrowing from the Iliad Book 6, Amalia and Charles sing the song of farewell in which Hector

promises to meet his wife again in Elysium, if he dies fighting:

Dearest wife, go, fetch the fateful lance,

Let me go to treat the war’s horrid dance,

On my back the weight of Illium;

The Gods shield Astyanax with their hand!

Hector falls, to save his fatherland,

We shall greet each other in Elysium. (Schiller 361)

The hope here is for the pagan Elysium, rather than the conventional Christian heaven. The

reason, I suggest, is that Elysium promises a corporeal union of lovers. Schiller’s reference to

Greek mythology invokes the mythological motif of man’s and woman’s pre-existence as a

“whole.” According to Kuth-Voigt, in Symposium, Plato depicts two lovers who were once one

godlike being:

a creative force, free to roam the universe, but then this divine unit was shattered

into fragments, leaving each with an insatiable drive to reabsorb the other, their

spirits in an everlasting quest for reunion. This ancient experience explains the

passion that now enchains them in this life. (210).

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This idea is suggested in Wuthering Heights in Heathcliff’s arrangement for a joint burial in the

hope of a corporeal union with Catherine. However, Emily Brontë’s depiction of “Elysium” in

Wuthering Heights carries negative connotations different from Schiller’s. It seems that, for

Emily Brontë, “Elysium,” like the Christian heaven, is not the ideal place that Schiller and the

ancient philosophers imagine it to be. This is implied in the following description of Elysium in

the novel itself: “Joseph seemed sitting in a sort of elysium alone, beside a roaring fire; a quart

of ale on the table near him, bristling with large pieces of toasted oat-cake; and his black, short

pipe in his mouth” (233; my emphasis). In the first place, the setting seems more like “hell” than

an ideal heavenly place: the words that Emily Brontë chooses to describe the setting in this

example, “roaring fire,” “bristling” and “black,” convey a sense of apprehension and even

discomfort. The mere presence of Joseph in this “elysium” is even more ironical since, in the

novel, Joseph is described as the

wearisomest, self-righteous Pharisee that ever ransacked a Bible to rake a promise

to himself, and fling the curses on his neighbours. By his knack of sermonizing

and pious discoursing, he contrived to make a great impression on Mr Earnshaw,

and the more feeble the master became, the more influence he gained. (42)

Thormählen suggests that Joseph’s “self-admiration coexists with total indifference to the very

real needs of [his] fellow men in general, and the human creatures who especially crave [his]

help and support in particular” (146). Additionally, the preceding passage is set in a context in

which the young sick Linton is calling Joseph to rekindle the fire in his room since “there are

only a few red ashes” (233), while Joseph is enjoying his own fire and repast and totally ignoring

Linton’s call. In this narrative, I suggest that Emily Brontë challenges the notion of the Christian

“Heaven” and mythological “Elysium” as ideal places for which humanity aspires. Instead,

Brontë’s heaven is down on earth, in the natural world where God is manifested. For Brontë, the

ideal state of happiness is achieved when human beings are united through the power of love on

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earth among God’s created nature. Thus, I would argue that, in Wuthering Heights, there is no

transcendence of earthly existence, which further suggests Emily Brontë’s scepticism regarding a

metaphorical intangible “Heaven” and a mythological “Elysium.” This notion is confirmed in

Brontë’s depiction of Heathcliff teaching Hareton to “scorn everything extra-animal as silly and

weak” and to take pride in his “brutishness” (217). Hareton’s “brutishness” confirms his physical

tangible existence, which according to Heathcliff affirms his place in nature as opposed to the

transcendence implied by “extra-animal.” Thus, I would suggest that Emily Brontë sees God as

manifest in nature and in the human breast as part of nature. This view is further confirmed in

her poems as well as her novel. For example, in “No Coward Soul,” Brontë asserts that

O God within my breast

Almighty ever-present Deity

Life, that in me hast rest

As I undying life, have power in Thee. (ll.5-8)

These lines also highlight Emily Brontë’s belief in the endurance of the soul that has its

immortality from the Divine.

After Emily’s death in 1848, Charlotte Brontë wrote her preface to the 1850 edition of

Wuthering Heights and included a biographical notice about her sister. This preface was

significant because it was the first official and public confirmation of the author’s true gender,

since the novel was first published under the male pen name “Ellis Bell.” In this preface,

Charlotte cautiously approaches the novel’s controversial themes: “whether it is right or

advisable to create things like Heathcliff, I do not know: I scarcely think it is. But this I know;

the writer who possess the creative gift owns something of which he is not always master –

something that at times strangely wills and works for itself” (xlvi). Charlotte describes the novel

as “hewn in a wild workshop, with simple tools, out of homely materials” and “moorish, and

wild, and knotty as a root of heath” (xliv, xlvii). I suggest that the idea of reincarnation in

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Wuthering Heights is also suggested by Charlotte Brontë, in her preface to Wuthering Heights,

when she asserts that,

With time and labour, the crag took human shape: and there it stands colossal,

dark, and frowning, half statue, half rock; in the former sense, terrible and goblin-

like; in the latter, almost beautiful, for its colouring is of mellow grey, and

moorland moss clothes it; and heath, with its blooming bells and balmy fragrance,

grows faithfully close to the giant’s foot. (xlvii; my emphasis)

The “crag” or rugged cliff is etymologically connected to the “cliff” embedded in Heath-cliff’s

name. The transformation of natural features into a human shape suggested in this passage

parallels the stages of evolution and moral development of the unrefined Heathcliff, as discussed

in the previous chapter, and the crag’s final blooming and fragrant state is reflected in Hareton.

Evidently, in Wuthering Heights, Emily Brontë depicts Heathcliff and Catherine as two

individuals who belong to marginalized or inferior social groups in Victorian society – Heathcliff

is depicted as un-English, non-white / uncivilized creature, while Catherine is marginalized by

virtue of being a woman. In “Spaces of Death in Emily Brontë’s Wuthering Heights,” Albert

Myburgh suggests that

it is possible for those who do not conform to social norms, and who are

consequently, cast into dominated spaces, to undermine the authority of those in

positions of power by embracing their marginalised state, and thereby to generate

new spaces they can inhabit. (1)

The fact that both, Heathcliff and Catherine, wish for death to unite them on earth (and not in the

Christian heaven) implies the need for social and spiritual change and reform of the human

condition on earth that will allow for love to be honoured and celebrated. This change would

integrate marginalized classes into society to be regarded as fellow human beings. The fact that

Catherine Earnshaw asserts “I am Heathcliff” suggests that Heathcliff’s and Catherine’s union

would give rise to a wholesome society whose continuity and harmony would be ensured

through the equality of both genders, male and female.

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The spiritual connection between Hareton and Heathcliff renders Hareton the natural and

appropriate extension of Heathcliff despite the lack of blood connection between them.

Undoubtedly, as pointed out earlier, Heathcliff is Hareton’s savior on more than one occasion.

Not only does he save Hareton’s life in infancy, and preserve the Earnshaw bloodline, but also

Heathcliff preserves Hareton’s good nature by keeping him away from the corrupting social

influences. In Wuthering Heights, the spiritual relationship that grows between Hareton and

Heathcliff is wrapped in mystery, and I suggest that Emily Brontë deliberately excludes Nelly

Dean from directly witnessing the progress of their relationship in order to underscore its

spirituality. Only God witnesses and understands the secret workings of their hearts. Therefore,

this private relationship with God emphasizes the spiritual bond growing between Hareton and

Heathcliff that becomes stronger than any blood tie. Nelly declares that,

I don't pretend to be intimately acquainted with the mode of living customary in

those days at Wuthering Heights: I only speak from hearsay; for I saw little. The

villagers affirmed Mr Heathcliff was near, and a cruel hard landlord to his

tenants; but the house, inside, had regained its ancient aspect of comfort under

female management, and the scenes of riot common in Hindley's time were not

now enacted within its walls. The master was too gloomy to seek companionship

with any people, good or bad; and he is yet. (195; my emphasis)

In this passage, the evidence that the condition of the house “regained its ancient aspect of

comfort” implies a return to harmony and peace. Hareton’s quiet acceptance and idealization of

Heathcliff renders Nelly’s account of the rumors circulating about Heathcliff’s tyranny suspect:

Evidently, Hareton awakens fatherly love in Heathcliff’s heart, which drives Heathcliff to feel

the urge to protect Hareton from Cathy’s love for fear that she might break his heart and reject

him because of his degradation just as Catherine has done to him in the past: “I covet Hareton,

with all his degradation? I’d have loved the lad had he been some one else. But I think he’s safe

from her love. I’ll pit him against that paltry creature, unless it bestir itself briskly” (215).

