The Extent of Rationality: Reason and Perception in Edgeworth’s Belinda and Austen’s Emma

Michel Foucault wrote of “Reason as despotic enlightenment” (d’Entrèves 338), critiquing the way that Enlightenment principles perpetuate systems of institutional power and marginalization. He asks us “How is it that rationalization is conducive to a desire for power?” (343), a question which can be applied to criticism of the nineteenth-century novel and the rise of rational desire and domestic power. The novels Belinda by Maria Edgeworth and Emma by Jane Austen both make us consider how we can experience the world through anything but our own desire, or our perception of desire, and how this can be done in a seemingly rational way that upholds Enlightenment principles. Both novels appear to exemplify Foucault’s critique of Enlightenment reason in the way they reimagine rationality in domestic power structures aimed to provide women with moral happiness. In Maurizio Passerin d’Entrèves’ reading of Kant and Foucault, he argues that Kant contributed to the fear that Enlightenment principles would erode the systems of society which perpetuated social order and prejudice (32). And yet in Belinda, it is the characters who uphold Enlightenment ideals of reason, such as Belinda or Clarence Hervey, who perpetuate racial and colonial prejudices in their rejection of characters such as Virginia and Mr. Vincent. Belinda and Clarence Hervey uphold the “insidious form of power” that Foucault and the Frankfurt school critique Enlightenment reason for (d’Entrèves 343), while characters such as Lady Delacour are threatening precisely because they “erode” expectations of domestic happiness. In Emma, Austen’s view on Enlightenment reason is more complex, less an endorsement of the scientific method and more an evaluation of whether or not reason and perception are the same, and if so where the limits of reason might begin. Emma is principally concerned with where the line between rationality and irrationality is drawn, and how objective we can be when the faculties of perception are at play. 

Both Edgeworth and Austen depict reason in parallel with desire, specifically the desire of women for domestic happiness. This is an exten- sion of Foucault’s critique of reason as the desire for power into the realm of the domestic, and how rational desire for domestic power elevates one’s moral status. In Nancy Armstrong’s Desire and Domestic Fiction she writes that novels in the eighteenth and nineteenth century, mostly written by women, began to illustrate that “the more subtle nuances of behavior indicated what one was really worth” and “attached precise moral value to certain qualities of mind” (12). In Belinda, the “subtle nuances of behavior” are represented by the employment of rationality, which Edgeworth seeks to exemplify as morally valuable. This is why Belinda is “exalted” as “the domestic woman over and above her aristocratic counterpart” (Armstrong 13), Lady Delacour. Reason in Emma is what underlies Emma’s desire for power, specifically power over the domestic plots of her friends. However, both novels push rationality to the extreme, revealing a critique of reason that goes beyond the Enlightenment’s perpetuation of power structures or the complex relationship between reason and moral righteousness. Belinda and Emma both question whether or not reason truly exists, depicting instances of rational thought so intensely aimed at objectivity they become irrational. 

Literary criticism surrounding the Enlightenment and the novel often focuses on the ways in which rationality does or does not perpetuate institutional power structures, and how rational thought carries plot and contributes to the novel genre, especially the relationship between domestic desire and moral objectivity. In this paper, I want to show how two nineteenth-century novels, Emma and Belinda, do not necessarily employ rationality, but irrationality. Emma and Belinda can be seen as a critique of Enlightenment ideals in the absurdities of their characters, but function on a greater level to question basic human perception. They force us to move beyond questions of reason into broader philosophical debates of whether or not objectivity can truly exist in the mind. This is important for thinking about why we read fiction, and, especially in the case of Emma, why these stories are so popular. “We can only be strongly affected by the novel’s plot if we can believe that it reflects the objective unfolding of consequences rather than the author’s manipulation of the action” writes Yoon Sun Lee in her criticism of Belinda (39). The existence of objective thought and events underlies our very faith in plot. By challenging the existence of objectivity, Austen and Edgeworth force us to question the foundation on which fiction and the novel form operate. The novels intricately weave the concepts of education, growth, power, and reason into the stories of two heroines both strangely similar and uniquely different. Through navigating absurdity and secrecy, both heroines learn, in their own ways, the art of rational perception. Edgeworth and Austen, in their representation of the rational, celebrate the ability to gain reason from experience while simultaneously undermining the value of reason itself, illustrating the limits of human perception and the fallibility in trusting one’s mind. 

