The Art of Charles Dickens
Literature as Purification of the Soul
In his famous treatise dedicated to dramatic art, Poetics, Aristotle explains how the emotions (or affects) of the spectators should be utilized to achieve purifying effects in accordance with the nature of tragic works. “Fear and pity,” he says, “sometimes result from the spectacle and are sometimes aroused by the actual arrangement of the incidents, which is preferable and the mark of a better poet.”1 Thus, the emotions of fear and pity should not arise solely from the actors’ interpretations but from the narrative itself, representing the substance of the dramatic performance. Because “the best tragedy is of this construction.”2
Later, he emphasizes this by stating that “the poet must by ‘representation’ produce the pleasure which comes from feeling pity and fear.”3 In other words, the unfolding of the narrative, its credibility, the sequence of events, and the traits of the characters are what should evoke the audience’s emotions and, ultimately, the ‘cathartic’ (Gr. κάθαρσις) effect. At the same time, the author must carefully consider the alternation of the characters’ inner states; otherwise, the effects obtained can be disastrous. For example, a tragedy “should not show worthy men passing from good fortune to bad,” because “that does not arouse fear or pity but shocks our feelings.”4 Anticipating the art of fiction, Aristotle understands and teaches how the art of words should be used so that the spectators, much like today’s readers, emotionally captivated by identifying with the characters in tragedies, can participate affectively in what happens on the stage. However, long before him, an unexpected author had achieved this: the prophet Nathan.
As mentioned in the text of the twelfth chapter of II Samuel (i.e., II Kings), Nathan is the one who admonished King David for the terrible sins he committed: the adultery with Bathsheba and the murder of her husband, Uriah the Hittite. However, realizing that it is not wise to directly accuse a warrior king of being a great villain, Nathan employed a stratagem that proved successful: he told the king a story. With great skill, perfectly ‘camouflaging’ any resemblance to David’s real situation under the guise of characters in his story, he spoke of the immense injustice committed by a wealthy shepherd, whose flocks numbered in the thousands, against a poor shepherd who had only one sheep. When visited by a friend, instead of sacrificing one of his own sheep, he took the only sheep owned by his neighbor. Described in an artistic and convincing manner, the injustice stirred in the king’s heart a sense of justice that prompted him to react promptly, demanding an exemplary punishment for the perpetrator. Only then did the prophet reveal to David that he himself was the wrongdoer who had committed such an injustice. We know the ending: the king repented. Aristotle himself would probably have positively appreciated Nathan’s story, which, through his skillful words, managed to cathartically evoke the appropriate feelings in the listener’s soul. If we were to make a comparison, we could confidently assert that, like Nathan, Charles Dickens is one of the greatest ‘stirrers’ of emotions and feelings in the rich history of English literature.
Gilbert Keith Chesterton is the one who revealed to us the ‘secret’ of Dickens. Although he was a formidable novelist, he should not be judged and appreciated solely through the lens of his epic creations but, above all, through the exceptional value of his characters. Indeed, Chesterton is not the only writer who strongly emphasizes the quality of Dickensian characters. A significant Romanian critic and literary historian, Mircea Mihăieș, specializing in Anglo-American literature, praises Dickens’s characters–especially the secondary and negative ones–as truly remarkable creations in the context of Victorian literature in the 19th century.5 Of course, this also indicates “a problem of composition,” as Mihăieș points out:
It has always been far easier–and Dickens was not an exception–to depict the ‘negative’ characters than the positive ones.6
Probably, here lies the root of the explanation regarding the overwhelming success of negative news in the media compared to positive ones. However, what is certain is that Dickensian characters have well-defined outlines, and ‘conversions’ (i.e., the transformation of a negative character into a positive one) are much more frequent than ‘perversions’ (i.e., the transformation of a positive character into a negative one).
