Word
Gems
What is a
man but the sum of his thoughts?
- Nathaniel
Hawthorne's
- Scarlet Letter:
Editor's
Essay
- The Scarlet
Letter, Chapters 16-19
- "Redemption in
the Forest"
- Editor's note: this essay was originally written as part of a Master's Degree
program.
The
Scarlet Letter, Chapters 16-19: Redemption in the Forest
Mortimer Adler once spoke of goodness as that object of desire which men and women
aspire to have, do, or become (86). The absence or rejection of this
virtue naturally leads one to considerations of sin, judgment, and salvation, the grand
underlying themes of The Scarlet Letter, a work of exquisite literary beauty
wherein prose seems to read as poetry. There, Hawthorne presents to us humankind’s
plight of sin, and rescue from it, as an enterprise capable of various interpretations --
but never so majestically wrought, I think, as in the forest-meeting of Hester and Arthur,
the focus of the following discussion.
As Hester and Pearl enter the forest, that land of just-out-of-reach sunshine,
mournfully loquacious streams, and sarcophagus-like moss heaps, we begin to sense a
through-the-looking-glass world where things are not as they appear, a world of metaphor
and dark symbol. No stranger to other chapters of the book, Hawthorne’s suggestive
imagery seems to reach for climactic high moment within the short compass of the forest
interlude. Why is this so? It is in the forest that Hester and Arthur face the loveless
death that has enveloped them and, after years of suffering, begin to find healing and
life, all of which is a kind of Judgment Day for them. It shall be posited here that
Hawthorne, exploring the nature of sin, judgment, and salvation, purposefully means to
draw allusion to an archetypal study of those ultimate themes, the New Testament book of
Revelation.
Forest. Why should Hester and Arthur begin to find peace only outside
the confines of law-and-order civilization? Yes, there were privacy issues to be
considered regarding their clandestine meeting, but given the ample space Hawthorne
devotes to describing the “wild” and “primeval” wooded setting, more
may be implied by the author’s choice of venue. It seems noteworthy that St. John,
when offered understanding of the oppressive Roman establishment of his day (Rev. 17. 1),
was imparted with such enlightenment only after his transference to a wilderness area
(Rev. 17. 3). Is Hawthorne here commenting on the difficulty, the near impossibility, for
those embroiled within a spiritually abusive system to gain clear perspective? Is he
implying that only in the forest wilderness -- that place removed from “Puritan Rule
of Law” where only “the Governor, magistrates, and elders [. . .] stand between
Hester and the gallows” (Korobkin 193) -- one might gain liberating spiritual
perspective and healing for the soul? Hester herself conceives of the forest as a
“moral wilderness,” a land of intoxicating freedom to live “as the wild
Indian in his woods.” Yet, this is no cry for simple hedonistic antinomianism; no,
hers is a plea for the rights of human dignity, a determination to put away all things
which had kept them “grovelling on the earth.”
Black Man’s book and iron pen. While the forest, for some, might become
a place of spiritual emancipation, for others, it can offer nothing more than dreadful
habitation for the “Black Man” with his “book and iron pen.” And what
does this “ugly” man require of those who are so unfortunate as to meet him in
the “black and dense” woods? They must “write their names with their own
blood.” Is Hawthorne here making antithetical reference to Revelation’s book of
life of the Lamb (13. 8)? In the forest, the reader is subjected to the cross-current
discussions and allusions of both hope and despair; of salvation and damnation; of dancing
sunlight and thick darkness. Which of these represents reality, the true nature of the
forest? In a sense, all of these are true – but true in a subjective sense, true only
for each individual beholder. To borrow a term from quantum physics, Hawthorne seems to be
presenting the forest to us as an observer-created reality; it is a place of judgment or
salvation, depending on one’s vision. For Arthur, deeply mired in self-doubt and
guilt, the Black Man becomes a logical extension of the minister’s unforgiving
religion. Unlike the Lamb who saves, this dreaded Dark One roams and “haunts”
the forest, requiring “everybody who meets him” to sign his book of death.
Whereas the Lamb saves the world by his own blood (Rev. 1. 5), the Black Man
compels homage of his miserable clients as they write with “their own
blood,” likely a symbol of the victims’ own self-condemning thoughts. To
inscribe one’s name, in this context, appears to signify a surrendering of essential
self -- it is a sad and reluctant consignment of one’s soul to the harsh reality that
there is, after all, no mercy, no hope, and no love in the universe.
