Jane Austen famously said she set out to create a heroine in Emma (the titular character in the novel of the same name) that no one would like but herself. In this, she largely succeeded. Emma is an interventionist, a micro-manager, a plotter, a vain socialite, a know-it-all, and prideful. She’s wealthy. She gets her way. The lines of life fell in pleasant places for her.
“Emma Woodhouse, handsome, clever, and rich, with a comfortable home and happy disposition, seemed to unite some of the best blessings of existence; and had lived nearly twenty-one years in the world with very little to distress or vex her.”
Austen doesn’t leave Emma there, but her moral transformation comes from removing her own self-deception. The veil preventing her from seeing her own immorality is lifted from her eyes. It is lifted by a character who loves her and wants the best for her. Her repentance is sincere, though largely internal and does not cost her. She finds happiness in the love of the man who was willing to tell her the truth: Mr. Knightley. In this, Emma is an object of unmerited favor, a recipient of grace. She doesn’t deserve her happy ending, but she gets it. Both Emma’s emancipation from her self-deceit and the grace bestowed on her by the love of Mr. Knightley demonstrate the deeply Christian values that undergird the book. There are all sorts of critics who discuss Jane Austen’s feminism, her appreciation of Adam Smith’s philosophy, her class critiques, and her Enlightenment thinking, but many miss her deeply Christian convictions. Emma’s receipt of grace and removal of self-deception cannot be understood without an appreciation for the influence of Christianity on Austen.
Emma’s worst moment comes when she cuts down a social inferior in the midst of polite company. There’s a social dance happening in the various dinner parties, dances, and drawing-room receptions. Part of successful interplay is being clever at such events. But cleverness can come like a sharp knife. Emma knows this, but cannot help drawing her blade.
“Oh! very well,” exclaimed Miss Bates, “then I need not be uneasy. ‘Three things very dull indeed.’ That will just do for me, you know. I shall be sure to say three dull things as soon as ever I open my mouth, shan’t I?—(looking round with the most good-humoured dependence on every body’s assent)—Do not you all think I shall?” Emma could not resist. “Ah! ma’am, but there may be a difficulty. Pardon me—but you will be limited as to number—only three at once.” Miss Bates, deceived by the mock ceremony of her manner, did not immediately catch her meaning; but, when it burst on her, it could not anger, though a slight blush showed that it could pain her.”
Notice how Austen describes Emma’s internal thought process: she could not resist. She’s besotted with her own ability to be clever. But she does it at the expense of Miss Bates, who has fallen in financial standing, though not out of the top social circles. It’s cruel. There’s a temptation to be chronological snobs by thinking such an insult is not a big deal. But this novel never leaves the small town in which it is set. This reflects the reality that social circles are essential to English life at this time. To lose one’s standing is to be alienated from the only real social acquaintances you have. It is a low moment for Emma, but she does not realize what she’s done. She doesn’t see it. This reflects Austen’s concern with self-deception. Austen’s own prayers demonstrate this for us.
“Teach us to understand the sinfulness of our own hearts, and bring to our knowledge every fault of temper and every evil habit in which we have indulged to the discomfort of our fellow creatures, and the danger of our souls…Incline us to ask our hearts these questions oh! God , and save us from deceiving ourselves by pride or vanity.” ( The Works of Jane Austen, cited in “Save Us from Deceiving Ourselves: What Jane Austen’s Prayers Reveal about Self-Deception in Emma”, – Mira Zamin)
In Emma, Austen is demonstrating a truth testified to by Jeremiah 17:9: “The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately sick; who can understand it?” It turns out, in Emma, someone else had to help her see this error. Enter Mr. Knightley.
Knightley has been the only person in Emma’s life who challenges her, critiques her, and offers her moral advice. Her father is weak and a hypochondriac. She focuses on friendships with those who are not on par with her socially; she’s on top of the heap. She swears she’ll never marry, so we’re stuck wondering if there’s anyone who can tell Emma the truth. This is Knightley. After he observes this interaction with Miss Bates, he confronts Emma.
“Emma, I must once more speak to you as I have been used to do: a privilege rather endured than allowed, perhaps, but I must still use it. I cannot see you acting wrong, without a remonstrance. How could you be so unfeeling to Miss Bates? How could you be so insolent in your wit to a woman of her character, age, and situation?—Emma, I had not thought it possible.” Emma recollected, blushed, was sorry, but tried to laugh it off…Were she a woman of fortune, I would leave every harmless absurdity to take its chance, I would not quarrel with you for any liberties of manner. Were she your equal in situation—but, Emma, consider how far this is from being the case. She is poor; she has sunk from the comforts she was born to; and, if she live to old age, must probably sink more. Her situation should secure your compassion. It was badly done indeed!” – Jane Austen, Emma, pg. 351.
To Emma’s credit, she realizes what she has done. She is mortified and despises her cruelty, or more precisely, her sin.
“She was vexed beyond what could have been expressed—almost beyond what she could conceal. Never had she felt so agitated, mortified, grieved, at any circumstance in her life. She was most forcibly struck. The truth of his representation there was no denying. She felt it at her heart. How could she have been so brutal, so cruel to Miss Bates!” – Jane Austen, Emma, pg. 352.
This is the beginning of Emma’s moral transformation, and she owes it to Knightley. He rebukes her, sternly. He does not believe it is fitting of Emma’s character. And he loves her enough to tell her the awkward, uncomfortable, hard truth. Emma has belittled the vulnerable. But he does this because he loves her and wants better for her. This is not the start of Knightley’s love, nor is it the first time he’s loved her enough to try and guide her. Indeed, he has loved her for years. Within the first chapter, he’s challenging her selfish, interfering ways. But when Emma turns from her sin, he reveals his full love for her.
“Poor child!” cried Emma; “at that rate, what will become of her?” “Nothing very bad.—The fate of thousands. She will be disagreeable in infancy, and correct herself as she grows older. I am losing all my bitterness against spoilt children, my dearest Emma. I, who am owing all my happiness to you, would not it be horrible ingratitude in me to be severe on them?” Emma laughed, and replied: “But I had the assistance of all your endeavours to counteract the indulgence of other people. I doubt whether my own sense would have corrected me without it…I do not believe I did you any good. The good was all to myself, by making you an object of the tenderest affection to me. I could not think about you so much without doting on you, faults and all; and by dint of fancying so many errors, have been in love with you ever since you were thirteen at least.”
Even when Emma was at her worst, both in her youthful busybodying and in her cruelty to Miss Bates, Knightley loves her. He loves her when she doesn’t deserve it. It is his love that pushes him to rebuke Emma. This opens Emma’s eyes to her self-deception and leads to her repentance.
It’s Knightley who loved her first. It’s Knightley who moved toward her. He loves her when she’s unlovely. It’s a story that recalls how Christ loves the church. He gives himself for us on the cross and guides us to repent, to turn from our self-deception and trust him. Knightley was willing to give up any chance at romance with Emma to turn her from her error; Christ gave up far more. But the echoes are unmistakable. Emma doesn’t get what she deserves. She doesn’t deserve a happy ending. She turns from her ways, she makes amends with Miss Bates, but she spent most of the novel interfering due to her own pride and cutting people down to demonstrate her own cleverness. Upon becoming engaged to Mr. Knightley, her only regret is the pain she caused Harriet by taking the man Harriet loved. But even this consequence is relieved. Harriet returns to Robert Martin and marries well. Emma never has to pay the full price for her sins. Nor does the church, because Jesus loved us when we were unlovable. Emma is a recipient of grace.