Criticism of Some Writers Who Made Women Objects of Pity and Near Contempt

The opinions speciously supported, in some modern publications on the female character, and education, which have given the tone to most of the observations made, in a more cursory manner, on the sex, remain now to be examined.

Some recent publications have made arguments that appear persuasive about women’s character and education. Their opinions have shaped most of the more casual observations made about women. These opinions remain to be examined.

I shall begin with Rousseau, and give a sketch of the character of women in his own words, interspersing comments and reflections. My comments, it is true, will all spring from a few simple principles, and might have been deduced from what I have already said; but the artificial structure has been raised with so much ingenuity, that it seems necessary to attack it in a more circumstantial manner, and make the application myself.

I will begin with Rousseau and outline his view of women in his own words, adding comments and reflections. My comments will all come from a few simple principles and could have been drawn from what I have already said. But this artificial structure has been built so ingeniously that I think it necessary to challenge it in more detail. I must also apply my principles to it myself.

Sophia, says Rousseau, should be as perfect a woman as Emilius is a man, and to render her so, it is necessary to examine the character which nature has given to the sex.

Rousseau says Sophia should be as perfect a woman as Emilius is a man. To make her so, he says, we must examine the character nature has given to women.

He then proceeds to prove, that women ought to be weak and passive, because she has less bodily strength than man; and from hence infers, that she was formed to please and to be subject to him; and that it is her duty to render herself AGREEABLE to her master—this being the grand end of her existence.

He then argues that women should be weak and passive because they are physically weaker than men. From this, he concludes that a woman was made to please and submit to a man. He claims that her duty is to make herself AGREEABLE to her master, since this is the great purpose of her existence.

Supposing women to have been formed only to please, and be subject to man, the conclusion is just, she ought to sacrifice every other consideration to render herself agreeable to him: and let this brutal desire of self-preservation be the grand spring of all her actions, when it is proved to be the iron bed of fate, to fit which, her character should be stretched or contracted, regardless of all moral or physical distinctions. But if, as I think may be demonstrated, the purposes of even this life, viewing the whole, are subverted by practical rules built upon this ignoble base, I may be allowed to doubt whether woman was created for man: and though the cry of irreligion, or even atheism be raised against me, I will simply declare, that were an angel from heaven to tell me that Moses's beautiful, poetical cosmogony, and the account of the fall of man, were literally true, I could not believe what my reason told me was derogatory to the character of the Supreme Being: and, having no fear of the devil before mine eyes, I venture to call this a suggestion of reason, instead of resting my weakness on the broad shoulders of the first seducer of my frail sex.

Suppose women were created only to please and obey men. Then the conclusion is fair: a woman should sacrifice every other concern to make herself pleasing to him. And let this brutal desire for self-preservation drive all her actions, once it is proved to be fate’s iron bed. To fit that bed, her character must be stretched or shortened, regardless of all moral or physical differences. But I think it can be shown that rules based on this dishonorable foundation defeat the purposes of even this life, considered as a whole. If so, I may be allowed to doubt that woman was created for man. Though I may be accused of irreligion or even atheism, I will simply declare this: even if an angel from heaven told me that Moses’s beautiful, poetic account of creation and the fall of man were literally true, I could not believe it. My reason tells me that such a belief dishonors the Supreme Being. And, having no fear of the devil before my eyes, I dare to call this a judgment of reason. I will not place my weakness on the broad shoulders of the first tempter of my frail sex.

"It being once demonstrated," continues Rousseau, "that man and woman are not, nor ought to be, constituted alike in temperament and character, it follows of course, that they should not be educated in the same manner. In pursuing the directions of nature, they ought indeed to act in concert, but they should not be engaged in the same employments: the end of their pursuits should be the same, but the means they should take to accomplish them, and, of consequence, their tastes and inclinations should be different." (Rousseau's 'Emilius', Volume 3 page 176.)

"Once it has been demonstrated," Rousseau continues, "that men and women are not alike in temperament and character, and should not be alike, it follows that they should not be educated in the same way. In following nature's guidance, they should indeed work together, but they should not do the same kinds of work. Their pursuits should have the same goal, but they should use different means to reach it. As a result, their tastes and inclinations should also be different." (Rousseau's 'Emilius', Volume 3, page 176.)

"Girls are from their earliest infancy fond of dress. Not content with being pretty, they are desirous of being thought so; we see, by all their little airs, that this thought engages their attention; and they are hardly capable of understanding what is said to them, before they are to be governed by talking to them of what people will think of their behaviour. The same motive, however, indiscreetly made use of with boys, has not the same effect: provided they are let to pursue their amusements at pleasure, they care very little what people think of them. Time and pains are necessary to subject boys to this motive.

"From earliest infancy, girls are fond of dressing up. They are not content simply to be pretty. They also want others to think they are pretty. All their little mannerisms show how much this thought occupies them. They can hardly understand what they are told before people begin controlling them by asking what others will think of their behavior. But using the same motive carelessly with boys does not have the same effect. As long as boys are allowed to amuse themselves as they please, they care very little what people think of them. It takes time and effort to make boys respond to this motive.

"Whencesoever girls derive this first lesson it is a very good one. As the body is born, in a manner before the soul, our first concern should be to cultivate the former; this order is common to both sexes, but the object of that cultivation is different. In the one sex it is the developement of corporeal powers; in the other, that of personal charms: not that either the quality of strength or beauty ought to be confined exclusively to one sex; but only that the order of the cultivation of both is in that respect reversed. Women certainly require as much strength as to enable them to move and act gracefully, and men as much address as to qualify them to act with ease."

"Wherever girls learn this first lesson, it is a very good one. Since the body is, in a sense, born before the soul, we should first develop the body. This order is the same for both sexes, but the aim is different. For boys, the aim is to develop physical strength. For girls, it is to develop personal beauty. This does not mean that strength or beauty should belong exclusively to one sex. Rather, the order in which strength and beauty are developed is reversed. Women certainly need enough strength to move and act gracefully. Men need enough grace to act with ease."

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"Children of both sexes have a great many amusements in common; and so they ought; have they not also many such when they are grown up? Each sex has also its peculiar taste to distinguish in this particular. Boys love sports of noise and activity; to beat the drum, to whip the top, and to drag about their little carts: girls, on the other hand, are fonder of things of show and ornament; such as mirrors, trinkets, and dolls; the doll is the peculiar amusement of the females; from whence we see their taste plainly adapted to their destination. The physical part of the art of pleasing lies in dress; and this is all which children are capacitated to cultivate of that art."

"Children of both sexes enjoy many of the same amusements, and they should. Don’t they also share many amusements when they grow up? Each sex also has its own distinct tastes in this area. Boys love noisy, active games. They like beating drums, spinning tops, and pulling their little carts around. Girls, on the other hand, prefer things for display and decoration, such as mirrors, trinkets, and dolls. Dolls are the special amusement of females. From this we can see that their taste is clearly suited to their destined role. The physical side of the art of pleasing consists in dressing well. And this is all that children are able to cultivate of that art."

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"Here then we see a primary propensity firmly established, which you need only to pursue and regulate. The little creature will doubtless be very desirous to know how to dress up her doll, to make its sleeve knots, its flounces, its head dress, etc., she is obliged to have so much recourse to the people about her, for their assistance in these articles, that it would be much more agreeable to her to owe them all to her own industry. Hence we have a good reason for the first lessons which are usually taught these young females: in which we do not appear to be setting them a task, but obliging them, by instructing them in what is immediately useful to themselves. And, in fact, almost all of them learn with reluctance to read and write; but very readily apply themselves to the use of their needles. They imagine themselves already grown up, and think with pleasure that such qualifications will enable them to decorate themselves."

