Morality is one of many themes that Jane Austen’s novel Emma considers. What “should” be done is a question that arises often, and rarely does it evolve without a multitude of complications. What society expects of each character often differs from what is executed by them, and Emma Woodhouse, the uppermost mistress of Highbury, is certainly not exempt from this delicate societal game.
In Marilyn Butler’s critical piece “Emma,” she notes how the plot of this tale adheres to “the classic plot of the conservative novel,” and elaborates:
Essentially, a young protagonist is poised at the outset of life, with two missions to perform: to survey society, distinguishing the true values from the false; and, in the light of this new knowledge of ‘reality’, to school what is selfish, immature, or fallible in herself. (385)
Emma certainly fits all of these points well, especially with regards to being both a protagonist and a fallible character. She has the potential to lead an exemplary life, but she does “neglect rather than exploit her opportunities at Highbury” (385). She has the prospect within her of having three separate sides to her psyche: the fallible, baser woman; the day-to-day, civil and balanced Emma; and the exemplary Emma with the potential to be a heroine. This idea of a three-fold Emma may remind one of certain parallels to Sigmund Freud’s theory of the id, the ego, and the superego.
The timeline to discuss these two texts in relation to one another is obviously not linear; as Emma came before Freud’s theories were published, it would be wrong to even suggest that Austen was influenced by Freud (his birth not taking place until over 40 years after Emma was published). It would be unlikely, and I will venture to say impossible, that Freud ever read Jane Austen and became influenced by her characters in a psychological light. However, despite these chronological complications, it is not wholly unfair to consider the inherent parallels of theme that can be seen between these texts. Austen’s characters have well-developed psychological personalities that are worth diving in to more deeply.
Sigmund Freud discusses the human psyche in three distinct parts: the id, the ego, and the superego. The id, the most instinctual and biological of the three, “centers around the basic needs of humankind that compel gratification, in particular the pressures resulting from the sexual and aggressive drives” (Moore 496). The ego, tending to lean towards the everyday rationale of a person, is defined as “a coherent organization of mental processes that include reality testing, perception, memory, thinking, and adaption to reality . . . The ego mediates between the id and the outer world” (Moore 496). Freud suggests the relationship between the id and the ego as well: ‘The ego . . .which was the mechanism of repression, should hold sway. The demons, through self-knowledge, would be rationally controlled and, perhaps, repressed again.’ (Freud 22). The ego’s main employment, then, is to repress and restrict the influence of the id. Id literally means it in German; the ego was noted as das Ich, or the I (Freud 35). It versus I; even these simple pronouns seem to suggest the self battling a faceless monster.
Lastly, but certainly not the least, is the superego, defined by Freud “as the group of psychic functions having to do with ideal aspirations, moral commands, and prohibition,” is also noted as “dealing with moral issues, the superego is roughly synonymous with conscience, except for the fact that its functioning is to a very significant extent unconscious” (Moore 496).
We are therefore presented with a sliding scale of ethical conduct: Id; Ego; Superego, from one end of the spectrum representing uncontrolled, baser instincts, to the other, acting greatly on morality and refined, considerate behavior. While these are theorized as three parts of one whole, it is interesting to view the possibility of a parallel between these three ideas and three of Austen’s characters playing out these roles in an extended sort of psyche. As they are represented, it is almost as if one is a devil on Emma’s left shoulder and the other, an angel on her right, each urging her to act in some way.
With these psychoanalytic definitions, the role of three characters comes into light: Emma as herself, her own ego, mediating with her daily environment; Frank Churchill as her id, an entity that is occasionally uncivil and instinctual and influences her adversely; and Mr. Knightley as her superego, her moral compass that is not afraid to be critical of Emma’s more ignoble actions and wishes, which can be seen several times throughout the novel but most explicitly during the excursion at Box Hill. Again, as Butler notes, Emma is a “fallible heroine,” having both negative and positive qualities and being able to generally keep herself in check, but the influences of Frank and Mr. Knightley do occasionally play a significant role in her actions. Their roles are of a dual nature, however; Frank and Mr. Knightley do each have redeeming and destructive qualities, and neither can only be simply viewed a metaphorical representation of a Freudian idea. It is their actions with regards to Emma’s presence that demonstrate their true character.
