"We hand folks over to God's mercy, and show none ourselves"
About this Quote
A whole culture of moral outsourcing is packed into that bitter little turn. Eliot sets up a pious-sounding ritual - “hand folks over to God’s mercy” - then snaps the trap shut with “and show none ourselves.” The line works because it exposes a sleight of hand: invoking divine compassion as a way to avoid practicing human compassion. It’s not atheistic swagger; it’s ethical accounting. If mercy is always deferred upward, it conveniently never has to pass through us, where it might cost something.
Eliot’s intent is surgical: she’s indicting a sanctimonious habit common to respectable society, where judgment is immediate and mercy is postponed to the afterlife. The phrasing is communal (“we”), making the critique systemic rather than aimed at a single villain. That matters in Eliot’s fiction, which is obsessed with how ordinary people become instruments of cruelty while still thinking of themselves as decent. “Hand” suggests a clean transfer of responsibility, like washing one’s hands while keeping one’s conscience.
Contextually, Eliot is writing in a Victorian moral universe thick with Christian language, social policing, and public “virtue” tied to class and reputation. The subtext is that religion, in its social form, can become a machine for moral tidiness: sinners are labeled, exiled, or shamed, and then everyone comforts themselves with a vague faith that God will sort it out. Eliot’s sting is that mercy isn’t a celestial abstraction; it’s a daily practice, and our refusal to extend it is the real scandal.
Eliot’s intent is surgical: she’s indicting a sanctimonious habit common to respectable society, where judgment is immediate and mercy is postponed to the afterlife. The phrasing is communal (“we”), making the critique systemic rather than aimed at a single villain. That matters in Eliot’s fiction, which is obsessed with how ordinary people become instruments of cruelty while still thinking of themselves as decent. “Hand” suggests a clean transfer of responsibility, like washing one’s hands while keeping one’s conscience.
Contextually, Eliot is writing in a Victorian moral universe thick with Christian language, social policing, and public “virtue” tied to class and reputation. The subtext is that religion, in its social form, can become a machine for moral tidiness: sinners are labeled, exiled, or shamed, and then everyone comforts themselves with a vague faith that God will sort it out. Eliot’s sting is that mercy isn’t a celestial abstraction; it’s a daily practice, and our refusal to extend it is the real scandal.
Quote Details
| Topic | Forgiveness |
|---|---|
| Source | Help us find the source |
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