Belinda is propelled by rationality—Edgeworth asserts that reason and self-fulfillment are inextricably linked, and that in order not only to improve the mind, but also to achieve domestic happiness, life must be lived rationally, scientifically. The novel itself appears as one large experiment, Edgeworth precisely navigating the events of the story like a scientist operating a laboratory. The critic Nicole Wright argues that the novel displays an “innovative emphasis on empirical reasoning” (510). The “innovative” nature of Belinda arises from the heroine Belinda’s ability to consistently act rationally, deftly navigating challenging social situations and learning from experience and mistakes. 

At the outset of the novel, Edgeworth says of Belinda: “Her character, however, was yet to be developed by circumstances” (5). Edgeworth asserts her preference for experiential learning, and the belief that rational, moral character, can only be shaped by interactions with the world. Belinda’s experience in London continually tests her, and the “circumstances” which Edgeworth describes serve to mold Belinda’s character into a reasonable person. In this way, Edgeworth illustrates the value of inductive reasoning, the ability to learn from experiences beyond the self. Belinda’s character remains passive, observing the behaviors of those like Lady Delacour and learning from their conduct how to live her own life. She uses reason “for the first time in her life” (63) after learning of Lady Delacour’s illness. Lady Anne Percival acutely remarks to Belinda, “Happy those who can turn all the experience of others to their own advantage!” (225), even asserting that the ability to learn from the experience of others is more valuable than gold. In this way Belinda upholds Enlightenment principles of reason, the motto of which is described by Kant as “Sapere aude! Have the courage to use your own understanding!” (d’Entrèves 341). 

In a comparison between Belinda and Virginia Clarence Hervey asserts that “The virtues of Virginia sprang from sentiment; those of Belinda, from reason” (345–346). Because Virginia does not have “real objects to occupy her senses and understanding” (346) she is incapable of developing reason. In other words, Virginia does not have the “circumstances” which shape Belinda’s character, nor the wealth of worldly experience Belinda is offered entry to. Wright argues that the presence of a “scientific education” in the novel “is important because of its potential to liberate all individuals from the debilitating effects of irrationality and ignorance” (511). In accordance with Enlightenment ideas, rationality and experiential learning are not exclusive, and everyone can access their own reasonable thinking to “liberate” themselves. 

However, despite the value of a “scientific education” in the novel, there are characters excluded from rational thought. Virginia appears to lack the capacity for reasoning, as if empiricism is inaccessible to her. Clarence argues “She was so entirely unacquainted with the world, that it was absolutely impossible she could conduct herself with that discretion, which must be the combined result of reasoning and experience” (346). Virginia never attains access to the same type of experiential learning that Clarence admires in Belinda, and thus never develops reason. Likewise, Mr. Vincent is introduced as “totally deficient” in the “habit of reasoning” (199). He is ultimately not chosen as Belinda’s romantic partner because of the concealment of his gambling habit—a circumstance which Belinda cannot forgive because she cannot reconcile it with her empiricism. Secrecy, after all, opposes the Enlightenment ideals of openness and visibility as exemplified by the Percival family. And yet, Clarence Hervey performs a far more disturbing deception, but somehow receives forgiveness. Wright’s assertion that “all individuals” in the novel can be saved from ignorance via scientific thought is not true for Virginia or Mr. Vincent, and their contrast with Belinda and Clarence Hervey, who are made rational through learning from their mistakes, illustrates the ambiguity in the novel as to the extent of reason’s liberating or subversive power. Despite the assertion that Belinda’s character was “yet to be developed by circumstances,” she seems inherently rational, a characteristic that precludes Virginia and Mr. Vincent. Edgeworth’s representation of reason with such extreme exceptions undermines the validity of empiricism. If rationality is the result of a robust scientific education, then Mr. Vincent, or Virginia, given the correct “circumstances” would be capable of acquiring reason as well. 