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In Wuthering Heights, this degradation appears to bring Hareton and Heathcliff closer

and to reinforce the spiritual bond between them. Heathcliff declares:

I can sympathise with all [Hareton’s] feelings, having felt them myself. I know

what he suffers now, for instance, exactly: it is merely a beginning of what he

shall suffer, though. And he’ll never be able to emerge from his bathos of

coarseness and ignorance. I’ve got him faster than his scoundrel of a father

secured me, and lower; for he takes a pride in his brutishness. I’ve taught him to

scorn everything extra-animal as silly and weak. Don’t you think Hindley would

be proud of his son, if he could see him? almost as proud as I am of mine. But

there’s this difference; one is gold put to the use of paving- stones, and the other

is tin polished to ape a service of silver – Mine has nothing valuable about it; yet I

shall have the merit of making it go as far as such poor stuff can go. His had first-

rate qualities, and they are lost: rendered worse than unavailing. (217)

In Heathcliff’s opinion of this vain society, which mistreated and degraded him for being

different, Hareton’s uncivilized appearance and manners will not be accepted and thus his

inherent good nature will be rendered “lost [and] worse than unavailing.” However, the fact that

Heathcliff compares Hareton to “gold put to the use of paving-stones” suggests his awareness

and appreciation of Hareton’s naturally and genuinely good nature. Brontë’s choice of “paving-

stones” suggests the idea of opening a path in nature (in life) that will offer an alternative to the

existing ones in society that tend to mislead people and pervert their natural goodness. Thus,

Heathcliff’s declaration also anticipates Hareton’s role as a representative of a reformed

humanity whose future way of life will be brighter because it will be guided by an inner, natural

divinity.

Finally, the idea of the return of Heathcliff’s wholesome soul reincarnated in Hareton

allows Emily Brontë to create a space for the progress and reform of human society. The

universality of the reform is suggested by Heathcliff’s mysterious origin, and Hareton’s

engagement in the chain of reincarnations parallels his place in the Earnshaw’s bloodline as the

legitimate rightful heir. His position gives legitimacy to the hope for a new generation of

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humanity that will be more tolerant and inclusive, and therefore spiritually and socially

reformed.

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Chapter Four

Hareton and a Reformed Humanity / Society: An Emilian Philosophy

I'll walk where my own nature would be leading:

It vexes me to choose another guide:

Where the gray flocks in ferny glens are feeding;

Where the wild wind blows on the mountain side

What have those lonely mountains worth revealing?

More glory and more grief than I can tell:

The earth that wakes one human heart to feeling

Can centre both the worlds of Heaven and Hell.

(Emily Brontë, “Often rebuked, yet always back returning” ll. 13-20)

In the previous chapter, I proposed that Hareton represents the reincarnation of a reformed

humanity. In this chapter, I will discuss component D of my proposed Emilian philosophy: the

cultural, social and spiritual reformation of humanity. I shall highlight the connection between

Hareton and reform, focussing on two factors in the novel, which contribute to Hareton being

presented as the embodiment of reform. The first factor is Hareton’s parentage, which connects

him to the ideas of culture and spiritual reform, and the implications and significance of

Hindley’s (Hareton’s father) marriage to Frances. The second factor is Hareton’s natural

upbringing by Heathcliff, which preserves his innocent nature from being perverted by external

social disorder. These analyses shed light on Hareton’s nature as an emblematic site in which

humanity regains its lost wholesomeness and is reformed – as described in the previous chapter.

The nature of this wholesomeness is reflected in Emily Brontë’s poem “Often rebuked, yet

always back returning”: “I’ll walk where my own nature would be leading: / It vexes me to

choose another guide” (qtd. in Chitham 219). Brontë’s words suggest a happy wholesome

humanity that is anchored in nature and is represented in the individual’s ability to absorb all the

contradictions presented by society (class, wealth, and religious denominations) and to reflect the

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balanced middle-state of Schiller’s “cultivated man,” as will be discussed in more detail in the

chapter.

In the opening chapter of Wuthering Heights, the Earnshaws’ historical and cultural

heritage is reflected in Brontë’s depiction of the strong building of Wuthering Heights and the

crumbling art crowning it. Heathcliff’s development, and later on that of Hareton, are shaped by

this background, and Wuthering Heights is the main backdrop to their story. Further, Emily

Brontë associates the house at Wuthering Heights with Hareton’s ancestor and namesake,

“Hareton Earnshaw,” whose name is carved over the entrance, suggesting the younger Hareton’s

significance and his important role to revive the Heights. In the first chapter of the novel, Mr

Lockwood describes Wuthering Heights as follows:

Before passing the threshold, I paused to admire a quantity of grotesque carving

lavished over the front, and especially about the principal door; above which,

among a wilderness of crumbling griffins and shameless little boys, I detected the

date “1500,” and the name “Hareton Earnshaw. (4)

Mr Lockwood’s introduction to the house coincides with the reader’s introduction to the novel.

Thus, Brontë’s use of the word “threshold” not only invites Lockwood to pause and contemplate

the historical and cultural significance of the place, but us as well. A similar nod to the

“threshold” as an important site is presented in Wilhelm Meister’s Apprenticeship, 1796 (book

VII, chapter IX), where Johann Wolfgang von Goethe connects the “threshold” to beginnings

and initial optimism. This connection is reflected in the words of the social educator, the Abbé,

who employs all his educational and artistic efforts to restore order to society, to Wilhelm

Meister – the apprentice:

“Here is your indenture,” said the Abbé: “take it to heart; it is of weighty import.”

Wilhelm lifted, opened it, and read:

INDENTURE

Art is long, life short, judgment difficult, opportunity transient. To act is easy, to

think is hard; to act according to our thought is troublesome. Every beginning is

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cheerful; the threshold is the place of expectation. The boy stands astonished, his

impressions guide him; he learns sportfully, seriousness comes on him by

surprise. Imitation is born with us; what should be imitated is not easy to discover.

The excellent is rarely found, more rarely valued. The height charms us, the steps

to it do not: with the summit in our eye, we love to walk along the plain…4

(Goethe 62; my emphasis)

The initial optimism in Goethe’s statement is echoed in Lockwood’s admiration of the art in the

crumbling façade of the building. I suggest that if we accept Brontë’s invitation, which may have

been inspired by Goethe’s Wilhelm Meister, to pause and analyse the building and try to decipher

the cultural significance of its artistic façade, this will shed light on ideas of spiritual and cultural

reformation that are central to the novel. The abundance of “grotesque carving” over the front of

the building symbolizes human creativity, but the fact that these carvings are “detected” amid

“the wilderness” implies the threat that this creativity will be engulfed by social disorder,

symbolised by “wilderness.” Brontë’s emphasis on the location of the carvings, at “the principal

door,” suggests that humanity, as part of nature and the embodiment of the divine art, is the

principal portal / key to transforming and reforming Wuthering Heights, which represents a

microcosm of society.

In the preceding passage, the crumbling art suggests that Brontë associates the decay of

the divine creativity that lies within humanity with the spiritual and social decline of the

Earnshaw family. The “little boys” depict human beings devoid of social or artificial attire: they

are deemed “shameless” by Lockwood who sees them from the perspective of social rules of

decorum. Thus, the crumbling art on the building reflects the social decline of the family, but

also the spiritual and artistic decay of humanity, and its position at the entrance of the building

and the beginning of the novel suggests the need to restore both to a glorious past. This notion is

4 Die Kunst ist lang, das Leben kurz, das Urteil schwierig, die Gelegenheit flüchtig. Handeln ist

leicht, Denken schwer; nach dem Gedanken handeln unbequem. Aller Anfang ist heiter, die

Schwelle ist der Platz der Erwartung.

