“Charles Dickens: Faith, Angels and the Poor” by Keith Hooper

One of the few areas of the life of Charles Dickens that’s been explored by most of his biographers is the writer’s faith. Some of the major biographies over the years barely mention it. It was generally known that he was no fan of the established church, but he did occasionally attend Anglican and even a few Baptist services. And he was interested in Unitarianism for a relatively short time.

In 2012, Gary Colledge of Moody Bible Institute published God and Charles Dickens, which made the case, and a good one, for the writer having a rather conventional Christian faith. And in 2017, Keith Hooper published an in-depth study of Dickens’s writings and his various causes to further support that case.

Hooper’s Charles Dickens: Faith, Angels and the Poor is an excellent study of the man, his life, and both his journalism and novels to draw out what the man believed about God, the church, and Christianity. Like Colledge, he makes his case for Dickens having a rather conventional case, even if he did not put much stock in the established church to represent that Christianity.

Hopper considers Dickens’s early life – his family, his upbringing, the constant uprooting created by his father’s work (or lack of it), and his education. He also reviews what opportunities Dickens had to attend church and receive religious instruction, and notes that his faith was more substantive than that of his parents’. He then discusses Dickens’s early writings – like Pickwick Papers, Oliver Twist, Nicholas Nickleby, The Old Curiosity Shop, and his journalism – and notes how keenly aware the author was of Victorian social conditions. Dickens had little use for how far too many churchmen considered the different social classes – as an order ordained by God – and because of it their acceptance of horrid conditions for the poor.

As Hooper points out, the Christian faith for Dickens was the faith as exercised in the service of needy, the poor, the orphaned, and the widowed. It was a faith, as narrated in books like Oliver Twist – that often depended upon “angels,” humans (usually women) who would often sacrifice much to help those in need. The later novels contained less of Dickens’s sense of social justice but it was still incorporated within them. Hooper also tackles one of the largest questions about Dickens – his treatment of his wife and his relationship with the actress Ellen Ternan, which did no justice to his faith.

Keith Hooper

Hooper received a Ph.D. from the University of Exeter for his work on Charles Dickens. He is a speaker. English tutor, writer and frequent lecturer on Victorian literature. He has also published a short story, the first in a related series of stories, entitled Mercerian Nights, Part 1: The Asymmetry of Existence (2016).

Charles Dickens: Faith, Angels and the Poor is an important addition to our understanding of the author, what he wrote, and what he believed.

Related:

Keith Hooper lectures on Oliver Twist.

Hooper lectures on Charlotte Bronte and Jane Eyre at the Swindon Festival of Literature.

My review of God and Charles Dickens by Gary Colledge.

Top Illustration: Oliver Twist being taught how to pick a pocket.

Finding Social Justice Unexpectedly at the Department Store

Forty years ago, my wife and I had been married a little over a year. We were living in Houston, and I was working for a big corporation downtown. My wife was finishing up her degree at the University of Houston, and we needed extra money for Christmas, so I went to work as a part-time salesman for the Christmas season in one of Houston’s big department store chains, at its store in the southwest part of town (for Houstonians who might remember, it was Foley’s at Sharpstown Mall).

I was all of 23 years old, still a brand-new Christian. I didn’t know I was going to play a central role in what today we would call a social justice issue.

It wasn’t difficult work, but it was tiring – two or three nights a week after working all day and then all day at the department store on Saturday. I was assigned to the men’s clothing department. The Christmas help was paid on an hourly basis; the regular salespeople were salary plus commission. It wasn’t unusual for the salespeople to elbow the Christmas help out of the way if the likelihood of a sizable commission was looming.

I quickly learned the ropes. The department manager was the czar; you did what he told you to do. But the department buyer trumped the manager; our buyer was known for rather imperiously walking into our department and telling whoever was closest to remove that display, change that mannequin, or immediately replace entire sections of clothing. And then he would waltz out, knowing his commands were being obeyed.

All the salespeople, and the manager, griped about the buyer.

Early one evening, when we were in something of a lull, a woman by herself walked into the department. She was in her 40s, well dressed, and looking, well, really poised. I didn’t immediately go to her, because I figured one of the commission salesmen would, or perhaps even the manager.

I saw that they had noticed her, and then turned back to the conversation they were having. She was looking around, clearly wanting to be helped.

They glanced again, and continued to ignore her.

So I walked over to her and asked if she needed assistance. She looked at me, glanced over at the group of salespeople still talking, and nodded. “I need your opinion,” she said, “I need you to hold some things while I look.” I told her I wasn’t exactly a fashion expert, but I would do whatever I could.

She laughed. “You’re about the same size at my husband,” she said. “I need to see if the clothes should fit.” She looked again the salesmen, laughing at some joke. “Are you a trainee?”

“No, ma’am,” I said. “I’m Christmas help.”

She smiled and nodded. And then she began to shop.

She would pick out a shirt, study it, and then hold it up against me, nod, and hand me the shirt. One short became two, and then three. Then she moved from dress shirts to sport coats, and then belts. She fitted a belt around my waist, and nodded. She’d ask a question, and I’d answer. She asked me several times if I like a particular shirt or jacket, and sometimes I’d nod and sometimes smile and then shake my head.

After 15 minutes, with my arms laden with clothes, we were suddenly approached by the department manager, smiling and saying he would be glad to take my place. She looked at him with a cold stare, shook her head, and pointed at me. “Him,” she said in her soft, upper-class voice. “He will continue to help me.” And from then on she ignored him.

My manager was not pleased. He was even less pleased when I rang up the bill. It came to more than $800, and this was in 1974 dollars. One of the biggest single sales of the year, and no one received a commission.

I carried her bags to her car. She asked me if I would receive a commission, and I shook my head. “I’m paid hourly,” I said.

She laughed. “Your friends learned a lesson today,” she said. “They cannot tell the difference between what they call a wetback and someone who flies with her husband from Mexico City on his private plane.”

She smiled again, thanked me, and then she was gone.

I walked back inside the store, where my manager was fuming.

“How did you know she was wealthy?” he asked.

“I didn’t,” I replied. “She was just a customer who needed help.”

Over at The High Calling, there is a community linkup of writings on social justice. To see the other stories posted, or write one yourself for consideration to be featured next week, please see Share Your Story: Social Justice at Work at The High Calling.

Photograph: Foley's Department Store at Sharpstown Mall in Houston the late 1960s.