The names of each character in Emma’s extended psyche are significant in and of themselves to this interpretation, especially as name play is brought up in this scene. Frank Churchill is just that: he is frank. His opinions never fail to be made candid and he lacks the inclination to filter his comments for propriety; he may dress his comments up with witty phrases, but they are still superficial and goading. Mr. Knightley, however, is more disposed towards morality and chivalry, just as one might imagine a knight would be. Even when he knows it will be unpopular, he voices his opinions of Emma’s actions and fights for what he believes is ethical. He certainly represents the parental side of the superego well, having known Emma for many years and being the only person in her life that is unwilling to give in to her. Her father allows her to arguably dominate the household, her mother has been dead for many years, her sister is married and elsewhere, unable to audit Emma’s actions, and even her governess is noted as “less as a governess than a friend” who had “hardly allowed her to impose any restraint; and the shadow of authority being now long passed away, they had been living together as friend and friend very mutually attached, and Emma doing just what she liked” (5). Even the woman who was hired to discipline and teach Emma has failed to secure a respectable authority over the strong-willed girl, leaving the balance of Emma’s psychological nature entirely to Emma’s own faculties. It is revealed little by little that despite what she believes about her independence, Emma does need the influence of Mr. Knightley in her life to help keep her psyche in a moral balance.
While reading this novel, the possibility of Emma’s subconscious being extended and played out by Frank Churchill and Mr. Knightley is hinted at occasionally. However, Austen’s triumphant moment where this subliminal idea is made clear occurs when the three are amongst others on a day trip to Box Hill. This scene begins with the awareness of separation being explicitly stated; it is noted “[t]here was a languor, a want of spirits, a want of union, which could not be got over. They separated too much into parties” (253). This disharmony amongst parties, as well as Emma’s inclusion in the group where Frank Churchill is entertaining and not Mr. Knightley, is one factor that pushes her delicate psyche off balance and towards her baser societal dispositions.
Once it is established where each member of the party has found themselves congregating toward, we get Emma’s perspective:
At first it was downright dulness to Emma. She had never seen Frank Churchill so silent and stupid. He said nothing worth hearing – looked without seeing – admired without intelligence – listened without knowing what she said. While he was so dull, it was no wonder that Harriet should be dull likewise, and they were both insufferable. (253)
Frank’s presence alone, even his distracted one, is already teasing out judgmental and antagonistic tendencies in Emma; these are directed not just to Frank but also towards her supposed friend, Harriet. When Frank begins to pay Emma exceptional attention, these propensities only become aggravated: “When they all sat down it was better; to her taste a great deal better, for Frank Churchill grew talkative and gay, making her his first object. Every distinguishing attention that could be paid, was paid to her” (253). Rather than participating in the civil conversation of the group, they engage in a private conversation that “must have had such an appearance as no English word but flirtation could very well describe” (254). He indulges her vanity and allows her to neglect her position as an influential figure at the party. What is notable is that instead of resisting these sinful temptations, she encourages it, Austen notably using the word “admission” (254). Not only is Emma primarily obeying her subconscious desires towards the malevolent, but she is knowingly allowing this transgression to happen.
Frank’s pervasive, id-like influence on her continues to be suggested in their conversation as Emma notes that he is “under command,” and allows that it is not her own (254). Frank disagrees: “I can have no self-command without a motive . . . You can be always with me. You are always with me” (254). This is as close as Austen to comes to suggesting the connection between Emma and Frank by extension of psyche. One is always with the other, at least in a spiritual way, and therefore Emma must always be in control of herself. Freud himself wrote “Where id was, there ego shall be” (Freud 22), again suggesting that one can never be without the other, and that the delicate psychological balance between the two must be retained at all times.
Austen builds this action by having Frank Churchill tell Emma, “Our companions are excessively stupid,” and by telling the whole group that Emma wishes to know exactly what they are thinking (255). Hearing this comment, Mr. Knightley then interferes with Frank’s influence over Emma, albeit in a civil way: “Is Miss Woodhouse sure that she would like to hear what we are all thinking of?” (255). The way it is spoken comes off as a sort of warning to Emma, almost as if cautioning her against Frank’s influence; the reader can almost hear him stress the word “sure.” As her superego, he is becoming aware of her psychological imbalance and attempting to interfere. Despite his reply to Frank’s request being “the most distinct,” (255) Emma largely ignores him and continues to humor Frank’s influence who now changes the game to a request for “one thing very clever . . . or two things moderately clever – or three things very dull indeed” from each party guest (255). Rather than stop this silly game before it goes too far – as a dominating force of the conversation, one might argue it is her duty to steer towards more civil topics – she indulges Frank’s attentions and humors his word games. With each moment she tolerates them, Emma is being led further astray from her ethical counterpart by Frank’s coquettish games.