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also reflected in the symbolism of the “griffins” carved at the front of the building. As a

legendary creature from ancient Greek mythology, with the head and wings of an eagle, and the

body, tail, and hind legs of a lion, the griffin is a powerful and majestic creature, since the eagle

was considered the king of the birds, and the lion the king of the beasts. Moreover, griffins are

often seen in medieval heraldry as protectors from evil, witchcraft, and slander. In A Reader’s

Guide to Schiller’s Letters on the Aesthetical (2005), William F. Wertz, Jr. explains that

Schiller rejoins that the Greeks, who were “married to all the charms of art and to

all the dignity of wisdom,” did so without sacrificing the human heart. “At once

full of form and full of abundance, at once philosophizing and creating, at once

tender and energetic, we see them unite the youth of phantasy with the manliness

of reason in a glorious humanity.” Among the Greeks, the senses and the mind

were not rigidly separated. “As high as reason also climbed, so it yet always drew

matter lovingly after it […]” Thus, for the Greeks, reason does not mutilate

nature. (Wertz 87)

Emily Brontë’s invoking of this ancient Greek symbol affirms Schiller’s idea that the wholesome

nature of humanity is reflected in the art of ancient Greece, in which humanity appears to unite

natural passions with reason. Brontë also invokes the Medieval as a period of great creativity in

the areas of architecture, literature, music, art, and philosophy. She certainly would have been

aware of a variety of movements, in the nineteenth century, that used the medieval period as a

model or inspiration for creative activities: for example, Romanticism (which invokes chivalric

romance), and the Gothic revival in architecture were adopted by both Church and state as an

expression of Englishness. (Both concepts are reflected in Wuthering Heights and will be

discussed later in the chapter.) However, the fact that the “griffins” are “crumbling” suggests that

their symbolic authority is weakening, and that the wholesome natural humanity they stand for is

crumbling too, and that natural human creativity has ceased to reflect the divine. In The Brontës

and Religion, Marianne Thormählen suggests that, in Wuthering Heights, Emily Brontë supplies

a graphic description of the conditions that bred and fed the great Evangelical Revival. She

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claims that, “the lives of the Brontës, father and children, spanned the whole era of Church

reform and illustrated it in a variety of ways” (181). Therefore, the image of the decline in

culture and spiritual state in the opening description of Wuthering Heights may be interpreted as

Emily Brontë’s call for their revival.

The carvings on the Heights building also memorialize the name “Hareton Earnshaw” as

a great ancestor of young Hareton, who is, in turn, the son of Hindley Earnshaw and Frances.

Despite the fact that Wuthering Heights is a farm house, the building suggests that the family

enjoyed high social status. In “‘Crumbling Griffins and Shameless Little Boys’: The Social and

Moral Background of Wuthering Heights,” Helen Broadhead points out this paradox:

[W]hat is really significant is the fact that the house is built of stone. We have

already seen that the doorway is made of stone, and a chimney suggests a stone

internal structure as well. This is significant, because, at the date at which the

house was built, 1500 (as T.W. Hanson has pointed out), only the houses of the

upper gentry and aristocracy were built of stone, and in Yorkshire only churches.

Certainly, lavish stone carving, grotesque or otherwise, would have been beyond

the means even of the lower gentry. This is clearly no “homely” farmhouse! This

is a building fit for, if not a king, at least a family of rank and substance, perhaps

even one with a coat of arms […] I think we can assume that [Emily Brontë] puts

these details in […] to suggest that this is a family of ancient and impressive

lineage, which had, in recent years, come down in the world – which had

crumbled. (55)

By emphasizing the declining state of the building and the date of its construction (1500), Emily

Brontё contrasts the declining social status of the Earnshaw family with a time of progress in the

arts and sciences, extending the need for reform beyond the domestic to include society as a

whole. This period was characterized by a renewed interest in Greek and Roman texts as well as

the start of the Italian Renaissance, something stressed by Norman Cantor in The Civilization of

the Middle Ages. Moreover, Wuthering Heights is almost personified and is characterized as

embodying determination, defensiveness and strength. Lockwood’s description of the building

resembles the countenance of a determinant medieval warrior:

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“Wuthering” [is] a significant provincial adjective, descriptive of the atmospheric

tumult to which its station is exposed in stormy weather. Pure, bracing ventilation

they must have up there at all times, indeed: one may guess the power of the north

wind blowing over the edge, by the excessive slant of a few stunted firs at the end

of the house; and by a range of gaunt thorns all stretching their limbs one way, as

if craving alms of the sun. Happily, the architect had foresight to build it strong:

the narrow windows are deeply set in the wall, and the corners defended with

large jutting stones. (4; my emphasis)

I suggest that the natural turmoil and the raging wind that surround the Heights imply a social

disorder that arises from lack of spirituality in an institutionalized society. The imagery of the

“few stunted firs at the end of the house” and “a range of gaunt thorns all stretching their limbs

one way, as if craving alms of the sun” suggests an aged, parched nature that has become pagan

since it prays for relief to the “sun” and not God who has no place in this image. The building’s

exposure to the harsh forces of nature and isolation, along with its stubborn determination to

“defend” the values it used to stand for suggest a certain innocent bravery and a chivalry

reminiscent of the Middle Ages.

By offering a detailed description of the condition of the Heights building at the onset of

the novel, Emily Brontë highlights its cultural significance and present state of decay. However,

the human attributes bestowed on the building cannot be applied to Hindley, young Hareton’s

father and the rightful heir after Mr Earnshaw’s death. Even as a child, Hindley is depicted as

inadequate to his role. Sandra Gilbert and Susan Gubar, in The Madwoman in the Attic, point out

that, when Mr Earnshaw goes on the trip where he will find Heathcliff, “[Hindley] asks for a

fiddle, betraying both a secret, soft-hearted desire for culture and almost decadent lack of virile

purpose” (264). Indeed, Hindley’s lack of virile purpose is reflected in his total breakdown after

the death of his wife Frances after giving birth to Hareton. Hindley becomes a drunkard and is

brutal to his son. He turns on God and loses his faith when he declares, “I shall have great

pleasure in sending [his own soul] to perdition, to punish its maker” (75). When Hindley ignores

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his son, “Hareton fell wholly into [Nelly’s] hands. Mr Earnshaw, provided he saw him healthy,

and never heard him cry was contented” (65). Hindley clearly lacks the mental and spiritual

strength that would have allowed him to weather the hardship of losing Frances and uphold the

values he has been raised to respect and defend. His breakdown uncovers his lack of masculinity

(chivalry), and his unworthiness of having the ownership of Wuthering Heights. Hindley does

not reflect the strong defensive attributes of the building of Wuthering Heights. Accordingly,

Hindley’s behaviour suggests that he is missing a “close and living communion with God, a

communion that involves the whole of human personality, which would suggest a religious

despair and depression” (Thormählen 53). Hareton’s relationship with his father, Hindley is

marked with conflict from the day he was born, which signals a possible difference in nature

between the father and the son. However, to ensure the passing of the cultural heritage that is

Wuthering Heights from father to son, there is a need for a particular kind of resolution, which

would allow for cultural continuity. This resolution, I suggest, is represented at the end of the

novel, when Hareton finally gets his inheritance, through Heathcliff, and becomes the rightful

owner of Wuthering Heights.

Hindley’s choice of Frances as a wife is significant since it represents another blood

connection to the idea of spiritual reformation. The name of Hareton’s mother, Frances, is the

female equivalence to “Francis,” which etymologically links her to Saint Francis of Assisi and

the Franciscan Order within the Catholic church. Before Mr Earnshaw dies, he sends Hindley to

college, and it is no coincidence that this is where he apparently meets and marries his wife.

According to Sr. M. Catherine Frederic, in “The Franciscan Spirit as Revealed in the Literary

Contributions of Francis Thompson”:

The Franciscans arrived in England in 1224, and their influence was immediately

made manifest in almost every department of life. St Francis represented a new

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ideal which belonged exclusively to no class or party. The Friars not only

attended several of the leading universities, but later taught in the universities of

Oxford and Cambridge. (21-2)

In “St Francis in the Nineteenth Century,” Patricia Appelbaum argues that “the figure of Francis

emerged into public consciousness among non-Catholics in the Anglophone world over the

course of the mid-to late nineteenth Century” (792), which is around the time Emily Brontë

writes Wuthering Heights. According to the University of Oxford’s “Introduction and History”

website, the nineteenth century was an era of scientific discovery and religious revival. The

University assumed a leading role in the Victorian era, especially in religious controversy. From

1833 onwards, The Oxford Movement sought to revitalise the Catholic aspects of the Anglican

Church. One of its leaders, John Henry Newman, became a Roman Catholic in 1845 and was

later made a Cardinal. These events took place during Emily Brontë’s life time, and her father,

Rev. Patrick Brontë had been involved in them. In “William Grimshaw, Patrick Brontë and the

Evangelical Revival,” Michael Baumber explains that

Brontë’s difficulties were accentuated by the Oxford Movement inside the Church

of England. His hostility to Calvinist ideas led the Pastoral Aid Society to send

him a whole succession of High Church curates […] Brontë seems to have

sympathised with some of the grievances of the Dissenters… Branwell disliked

what he termed the “hypocrisy” of the clergy, and the starchy Evangelicals would

not have been amused to find that his musical taste included the Roman Catholic

masses of Haydn and Mozart […] Emily Brontë’s attitude parallels that of

Branwell […] She too shared the family revulsion for the doctrines of personal

Election and Reprobation: “she held that mercy and forgiveness are the Divinest

attributes of the Great Being who made both man and woman. (30-1)

Until the formation of the University of London in the 1820s, Oxford and Cambridge were

responsible for the education and training of leading politicians, Roman Catholic and afterward

