Oliver's mother "was weak and erring." Those are the last four words of the novel, and serve as a reminder, I think, of the morals of this parable. I must view it as a parable, a story formed to instruct, otherwise the coincidences would be too amazing to make the story palatable. Nancy is the only person in the book who is conflicted over good and evil. Everyone else is either good, evil, or evil pretending to be good for show. The most vile of those in the last two categories each get their comeuppance by the end of the novel.
Dickens warns us in turn against the vices that not only afflict the world of thieves and vagabonds, but also against the vices that afflict those who are lay people and those who are in positions of authority. The magistrate, the workhouse board members, the butler, and the chimney sweep (along with others) are painted as darkly as their worst character traits will allow.
On the other hand, Oliver, those who befriend him, and one of his pauper friends (among others) are painted as having no shortfalls at all, but instead being the very pinnacle of what every person should desire to become.
Nancy, to me, is the one overlap - she who lives in sin and darkness but seeks to help Oliver even though it might cost her dearly. When offered a chance at light and salvation from her earthly stains, she is too much in love with a fellow thief and abuser to take the opportunity. Again asked if she can be assisted in any way, Nancy says "you would serve me best, lady" replied the girl, wringing her hands, "if you could take my life at once; for I have felt more grief to think of what I am, to-night, than I ever did before, and it would be something not to die in the hell in which I have lived." (Spoiler alert: this sentence only) when Nancy does actually die, alas, it is in the place where she lived, with this unprejudiced lady's handkerchief held toward heaven, and a prayer on her lips.
Nancy, perhaps, "was weak and erring" also. We are drawn to love her for the goodness we see in her heart: her willingness to help Oliver and her unwillingness to betray her companions. I think I am so drawn to her because as a human, I am weak and erring also. I see in Nancy the ability and courage she has to face and overcome those things - for she did have the courage, on all counts but the one of a misshapen love.
Dickens discourses at length on greed, grief, entanglement, and improper use of authority. And without so much as a sentence of discourse, he teaches us great lessons in prejudice, hate, murder, willpower, and patience. His musings on nature were some of my favorites: Oliver is enjoying the countryside after an illness, and Dickens discusses how even old men who know every brick of their daily walk in the city will pine to be outdoors when their end is near. He states "the memories which peaceful country scenes call up, are not of this world, nor of its thoughts and hopes. Their gentle influence may... purify our thoughts, and bear down before it old enmity and hatred; but beneath all this, there lingers, in the least reflective mind, a vague and half-formed consciousness of having held such feelings long before, in some remote and distant time, which calls up solemn thoughts of distant times to come, and bends down pride and worldliness beneath it." How distinctively elegant! And what a good description of the effects of the Holy Ghost upon our hearts and minds when we seek it out.
Another favorite quote on nature occurs after one of Oliver's dearest friends begins to recover from a serious illness: "The melancholy which had seemed to the sad eyes of the anxious boy to hang, for days past, over every object, beautiful as all were, was dispelled by magic. The dew seemed to sparkle more brightly on the green leaves; the air to rustle among them with a sweeter music; and the sky itself to look more blue and bright. Such is the influence which the condition of our own thoughts, exercises, even over the appearance of external objects. Men who look on nature, and their fellow-men, and cry that all is dark and gloomy, are in the right; but the sombre colours are reflections from their own jaundiced eyes and hearts. The real hues are delicate, and need a clearer vision."
And what is the state, really, of the clearest vision? Is it happiness? Or would some contend that happiness itself can color the objects in our view? Dickens has astutely pointed out that the clearest vision is not misery or despair. The state of Adam and Eve in the garden comes to mind, but they knew no beauty, for they knew no ugliness! If it is experience, then, that gives us clear vision, perhaps the truest vision is that which can look upon a rose through eyes of despair, and be truly cognizant of and grateful for the potential of that flower to delight another.
And when we are weak and erring, let us turn to those around us whose judgement and wisdom we trust, and thus avoid the pitfalls we may be saved from.
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