Rational thought in Belinda is further undermined by extremity through Belinda’s self-focalization. Belinda is “proud of her own judgment” (106) and capable of methodical self-examination: “She examined herself with firm impartiality; she recollected the excessive pain that she had endured... She recollected the extreme anxiety she had felt... she justified to herself... Before Belinda had completed her self- examination, Clarence Hervey called to inquire after Lady Delacour (126). Belinda’s self-focalization and dissection of her own feelings is intensely rational in a way that is nearly absurd. Wright remarks, “The problem with Belinda Portman, her creator implies, is that she is all too rational” (509). But I argue that, for Belinda, the extremity of rationality is irrationality. The word “examined,” which appears twice, dehumanizes Belinda and reduces her to a body. Perhaps this reduction aligns with the idea that reason can cut through traditional structures and level all individuals on the same fundamental plane. However, there exists a parallel between Belinda’s self-examination of her feelings, which Edgeworth grounds in rationality, and Lady Delacour’s self-diagnosis of her illness, which is supposed to be unreasonable and foolish. Just as Lady Delacour applies her own reasoning methods to convince herself of illness, Belinda’s zealous self-focalization only serves to fool herself into thinking she can overcome her feelings for Clarence Hervey. Belinda’s outward expressions towards others similarly display a reliance on reason so extreme that they appear rather ridiculous. 

Despite the novel’s emphasis on rationality as the only path to happiness, Belinda’s own actions suggest that rational behavior can be as flawed as the irrational, and even heartless. When Lady Delacour suffers from jealousy and mania, Belinda, rather than attempt to comfort her, yields to the rational: “The rouge is all off your face, my dear Lady Delacour; you are not fit to be seen. Sit down upon this sofa, and I will ring for Marriott, and get some fresh rouge. Look at your face in this glass —you see—” (188). Belinda thrusts a mirror into Lady Delacour’s face as she sobs, forcing her to reckon with the irrationality of her behavior. As her friend is tormented by anguish, all Belinda can do is assert “you are not fit to be seen.” While protecting Lady Delacour’s privacy remains reasonable, and perhaps arises from care, Belinda’s actions are nevertheless, at best, insensitive, and at worst, cruel. Lady Delacour is correct in remarking that Belinda is, at this moment, “incapable of feeling.” Belinda’s capacity for the rational drives her to behave insensibly and in an unfeeling manner towards a woman already on the brink of collapse. Other characters in the novel also demonstrate this distortion of rationality. 

Clarence Hervey, Belinda’s eventual counterpart, applies a perverted sense of reason to his project with Virginia: “Whilst this conviction was full in his mind, he read the works of Rousseau: this eloquent writer’s sense made its full impression upon Clarence’s understanding... and he formed the romantic project of educating a wife for himself” (330). Clarence, motivated by the “sense” of Rousseau, extracts a young Virginia from her home, changes her name, and isolates her from the world, allowing her only to see himself and her caretaker. Edgeworth’s application of reason to Clarence’s behavior raises questions about her own view on the extent of rational thought. The story of Virginia is so disturbing and absurd that I cannot help but think the novel makes an implicit, perhaps unconscious, critique of Enlightenment principles through Clarence’s behavior. And yet, in the end of the novel, despite Clarence Hervey’s concealment of his project from Belinda (largely more alarming than Mr. Vincent hiding a gambling habit), he remains her marriage choice.