Church of England clergy and bishops, civil service administrators at home and abroad, and

representatives of the arts and sciences. The fact that Emily Brontë does not specify the name of

the college that Hindley attends suggests the possibility that it might be either Oxford or

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Cambridge. Further, Frances’ mysterious origin and the fact that Nelly claims that Hindley

“brought a wife with him. What she was and where she was born he never informed [the family];

probably, she had neither money nor name to recommend her, or he would scarcely have kept the

union from his father” (45) suggests that there is a compelling factor that would ensure Mr

Earnshaw’s rejection of Frances. However, it is unlikely that poverty is a factor since Mr

Earnshaw has brought Heathcliff, the poor orphaned child, home and insisted on caring for him,

which reflects his kind heart and charitable nature and undermines Nelly’s reasoning as to why

Frances is kept a secret from Mr Earnshaw. However, if Frances were Catholic, this may have

proven problematic for Mr Earnshaw who belonged to the Anglican church. Mr Earnshaw’s

Evangelical Anglicanism is suggested when Edgar identifies Catherine and Heathcliff when they

were caught spying on the Lintons, and after Skulker, the dog, bites Catherine’s ankle: “They see

us at church, you know, though we seldom meet them elsewhere” (50). It must be borne in mind

that “Church” refers to the Church of England, while “chapel” refers to “a dissenter place of

worship” (Thormählen 175). Brontë also points out this distinction when Nelly asserts that

“‘Joseph and I generally go to chapel on Sundays: ‘the kirk, you know, has no minister now,’

explained Mrs Dean; ‘and they call the Methodists’ or Baptists’ place (I can’t say which it is) at

Gimmerton, a chapel’” (292).

At the time, Anglicans regarded Catholicism with suspicion and apprehension,

suggesting that it was practically impossible that Mr Earnshaw would eventually understand and

accept Hindley and Frances’ relationship. In “St Francis in the Nineteenth Century,” Patricia

Appelbaum asserts that “Catholicism retained its historic role in the Protestant mind as the

threatening other. Anti-Catholicism was widespread and sometimes violent” (793). According to

Thormählen, “Evangelicalism was repressive” because it was essentially “intellectually incurious

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[…] Evangelicalism in the Church of England was a movement of enduring importance in that it

revived the spiritual and emotional dimensions of religious worship; but it did not offer much in

the way of innovative thought.” However, “none of the Brontës fit with this absence of mental

drive and acumen” (42), and therefore the union of Hindley and Frances may have become

Emily Brontë’s way of challenging this uncritical and rigid view, and of committing to spiritual

freedom and reform.

Appelbaum points out that Anglophone Protestants would have encountered St Francis

when travelling on the European continent, and that Emily Brontë may have learnt about St

Francis during her education on the continent in Brussels in 1842. Appelbaum also points out the

role played by John Murray’s travel guides in introducing travellers to St Francis of Assisi.

According to the Brontë Society’s catalogue of books owned by the Brontës, John Murray was

one of the authors read by the Brontës; however, his travel guide itself is not on the list.

Moreover, Thormählen points out that “Blackwood’s Edinburgh Magazine and Fraser’s

Magazine were obvious transmitters of contemporary views on theological matters” (49).

The possibility of a “Franciscan” heritage through Hareton’s mother, Frances, is

significant since it connects Hareton to the idea of reformation, both cultural and spiritual. St

Francis has been regarded by Anglicans in different light than by? Roman Catholics. Appelbaum

asserts that “for non-Catholics, Francis was not only a historical figure but also a subject for

imaginative elaboration, personal relationship, and collective appropriation” (792). Appelbaum

explains that “developing artistic taste and judgment was an essential part of nineteenth-century

cultural education; art was understood to be a manifestation of the highest and best human

sensibilities” (801), St Francis resonated with the values of this time, and St Francis and Emily

Brontë both offer a philosophical and reassuring view of death and nature in their work. Kristin

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Johnston Largen in Finding God Among our Neighbours, points to St Francis of Assisi’s famous

poem, “Canticle of the Sun” (1224), in which he refers to death as “gentle sister death”:

And you, most gentle sister death,

waiting to hush our final breath:

[...]Since Christ our light has pierced your gloom,

fair is the night that leads us home (qtd. Largen II.147)

While St Francis’ poem offers a positive benign view of death, Christian tradition, and certainly

the Scriptures argue that

death is a consequence of sin and one of the enemies to be overcome in salvation

[…] [T]he Biblical view, and the one developed most consistently and thoroughly

in the Christian tradition, emphasizes that it is our alienation from God that results

in our death, and thus death is the punishment we have earned through our

disobedience and waywardness. (qtd. in Largen 147)

St Francis’ reassuring attitude toward death brings him closer to Brontë’s depiction of how more

than one character in Wuthering Heights seeks death as the transition to a happier place where

they can achieve what they have been denied in life. For example, Heathcliff and Catherine wish

to be united in death; and Edgar Linton wishes to be united with Catherine. In addition, nature

played an important role in St Francis’ life since he discovered more about God and himself

through the practice of contemplative prayer in nature than through formal ritual. Through a life

of prayer, Francis eventually came to see God's goodness at the heart of all matter. For him, all

of creation was filled with the abundant goodness of God, manifesting His presence, and thus

nature deserved respect and care. This personal communion with God in nature represents the

Christianity that Emily Brontë would imagine for a reformed humanity.

Appelbaum points out that the body of literature about St Francis in the Victorian era that

is written by non-Catholics, and emphasized the ideas of reformation and national identity which

are also reflected in Wuthering Heights. For example, Sir James Stephen, a government official,

an evangelical Anglican, and an avocational historian, argues that the “Franciscan order survived

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its founder's death because it was a forerunner of the Reformation,” adding that the “Franciscans

restored religious purity, engaged with the world, and sided with the weak and humble” (qtd. in

Appelbaum 797). The historian C. K. Adams wrote that St Francis’ purpose was “the work of a

Reformation in the church” in a period when “the human intellect [sought] to rise up against the

Roman yoke and throw it off” (qtd. in Appelbaum 798). Indeed, St Francis’ mission agreed with

the view of the Church of England on Catholicism as a corrupted institution in need of reform,

causing them to separate from the Catholic church. Matthew Arnold also drew attention to the

spiritual role that St Francis prescribed for the human imagination and national identity writing

that St he “understood suffering, particularly as experienced by common people. Francis

responded to suffering, not with his senses, but with his “heart and imagination” believing that

“this, by implication, was true Christianity, transcending suffering rather than denying it” (qtd. in

Applebaum 804). Arnold's argument recalls once again the simplicity and emotional fervor that

outsiders attributed to medieval Catholicism. He suggests that “as a man of the people, speaking

the language of the people, [St Francis] is associated with the emergence of Italian national

identity, particularly as expressed in language, folk life, and artistic traditions” (qtd. in

Appelbaum 804).

I would suggest that Hareton is also depicted as reflective of the National identity, if you

will, of Yorkshire. This is evident when young Linton Heathcliff points out to young Cathy:

“[Hareton’s] frightful Yorkshire pronunciation” (218). Also, Brontë gives Hareton the role of the

tour guide of the area because of his great knowledge of the land on which he labours daily:

“Earnshaw had his countenance completely averted from his companion [Cathy]. He seemed

studying the familiar landscape with a stranger’s and an artist’s interest” (216-8). In this

statement, Emily Brontë implies Hareton’s philosophical and artistic nature as he sees the area

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from a new perspective inspired by Cathy’s presence. Thus, for Hareton, the land ceases to be

associated with daily labour and becomes a place that carries an aesthetic value. Paul Sabatier,

French Protestant and author of a biography of St Francis of Assisi, associates Francis with the

common people, national identity, and the possibility of radical social reform. He asserts that,

“identity with common people implied national identity,” which for Sabatier implies religious

democracy (qtd. in Appelbaum 811).

The French philosopher, Ernest Renan, argues that St Francis’ central idea was that “to

possess is wrong,” which echoes Hareton’s implied attitude. Renan believes that Christian

poverty is not deprivation, but freedom to be in nature and dependent on God. Renan argues that

Francis’ liberated poverty eventually had a profound effect, not only on religious freedom, as

might be expected, but also on art, which calls for lofty ideals and a communal sensibility.