Black Man’s mark. If the critical reviewer accepts the above
interpretation, it is but a short step to view the Black Man’s “mark” as
allusion to Revelation’s famous mark (13. 16). St. John may have used this
ancient-world imagery, in his day used to indicate ownership of slaves, to signify the
Dark Force’s control over actions and thoughts, symbolized by a mark on the right
hand and the forehead. Little Pearl excitedly informs us that the Black Man places his
mark on the “bosoms” of his minions. But one size does not fit all, and the
precocious Pearl quickly notices that Arthur, unlike her mother, does not wear his mark
“outside his bosom.” Arthur is hiding. The author intermittently brings to our
attention the image of the minister’s hand shielding his heart. Why the heart? Why
not the forehead or right hand as in Revelation? The answer to this leads us to an
unforgettable moment of the forest meeting; indeed, a most poignant pericope of all
literature.
Love and life. “Is it thou? Art thou in life?” With these words,
the startled Arthur greets Hester. What a strange salutation! Likewise, Hester’s:
“And thou, Arthur Dimmesdale, dost thou yet live?” Yet live? On the face
of it, she seems to be expressing her doubts concerning his life. We know that these two,
in their close-quartered Puritan settlement, would have often seen or passed each other on
the street. But, each knows the other's meaning exactly. Suddenly, we see -- and we gasp,
almost in horror, as we do. These two, “long estranged by fate and
circumstances,” their hearts and hands with the “chill of death,” a chill
far colder than one inspired by the dank forest; these two, once lovers, now “[e]ach
a ghost, and awe-stricken at the other ghost,” address each other almost as
“disembodied beings,” as the walking undead. Hester -- with words
spoken softly, words she would prefer to scream -- is telling us that life without love is
not life at all, a fact known too well by anyone who has been separated from a soul mate.
Hawthorne’s masterful description of love's long-anticipated reunion -- normally an
event of great joy -- here requires the reader to grieve with their grief; like deep-sea
divers wary of "the bends," a condition of moving too quickly from a pressurized
environment, Hester and Arthur, though heart's desire is finally in view and within reach,
cautiously approach each other with cryptic greetings.
Notice the
author’s oft use of “seven
years.” Hawthorne is not one to trifle with idle details. What does he mean to tell
us by this recurring item? It is most significant, I think, that the number seven
is pressed into service fifty-four times in Revelation! St. John speaks of seven heads,
seven spirits, seven trumpets, seven angels, seven churches – on and on. Clearly, in
that ancient document and, I think, in Hawthorne’s work, we are required to decipher
a runic symbol. In the apostle’s book, seven seems to signify completeness and
fullness; so, too, such a meaning might fit well within the story under review. Even if
the allusion to Revelation is dismissed, can anyone doubt the deeper sense of
Hester’s reference to “seven years”? Seven years – that most awful
period, she clearly means to say, of abject and utter loneliness; a time that filled
suffering to the brim; a time of near-despair, even of very life. Again, it is in this
mind that we find Hester and Arthur, almost involuntarily and in spite of themselves,
asking each other the only question that seemed appropriate: “Are you alive”
– that is, are you still alive without love? The apostle John often links life
and love in his writings, and our imaginations are not stretched too far to surmise
that Hawthorne may have been influenced by the old fisherman from Galilee. But even if all
of this conjecture is true, if we stop here, we shall have missed, I believe, the
essential thesis of The Scarlet Letter. It is more than a love story – though
it is glorious even on that level – it is much more.
Summary thoughts. Allusions to Revelation have not been exhausted. If space
permitted we could discuss the sad little brook versus the river of life; the fruited
forest arbor and the tree of life; the unseen nemesis, Roger Chillingworth, and Satan; the
dancing sunshine and the somber darkness, and other metaphors. However, as The Scarlet
Letter is more than a love story, so, too, it is more than a collection of allusions
to ancient literature. As goodness relates to that which one might aspire to have, do, or
become, the antithesis of goodness, sin, might also be defined by these three aspects. We
need not be psychic to understand that the early Puritans viewed sin primarily as an
aberration of the second facet, a failure to do good. Strangely, Puritanism, as
many other legalistic systems, seemed to place less value on actually becoming
good.