Similarly, Lady Delacour represents an absurdity based in the rational. She effectively reasons herself into illness, so much so that she creates a visible wound manifesting from the pain and guilt she feels: “...baring one half of her bosom, she revealed a hideous spectacle” (30). The fact that the wound exists in her bosom ironically reveals her anguish over questions of motherhood and domesticity. Nicole Wright argues that “among those who benefit from the heroine’s subtle but unwavering advocacy of empiricism are characters who must be taught to use reason, including sufferers from imaginary illnesses...” (512). However, I contend that Lady Delacour’s illness and her behavior throughout the novel are not examples of an inability to reason, but rather a case of reason gone too far. Despite Edgeworth’s emphasis on the superiority of empiricism, her depiction of Lady Delacour exposes the flaws in rational thinking. Although Lady Delacour’s reasoning does not align with Belinda’s scientific principles of domesticity, she applies reasoning nonetheless. Lady Delacour establishes a clear starting point for her illness: “...my pistol was overcharged—when I fired, it recoiled, and I received a blow on my breast” (53), and her refusal to consult a physician, while upsetting to Belinda, is perfectly reasonable to Lady Delacour, who remarks “Why, my dear, if I lose admiration, what have I left?” (60). Her guilt, as well as the medication she applies, cause her genuine distress. Although her illness proves benign, her truly painful experiences cannot be discounted. In fact, Belinda’s first exposure to Lady Delacour’s wound is described: “...held the candle so as to throw the light full upon her livid features” (30).

The presence of the light in the dark, exposing the truth of Lady Delacour’s pain, emulates Enlightenment principles of insight. Is this, to use Wright’s language, “the debilitating effects of irrationality”? (511) Or rather, is Lady Delacour suffering from an extremity of reasoning? Lady Delacour complicates the rationality of the novel perhaps more than any other character. Whereas Belinda and Clarence Hervey certainly pervert reason to a severe level, Lady Delacour’s intensity manifests into physical evidence of her suffering. Belinda and Clarence Hervey’s plan to reform Lady Delacour, who must be “taught to use reason” as Wright asserts, is rooted in their belief that rationality results in domestic bliss, and vice versa. Their view of domesticity, principally represented by the Percivals, motives them “to wean lady Delacour, by degrees, from dissipation” (113). Wright argues that “Belinda’s cold rationality is specifically an application of the scientific method rather than a model of feminine rational conduct that has little to do with scientific practice” while also stating that “she becomes a crucial advocate of empirical reasoning at the heart of the domestic realm” (510). And yet, one of Belinda’s primary experiments in the novel is to transform Lady Delacour into Wright’s “model of feminine rational conduct.” The linking in the novel between the domestic sphere and empiricism through the exaltation of Anne Percival and the insinuation that Belinda’s domestic happiness can only be achieved through reason both suggest that the novel unites the scientific method with the feminine. This is most evident in Belinda’s experiment on Lady Delacour, whom she manipulates into reconciling with her husband and daughter and becoming what Belinda and Clarence Hervey deem rational, that is, domestic. However, Lady Delacour reveals the fallibility of their plan, illustrating that reason is neither absolute nor ideal. Speaking of herself in the third person she asserts “Were she even to become domesticated she would fare the worse” (287). Lady Delacour argues that for her to become a domestic woman would be disingenuous, even deceptive, which cannot coexist with Belinda’s view of rationality. 

Jane Austen’s Emma, like Belinda, values rational thinking while simultaneously exposing reason’s limits. The heroine Emma is guided by her strong intelligence and acute perceptions into a series of blunders. Her reasonings, so often partially correct while also absolutely misguided, are founded on her sensibility. Mr. Knightly criticizes her by saying “Bet- ter be without sense, than misapply it as you do” (Austen 62). In many ways, Lady Delacour’s acute perception, her wit and intelligence, and her misguided application of reasonable principles are not unlike the charac- teristics of Austen’s Emma. Moreover, Emma also undergoes reform under the direction of the, to use critic Sarah Latimer Marshall’s words “nearly incomparable Mr. Knightley” (59). Perhaps Austen exhibits the flaws of a life lived unreasonably, but I think Austen’s depiction of Emma constitutes a criticism of rationality. Rationality relies on human perception, and although Emma perceives acutely, she remains deceived and misguided. 