Again, this notion can be seen in Hareton’s disinterestedness in property and possessions. In the

incident when Hareton stands up to Cathy when she confronts Heathcliff and accuses him of

taking “Hareton’s land, and his money” and threatens that “Hareton and I are friends now,”

implying a possible joint rebellion against him, Hareton tells Cathy that “I will not hear you

speak so to [Heathcliff]” (317). Instead, Hareton’s inclinations appear to lie in culture and

enlightenment. This notion is suggested by his endeavors (which Cathy initially makes fun of) to

teach himself to read:

Hareton, I came upon a secret stock in your room – some Latin and Greek, and

some tales and poetry: all old friends. I brought the last here – and you gathered

them, as a magpie gathers silver spoons [….] “Mr Hareton is desirous of

increasing his amount of knowledge,” [Nelly] said, coming to his rescue. “He is

not envious, but emulous of your attainments. He'll be a clever scholar in a few

years.” […] I heard you; and I heard you turning over the dictionary to seek out

the hard words, and then cursing because you couldn't read their explanations!

(298-9)

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This scene suggests that Hareton’s aspiration for reform is rooted in culture and spirituality, both

of which are reflected in Hareton’s choice of reading material: “Latin and Greek” tales and

poetry. Latin is reflective of the Bible, and the Greek “tales and poetry” are reflective of

philosophy, art, and human creativity. In other words, “Latin and Greek” represent all the lost

values suggested by the architecture of the building at Wuthering Heights.

Further, Margaret Oliphant, nineteenth-century Scottish novelist and historical writer,

contended that Francis’ life was “wholly evangelical,” refuting the Anglican fear that the Oxford

Movement would be seen as “the Pope’s battering-ram into the Church of England”

(Thormählen 195). John Ruskin – the medievalist, art critic, prophet of the Arts and Crafts

Movement, professor, prolific writer, and social reformer – claimed that he had entered into a

kind of personal communion with St Francis. Ruskin had long rejected the evangelical

Protestantism of his youth, but he was then returning to Christian language, though not to

Christian institutions, and trying to integrate that language with his aesthetic, moral, and political

principles. Thus, Renan, Oliphant, and Ruskin, in their different ways, all agree that St Francis

represented a true Christianity in a broader manner – a way that was less doctrinal, more

personal, and more expressive, but at the same time more sensitive to the needs of the poor and

outcast. It was also childlike in its simplicity and filled with joy, and this simplicity is reflected

in the childlike love relationship between Hareton and Cathy:

“Con-trary!” said a voice as sweet as a silver bell. “That for the third time, you

dunce! I'm not going to tell you again. Recollect, or I'll pull your hair!”

“‘Contrary, then,” answered another, in deep but softened tones. “And

now, kiss me, for minding so well.”

“No, read it over first correctly, without a single mistake.”

The male speaker began to read: he was a young man, respectably dressed

and seated at a table, having a book before him. His handsome features glowed

with pleasure, and his eyes kept impatiently wandering from the page to a small

white hand over his shoulder, which recalled him by a smart slap on the cheek,

whenever its owner detected such signs of inattention. Its owner stood behind; her

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light, shining ringlets blending, at intervals, with his brown looks, as she bent to

superintend his studies; and her face – it was lucky he could not see her face, or

he would never have been so steady. I could; and I bit my lip in spite, at having

thrown away the chance I might have had of doing something besides staring at

its smiting beauty.

The task was done, not free from further blunders; but the pupil claimed a

reward, and received at least five kisses; which, however, he generously returned.

Then they came to the door, and from their conversation I judged they were about

to issue out and have a walk on the moors. (304-5)

Appelbaum asserts that St Francis’ beliefs addressed the tendency in Victorian society to alienate

human nature on the basis of material considerations. Thus, St Francis affirms the goodness of

human nature:

St Francis offered an alternative to the alienation that sometimes accompanies

Victorian wealth and comfort. Thus, Francis offered a way to affirm the goodness

of nature both in an industrialized society that is beginning to long for its lost

wilderness and in religious communions that had tended to fear or ignore the

natural world. (808)

Through the world view that is characteristic of the founder of the Franciscan order, Hareton’s

and Cathy’s love and communal enlightenment compensate for their usurped land and wealth.

In the 1830s, the Oxford Movement generated controversy as it encouraged the revival of

pre-Reformation practices among Anglicans, arguing for the reinstatement of some older

Christian traditions of faith in Anglican liturgy and theology. One of the results of the Oxford

Movement in the Anglican Church during the nineteenth century was the re-establishment of

religious orders, including some of Franciscan inspiration. This notion gives rise to a Victorian

Medievalism, which represents, according to Appelbaum, not only an artistic movement but also

a far-reaching cultural one against the dominant ideology of progress and the growing industrial

economy. Appelbaum asserts that,

Medievalism has appealed to a desire for simplicity, self-reliance, and closeness

to nature. In this sense, local and national identity become deeply rooted in that

context. Proponents of this movement regard the Middle Ages as a time of almost

childlike innocence, fresher and purer than the jaded nineteenth century. Gothic

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architecture shared in the ideal of purity because it followed forms found in

nature. More significantly, it relied on human craft, in contrast to the anonymous

production of the industrial model. (794)

This idea reinforces the significance of the architecture of Wuthering Heights as a house that

dates back to 1500. In this narrative, the crumbling building, Wuthering Heights, represents a

time of a decay in natural creativity, and the fall from purity and innocence as signified by the

crumbling art that reflects the decline of human creativity and the spiritual element in human

beings. Helen Broadhead points to a similar fall from innocence in Catherine’s conversation with

Nelly after she has decided to marry Edgar despite her love for Heathcliff. Broadhead refers to

her dream that “she is cast out of heaven by the angels” and her discovery that “heaven did not

seem to be [her] home” (80). Broadhead asserts that “we are reminded of the story of Eve being

cast out of Eden but, in this case, Emily Bronte reverses the symbolism, suggesting that to

Catherine the earth is heaven, or, at least, that ‘special point of earth’ on which she was raised”

(59). I would also argue that, because of his association with St Francis who epitomizes the

medieval ideal for late-century anti-modernists, Hareton reflects the reformed version of

Christianity that would be accepted in time by non-Catholics, as T. J. Jackson Lears observes:

The Middle Ages represented authentic experience and cultural unity. Peasants,

saints, and mystics embodied innocence, simplicity (both material and spiritual),

faith, imagination, vitality, nature, access to sacred mystery, and “primal

irrationality,” together with, paradoxically, moral strength and self-control.

(Appelbaum 794).

St Francis’ close association with nature is reflected in Hareton’s association with the natural

world and in the imagery of nature and vegetation that Emily Brontë uses to describe him. For

example, when Heathcliff decides to rear Hareton, he figures him as a tree, declaring that “'Now,

my bonny lad, you are mine! And we'll see if one tree won't grow as crooked as another, with the

same wind to twist it!” (185). At first the plan to degrade him seems successful: Hareton is like a

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wild animal. However, once he begins his program of self-education, Nelly describes Hareton as

“a well-made, athletic youth, good-looking in features, and stout and healthy, but attired in

garments befitting his daily occupations of working on the farm and lounging among the moors

after rabbits and game” (194).

Hareton’s upbringing is the second factor that shapes Hareton’s character and prepares

him for his role as providing a fertile soil for reform. When Heathcliff takes charge of Hareton’s

upbringing, he unconsciously creates a version of perfect humanity by separating him from the

corrupting influence of society. As I have argued in Chapter Two, Emily Brontë borrows

Rousseau’s model of natural education in Émile to depict Heathcliff’s method of raising Hareton.

In Émile, Rousseau used nature and plant imagery to suggest a human natural disposition to

resist external social influences and retain its wholesomeness:

Nature, we are told, is merely habit. What does that mean? Are there not habits

formed under compulsion, habits which never stifle nature? Such, for example,

are the habits of plants trained horizontally. The plant keeps its artificial shape,

but the sap has not changed its course, and any new growth the plant may make

will be vertical. It is the same with a man’s disposition; while the conditions

remain the same, habits, even the least natural of them, hold good; but change the

conditions, habits vanish, nature reasserts herself. (3)

By examining Heathcliff’s declaration “we’ll see if one tree won’t grow as crooked as another,

with same wind to twist it!” (185) in light of Rousseau’s assertion, it becomes evident that the

external social influences which were responsible for changing the course of Catherine and

Heathcliff’s love and that encouraged Catherine to nurture habits that would make her more

acceptable to society have no access to Hareton. In Heathcliff’s declaration, the “wind,” as

suggested earlier, represents social / external disorder, specifically the abuse he had suffered at

Hindley’s hands, and which he now intends to apply to Hareton. Had Catherine stayed loyal to

Heathcliff, he could have happily tolerated the degradation and abuse and preserve his nature

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intact. However, the source of the “wind” that twisted Heathcliff’s natural disposition and caused

revenge to flare in his heart was the temptation offered by social convention and the quest for

perfectibility that infected Catherine when she started to spend time with the Lintons and finally

decided to marry Edgar:

Catherine had kept up her acquaintance with the Lintons since her five-weeks’

residence among them; and as she had no temptation to show her rough side in

their company, and had the sense to be ashamed of being rude where she

experienced such invariable courtesy, she imposed unwittingly on the old lady

and gentleman by her ingenious cordiality; gained the admiration of Isabella, and

the heart and soul of her brother – acquisitions that flattered her from the first –

for she was full of ambition – and led her to adopt a double character without

exactly intending to deceive any one. In the place where she heard Heathcliff

termed a “vulgar young ruffian,” and “worse than a brute,” she took care not to

act like him; but at home she had small inclination to practise politeness that

would only be laughed at, and restrain an unruly nature when it would bring her

neither credit nor praise. (66)

According to Emily Brontë, social convention appears to be a disease that infected both

Catherine and Heathcliff, and perverted their natural despositions.