If the Neoplatonic philosophers interpreted Plato’s dialogues by identifying their characters with metaphysical principles (for example, Socrates was always considered a symbol of the ‘intellect’ (Gr. νοῦς), Dickens creates his characters around universal moral paradigms: love, greed, hatred, magnanimity, covetousness, etc. Almost without exception, his characters embody fundamental vices or virtues. The creator of Scrooge behaves not so much like a sculptor, shaping characters from pre-existing material such as marble, but more like a potter. Around a core–the moral ‘essence’ of the character–he adds successive layers of ‘decorations’ until he achieves a form that, paradoxically, while perfectly camouflaging its essence, transforms it into an extraordinarily expressive embodiment of an ethical core. When you read Dickens, you are not just told a story; you are absorbed into a story, becoming a spectator in an incredible theater that has suddenly materialized around you. Despite the appearances of intricately woven and surprising plots, Dickens’s world remains, above all, the vast realm of unforgettable characters who dramatically convey the moral values of the Judeo-Christian Tradition.
Even though I do not think that Dickens was familiar with Gotthold Ephraim Lessing’s (1729–1781) idea about the pedagogical value of dramatic art, he writes as if he wanted to prove its validity. In an entire series of reflections on dramatic art titled Hamburgische Dramaturgie (Hamburg Dramaturgy),7 Lessing developed a comprehensive theory about the pedagogical-moral value of theater based on the concept of catharsis used by Aristotle in Poetics. Essentially, the German author’s vision is synthesized in a single sentence that encompasses all literary genres:
All genres of poetry should better us (Essay 77).8
The aim of literary art, therefore, is not only cathartic but, according to Lessing, ethical. Developing Aristotle’s theory and adding explicit connotations that Aristotle’s texts might have only implicitly contained, he thinks that “this purification rests in nothing else but the transformation of emotions into virtuous disposition” (Essay 78).9 Certainly, this pedagogical and moralizing function of dramatic art has been contested by other authors who, faithful to the (in)famous thesis of the ‘autonomy of aesthetics,’ rejected his interpretation.10 Regardless of whether Lessing is right or wrong about Aristotle’s intentions and ideas, the value of his theory on catharsis, understood as the transformation of readers’ emotions into virtuous dispositions, has been perfectly demonstrated—even if probably involuntarily—by Dickens.
The intention is visible, in varying proportions, in different novels. But nowhere is it seen better than in A Christmas Carol, the incomparable story that warms the hearts of readers to incandescence, urging them to flee from covetousness and embrace generosity. The details of Ebenezer Scrooge’s transformation and how he spent his wealth after the lesson from the three spirits outline an entire ‘life program.’ If we were to compare the epic figure embodying the spirit of greed and avarice in Dickens with another character of the same magnitude, I believe the most suitable candidate is Hagi Tudose.
Created by Barbu Ștefănescu Delavrancea (1858–1918), a Romanian author partially contemporary with Dickens, the character of Hagi Tudose, from the novel with the same title, emerges as a brilliant literary embodiment of the bourgeois spirit of greediness, coupled with an incredible covetousness. The features of his portrait strongly resemble the grotesque characters of Dickens. The hideousness of avarice can send shivers down your spine, yet at times, it elicits bursts of laughter, like when you discover that “uncle Hagiu” requests the cat’s tail to be cut. The reasoning of the character is absolutely hallucinating: the length of the tail forces his niece to keep the door open for too long. For this reason, the warmth in the room is lost more quickly than if the cat didn’t have a tail. Therefore, the firewood that would have been used to make a fire would be saved. What could be the conclusion? Cut off the cat’s tail!
All the traits of the main character thicken skillfully, emphasizing the vices of those who make a living through avarice. The ending of Hagi Tudose is truly exemplary: sensing that his death is near, he begins to count the gold coins he had amassed over the years in a massive pile. Thus, he takes his last breath:
The body of Hagi trembled. The money rang along, from his feet to his head. He raised his head, opened his extinguished eyes, and directed them, like cold glass, toward Leana; he mumbled a few indecipherable words; he bit into the air with his white gums and managed to whisper:
– Don’t look... close your eyes... eyes steal... close your eyes!...
