Reflecting on human progress and nature in Evening in Sussex, Woolf reveals how our basic biological needs are equally as important to our satisfaction as our loftier intellectual pursuits. We refuse to believe that we simply exist without a greater purpose and so we philosophize, write stories, and create legends and narratives. Just as Woolf does in her motorcar, we attempt to frame our actions within a larger context and draw some universal truth or moral from them, aggrandizing the mundane. We cannot survive without this constant probing for purpose, yet, in the end, we are also swayed by simple physical desires of comfort and happiness. A good night’s sleep and a cup of warm coffee, are no less vital than our ceaseless ponderings.
Beginning by describing the landscape of Sussex as the sun sets, Woolf situates her essay in a broader context. The appreciation of nature is an experience all humans share: it does not matter if they are Russian or Mexican, humans need only their eyes and the primal roots of their existence to marvel at the sublime beauty of a sunset. Nature is an “elderly woman” advanced in age and weathered on the surface, but still possessing a quiet dignity come the cover of the night. Any remaining traces of civilization are wiped away along with the last traces of evening, allowing nature to be pondered in its solitary power. No longer are the buildings that scatter the coast visible; the “elderly woman” has covered her face, hiding the blemishes – human advancement – and leaving us to admire its “outline”. Nature, Woolf seems to imply, outlasts human interference despite all our efforts to leave a mark on this Earth. We are reminded as the landscape asserts itself that She was here before us, and will be here long after we disappear. Woolf then muses how a traveler from France ten centuries ago would have seen the same sight that she currently sees, connecting past the present, allowing the essay to span across both space and time. It does not matter whenever nor wherever you are, Woolf’s observations are not her own but yours as well. Among the millions of people who saw the same line of cliffs running out to sea as evening dawned in Sussex, they would’ve been left to wander the same paths of thought that Woolf currently navigates. Her essay allows the reader to wander free as they wish in the sea of time, anchored to no specific place or era.
Yet, there exists one impediment in observing Nature’s beauty – She overwhelms; humanity cannot possibly grasp Her in whole. The “mottled, marbled” fields, the “pink clouds over Battle” are brilliant, but they inundate the senses in a “torrent that could fill baths, lakes.” One wishes to describe the scene at hand and share their revelry with the presence of another, but one cannot, for we have only “six little pocket knives with which to cut the body of a whale.” The mere words that we use to describe are insufficient to describe Nature in her most enchanting moments. Thus, though Woolf is elated by the scene before her, she is slightly irritated by the fact that, even as she is writing the essay itself, she can never possibly communicate the beauty of its scene in its entirety to the reader. We are instead left with a paltry imitation of the original to chew over. Woolf theorizes that our frustration also results from a desire to control Nature. Words give stability, pinpointing and describing grant us confidence. We are afraid of that which we cannot describe, but it is also for this very reason that Nature is so intensely stimulating with Her impalpable beauty.
Woolf proceeds to split into three distinct “selves” here in the essay. The first two selves argue over the proper method to enjoy the scene before them. The first complains how it cannot fully grasp the “torrent” before it, while the other resigns itself to “be content” with what it can perceive. As these two selves bicker, a third self then emerges, amusing itself with how “happy they were to enjoy so simply an occupation.” In any other essay, the conversation of the first two selves would have composed the main subject of the essay. They would squabble, and then the author would make some neat remark about how to enjoy a sunset. But Woolf takes a higher perspective here. She takes the reader outside of the narrow scope of this philosophical argument by adding the existence of a third and highlights how all this philosophizing is simply a result of the human tendency to contemplate and reflect. All the deep thinking of the first two selves’ is a result of how we attempt to search for meaning in every little thing, even something as straightforward as a sunset. This is not tiresome to us, however, such squabbling allows us to lead what we consider a meaningful life.
The third self engages in a different, existential sort of thinking. The third laments the passing of time and the transience of its existence: we light “lanterns” in the course of our existence, but we create only a brief flicker in the “long dull fall of eternity”. We shimmer, but it is only “for a second” – “Others come behind us.” What is the point of attempting to light the paths before us we are all individually unsubstantial. We may be brilliant in our lifetimes, but come a decade, come ten centuries, our achievements will have been forgotten, and a new generation of heroes will be there to continue paving the way. Humanity progresses, but the “self” is lost. One cannot help but feel lost in the immensity of it all, just as one feels overwhelmed by the overbearing intensity of nature. But Woolf quickly pivots from thinking about this individual sorrow to imagining a future where “much grossness will have evaporated” and “Draughts fan-blown by electric power will clean houses.” By pointing toward this brilliant future, Woolf assures us that though our accomplishments may be forgotten, none of them are unsubstantial. Our lives are but brief flickers, but they are just enough to guide the wanderer that comes after us, and his light the wanderer after him.
Woolf gathers up her different selves at the end to go over “the trophies” that they’ve collected, pulling together reflections on life, the past, and the future to create a neat and satisfying answer to the questions she has been ruminating over. She considers the conclusions she has come to on “that beauty; death of the individual; and the future” and constructs a scene where a “little figure” – humanity – advances “through beauty, through death” to an “economical, powerful, and efficient future.” The Woolfs are all delighted by the image, crying “Yes, yes!” in unison. Humans like to conceive of themselves as the protagonists of the world, and here the Woolfs have constructed the narrative arch of humanity: through setbacks and sorrow, humanity will continue surmounting and subjugating on the path toward a better future. The clear resolution that Woolf ends is almost too neat, however. How did we arrive here from a reflection over a sunset? The selves almost seem to be assuaging themselves through their contrived conclusion. The essay begins with human language and faculties being overwhelmed by Nature, so – in an attempt to reassert control – they end with an image of humanity exerting control over reality to progress. By depicting how the selves are comforted by their conclusion, Woolf reveals how it is necessary for humans to constantly construct narratives to feel secure in their existence.
Woolf is deeply conscious that she is not a prisoner to her desires, but an active participant in them. She waves off different selves at the end, acknowledging that her faculties of thinking have a specific role in her life, but should exit when the time comes. Yes, her reflections are nice and all, but they are only the result of human nature. One shouldn’t be so self-absorbed to think that they mean the world. She ends the story by thinking about what she’ll do when she gets home: “eggs and bacon,” she lists off, “toast and tea, fire and a bath… a glass of wine with coffee to follow… and then to bed.” Philosophizing may be vital to our existence, but what is perhaps even more pleasurable is tucking yourself away in your bed after a long day and drifting off to sleep.