Despite the different motivations of Rousseau and Heathcliff in raising their protégés,

Rousseau’s model of education and upbringing appears to be ideal according to Emily Brontë. In

Émile, Rousseau’s motivation is to raise Émile “as nature called him to be a man” (Rousseau 4).

Thus, Rousseau suggests that a child should be isolated from society until he becomes strong

enough to understand and resist external social influences:

Would you keep him as nature made him? Watch over him from his birth. Take

possession of him as soon as he comes into the world and keep him till he is a

man; you will never succeed otherwise […] He will be better educated by a

sensible though ignorant father than by the cleverest master in the world. (8)

However, in Wuthering Heights, Heathcliff’s initial motivation is to raise a savage as a way to

inflict revenge upon a prejudiced society: “I want the triumph of seeing my descendent fairly lord

of their estates; my child hiring their children, to till their lands for wages” (206). To pursue his

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revenge, Heathcliff isolates Hareton from his family and refuses to permit anyone to instruct or

direct him: “he was never taught to read or write; never rebuked for any bad habit which did not

annoy his keeper; never led a single step towards virtue, or guarded by a single precept against

vice” (194-5). This quotation highlights how Hareton was kept away from socially constructed

institutions of education and religion; the two institutions that judge and control the way

individuals in society live their lives. Ironically, in doing so, Heathcliff ends up preserving

Hareton’s natural disposition instead of twisting it, since Heathcliff’s method of bringing up

concurs with what Rousseau calls “negative education.” In Émile, Rousseau asserts that “the

education of the earliest years should be merely negative. It consists, not in teaching virtue or

truth, but in preserving the heart from vice and from the spirit of error” (30).

Further, Rousseau stresses that “[t]he surest way to raise him above prejudice and to base

his judgments on the true relations of things, is to put him in the place of a solitary man”

(Rousseau 76). Hareton was also isolated. When Heathcliff assigns Hareton to the “occupations

of working on the farm, and lounging among the moors after rabbits and game” (Brontë 194), he

ends up hardening him, which benefits Hareton since he becomes strong enough to stand up to

life hardships. In Émile, Rousseau suggests that his reader

Fix your eyes on nature, follow the path traced by her. She keeps children at

work, she hardens them by all kinds of difficulties, she soon teaches them the

meaning of pain and grief […] The child who has overcome hardships has gained

strength, and as soon as he can use his life he holds it more securely. (7)

According to Rousseau, “experience shows that children delicately nurtured are more likely to

die” (7). Johann Gottfried Herder agreed with Rousseau’s view when he highlighted the

wholesomeness of an organic upbringing. As Susan Cocalis observes, for Herder, this upbringing

is wholesome because it avoids the corrupting influence of society that aims at suppressing

human natural creativity, and

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advocates a more organic form of education, for along with Rousseau, [Herder]

conceives of children metaphorically as plants or trees that must be cultivated in a

sympathetic climate far removed from the corrupting influences of civilization.

Every individual has the potential to bloom; this is a matter of natural ability, not

the prerogative of one social class. (404)

This contrast between “natural ability” and “class Prerogative” is highlighted in the difference in

physical strength between Hareton and young Linton, Heathcliff’s son with Isabelle Linton.

Young Linton is depicted as a “faint-hearted creature” (209) and “heartless and selfish” (277); he

also dies at a very young age. On the other hand, Hareton grows to be “well-made, athletic

youth, good looking in features, and stout and healthy” (194). Nelly Dean describes Hareton as

having an “honest, warm and intelligent nature” (318).

Ironically, the fact that Heathcliff never punishes Hareton contributes to nurturing

Hareton’s natural growth as a wholesome human being. According to Nelly’s account, Heathcliff

“had not treated him physically ill” and “never rebuked for any bad habit” (194). Similarly, in

Émile, Rousseau asserts that:

children should never receive punishment merely as such; it should always come

as the natural consequence of their fault. Thus, you will not exclaim against their

falsehood, you will not exactly punish them for lying, but you will arrange that all

the ill effects of lying, such as not being believed when we speak the truth, or

being accused of what we have not done in spite of our protests, shall fall on their

heads when they have told a lie. (34)

Further, Heathcliff does not attempt to influence or interfere with Hareton’s religious beliefs,

which allows Hareton the freedom to observe and find God in everything around him without the

interference of religious prejudices: “he never led a single step towards virtue, or guarded by a

single precept against vice” (194-5). Similarly, in Émile, Rousseau asserts that “we will not

attach [Émile] to any sect, but we will give him the means to choose for himself according to the

right use of his own reason” (114). Like Émile, Hareton is given the opportunity to find God by

employing his own natural reason. This chance is represented in his daily labour in the land,

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which allows Hareton, like St Francis, to find God in everything in nature – landscape, creatures,

and even in himself – away from religious institutions.

Emily Brontë highlights the hypocrisy and self-interestedness of Joseph as representative

of organized religion in the novel. Indeed, as Nelly observes, Joseph demonstrates indifference to

the needs of Hareton for support, guidance and love:

Joseph contributed much to his deterioration by a narrow partiality which

prompted him to flatter, and pet him, as a boy, because he was the head of the old

family […] If the lad swore, he wouldn’t correct him; nor however culpably he

behaved. It gave Joseph satisfaction, apparently, to watch him go the worst

lengths. (195)

This disregard for the elementary obligations of good Christians makes Joseph’s conduct

reprehensible. Thus, Emily Brontë implicitly criticizes Joseph’s show of piety and suggests the

need for spiritual reform. In this sense, the stress is on the essence of religion and a personal

connection with God, rather than a specific idea of God dictated by religious institutions. This

notion of a naturally developing faith is similar to the way Heathcliff perceives religion (as

discussed in the previous chapters). It also reflects Emily Brontë’s aspiration for a personal

private communion with God who is everywhere in nature, an idea that, according to

Thormählen, “sets her up as a rebel against Christian Orthodoxy” (72).

In Émile, Rousseau suggests “retarding nature” as a way to preserving inner harmony.

According to this concept, in adolescence work should provide a distraction from the growing

physical / sexual desires associated with maturation until the individual becomes old enough to

handle these desires reasonably. According to Rousseau, “retarding nature to the advantage of

reason” would “prevent the imagination from hastening it” (143). It also allows for time to

conciliate the rights of nature and the laws of society. In Wuthering Heights, Heathcliff and

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Catherine are introduced in childhood; their love is driven by their wild passions and lack of

reason:

[I]t was one of their chief amusements to run away to the moors in the morning

and remain there all day, and the after punishment grew a mere thing to laugh at.

The curate might set as many chapters as he pleased for Catherine to get by heart,

and Joseph might thrash Heathcliff till his arm ached; they forgot everything the

minute they were together again: at least the minute they had contrived some

naughty plan of revenge; and many a time I've cried to myself to watch them

growing more reckless daily, and I not daring to speak a syllable, for fear of

losing the small power I still retained over the unfriended creatures. (46-7)

Catherine’s and Heathcliff’s imaginations cause them to clash with authority and lead to their

misery. By contrast, Hareton was eighteen and hardened by work when he met and became

acquainted with Cathy. Being old enough to understand the cultural gap between them, Hareton

proceeded with reason and caution toward Cathy. Thus, by keeping Hareton occupied with his

labouring in the land, Heathcliff retarded his maturing nature and limited his imagination to what

he sees every day: land, farm, moors, and animals. This in turn gave Hareton’s natural reason a

chance to be formed without any corrupting external influences.

Emily Brontë implies the mutual understanding between Hareton and Heathcliff of the

social prejudices surrounding them. Despite the fact that Heathcliff’s initial motivation for

Hareton’s degradation was revenge, Heathcliff ends up feeling great empathy for Hareton. More

importantly, Hareton accepts his degradation and does not seem to mind, or even blame

Heathcliff for it.