"Here, then, we see a basic inclination firmly established. You need only encourage and guide it. The little girl will surely be eager to know how to dress up her doll and make its sleeve bows, ruffles, headdress, and so on. She has to ask the people around her for so much help with these things that she would much prefer to make them all herself. This gives us a good reason for the first lessons usually taught to these young girls. In giving these lessons, we do not seem to be assigning them a task. Instead, we seem to be doing them a favor by teaching them something immediately useful to them. In fact, almost all of them learn to read and write reluctantly, but take readily to sewing. They imagine themselves already grown up and enjoy thinking that such skills will allow them to decorate themselves."

This is certainly only an education of the body; but Rousseau is not the only man who has indirectly said that merely the person of a young woman, without any mind, unless animal spirits come under that description, is very pleasing. To render it weak, and what some may call beautiful, the understanding is neglected, and girls forced to sit still, play with dolls, and listen to foolish conversations; the effect of habit is insisted upon as an undoubted indication of nature. I know it was Rousseau's opinion that the first years of youth should be employed to form the body, though in educating Emilius he deviates from this plan; yet the difference between strengthening the body, on which strength of mind in a great measure depends, and only giving it an easy motion, is very wide.

This is certainly an education of the body alone. But Rousseau is not the only man who has indirectly suggested that a young woman's body alone is very pleasing. He suggests that she needs no mind, unless high spirits count as a mind. To make her body weak and what some may call beautiful, her understanding is neglected. Girls are forced to sit still, play with dolls, and listen to foolish conversations. Then people insist that the effects of habit are unquestionable signs of nature. I know Rousseau believed that the first years of youth should be spent developing the body. Though in educating Emilius, he departs from this plan. But there is a wide difference between strengthening the body and merely making its movements graceful. Strength of mind depends to a great extent on strength of body.

Rousseau's observations, it is proper to remark, were made in a country where the art of pleasing was refined only to extract the grossness of vice. He did not go back to nature, or his ruling appetite disturbed the operations of reason, else he would not have drawn these crude inferences.

It is worth noting that Rousseau made his observations in a country where the art of pleasing was refined only to strip vice of its coarseness. He did not return to nature, or his dominant appetite clouded his reason. Otherwise, he would not have drawn these crude conclusions.

In France, boys and girls, particularly the latter, are only educated to please, to manage their persons, and regulate their exterior behaviour; and their minds are corrupted at a very early age, by the worldly and pious cautions they receive, to guard them against immodesty. I speak of past times. The very confessions which mere children are obliged to make, and the questions asked by the holy men I assert these facts on good authority, were sufficient to impress a sexual character; and the education of society was a school of coquetry and art. At the age of ten or eleven; nay, often much sooner, girls began to coquet, and talked, unreproved, of establishing themselves in the world by marriage.

In France, boys and girls, especially girls, are educated only to please others, manage their appearance, and control their outward behavior. From a very early age, their minds are corrupted by worldly and religious warnings meant to guard them against immodesty. I am speaking of past times. Young children were required to make confessions and answer questions from holy men. I state these facts on good authority. The confessions and questions alone were enough to give children a sexual awareness. And social education was a school of flirtation and artifice. At ten or eleven, and often much earlier, girls began to flirt. They talked without being scolded about establishing themselves in the world through marriage.

In short, they were made women, almost from their very birth, and compliments were listened to instead of instruction. These, weakening the mind, Nature was supposed to have acted like a step-mother, when she formed this after-thought of creation.

In short, they were treated as women almost from birth, and they listened to compliments instead of receiving instruction. These compliments weakened their minds, yet people assumed that Nature had acted like a stepmother when she created this afterthought of creation.

Not allowing them understanding, however, it was but consistent to subject them to authority, independent of reason; and to prepare them for this subjection, he gives the following advice:

However, since he did not acknowledge that women could reason, it was consistent for him to subject them to authority regardless of reason. To prepare them for this subjection, he gives the following advice:

"Girls ought to be active and diligent; nor is that all; they should also be early subjected to restraint. This misfortune, if it really be one, is inseparable from their sex; nor do they ever throw it off but to suffer more cruel evils. They must be subject, all their lives, to the most constant and severe restraint, which is that of decorum: it is, therefore, necessary to accustom them early to such confinement, that it may not afterward cost them too dear; and to the suppression of their caprices, that they may the more readily submit to the will of others. If, indeed, they are fond of being always at work, they should be sometimes compelled to lay it aside. Dissipation, levity, and inconstancy, are faults that readily spring up from their first propensities, when corrupted or perverted by too much indulgence. To prevent this abuse, we should learn them, above all things, to lay a due restraint on themselves. The life of a modest woman is reduced, by our absurd institutions, to a perpetual conflict with herself: not but it is just that this sex should partake of the sufferings which arise from those evils it hath caused us."

"Girls should be active and hardworking, but that is not all. They should also be placed under restrictions from an early age. This misfortune, if it really is one, is inseparable from their sex. They never escape these restrictions without suffering more cruel evils. All their lives, they must submit to the most constant and severe restriction: the rules of proper behavior. They must therefore grow accustomed to such confinement early, so it will not cost them too much later. They must also learn to suppress their whims, so they can more readily submit to the will of others. If they are fond of working all the time, they should sometimes be forced to stop. Dissipation, frivolity, and fickleness are faults that easily arise from their earliest inclinations, when too much indulgence corrupts or distorts them. To prevent this, we should teach them, above all, to exercise proper self-restraint. Our absurd institutions reduce a modest woman's life to a constant struggle with herself. Still, it is only fair that this sex should share in the suffering caused by the evils it has brought upon us."

And why is the life of a modest woman a perpetual conflict? I should answer, that this very system of education makes it so. Modesty, temperance, and self-denial, are the sober offspring of reason; but when sensibility is nurtured at the expense of the understanding, such weak beings must be restrained by arbitrary means, and be subjected to continual conflicts; but give their activity of mind a wider range, and nobler passions and motives will govern their appetites and sentiments.

And why is the life of a modest woman a constant struggle? I would answer that this very system of education makes it so. Modesty, moderation, and self-denial are the sensible products of reason. But when feelings are cultivated at the expense of understanding, such weak beings must be restrained by arbitrary rules. They must also face constant struggles. But give their minds more freedom to explore, and nobler passions and motives will govern their desires and feelings.

"The common attachment and regard of a mother, nay, mere habit, will make her beloved by her children, if she does nothing to incur their hate. Even the restraint she lays them under, if well directed, will increase their affection, instead of lessening it; because a state of dependence being natural to the sex, they perceive themselves formed for obedience."

“A mother’s ordinary love and care, or even habit alone, will make her children love her, if she does nothing to earn their hatred. Even the limits she places on them will increase their affection rather than reduce it, if those limits are well chosen. This is because dependence is natural to the female sex, and they see themselves as made to obey.”

This is begging the question; for servitude not only debases the individual, but its effects seem to be transmitted to posterity. Considering the length of time that women have been dependent, is it surprising that some of them hug their chains, and fawn like the spaniel? "These dogs," observes a naturalist, "at first kept their ears erect; but custom has superseded nature, and a token of fear is become a beauty."