The critic Sarah Latimer Marshall says of Emma, “Although the numerous appearances in the novel of the word rational or of its implications suggest the importance of the concept to the work, the significance lies in the author’s brilliant architectonic handling” (57). The irony of the novel and its humor result from Emma’s absurd, yet rational thinking, evident in her constant self-focalization. The reader occupies a space in Emma’s mind, her thoughts and her opinions are directly related to us in constant focalization as though she were the narrator. Often, the “brilliant architectonic handling” of the novel makes it indiscernible whether the narrator is narrating, or Emma is focalizing. As a result, Emma’s essentially reasonable yet utterly foolish thoughts are elevated to a level of significance. Like Edgeworth’s Belinda, Emma often evaluates herself methodologically. “A very little quiet reflection was enough to satisfy Emma as to the nature of her agitation on hearing this news of Frank Churchill... Her own attachment had really subsided into a mere nothing; it was not worth thinking of...” (295). The language is cleverly ambiguous as to whether the narrator asserts Emma’s attachment has subsided, or Emma herself believes she no longer has feelings for Frank Churchill. Austen’s ironic tone suggests that Emma is self-focalizing and deluding herself, in a very rational way, as to the nature of her own feelings. 

As in Belinda, in which Lady Delacour reasons herself into illness, Emma intelligently deceives herself. Later in the novel, when Emma witnesses Harriet Smith and Frank Churchill together, she once again asserts the powers of her own reasoning:

Could a linguist, could a grammarian, could even a mathema- tician have seen what she did, have witnessed their appearance together, and heard their history of it, without feeling that cir- cumstances had been at work to make them peculiarly interesting to each other?—How much more must an imaginist, like herself, be on fire with speculation and foresight!—especially with such ground-work of anticipation as her mind had already made. (313–314)

Despite Emma’s elevation of herself above several professions of rational thinking, she displays the fallacy in her own sense of reason. She classifies herself as an “imaginist,” suggesting she relies on imagination, rather than evidence. Moreover, Emma lists “speculation and foresight” as stimulating her mind, two decidedly irrational behaviors —rational or scientific thinking necessitates experimental proof and a lack of expectation for the outcome. 

The “ground-work of anticipation” Emma describes could simply be defined as bias. Austen’s ironic tone suggests that Emma’s focalization of herself in this moment is meant to be perceived as humorous. Her dramatic language is designed to reveal the absurdity of Emma’s thinking. While Edgeworth’s staunch support of the rational in Belinda appears unintentionally undermined by characters like Lady Delacour, in Emma, Austen seems more pointed. She chooses “a linguist” “a grammarian” and “a mathematician” as roles for Emma to proudly align herself with (the word scientist not yet existing), suggesting that Emma’s reasoning, her own empiricism, is what has blinded her. The significance of Austen’s made-up word—“imaginist”—alongside roles commonly associated with rational thinking, ironically highlights the absurdity of reason itself. This illustration becomes more evident later, when Emma observes the mundane streets of Highbury: “Much could not be hoped from the traffic of even the busiest part of Highbury... A mind lively and at ease, can do with seeing nothing, and can see nothing that does not answer.” (217). Is a mind that “can see nothing that does not answer” the mind of a rationalist? Or is Emma’s approach to reason deeply flawed, seeing answers where they are not and continually fooling herself through her own perception. Emma’s blindness it seems, stems from her ability to see too deeply, viewing where there is nothing to see. 

Marshall accurately remarks, “With such yeast her imagination begins to ferment anew” (62), revealing the way in which Emma’s blunders result from the natural processes of her reasoning. Her delusion remains a result of her inability to simply accept her observations for what they are, rather than molding her observations to fit the narrative she wants to see. When Harriet reveals her affections for Mr. Knightly, Emma laments “‘Oh God! that I had never seen her!’” (385). Emma regrets that she had “seen” Harriet and been entangled in a mess of deception and disillusion. Yet, it is the act of perceiving Harriet which she laments; her sense of sight which has led her down a path of, ironically, blindness. Emma’s emphasis on ‘seeing’ Harriet suggests her belief that it was the act of perceiving Harriet that led to ruin, rather than her overactive imagination and manipulative behavior. If only Emma had not seen Harriet, she would not have been tempted to engage in irrationality and deception. Austen’s attention to Emma’s perception here suggests the inevitability of even a rational mind to behave illogically. Unreasonable behavior is thus indelibly tied to our physical senses, such as Emma’s sense of sight. Emma cannot perceive without being blinded, and the paradox of her situation undermines the value of Enlightenment principles such as observation and induction. Whereas the characters in Belinda rely heavily on experiments and their sensory interactions with the world, in Emma, perception itself is inherently flawed. 