[T]he best of it is, Hareton is damnably fond of me! […] If the dead villain could

rise from his grave to abuse me for his offspring’s wrongs, I should have the fun

of seeing the said offspring fight him back again, indignant that he should dare to

rail at the one friend he has in the world! (217)

This mutual admiration and empathy between Heathcliff and Hareton suggests that Hareton’s

subordination, isolation and his distant admiration of Cathy, all allow him the opportunity to

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observe and identify with the prejudices that Heathcliff had to face, and which contributed to his

anger at society. Therefore, Hareton’s subordination educates him – rather than degrading him –

about society from an early age and protects his nature. This notion echoes Rousseau’s assertion,

in Émile, that raising a son to be a good man and a good citizen requires him to feel his

subordination to his master (his father or tutor) who is, in this case, Heathcliff:

Let him only know that he is weak and you are strong, that his condition and

yours puts him at your mercy; let this be perceived, learned, and felt. Let him

early find upon his proud neck, the heavy yoke which nature has imposed upon

us, the heavy yoke of necessity, under which every finite being must bow. (28-9)

The “heavy yoke” in Hareton’s case is his initial desire to be with Cathy, and the awareness that

society will not allow this because of his degradation. At no point in the novel does Hareton

show any desire for wealth or status; for him, his work on the land is his duty. Thus, when Cathy

raises the issue of Hareton’s right to Wuthering Heights, Hareton answers “he wouldn’t suffer a

word to be uttered to him, in his disparagement; if [Heathcliff] were the devil, it didn’t signify;

he would stand by him” (318). Hareton’s stance implies solidarity and deep identification with

Heathcliff.

In his Letters upon the Aesthetic Education of Man (1793), Schiller argues that: “Man is

not better treated by nature in his first start than her other works are; so long as he is unable to

act for himself as an independent intelligence, she acts for him” he adds that, “[Man] can convert

the work of necessity (reason/duty) into one of free solution, and elevate physical necessity into a

moral law” (Letter III 3). According to Schiller, this transformation will happen by “produc[ing]

a third character related to the physical (natural) and the moral, paving the way to a transition

from the sway of mere force (passion) to that of law, without preventing the proper development

of the moral character.” Further, Schiller states that, “every individual man carries, within

himself, at least in his adaptation and destination, a purely ideal man. The great problem of his

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existence is to bring all the incessant changes of his outer life into conformity with the

unchanging unity of this ideal” (Letter III 3-4). I would suggest that Hareton is this Schillerian

“third character” and that his spiritual bond with Heathcliff reflects Hareton’s ability to

positively deal with his life conditions. Hareton’s daily association with the land and nature has

allowed him an opportunity to freely observe and identify with other living creatures. Thus,

Nelly describes Hareton, when he shows Cathy around the farm in Wuthering Heights, as

“studying the familiar landscape with a stranger’s, and an artist’s interest” (216). The paradox of

viewing “familiar landscape” and “stranger’s and an artist’s interest” resonates with Schiller’s

view of the third character since Hareton, now that Cathy is with him, is able to regard his daily

labour on the land that is a necessary part of his life or his duty in a different light. This land that

represents his everyday hard labour takes on a different meaning that is deeper, beautiful, and

even moral. This morality, I suggest, lies in Hareton’s ability to transcend his duty as a land

labourer, and not only see but impart the beautiful and pleasurable side of it to Cathy.

Hareton is able to absorb numerous contradictions around him, which suggests the

possibility of reform that would bring about Schiller’s middle state. As I argued in Chapter One,

in Wuthering Heights, there are two contradicting places and characters on the same soil: the

“Heights,” which represents nature and exposure to harsh conditions, is set in opposition to the

“Grange,” which represents civilization and shelter from the forces of nature. Heathcliff, whose

name connects him to rugged nature, stands in opposition to Edgar Linton, whose family name

etymologically connects him to “settlements” and “enclosures.” However, by the end of the

novel, Hareton has cultivated a healthy middle state in which humanity can regain much-needed

harmony and wholesomeness. When they are both living at the Heights, Nelly tells Lockwood

that Cathy has persuaded Hareton “to clear a large space of ground from currant and gooseberry

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bushes, and they were busy planning together an importation of plants from the Grange” (314).

This scene suggests that, civilization and society, symbolized by the “Grange,” can and should

be incorporated and integrated within nature, symbolized by the “Heights.” Earlier Catherine had

unsuccessfully attempted a similar integration when she married Edgar Linton, transplanting

herself from the Heights to the Grange. This failure is captured in the imagery offered by

Heathcliff when he comments on Catherine’s failing health after marrying Edgar. Heathcliff

claims that “[Edgar] might as well plant an oak in a flower pot, and expect it to thrive, as

imagine to restore her to vigour in the soil of his shallow cares” (151). However, Hareton and

Catherine will achieve the necessary balance between nature and society ̶ Wuthering Heights

and the Grange.

Hareton’s name not only identifies him as the sole heir of Wuthering Heights, but also

etymologically connects him to the German “Hehr,” which means “sublime” since he will be

capable of uniting and incorporating the contradictions around him. According to Schiller, the

sublime character achieves the Schillerian moral stage of harmony, which is the middle state. In

The New Spirituality: And the Christ Experience of the Twentieth Century, Rudolf Steiner

explains that,

Schiller holds that [...] the human being cannot [easily] come to freedom. For if he

has completely surrendered himself to the world of senses, to the world of instincts,

of desires, he is given over to his bodily-physical nature and is unfree. But he is also

unfree when he surrenders himself completely to the necessity of reason, to logical

necessity; for then he is coerced under the tyranny of the laws of logic. But Schiller

wants to point to a middle state in which the human being has spiritualized his

instincts to such a degree that he can give himself up to them without their dragging

him down, without their enslaving him, and in which, on the other hand, logical

necessity is taken up into sense perception, taken up into personal desires, so that

these logical necessities do not also enslave the human being. […] Schiller thus

wishes to realize a social community in such a way that free conditions are created

through [the inner nature of] human beings and not through outer measures. (57-9;

my emphasis)

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As I have argued in Chapter Three, Heathcliff creates the conditions for Hareton to grow and

achieve this middle state, in which he becomes “the cultivated man [who] makes of nature his

friend, and honours its friendship, while only bridling its caprice” (Letter IV 6). Hareton’s deep

respect for Heathcliff and his educated love for Cathy awakens in him a healthy amour-propre:

“A desire to be evaluated by others as having at least moral equality” (Kolodny 170). This

characteristic is signified in his communion with Cathy, in which “both their minds tending to

the same point – one loving and desiring to esteem; and the other loving and desiring to be

esteemed” (313). In his Discourse upon the Origin of Inequality, part II, Rousseau also describes

the achievement of the middle state: “maintaining a middle position between the indolence of our

primitive state and the petulant activity of our egocentrism [amour proper], must have been the

happiest and most durable epoch” (74). Nelly’s description of Hareton at this stage is significant:

“his honest, warm, and intelligent nature shook off the clouds of ignorance and degradation in

which it had been bred” (318). The emphasis here is on how Hareton’s inner nature has caused

him to change and brightened his external features, and not social status or inheritance. In other

words, that Hareton’s ideal and good nature enable him to “bring all the incessant changes of his

outer life into conformity with the unchanging unity of this ideal” (Letter III 3-4) and not vice

versa, contributes to Hareton’s sublimity.

The fact that Hareton’s natural reason allows him to defend his natural sensibilities from

being divided or perverted by a possible rejection by Cathy recalls my initial characterization of

the building at the Heights. When Hareton tells Cathy that her interest in him may not be genuine

and that “you’ll be ashamed of me everyday of your life” (311), he gives her the chance to

reconsider their relationship and back out before any further damage can be done. Just as

Wuthering Heights remains preserved and defiant in the face of time and harsh weather

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conditions, Hareton’s cautious defiance preserves his nature and his heart from breaking. This

scene suggests that Hareton views love through the lens of reason and practicability. Moreover,

Hareton can be seen in the light of a medieval knight who is noble, strong and proud, which

brings him closer to his ancestor “Hareton Earnshaw” and the art carved on the entrance of the

Heights building confirming my suggestion that young Hareton embodies the soul of a reformed

wholesome humanity that is regaining its culture and spirituality characteristic of the Medieval

period.

In this regard, there is a similarity between Hareton in Wuthering Heights, and the knight

Sir Deloges in Friedrich Schiller’s ballad, “The Glove” (1797). According to the records of the

Brontë Society, Schiller’s Collected Works5 were among the Brontës’ books, and, therefore,

Emily Brontë must have been familiar with his works. In both works the idea of power and

emotional abuse as a result of class differences is invoked, and both protagonists react in a

similar manner. In “The Glove,” King Francis I enjoys a fight between wild beasts: lion, tiger,

and two leopards, in his royal court. Then, young lady Cunigund, who knows of Sir Delorges’s

(the Knight) love for her, drops her glove in the rink:

From the balcony raised high above

A fair hand lets fall down a glove

Into the lists, where ’tis seen

The lion and tiger between.