This assumes what it needs to prove. Servitude not only degrades the individual, but its effects also seem to be passed on to future generations. Women have been dependent for so long. Is it surprising that some cling to their chains and fawn like spaniels? As one naturalist observes, "These dogs originally held their ears upright. But habit has overcome nature, and a sign of fear has become a mark of beauty."

"For the same reason," adds Rousseau, "women have or ought to have, but little liberty; they are apt to indulge themselves excessively in what is allowed them. Addicted in every thing to extremes, they are even more transported at their diversions than boys."

"For the same reason," Rousseau adds, "women have, or ought to have, little freedom. They tend to overindulge in whatever they are allowed to do. They go to extremes in everything and get even more carried away by their amusements than boys do."

The answer to this is very simple. Slaves and mobs have always indulged themselves in the same excesses, when once they broke loose from authority. The bent bow recoils with violence, when the hand is suddenly relaxed that forcibly held it: and sensibility, the plaything of outward circumstances, must be subjected to authority, or moderated by reason.

The answer is very simple. Slaves and mobs have always given in to the same excesses once they broke free from authority. A bent bow springs back violently when the hand holding it down suddenly lets go. Likewise, sensibility is at the mercy of outside circumstances, so it must be controlled by authority or tempered by reason.

"There results," he continues, "from this habitual restraint, a tractableness which the women have occasion for during their whole lives, as they constantly remain either under subjection to the men, or to the opinions of mankind; and are never permitted to set themselves above those opinions. The first and most important qualification in a woman is good-nature or sweetness of temper; formed to obey a being so imperfect as man, often full of vices, and always full of faults, she ought to learn betimes even to suffer injustice, and to bear the insults of a husband without complaint; it is not for his sake, but her own, that she should be of a mild disposition. The perverseness and ill-nature of the women only serve to aggravate their own misfortunes, and the misconduct of their husbands; they might plainly perceive that such are not the arms by which they gain the superiority."

"This habitual restraint," he continues, "makes women obedient, a quality they need throughout their lives. They are always subject either to men or to public opinion, and are never allowed to rise above public opinion. The first and most important quality in a woman is a good nature or a sweet temper. A woman is made to obey a being as imperfect as man, who is often full of vices and always full of faults. So she should learn early to endure even injustice and bear a husband's insults without complaint. She should be mild not for his sake, but for her own. Women's stubbornness and bad temper only make their own misfortunes and their husbands' misconduct worse. They can plainly see that these are not the weapons with which they gain the upper hand."

Formed to live with such an imperfect being as man, they ought to learn from the exercise of their faculties the necessity of forbearance; but all the sacred rights of humanity are violated by insisting on blind obedience; or, the most sacred rights belong ONLY to man.

Made to live with imperfect beings like men, women should learn patience by using their own minds. But demanding blind obedience violates all the sacred rights of humanity. Otherwise, the most sacred rights belong ONLY to men.

The being who patiently endures injustice, and silently bears insults, will soon become unjust, or unable to discern right from wrong. Besides, I deny the fact, this is not the true way to form or meliorate the temper; for, as a sex, men have better tempers than women, because they are occupied by pursuits that interest the head as well as the heart; and the steadiness of the head gives a healthy temperature to the heart. People of sensibility have seldom good tempers. The formation of the temper is the cool work of reason, when, as life advances, she mixes with happy art, jarring elements. I never knew a weak or ignorant person who had a good temper, though that constitutional good humour, and that docility, which fear stamps on the behaviour, often obtains the name. I say behaviour, for genuine meekness never reached the heart or mind, unless as the effect of reflection; and, that simple restraint produces a number of peccant humours in domestic life, many sensible men will allow, who find some of these gentle irritable creatures, very troublesome companions.

Anyone who patiently endures injustice and silently bears insults will soon become unjust or unable to tell right from wrong. Besides, I deny that this is true. This is not the right way to develop or improve a person's temper. As a sex, men have better tempers than women because their pursuits engage both their minds and their hearts. A steady mind keeps the heart healthy. Highly sensitive people seldom have good tempers. Developing a good temper is the calm work of reason. As life goes on, reason skillfully blends conflicting elements. I have never known a weak or ignorant person with a good temper. Yet a naturally cheerful disposition and the submissiveness that fear gives to behavior are often mistaken for a good temper. I say behavior because genuine gentleness never reaches the heart or mind except through reflection. Many sensible men will agree that mere restraint produces all kinds of bad moods at home. They find some of these gentle, irritable creatures very troublesome companions.

"Each sex," he further argues, "should preserve its peculiar tone and manner: a meek husband may make a wife impertinent; but mildness of disposition on the woman's side will always bring a man back to reason, at least if he be not absolutely a brute, and will sooner or later triumph over him." True, the mildness of reason; but abject fear always inspires contempt; and tears are only eloquent when they flow down fair cheeks.

“Each sex,” he argues further, “should keep its own distinctive manner. A meek husband may make his wife disrespectful. But a mild wife will always bring a man back to reason, at least if he is not a complete brute. Sooner or later, her mildness will triumph over him.” True, the mildness that comes from reason will do this. But abject fear always inspires contempt, and tears are persuasive only when they flow down beautiful cheeks.

Of what materials can that heart be composed, which can melt when insulted, and instead of revolting at injustice, kiss the rod? Is it unfair to infer, that her virtue is built on narrow views and selfishness, who can caress a man, with true feminine softness, the very moment when he treats her tyrannically? Nature never dictated such insincerity; and though prudence of this sort be termed a virtue, morality becomes vague when any part is supposed to rest on falsehood. These are mere expedients, and expedients are only useful for the moment.

What kind of heart softens when insulted? What kind kisses the rod instead of rebelling against injustice? Is it unfair to infer that a woman's virtue rests on narrow views and selfishness when she caresses a man with true feminine softness at the very moment he treats her like a tyrant? Nature never called for such insincerity. And though this kind of prudence may be called a virtue, morality becomes vague when any part of it is supposed to rest on falsehood. These are mere makeshift solutions, and makeshift solutions are useful only for the moment.

Let the husband beware of trusting too implicitly to this servile obedience; for if his wife can with winning sweetness caress him when angry, and when she ought to be angry, unless contempt had stifled a natural effervescence, she may do the same after parting with a lover. These are all preparations for adultery; or, should the fear of the world, or of hell, restrain her desire of pleasing other men, when she can no longer please her husband, what substitute can be found by a being who was only formed by nature and art to please man? what can make her amends for this privation, or where is she to seek for a fresh employment? where find sufficient strength of mind to determine to begin the search, when her habits are fixed, and vanity has long ruled her chaotic mind?

A husband should beware of trusting too completely in this submissive obedience. If his wife can sweetly caress him when he is angry, she may do the same after leaving a lover. She may even caress her husband when she herself ought to be angry, unless contempt has stifled her natural anger. All of these things prepare the way for adultery. But suppose fear of public opinion or of hell restrains her desire to please other men. What can take its place when she can no longer please her husband? She has been shaped by nature and training only to please men. What can make up for this loss, or where can she look for a new occupation? Where can she find enough strength of mind to begin searching, when her habits are fixed and vanity has long ruled her chaotic mind?

But this partial moralist recommends cunning systematically and plausibly.

But this biased moralist recommends cunning in a systematic and convincing way.

"Daughters should be always submissive; their mothers, however, should not be inexorable. To make a young person tractable, she ought not to be made unhappy; to make her modest she ought not to be rendered stupid. On the contrary, I should not be displeased at her being permitted to use some art, not to elude punishment in case of disobedience, but to exempt herself from the necessity of obeying. It is not necessary to make her dependence burdensome, but only to let her feel it. Subtilty is a talent natural to the sex; and as I am persuaded, all our natural inclinations are right and good in themselves, I am of opinion this should be cultivated as well as the others: it is requisite for us only to prevent its abuse."