He opens his mouth wide; his tongue curls up in his throat; his head falls to the side; his legs stretch out; his hands plunge into the money... and he falls asleep forever, with his eyes open and fixed on Leana.11
Without a doubt, we are dealing with a remarkable literary creation, in which the vice of avarice is masterfully embodied—much like in the case of Ebenezer Scrooge—in the main character, Hagi Tudose. Although the moral of the story regarding the erosive power of vice is the same, the only notable difference lies in the description of the conversion of the miser and its consequences.
Delavrancea does not offer us lessons in ‘applied ethics.’ In the case of Scrooge, however, Dickens precisely describes how the converted miser to generosity must react. Taking his readers by the hand, the author guides them through episodes of life where virtues can be practiced, just as the spirits carry Scrooge on the wings of the wind. And before the end of the journey, Dickens seeks to obtain from the readers a promise of life reform, just as his protagonist already announces at the end of the encounter with the third spirit:
I will honour Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year. I will live in the Past, the Present, and the Future. The Spirits of all Three shall strive within me. I will not shut out the lessons that they teach.12
What follows illustrates how Christmas can be honored—as concretely as possible—through gestures of Christian charity. If Lessing had known Dickens’s story, and especially if he had seen its numerous theatrical and cinematic adaptations, he would have been pleased. Not only Scrooge but also Abel Magwitch, the convict from Great Expectations, is likewise an extraordinary literary embodiment of the virtue of generosity. If Tiny Tim makes readers continue reading at least with a heartstring tug, if not with a lump in the throat and a tear in the corner of the eyes, the revelation of the identity of Philip Pirrip’s (aka Pip) benefactor elicits shouts of emotion.
Just as the prophet Nathan did not allow King David to understand for a moment that the story of the two shepherds was about himself, we, Dickens’s readers, rarely realize that his stories are about us. Thus, caught in the whirlwind of incredible events and the actions, good or bad, of his characters, our souls are engaged in an emotional purification proportional to our participation in the joy of reading. However, this can only be achieved in the classical manner, analyzed by Aristotle in Poetics, of depicting plausible and vivid characters with clear outlines capable of eliciting significant emotions in our souls. Dickens knew, like no one else, the secrets of this art of purification through literature. That’s why I think, like Chesterton, that if we enjoy reading unforgettable stories or perhaps if we want to write them ourselves, we will never find a more skilled master than him.
Aristotle, The Poetics, XIV: 1453b, in Aristotle, The Poetics; Longinus, On the Sublime; Demetrius, On Style, London-New York: 1927, p. 49.
Aristotle, The Poetics, XIII: 1452b, in Op.cit., p. 47.
Aristotle, The Poetics, XIII: 1453b, in Op.cit., p. 51.
Aristotle, The Poetics, XIII: 1452b, in Op.cit., p. 45.
Here is just one of his statements in this regard: “The ‘negative’ characters have a vitality and an intensity of behaviour that was seldom matched in the whole literature of the nineteenth century.” In Mircea Mihăieș, Victorian Fiction, Timișoara: Mirton, 1998, p. 61.
Mircea Mihăieș, Op.cit, p. 52.
Fully translated in English by Wendy Arons and Sara Figal, Lessing’s essays can be read online here: https://mcpress.media-commons.org/hamburg/ [Accessed: 09 January 2024]. The essays containing Lessing’s reflections on the function of dramatic art are found in chapters 74-83.
Link: https://mcpress.media-commons.org/hamburg/essay-77-2/ [Accessed: 09 January 2024].
Link: https://mcpress.media-commons.org/hamburg/essay-78-2/ [Accessed: 09 January 2024].
An excellent study where this debate is analyzed is the one signed by Sotera Fornaro from the Università degli Studi di Sassari: “‘Catharsis’. From Lessing’s Moral Purification to Goethe’s Purity of Form”, in Skenè. Journal of Theatre and Drama Studies, 2:1 (2016), pp. 151-173.
The improvised translation of this short fragment is mine. The full Romanian version of Delavrancea’s novel can be read here: https://ro.wikisource.org/wiki/Hagi-Tudose_(nuvelă) [Accessed: 09 January 2024].
Charles Dickens, A Christmas Carol, Collins Classics, 2013, p. 91.