To the knight, Sir Delorges, in tone of jest,

Then speaks young Cunigund fair;

“Sir Knight, if the love that thou feel'st in thy breast

Is as warm as thou’rt wont at each moment to swear,

Pick up, I pray thee, the glove that lies there!”

And the knight, in a moment, with dauntless tread,

Jumps into the lists, nor seeks to linger,

And, from out the midst of those monsters dread,

Picks up the glove with a daring finger.

And the knights and ladies of high degree

5 Schiller’s Sammliche Werke in zwolf Banden, Stuttgart, Tubingen, Erster Band, 1838.

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With wonder and horror the action see,

While he quietly brings in his hand the glove,

The praise of his courage each mouth employs;

Meanwhile, with a tender look of love,

The promise to him of coming joys,

Fair Cunigund welcomes him back to his place.

But he threw the glove point-blank in her face:

“Lady, no thanks from thee I'll receive!”

And that selfsame hour he took his leave.

(Schiller 1797, translation anonymous, 1902)

Lady Cunigund’s deliberate act of endangering the life of Sir Delorges by “let[ting]” her glove

drop in the arena, suggests that she cares only for the show of his love but does not genuinely

reciprocate his feelings. To her, the knight is part of the entertainment. Similarly, young Cathy

initially insults Hareton for taking her books, and mocks his efforts to read:

I hear him trying to spell and read to himself, and pretty blunders he makes! I

wish you would repeat Chevy Chase, as you did yesterday – it was extremely

funny! I heard you […] And I heard you turning over the dictionary, to seek out

the hard words, and then cursing, because you couldn’t read their explanations!

(298)

For Cathy, quarreling and insulting people in the house has become her way to overcome

boredom and find excitement. As Nelly asserts, “she complained of loneliness; she preferred

quarrelling with Joseph in the kitchen, to sitting at peace in her solitude” (307). In “The Glove,”

the knight chivalrously retrieves the glove, but then he throws it in her face and leaves. This

action is echoed by Hareton when he throws Cathy’s books in the fire and leaves. These “books”

are an emblem of civilization, and throwing them in the fire suggests that the true foundation of

civilization lies in mutual respect and regard for an individual’s humanity and not the opposite.

Both Hareton’s actions and the knight’s are made in retaliation for their wounded pride:

But his self-love would endure no further torment – I heard, and not altogether

disapprovingly, a manual check given to her saucy tongue – the little wretch had

done her utmost to hurt her cousin’s sensitive though uncultivated feelings, and a

physical argument was the only mode he had of balancing the account and

repaying its effects on the inflicter. He afterwards gathered the books and hurled

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them on the fire. I read in his countenance what anguish it was to offer that

sacrifice to spleen. I fancied that as they consumed, he recalled the pleasure they

had already imparted, and the triumph and ever-increasing pleasure he had

anticipated from them; and I fancied I guessed the incitement to his secret studies

also. He had been content with daily labour and rough animal enjoyments, till

Catherine crossed his path. Shame at her scorn, and hope of her approval, were

his first prompters to higher pursuits; and instead of guarding him from one and

winning him to the other, his endeavours to raise himself had produced just the

contrary result. (299-300)

Both incidents suggest rebellion against degradation and the natural need for self-preservation or

preservation of dignity. Once Sir Delorges secures his reputation as brave, chivalric and strong,

he publicly renounces his love for Cunigund. Similarly, Hareton renounces his love for Catherine

and education as long as she does not see him as her equal and mocks his genuine endeavors to

better himself. His regard and love are reinstated only when she genuinely acknowledges his

desire to learn and be educated, not for the sake of show but for the sake of seeking knowledge

and enlightenment.

Hareton regains the lost innocence of the Middle Ages with which the Earnshaws and

Wuthering Heights are associated from the start of the narrative, and models the re-attainment of

a better, purer and happier state, in which freedom and harmony of passions and reason (body

and mind) have become part of the human nature. The end of the novel recalls Heathcliff’s and

Catherine’s communion after Mr Earnshaw’s death earlier in the novel when,

The little souls were comforting each other with better thoughts than I could have

hit on: no parson in the world ever pictured heaven so beautifully as they did, in

their innocent talk; and, while I sobbed and listened, I could not help wishing we

were all there safe together. (44)

As Thormählen suggests,

[T]his closing vignette is the sole instance of warm and shared Christian worship

in Wuthering Heights – shared by two at that moment almost angelic children

who would go on to develop demonic personalities. More than an illustration of

Nelly Dean’s “conventional piety,” it is an indication that this singular childhood

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alliance did hold the seed of genuine happiness for the two who would be

separated by outward cruelty as well as their own folly and evil propensities.

(105)

I suggest that this seed of childhood alliance germinates in Hareton and is reflected in his later

communion with Cathy, which Nelly Dean describes as follows:

[Hareton’s] honest, warm, and intelligent nature shook off rapidly the clouds of

ignorance and degradation in which it had been bred; and Catherine's sincere

commendations acted as a spur to his industry. His brightening mind brightened

his features, and added spirit and nobility to their aspect: I could hardly fancy it

the same individual I had beheld on the day I discovered my little lady at

Wuthering Heights, after her expedition to the Crags. (318-9)

Emily Brontë contemplates life and death as a way to conciliate nature and society. In

Heathcliff’s and Catherine’s after-death reunion, Brontë sees death as the continuation of life

rather than its cessation; it provides the tragic lovers a chance to reunite and be free. By

reconciling nature and society, a middle state of culture and cultivation is achieved that absorbs

the contradictions between firm reason (offered by society) and natural desires, and fosters a

wholesome humanity that willingly and gradually incorporates social law without disrupting or

interfering with natural creativity. This reconciliation of society and nature is reflected in the fact

that Cathy “persuaded [Hareton] to clear a large space of ground from currant and gooseberry

bushes [in the Heights], and they together were busy planning together an importation of plants

from the Grange” (314; my emphasis), and culminates in their expected move to reoccupy the

Grange at the end of the novel. This middle state is embodied in the person of Hareton who is

described by Nelly as having a “generous heart, though it be tough as tempered steel” (332; my

emphasis). Hareton, as representative of wholesome humanity, continues his moral education,

learning to maintain the inner equilibrium between passion and reason and preparing to face the

challenges offered by society.

157

Wuthering Heights represents the culmination of the philosophy reflected in Emily

Brontë’s poems over the years. She sees God in nature; and sees nature (including death which is

part of nature) as a site for freedom, and society as a constraint to this freedom. In her poem “To

Imagination” (1846), Emily Brontë underscores this division between natural creativity (“the

world within”) and society (“the world without”):

So hopeless is the world without;

The world within I doubly prize;

Thy world, where guile, and hate, and doubt,

And cold suspicion never rise;

Where thou, and I, and Liberty,

Have undisputed sovereignty.

What matters it, that all around

Danger, and guilt, and darkness lie,

If but within our bosom's bound

We hold a bright, untroubled sky,

Warm with ten thousand mingled rays

Of suns that know no winter days? (ll. 7-18)

The “world without” represents society and all its rules – social and religious – and the “world

within” represents human nature: human desires and imagination. In this poem, the “world

within” provides humanity with much valued “Liberty,” as emphasized by the capital “L.”

Brontë sees imagination (“the world within”) as a way to counter the negative influences of

society (“the world without”). Society is depicted as threatening and misleading through

“Danger, and guilt, and darkness,” whereas imagination and human creativity compensates for

the negative feelings aroused by society: “[...] within our bosom's bound / We hold a bright,

untroubled sky, / Warm with ten thousand mingled rays / Of suns that know no winter days?” In

the novel, Hareton uses his imagination and inner goodness to compensate for the harsh reality of

his social degradation, “studying the familiar landscape with a stranger’s, and an artist’s interest”

(216).

158

As I have argued, Hareton represents the reincarnation of Heathcliff, and thus embodies

how humanity can regain its wholesomeness through the power of love and spirituality. The

power of love is represented in the spiritual and corporeal reunion of Heathcliff and Catherine in

death, and this regained spirituality is rooted in cultivated / cultured nature represented in the

landscape, and a middle state of human nature that reflects divine love and creativity. These

ideas combine in Emily Brontë’s philosophy of a personal and universal spirituality anchored in

the Christian faith, reflecting her endeavour to reconcile human nature or the “world within” and

the laws of society or the “world without” so that society may be reformed and humanity attain

wholesomeness.

159

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