"Daughters should always be obedient, but their mothers should not be unyielding. To make a young woman compliant, she should not be made unhappy. To make her modest, she should not be made stupid. On the contrary, I would not object to letting her use some cleverness. She should use it not to escape punishment for disobedience, but to avoid having to obey. Her dependence need not be made burdensome. She need only be made to feel it. Cunning is a talent natural to women. I am convinced that all our natural inclinations are right and good in themselves. So I believe cunning should be cultivated, like the others. We need only prevent its misuse."

"Whatever is, is right," he then proceeds triumphantly to infer. Granted; yet, perhaps, no aphorism ever contained a more paradoxical assertion. It is a solemn truth with respect to God. He, reverentially I speak, sees the whole at once, and saw its just proportions in the womb of time; but man, who can only inspect disjointed parts, finds many things wrong; and it is a part of the system, and therefore right, that he should endeavour to alter what appears to him to be so, even while he bows to the wisdom of his Creator, and respects the darkness he labours to disperse.

“Whatever is, is right,” he then triumphantly concludes. Granted, but perhaps no saying has ever made a more paradoxical claim. It is a solemn truth when applied to God. I speak with reverence: he sees the whole at once and saw its proper proportions before time began. But human beings can see only separate parts and find many things wrong. It is part of the system, and therefore right, that people should try to change what seems wrong to them. They should do so even while bowing to their Creator’s wisdom and respecting the darkness they work to dispel.

The inference that follows is just, supposing the principle to be sound: "The superiority of address, peculiar to the female sex, is a very equitable indemnification for their inferiority in point of strength: without this, woman would not be the companion of man; but his slave: it is by her superiour art and ingenuity that she preserves her equality, and governs him while she affects to obey. Woman has every thing against her, as well our faults as her own timidity and weakness: she has nothing in her favour, but her subtilty and her beauty. Is it not very reasonable, therefore, she should cultivate both?" Greatness of mind can never dwell with cunning or address; for I shall not boggle about words, when their direct signification is insincerity and falsehood; but content myself with observing, that if any class of mankind be so created that it must necessarily be educated by rules, not strictly deducible from truth, virtue is an affair of convention. How could Rousseau dare to assert, after giving this advice, that in the grand end of existence, the object of both sexes should be the same, when he well knew, that the mind formed by its pursuits, is expanded by great views swallowing up little ones, or that it becomes itself little?

The conclusion that follows is fair, assuming the principle is sound: "Women's superior skill in dealing with others fairly compensates for their inferior strength. Without this skill, woman would not be man's companion, but his slave. Through her superior craft and ingenuity, she preserves her equality and rules him while pretending to obey. Everything is against woman, including our faults and her own timidity and weakness. She has nothing in her favor except her cunning and beauty. Is it not very reasonable, then, that she should cultivate both?" Greatness of mind can never coexist with cunning or skill in manipulating others. I will not quibble over words when they plainly mean insincerity and falsehood. I will simply observe that virtue is a matter of convention if any class of people is created so that it must be educated by rules not strictly derived from truth. How could Rousseau dare to make this claim after giving such advice? He claimed that both sexes should have the same goal in the great purpose of existence. Yet he knew well that the mind is shaped by its pursuits. It either grows through great views that absorb smaller ones, or it becomes small itself.

Men have superiour strength of body; but were it not for mistaken notions of beauty, women would acquire sufficient to enable them to earn their own subsistence, the true definition of independence; and to bear those bodily inconveniences and exertions that are requisite to strengthen the mind.

Men are physically stronger. But if not for mistaken ideas about beauty, women would develop enough strength to earn their own living. This is the true definition of independence. They would also have enough strength to endure the physical discomfort and exertion needed to strengthen the mind.

Let us then, by being allowed to take the same exercise as boys, not only during infancy, but youth, arrive at perfection of body, that we may know how far the natural superiority of man extends. For what reason or virtue can be expected from a creature when the seed-time of life is neglected? None—did not the winds of heaven casually scatter many useful seeds in the fallow ground.

So let us be allowed the same exercise as boys, not only in childhood but also in youth. Let us develop our bodies fully, so we can discover how far men's natural superiority extends. What reason or virtue can be expected from a person whose formative years are neglected? None, if the winds of heaven did not happen to scatter many useful seeds on the uncultivated ground.

"Beauty cannot be acquired by dress, and coquetry is an art not so early and speedily attained. While girls are yet young, however, they are in a capacity to study agreeable gesture, a pleasing modulation of voice, an easy carriage and behaviour; as well as to take the advantage of gracefully adapting their looks and attitudes to time, place, and occasion. Their application, therefore, should not be solely confined to the arts of industry and the needle, when they come to display other talents, whose utility is already apparent." "For my part I would have a young Englishwoman cultivate her agreeable talents, in order to please her future husband, with as much care and assiduity as a young Circassian cultivates her's, to fit her for the Haram of an Eastern bashaw."

"Clothing cannot create beauty, and the art of flirtation cannot be learned so early or so quickly. While girls are still young, however, they can learn pleasing gestures, a pleasant tone of voice, and graceful posture and behavior. They can also learn to adapt their expressions and poses gracefully to the time, place, and occasion. So their studies should not be limited to household work and needlework. They should also develop these other talents, whose usefulness is already apparent." "For my part, I would have a young Englishwoman develop her pleasing talents to attract her future husband. She should do so as carefully and diligently as a young Circassian develops hers to prepare for an Eastern pasha’s harem."

To render women completely insignificant, he adds,—"The tongues of women are very voluble; they speak earlier, more readily, and more agreeably than the men; they are accused also of speaking much more: but so it ought to be, and I should be very ready to convert this reproach into a compliment; their lips and eyes have the same activity, and for the same reason. A man speaks of what he knows, a woman of what pleases her; the one requires knowledge, the other taste; the principal object of a man's discourse should be what is useful, that of a woman's what is agreeable. There ought to be nothing in common between their different conversation but truth."

To make women seem completely insignificant, he adds: "Women are very talkative. They speak earlier, more readily, and more pleasantly than men. They are also accused of talking much more. But that is how it should be, and I would gladly turn this criticism into a compliment. Their lips and eyes are equally active, and for the same reason. A man speaks about what he knows, a woman about what pleases her. One requires knowledge, the other taste. The main purpose of a man's conversation should be to convey what is useful. The main purpose of a woman's should be to convey what is pleasant. Their different conversations should have nothing in common except truth."

"We ought not, therefore, to restrain the prattle of girls, in the same manner as we should that of boys, with that severe question, 'To what purpose are you talking?' but by another, which is no less difficult to answer, 'How will your discourse be received?' In infancy, while they are as yet incapable to discern good from evil, they ought to observe it as a law, never to say any thing disagreeable to those whom they are speaking to: what will render the practice of this rule also the more difficult, is, that it must ever be subordinate to the former, of never speaking falsely or telling an untruth." To govern the tongue in this manner must require great address indeed; and it is too much practised both by men and women. Out of the abundance of the heart how few speak! So few, that I, who love simplicity, would gladly give up politeness for a quarter of the virtue that has been sacrificed to an equivocal quality, which, at best, should only be the polish of virtue.