The climactic moment of this scene – arguably one of the most climactic moments in the novel – is fueled as we are subjected to Miss Bates rambling excessively about her own propensity for dull conversation:
‘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?’ (255-256)
When she finishes, Austen sets off Emma’s one-sentence reaction to this as its own paragraph, thereby drawing more attention to it: “Emma could not resist” (256). Frank’s id-like influence over her has won out and she says what cannot be unsaid: “Ah! ma’am, but there may be a difficulty. Pardon me – but you will be limited as to number – only three [dull things] at once” (256). The harmed party turns to Mr. Knightley as if she is aware she is appealing to Emma’s better nature and excuses Emma’s actions as if they are her own fault. The plight of Miss Bates is perceived acutely by the reader:
When it burst on her, it could not anger, though a slight blush showed that it could pain her. “Ah! – well – to be sure. Yes, I see what she means, (turning to Mr. Knightley,) and I will try to hold my tongue. I must make myself very disagreeable, or she would not have said such a thing to an old friend.” (256)
It is almost as if one can feel Miss Bates’s slight blush as well. Having witnessed the ego-stroking, quite literally, that led to this event, we can clearly see the effects this insult has and cannot fail to mistake it as anything but a transgression on our heroine’s part. Emma has fallen to her baser instincts and what is worse is that she is unaware of her lowered position, in the reader’s eyes, for quite some time. Freud wrote that only “when the censorship of the ego is relaxed, can the forbidden wish successfully undertake the journey, and, then, only in disguise” (Freud 41). This is applicable here; although it was more or less Frank’s influence that pushed her to insult Miss Bates, it is Emma who appears to be at fault to everyone at the table, and this is rightly so.
The word charades continue for quite a long while, Emma then discussing with Frank how she could take a wife for him “and make her like myself,” at his insistence, of course (257). Despite the horrible injustice she has so recently shown towards Miss Bates, Emma is enough out of sync with her moral compass to still presume herself of the utmost desire. Jane and Miss Bates stand and walk away, followed quickly by Mr. Knightley; he follows the parties Emma has grievously injured as she should have followed them. Frank, seizing the opportunity of Mr. Knightley’s absence, does not allow Emma to quietly reflect on her previous snippet, but fills her head with vain, idle gossip on the Eltons, degrading her psyche even further. With his inane chatter, he does not allow her to repent, and it seems likely that without Mr. Knightley’s later influence, she never would have understood or cared to understand the harm she caused to Miss Bates.
Not until the group is parting ways for the evening is Mr. Knightley able to fully reprimand her in a speech strong enough to move even stubborn Emma’s currently id-tainted disposition:
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 . . . Were she your equal in situation – but, Emma, consider how far this is from being the case. . . Her situation should secure your compassion . . . This is not pleasant to me; but I must, I will, – I will tell you truths while I can, satisfied with proving myself your friend by very faithful counsel, and trusting that you will some time or other do me greater justice than you can do now. (259)
At first, Emma remains in denial of his criticism, attempting to defend herself: “I know there is not a better creature in the world: but you must allow, that what is good and what is ridiculous are most unfortunately blended in her” (259). Despite her feeble attempt to preserve her pride, Mr. Knightley’s fervent words, clearly of an honorable intention, loosen the bindings that Frank has drawn around Emma, and Austen effectively notes Emma’s reconciliation with his counsel: “The truth of his representation there was no denying. She felt it at her heart” (259). The scene then draws to a close with Emma in tears the entirety of the carriage ride back to Highbury. It could not be more clear what role each character has played, nor could it be more clear who has sinned horribly.
The incident at Box Hill is extremely effective in illustrating the progressive id-ego-superego relationship as Frank-Emma-Knightley. The heart of what Austen is saying is that ultimately, Frank can only bring out the worst in Emma’s character, and Knightley the best. Perhaps she is suggesting that a person’s best match occurs when one is able to distinguish – as Butler would call it – the true values from the false. Your best spouse is the one who will help you run society in a lawful and civilized manner with every bit of respect towards your acquaintances, regardless of whether or not they are of your stature. One cannot help but be reminded of the generosity Mr. Knightley shows towards the Bates’s, in giving them baked apples he knows they will enjoy, for example. His words towards his future wife are an attempt to prompt her towards the same charitable mindset.
Although the scene at Box Hill and the events that follow it are exemplary of the id-ego-superego theory, the ending of Austen’s novel is particularly supportive of the superego and of an attachment to one’s moral compass. Emma does not marry Frank Churchill or even wish to have anything to do with him any longer; her newly realized affections for Mr. Knightley are the only thing that can truly allow her “the perfect happiness of the union” (333). It is as if Austen is suggesting the only way to truly reach your potential for happiness in life is to engage (literally) with your superego. Although this is one small grain of sand in the complexity that is her work, it can be argued that in this way, Austen demonstrates her respect for high standards of morality in her fiction.
Works Cited, besides the unpublished Emma manuscript of Dr. Justice:
Freud, Sigmund. Dictionary of Psychoanalysis. Nandor Fodor and Frank Gaynor, eds. The Philosophical Library, Inc, 1950.
Moore, Burness E. and Bernard D. Fine, eds. Psychoanalysis: The Major Concepts. Yale UP, 1999.
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