Even this briefest review of Puritan theology helps us, I think, to understand the
underlying basis of the theological argument between Hester and Arthur. Paramount in his
mind is the fact that he had once failed. His present good works, his life of service to
the community, his stellar example for many years, amount to nothing in his own estimation
and only “appear” to be good. One, single failing, seven years in the past, for
him, created a “black reality,” stopped time itself, and forever transformed him
into a “ruined soul.” In Arthur’s world, a place where he “scourges
himself” (Reiss 200), there is no hope of redemption, no hope for love. He, indeed,
has written his name with his own blood in the Black Man’s book. Hester had
lived in that same world, too, and she is no stranger to dark thoughts. But we quickly
begin to sense in her a different mindset; she, a true daughter of The Enlightenment, has grown,
evolved into something more – she seems to tell us that her surviving the last seven
years has made her stronger: “Heaven [. . .] had frowned upon her, and she had not
died.” She will absolutely not agree to Arthur’s life-view. She defeats him by
eloquently pointing out the illogicality of his position: “Is there no reality in the
penance thus sealed and witnessed by good works?” Reality! Yes, what is real in this
forest, darkness or love? She, in effect, cries to him: “Is there no power in a
personal resolve, a self-consecration, to do better – to become better! If we
cannot change, if we cannot grow in God’s grace, what is the purpose of
ministry, or of religion itself? And is not a life of good works convincing evidence of
both the sincerity of one’s heart and the guidance of the Divine?”
Arthur’s definition of sin is blasted and begins to crumble. He had convinced
himself, these seven years past, that his offence, his indiscreet doing, had been
the great Unpardonable Sin. Having cast aside the scarlet letter, Hester transfers her
rising strength to him. Arthur begins to come alive and no longer feels the pain
of the Black Man’s mark upon his bosom -- his heart, the center of his vitality. The
once-defeated minister had grimly seen himself as a perpetual participant in the awful
Judgment Day -- but now, suddenly, he is
transformed, glorified in a Resurrection instead! Heaven has come to him, and it is
smiling! Now the sunshine finally rests upon them both. Hester prods him further, finding
it necessary to explain the obvious to her spiritually-transforming lover, that “the
universe [does not] lie within the compass of yonder town.” Arthur, a recovering
victim of his own misguided “religious dogma” (Sorrells 23), must have it
spelled out for him that he is “free.” “Preach! Write! Act! Do anything,
save to lie down and die!” Hester will not yet stop and reveals the extent of his
emancipation: “Give up this name of Arthur Dimmesdale, and make thyself another, and
a high one.” Her heart, so long restrained by the opinions of others, now
bursts with expression of Arthur's innate power – his God-given power and right
– to remake himself, to grow, to become something more,
something new. We want to enthusiastically applaud Hester here, and if Arthur does not
kiss her, we want to do it for him.
As this great American novel is more than simple love story, so it is even more
than commentary on sin, judgment, and salvation; more than an exposé of draconian
“Puritan works-salvation” (Harper 54). Hawthorne, I believe, presents to us in The
Scarlet Letter a message about the ultimate nature of life and how to negotiate its
vicissitudes. There are those, then as now, who purport to be God’s exclusive agents
upon the earth, self-professed august ones who are not shy in claiming to have divined
even the minutia of His righteous will. But the Unpardonable Sin, contrary to the
preaching of these legalists, is not primarily a failure to perform or to do. No!
Because God well understands human frailty, the Great Sin, in reality, is a failure to become
-- more specifically, as we learn from Hester's passionate pleadings -- it is a failure in
no longer trying to become.
Works Cited
- Adler, Mortimer. Six Great Ideas. New York: Macmillan, 1981. 82-91.
-
- Harper, Preston. “Puritan works salvation and the quest for community in The
Scarlet Letter.” Theology Today 57.1 (2000): 51-65.
-
- Korobkin, Laura. “The
scarlet letter of the law: Hawthorne and criminal justice.” Novel 30.2 (1997): 193-217.
-
- Reiss, John. “Scarlet Letter.” The Explicator 53.4 (1995): 200.
-
- Sorrells, David. “Hawthorne’s The Scarlet Letter.” The
Explicator 53.1 (1994): 23.
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