"We should not, therefore, restrain girls’ chatter as we would boys’ by asking the stern question, ‘What is the point of talking?’ Instead, we should ask a question no easier to answer: ‘How will what you say be received?’ In early childhood, while girls cannot yet tell good from evil, they should follow this rule: never say anything unpleasant to the people they are speaking to. This rule is made even harder to follow because it must always come second to the earlier rule: never speak falsely or tell an untruth." Controlling one’s speech in this way must require great skill indeed. Both men and women do it too often. How few speak from the fullness of their hearts! So few do that I, who love simplicity, would gladly give up politeness for a quarter of the virtue sacrificed to it. Politeness is a questionable quality that, at best, should only be the polish of virtue.

But to complete the sketch. "It is easy to be conceived, that if male children be not in a capacity to form any true notions of religion, those ideas must be greatly above the conception of the females: it is for this very reason, I would begin to speak to them the earlier on this subject; for if we were to wait till they were in a capacity to discuss methodically such profound questions, we should run a risk of never speaking to them on this subject as long as they lived. Reason in women is a practical reason, capacitating them artfully to discover the means of attaining a known end, but which would never enable them to discover that end itself. The social relations of the sexes are indeed truly admirable: from their union there results a moral person, of which woman may be termed the eyes, and man the hand, with this dependence on each other, that it is from the man that the woman is to learn what she is to see, and it is of the woman that man is to learn what he ought to do. If woman could recur to the first principles of things as well as man, and man was capacitated to enter into their minutae as well as woman, always independent of each other, they would live in perpetual discord, and their union could not subsist. But in the present harmony which naturally subsists between them, their different faculties tend to one common end; it is difficult to say which of them conduces the most to it: each follows the impulse of the other; each is obedient, and both are masters."

But to complete the sketch. "It is easy to see that if boys cannot form true ideas about religion, such ideas must be far beyond girls' understanding. That is why I would begin speaking to girls about religion even earlier. If we waited until they could discuss such profound questions methodically, we might never speak to them about religion at all. Women's reason is practical. It enables them to find ingenious ways to reach a known goal, but it would never enable them to discover the goal itself. "The social relationship between the sexes is truly admirable. Their union creates a moral person, in which woman may be called the eyes and man the hand. They depend on each other in this way: woman learns from man what she is to see, and man learns from woman what he ought to do. If woman could understand first principles as well as man, and man could understand details as well as woman, they would always be independent of each other. They would live in constant discord, and their union could not survive. But in the harmony that now naturally exists between them, their different abilities serve one common goal. It is difficult to say which contributes more to that goal. Each follows the other's lead. Each obeys, and both are masters."

"As the conduct of a woman is subservient to the public opinion, her faith in matters of religion, should for that very reason, be subject to authority. 'Every daughter ought to be of the same religion as her mother, and every wife to be of the same religion as her husband: for, though such religion should be false, that docility which induces the mother and daughter to submit to the order of nature, takes away, in the sight of God, the criminality of their error'.* As they are not in a capacity to judge for themselves, they ought to abide by the decision of their fathers and husbands as confidently as by that of the church."

Since a woman’s conduct is governed by public opinion, her religious beliefs should, for that very reason, be governed by authority. "Every daughter ought to follow the same religion as her mother, and every wife the same religion as her husband. Even if that religion is false, their willingness to submit to the order of nature removes, in God’s sight, the guilt of their error."* Since women are not capable of judging for themselves, they should trust their fathers’ and husbands’ decisions as confidently as the church’s.

(*Footnote. What is to be the consequence, if the mother's and husband's opinion should chance not to agree? An ignorant person cannot be reasoned out of an error, and when persuaded to give up one prejudice for another the mind is unsettled. Indeed, the husband may not have any religion to teach her though in such a situation she will be in great want of a support to her virtue, independent of worldly considerations.)

(*Footnote. What happens if her mother and husband happen to disagree? An ignorant person cannot be reasoned out of an error. And persuading her to give up one prejudice for another unsettles her mind. Indeed, her husband may not have any religion to teach her. Yet in such a situation, she will be in great need of support for her virtue that does not depend on worldly considerations.)

"As authority ought to regulate the religion of the women, it is not so needful to explain to them the reasons for their belief, as to lay down precisely the tenets they are to believe: for the creed, which presents only obscure ideas to the mind, is the source of fanaticism; and that which presents absurdities, leads to infidelity."

"Since authority should govern women's religion, it is less important to explain the reasons for their beliefs than to state exactly what they must believe. For a creed that gives the mind only obscure ideas is the source of fanaticism. And a creed that presents absurdities leads to disbelief."

Absolute, uncontroverted authority, it seems, must subsist somewhere: but is not this a direct and exclusive appropriation of reason? The RIGHTS of humanity have been thus confined to the male line from Adam downwards. Rousseau would carry his male aristocracy still further, for he insinuates, that he should not blame those, who contend for leaving woman in a state of the most profound ignorance, if it were not necessary, in order to preserve her chastity, and justify the man's choice in the eyes of the world, to give her a little knowledge of men, and the customs produced by human passions; else she might propagate at home without being rendered less voluptuous and innocent by the exercise of her understanding: excepting, indeed, during the first year of marriage, when she might employ it to dress, like Sophia. "Her dress is extremely modest in appearance, and yet very coquettish in fact: she does not make a display of her charms, she conceals them; but, in concealing them, she knows how to affect your imagination. Every one who sees her, will say, There is a modest and discreet girl; but while you are near her, your eyes and affections wander all over her person, so that you cannot withdraw them; and you would conclude that every part of her dress, simple as it seems, was only put in its proper order to be taken to pieces by the imagination." Is this modesty? Is this a preparation for immortality? Again. What opinion are we to form of a system of education, when the author says of his heroine, "that with her, doing things well is but a SECONDARY concern; her principal concern is to do them NEATLY."

It seems that absolute, unquestioned authority must exist somewhere. But does this not mean that reason belongs to one group alone? The RIGHTS of humanity have thus been reserved for men, from Adam onward. Rousseau would take his male aristocracy even further. He suggests that he would not blame those who argue for keeping women in profound ignorance, were some knowledge not necessary. Women need a little knowledge of men and the customs created by human passions. Otherwise, their chastity could not be preserved, nor could a man's choice of a wife be justified in the eyes of the world. Without that need, a woman might bear children at home without becoming less sensual and innocent by using her understanding. There is one exception. During her first year of marriage, she might use her understanding to dress, like Sophia. "Her dress looks extremely modest, yet it is actually very coquettish. She does not display her charms, she conceals them. But even as she conceals them, she knows how to stir your imagination. Everyone who sees her will say, There is a modest and discreet girl. Yet while you are near her, your eyes and affections wander over her whole body, and you cannot draw them away. You would conclude that every part of her dress, simple as it seems, was arranged only to be taken apart in the imagination." Is this modesty? Is this preparation for immortality? Again, what are we to think of a system of education when its author says of his heroine, "that doing things well is only a SECONDARY concern for her. Her main concern is to do them NEATLY."

Secondary, in fact, are all her virtues and qualities, for, respecting religion, he makes her parents thus address her, accustomed to submission—"Your husband will instruct you in good time."

In fact, all her virtues and qualities are secondary. For when it comes to religion, he has her parents tell her, as she is accustomed to obeying: "Your husband will teach you when the time comes."