What remains unclear, is how much Austen values Emma’s imagi- nation and exaggerated sense of reason, or rather, her “imaginist” thinking. While the irony of Emma’s self-proclamation as an “imaginist” reveals her blindness, Emma’s lively mind can only be compared to that of a novelist. Her pairing of the characters in her sphere, her dejection of herself from the matrimonial plot (“for still her resolution held of never marrying” (193), and her ability to speculate wildly all represent the qualities of a skilled fiction writer. In this way, Emma’s “imaginist” thinking seems to be valued by Jane Austen, who described her as “a heroine whom no one but myself will much like” (Austen-Leigh, 157). Yet, in comparison with Belinda, Emma’s ability to “do with seeing nothing,” and her relative isolation in Highbury align her with Virginia’s inexperience. Virginia’s lack of interaction with the outside world leads her to frame everything in relation to the romance novels she reads to pass the time (Edgeworth 346). Her lack of experiential learning is exactly what makes her irrational, and thus inferior to Belinda. Sarah Marshall suggests that Emma, however, is not isolated or bored. She writes, “Emma stays busy. She is perpetually concerned with other people’s business... Her blunders grow plausibly, therefore, from her imperceptions” (59). 

From the perspective of Belinda, Emma cannot be “busy” because she has never experienced anything beyond Highbury and thus her reason falters precisely because she has only her imagination to occupy her. But Marshall suggests that Emma remains active and engaged, and that it is her blindness, an inherent fault in her experience of perceiving the world, that causes her to blunder. If Emma were sent to London like Belinda, would she make the same mistakes? Marshall’s argument suggests yes, and indicates a larger contrast between Edgeworth, who believes strongly in Enlightenment principles and worldly experience, and Austen, who’s view of rationality is more complex, caught somewhere between the fallibility of human perception and the legitimacy of truly empirical thought. 

Much like the web of secrecy underlying Belinda, reason in Emma is further complicated by the presence of deception and concealment. Just as Belinda consistently encounters secrecy amongst her suitors, Emma struggles to navigate her relationship with the deceitful Frank Churchill. Marshall remarks, “For, although some critics consider that marriage or matchmaking is the subject of the novel, deception of self or of others seems paramount” (57). Emma’s relationship with Frank Churchill is both “deception of self” and “others.” Her own vanity and blindness allow her to completely overlook Frank Churchill’s relationship with Jane Fairfax and the behaviors that reveal their engagement. And yet, as Sarah Marshall notes, “Carefully, deftly, the author bestows on her heroine every reason to be as she is” (58), illustrating the rationality behind Emma’s misconceptions. From the outset of the novel, we are told that Emma is “handsome, clever, and rich” (7), and therefore, Emma reasonably believes Frank Churchill loves her. Reason acts as a tool for Emma’s self-deception and Frank Churchill’s concealment of his rela- tionship with Jane—after all, he cannot reasonably reveal the engagement due to his perilous relationship with Mrs. Churchill and Jane’s economic situation. In underlying the deceptive plot with rational assumptions, Austen rejects Enlightenment principles of openness and illustrates the subjectivity of reason. 

Both Belinda and Emma contend with principles of rationality and empirical thinking, putting the values of perception and inductive reasoning to the test through the experiences of each heroine. While Belinda seemingly asserts that rationality produces domestic happiness and liberation, the novel contradicts the power of reason to achieve these ideals, exhibiting characters who consistently push reason to the limits, and characters for whom reason remains inaccessible. The ending of the novel, in its artificial dramatism, leaves readers wondering if characters like Belinda, Clarence Hervey, or the Percivals, are truly exemplary figures or rather distortions of empirical thought. Emma similarly remains complex in Austen’s assessment of reason. Emma’s blunders directly result from her flawed perception of the world around her and her extremely rational approach to her own feelings and the feelings of others. Both novels appear to celebrate reasonable thinkers while simultaneously undermining the validity of reason itself, leaving us to wonder at the limits of objective thought.