After thus cramping a woman's mind, if, in order to keep it fair, he has not made it quite a blank, he advises her to reflect, that a reflecting man may not yawn in her company, when he is tired of caressing her. What has she to reflect about, who must obey? and would it not be a refinement on cruelty only to open her mind to make the darkness and misery of her fate VISIBLE? Yet these are his sensible remarks; how consistent with what I have already been obliged to quote, to give a fair view of the subject, the reader may determine.

After restricting a woman's mind in this way, he advises her to reflect. That is, if he has not made her mind completely blank in order to keep her beautiful. He wants her to reflect so that a thoughtful man will not yawn in her company when he grows tired of caressing her. What can a woman who must obey have to reflect on? Would it not be an added cruelty to open her mind, only to make the darkness and misery of her fate VISIBLE? Yet these are his sensible remarks. The reader may judge how consistent they are with what I have already had to quote to give a fair view of the subject.

"They who pass their whole lives in working for their daily bread, have no ideas beyond their business or their interest, and all their understanding seems to lie in their fingers' ends. This ignorance is neither prejudicial to their integrity nor their morals; it is often of service to them. Sometimes, by means of reflection, we are led to compound with our duty, and we conclude, by substituting a jargon of words, in the room of things. Our own conscience is the most enlightened philosopher. There is no need of being acquainted with Tully's offices, to make a man of probity: and perhaps the most virtuous woman in the world is the least acquainted with the definition of virtue. But it is no less true, than an improved understanding only can render society agreeable; and it is a melancholy thing for a father of a family, who is fond of home, to be obliged to be always wrapped up in himself, and to have nobody about him to whom he can impart his sentiments.

"People who spend their whole lives working to earn their daily bread have no ideas beyond their work or their interests. All their understanding seems to be in their fingertips. This lack of knowledge harms neither their honesty nor their morals. It often serves them well. Sometimes reflection leads us to compromise with our duty. In the end, we substitute a jumble of words for real things. Our own conscience is the wisest philosopher. A man does not need to know Tully's Offices to be honest. And perhaps the most virtuous woman in the world is the least familiar with the definition of virtue. But it is just as true that only a well-developed understanding can make society enjoyable. It is sad for a father who loves being at home to have to keep his thoughts to himself. He has no one around him with whom he can share his feelings."

"Besides, how should a woman void of reflection be capable of educating her children? How should she discern what is proper for them? How should she incline them to those virtues she is unacquainted with, or to that merit of which she has no idea? She can only sooth or chide them; render them insolent or timid; she will make them formal coxcombs, or ignorant blockheads; but will never make them sensible or amiable." How indeed should she, when her husband is not always at hand to lend her his reason —when they both together make but one moral being? A blind will, "eyes without hands," would go a very little way; and perchance his abstract reason, that should concentrate the scattered beams of her practical reason, may be employed in judging of the flavour of wine, discanting on the sauces most proper for turtle; or, more profoundly intent at a card-table, he may be generalizing his ideas as he bets away his fortune, leaving all the minutiae of education to his helpmate or chance.

"Besides, how can a woman who does not reflect be capable of educating her children? How can she know what is right for them? How can she lead them toward virtues she does not know, or toward excellence she cannot imagine? She can only soothe or scold them. She can make them rude or timid. She will make them either pompous fools or ignorant blockheads, but never sensible or pleasant." How indeed could she, when her husband is not always there to lend her his reason? After all, the two of them together make only one moral being. Blind will, with "eyes without hands," would not get very far. And perhaps his abstract reason, which should bring together the scattered rays of her practical reason, is busy judging the flavor of wine or discussing the best sauces for turtle. Or perhaps, more deeply absorbed at the card table, he is drawing general conclusions as he gambles away his fortune. Meanwhile, he leaves all the details of education to his wife or to chance.

But, granting that woman ought to be beautiful, innocent, and silly, to render her a more alluring and indulgent companion—what is her understanding sacrificed for? And why is all this preparation necessary only, according to Rousseau's own account, to make her the mistress of her husband, a very short time? For no man ever insisted more on the transient nature of love. Thus speaks the philosopher. "Sensual pleasures are transient. The habitual state of the affections always loses by their gratification. The imagination, which decks the object of our desires, is lost in fruition. Excepting the Supreme Being, who is self-existent, there is nothing beautiful but what is ideal."

But suppose a woman should be beautiful, innocent, and silly, so that she will be a more alluring and accommodating companion. What is her understanding sacrificed for? And why is all this preparation necessary when, by Rousseau's own account, it makes her attractive to her husband for only a very short time? No man ever insisted more strongly that love is fleeting. Here is what the philosopher says: "Sensual pleasures are fleeting. The affections, as a lasting state of feeling, always lose strength when they are satisfied. Imagination adorns the object of our desires, but is lost when those desires are fulfilled. Apart from the Supreme Being, who exists by his own nature, nothing is beautiful unless it is ideal."

But he returns to his unintelligible paradoxes again, when he thus addresses Sophia. "Emilius, in becoming your husband, is become your master, and claims your obedience. Such is the order of nature. When a man is married, however, to such a wife as Sophia, it is proper he should be directed by her: this is also agreeable to the order of nature: it is, therefore, to give you as much authority over his heart as his sex gives him over your person, that I have made you the arbiter of his pleasures. It may cost you, perhaps, some disagreeable self-denial; but you will be certain of maintaining your empire over him, if you can preserve it over yourself; what I have already observed, also shows me, that this difficult attempt does not surpass your courage.

But he returns to his incomprehensible paradoxes when he addresses Sophia this way. "By becoming your husband, Emilius has become your master and demands your obedience. That is the order of nature. But when a man is married to a wife like Sophia, he should be guided by her. That, too, agrees with the order of nature. So I have given you control over his pleasures. This gives you as much power over his heart as his sex gives him over your person. It may cost you some unpleasant self-denial. But you can be certain of maintaining your power over him if you can maintain it over yourself. What I have already observed also shows me that you have the courage to attempt this difficult task.

"Would you have your husband constantly at your feet? keep him at some distance from your person. You will long maintain the authority of love, if you know but how to render your favours rare and valuable. It is thus you may employ even the arts of coquetry in the service of virtue, and those of love in that of reason."

"Do you want your husband constantly at your feet? Keep him at some physical distance. You will maintain the power of love for a long time if you know how to make your favors rare and valuable. In this way, you may use even the arts of flirtation to serve virtue, and the arts of love to serve reason."

I shall close my extracts with a just description of a comfortable couple. "And yet you must not imagine, that even such management will always suffice. Whatever precaution be taken, enjoyment will, by degrees, take off the edge of passion. But when love hath lasted as long as possible, a pleasing habitude supplies its place, and the attachment of a mutual confidence succeeds to the transports of passion. Children often form a more agreeable and permanent connexion between married people than even love itself. When you cease to be the mistress of Emilius, you will continue to be his wife and friend; you will be the mother of his children." (Rousseau's Emilius.)

I will end my extracts with a fair description of a comfortable couple. "And yet you must not imagine that even such careful management will always be enough. Whatever precautions you take, enjoyment will gradually dull the edge of passion. But when love has lasted as long as it can, a pleasant familiarity takes its place. The bond of mutual trust follows the raptures of passion. Children often form a more agreeable and lasting bond between married people than even love itself. When you are no longer Emilius's lover, you will still be his wife and friend. You will be the mother of his children." (Rousseau's Emilius.)

Children, he truly observes, form a much more permanent connexion between married people than love. Beauty he declares will not be valued, or even seen, after a couple have lived six months together; artificial graces and coquetry will likewise pall on the senses: why then does he say, that a girl should be educated for her husband with the same care as for an eastern haram?

He rightly observes that children form a much more lasting bond between married people than love does. He declares that after six months together, a couple will no longer value or even notice beauty. Artificial charm and flirtation will also grow tiresome. Why, then, does he say that a girl should be educated for her husband as carefully as for an eastern harem?

I now appeal from the reveries of fancy and refined licentiousness to the good sense of mankind, whether, if the object of education be to prepare women to become chaste wives and sensible mothers, the method so plausibly recommended in the foregoing sketch, be the one best calculated to produce those ends? Will it be allowed that the surest way to make a wife chaste, is to teach her to practise the wanton arts of a mistress, termed virtuous coquetry by the sensualist who can no longer relish the artless charms of sincerity, or taste the pleasure arising from a tender intimacy, when confidence is unchecked by suspicion, and rendered interesting by sense?

I now turn from fanciful dreams and sophisticated indecency to the good sense of humanity. If education aims to prepare women to become chaste wives and sensible mothers, is the method so persuasively recommended in the preceding sketch best suited to achieve those ends? Can anyone agree that the surest way to make a wife chaste is to teach her a mistress’s seductive tricks? The sensualist calls these tricks virtuous coquetry. He can no longer enjoy the natural charm of sincerity. Nor can he appreciate the pleasure of tender intimacy, where trust is free from suspicion and made engaging by good sense.

The man who can be contented to live with a pretty useful companion without a mind, has lost in voluptuous gratifications a taste for more refined enjoyments; he has never felt the calm satisfaction that refreshes the parched heart, like the silent dew of heaven—of being beloved by one who could understand him. In the society of his wife he is still alone, unless when the man is sunk in the brute. "The charm of life," says a grave philosophical reasoner, is "sympathy; nothing pleases us more than to observe in other men a fellow-feeling with all the emotions of our own breast."

A man who is content to live with a pretty, useful companion who has no mind has lost his taste for more refined pleasures through sensual indulgence. He has never felt the calm satisfaction of being loved by someone who could understand him. That satisfaction refreshes a parched heart like the silent dew from heaven. He is still alone in his wife’s company, except when the man in him gives way to the brute. "The charm of life," says a serious philosopher, is "sympathy. Nothing pleases us more than seeing other people share all the feelings in our own hearts."

But, according to the tenor of reasoning by which women are kept from the tree of knowledge, the important years of youth, the usefulness of age, and the rational hopes of futurity, are all to be sacrificed, to render woman an object of desire for a short time. Besides, how could Rousseau expect them to be virtuous and constant when reason is neither allowed to be the foundation of their virtue, nor truth the object of their inquiries?

But the reasoning used to keep women from the tree of knowledge demands a great sacrifice. It requires women to give up all the important years of youth, the usefulness of old age, and the rational hopes of the future, so that they can be objects of desire for a short time. Besides, how could Rousseau expect women to be virtuous and faithful? Women are not allowed to base their virtue on reason or to seek truth.

But all Rousseau's errors in reasoning arose from sensibility, and sensibility to their charms women are very ready to forgive! When he should have reasoned he became impassioned, and reflection inflamed his imagination, instead of enlightening his understanding. Even his virtues also led him farther astray; for, born with a warm constitution and lively fancy, nature carried him toward the other sex with such eager fondness, that he soon became lascivious. Had he given way to these desires, the fire would have extinguished itself in a natural manner, but virtue, and a romantic kind of delicacy, made him practise self-denial; yet, when fear, delicacy, or virtue restrained him, he debauched his imagination; and reflecting on the sensations to which fancy gave force, he traced them in the most glowing colours, and sunk them deep into his soul.

But all Rousseau's errors in reasoning arose from sensitivity, and women are very ready to forgive sensitivity to their charms! When he should have reasoned, he became passionate. Reflection fired his imagination instead of enlightening his understanding. Even his virtues led him further astray. He was born with a passionate temperament and a lively imagination. Nature drew him toward women with such eager affection that he soon became lustful. Had he given in to these desires, the fire would have burned itself out naturally. But virtue and a romantic sense of delicacy led him to deny himself. Yet when fear, delicacy, or virtue restrained him, he indulged in sexual fantasies. He reflected on the sensations his imagination intensified, described them in the most vivid colors, and buried them deep in his soul.

He then sought for solitude, not to sleep with the man of nature; or calmly investigate the causes of things under the shade where Sir Isaac Newton indulged contemplation, but merely to indulge his feelings. And so warmly has he painted what he forcibly felt, that, interesting the heart and inflaming the imagination of his readers; in proportion to the strength of their fancy, they imagine that their understanding is convinced, when they only sympathize with a poetic writer, who skilfully exhibits the objects of sense, most voluptuously shadowed, or gracefully veiled; and thus making us feel, whilst dreaming that we reason, erroneous conclusions are left in the mind.

He then sought solitude, not to sleep with the man of nature or calmly investigate the causes of things. Nor did he seek the shade where Sir Isaac Newton indulged in contemplation. He sought solitude merely to indulge his feelings. He described his powerful feelings so passionately that he touches his readers’ hearts and inflames their imaginations. The stronger their imaginations, the more they believe their reason has been convinced. Yet they merely sympathize with a poetic writer who skillfully portrays the objects of the senses, luxuriantly shaded or gracefully veiled. By making us feel while we imagine we are reasoning, he leaves mistaken conclusions in our minds.

Why was Rousseau's life divided between ecstasy and misery? Can any other answer be given than this, that the effervescence of his imagination produced both; but, had his fancy been allowed to cool, it is possible that he might have acquired more strength of mind. Still, if the purpose of life be to educate the intellectual part of man, all with respect to him was right; yet, had not death led to a nobler scene of action, it is probable that he would have enjoyed more equal happiness on earth, and have felt the calm sensations of the man of nature, instead of being prepared for another stage of existence by nourishing the passions which agitate the civilized man.

Why was Rousseau's life divided between ecstasy and misery? Can there be any other answer than that his wildly active imagination produced both? But if his imagination had been allowed to cool, he might have developed greater strength of mind. Still, if life's purpose is to educate the human intellect, all was right in his case. Yet if death had not led to a nobler sphere of action, he would probably have enjoyed more even happiness on earth. He would have felt the calm sensations of the natural man. Instead, he was prepared for another stage of existence by nurturing the passions that disturb civilized people.

But peace to his manes! I war not with his ashes, but his opinions. I war only with the sensibility that led him to degrade woman by making her the slave of love.

But may his spirit rest in peace! I do not fight his remains, but his opinions. I fight only the sensitivity that led him to degrade women by making them slaves to love.

The pernicious tendency of those books, in which the writers insidiously degrade the sex, whilst they are prostrate before their personal charms, cannot be too often or too severely exposed.

We cannot expose the harmful influence of such books too often or condemn them too harshly. Their writers subtly degrade women while worshipping their physical charms.

Let us, my dear contemporaries, arise above such narrow prejudices! If wisdom is desirable on its own account, if virtue, to deserve the name, must be founded on knowledge; let us endeavour to strengthen our minds by reflection, till our heads become a balance for our hearts; let us not confine all our thoughts to the petty occurrences of the day, nor our knowledge to an acquaintance with our lovers' or husbands' hearts; but let the practice of every duty be subordinate to the grand one of improving our minds, and preparing our affections for a more exalted state!

My dear contemporaries, let us rise above such narrow prejudices! If wisdom is desirable for its own sake, and if virtue deserves the name only when founded on knowledge, let us strengthen our minds through reflection until our heads can balance our hearts. Let us not limit all our thoughts to the small events of the day. Nor should we limit our knowledge to understanding the hearts of our lovers or husbands. Instead, let us place every duty below the great duty of improving our minds and preparing our affections for a higher state!

Beware then, my friends, of suffering the heart to be moved by every trivial incident: the reed is shaken by a breeze, and annually dies, but the oak stands firm, and for ages braves the storm.

So, my friends, be careful not to let every minor incident stir your emotions. A reed is shaken by a breeze and dies every year, but an oak stands firm and weathers storms for centuries.

Were we, indeed, only created to flutter our hour out and die—why let us then indulge sensibility, and laugh at the severity of reason. Yet, alas! even then we should want strength of body and mind, and life would be lost in feverish pleasures or wearisome languor.

If we were created only to flutter through our brief lives and die, then let us indulge our feelings and laugh at the harshness of reason. Yet, alas, even then we would lack strength of body and mind. Our lives would be wasted in feverish pleasures or weary listlessness.

But the system of education, which I earnestly wish to see exploded, seems to presuppose, what ought never to be taken for granted, that virtue shields us from the casualties of life; and that fortune, slipping off her bandage, will smile on a well-educated female, and bring in her hand an Emilius or a Telemachus. Whilst, on the contrary, the reward which virtue promises to her votaries is confined, it is clear, to their own bosoms; and often must they contend with the most vexatious worldly cares, and bear with the vices and humours of relations for whom they can never feel a friendship.

But the system of education, which I earnestly hope to see abandoned, seems to assume something we should never take for granted. It assumes that virtue protects us from life’s misfortunes. It also assumes that Fortune will remove her blindfold and smile on a well-educated woman, bringing her an Emilius or a Telemachus. On the contrary, the reward virtue promises those who follow her clearly lies only within their own hearts. They must often struggle with the most troublesome worldly cares. They must also put up with the vices and moods of relatives for whom they can never feel friendship.

There have been many women in the world who, instead of being supported by the reason and virtue of their fathers and brothers, have strengthened their own minds by struggling with their vices and follies; yet have never met with a hero, in the shape of a husband; who, paying the debt that mankind owed them, might chance to bring back their reason to its natural dependent state, and restore the usurped prerogative, of rising above opinion, to man.

Many women have strengthened their own minds by struggling against their fathers’ and brothers’ vices and foolishness. They have done this instead of being supported by those men’s reason and virtue. Yet they have never met a hero in the form of a husband who might repay the debt mankind owed them. Such a husband might bring their reason back to its natural state of dependence. He might also restore to men their stolen privilege of rising above public opinion.

Dr. Fordyce's sermons have long made a part of a young woman's library; nay, girls at school are allowed to read them; but I should instantly dismiss them from my pupil's, if I wished to strengthen her understanding, by leading her to form sound principles on a broad basis; or, were I only anxious to cultivate her taste; though they must be allowed to contain many sensible observations.

Dr. Fordyce's sermons have long been part of a young woman's library. Even girls at school are allowed to read them. But I would immediately remove the sermons from my pupil's library if I wanted to strengthen her understanding. I would want to guide her toward sound principles based on broad foundations. I would also remove the sermons if I cared only about developing her taste, though they contain many sensible observations.

Dr. Fordyce may have had a very laudable end in view; but these discourses are written in such an affected style, that were it only on that account, and had I nothing to object against his MELLIFLUOUS precepts, I should not allow girls to peruse them, unless I designed to hunt every spark of nature out of their composition, melting every human quality into female weakness and artificial grace. I say artificial, for true grace arises from some kind of independence of mind.

Dr. Fordyce may have had a very praiseworthy aim. But these discourses are written in such an affected style that I would not let girls read them. That alone would be reason enough, even if I had no objection to his SWEET-SOUNDING precepts. I would allow girls to read them only if I meant to drive every spark of natural feeling from their characters. I would be turning every human quality into feminine weakness and artificial grace. I say artificial because true grace comes from some degree of independence of mind.

Children, careless of pleasing, and only anxious to amuse themselves, are often very graceful; and the nobility who have mostly lived with inferiors, and always had the command of money, acquire a graceful ease of deportment, which should rather be termed habitual grace of body, than that superiour gracefulness which is truly the expression of the mind. This mental grace, not noticed by vulgar eyes, often flashes across a rough countenance, and irradiating every feature, shows simplicity and independence of mind. It is then we read characters of immortality in the eye, and see the soul in every gesture, though when at rest, neither the face nor limbs may have much beauty to recommend them; or the behaviour, any thing peculiar to attract universal attention. The mass of mankind, however, look for more TANGIBLE beauty; yet simplicity is, in general, admired, when people do not consider what they admire; and can there be simplicity without sincerity? but, to have done with remarks that are in some measure desultory, though naturally excited by the subject.

Children are often very graceful because they care only about amusing themselves, not about pleasing others. The nobility have mostly lived among people of lower rank and have always had money at their command. They acquire an easy grace in their movements. But this should be called a habitual grace of the body, rather than the superior grace that truly expresses the mind. Ordinary eyes do not notice this grace of mind. Yet it often flashes across a rough face, lighting up every feature and revealing a simple, independent mind. Then we read signs of immortality in the eyes and see the soul in every gesture. Yet at rest, the face and limbs may have little beauty to recommend them. The person's behavior may have nothing distinctive enough to attract everyone's attention. Most people, however, look for more TANGIBLE beauty. Yet simplicity is generally admired when people do not stop to consider what they admire. And can there be simplicity without sincerity? But enough of these somewhat wandering remarks, though the subject naturally prompted them.

In declamatory periods Dr. Fordyce spins out Rousseau's eloquence; and in most sentimental rant, details his opinions respecting the female character, and the behaviour which woman ought to assume to render her lovely.

Dr. Fordyce stretches out Rousseau's eloquence in pompous speeches. In the most sentimental ranting, he details his opinions about women's character and how women should behave to make themselves lovely.

He shall speak for himself, for thus he makes nature address man. "Behold these smiling innocents, whom I have graced with my fairest gifts, and committed to your protection; behold them with love and respect; treat them with tenderness and honour. They are timid and want to be defended. They are frail; O do not take advantage of their weakness! Let their fears and blushes endear them. Let their confidence in you never be abused. But is it possible, that any of you can be such barbarians, so supremely wicked, as to abuse it? Can you find in your hearts* to despoil the gentle, trusting creatures of their treasure, or do any thing to strip them of their native robe of virtue? Curst be the impious hand that would dare to violate the unblemished form of Chastity! Thou wretch! thou ruffian! forbear; nor venture to provoke heaven's fiercest vengeance." I know not any comment that can be made seriously on this curious passage, and I could produce many similar ones; and some, so very sentimental, that I have heard rational men use the word indecent, when they mentioned them with disgust.

Let him speak for himself. Here is how he makes nature address men: "Look at these smiling innocents. I have blessed them with my finest gifts and entrusted them to your protection. Look at them with love and respect. Treat them with tenderness and honor. They are timid and need defending. They are vulnerable. Oh, do not take advantage of their weakness! Let their fears and blushes make them dear to you. Never abuse their trust in you. But could any of you be so barbaric, so utterly wicked, as to abuse their trust? Could you find it in your hearts* to rob these gentle, trusting creatures of their treasure? Could you do anything to strip them of their natural robe of virtue? Cursed be the wicked hand that dares to violate the spotless form of Chastity! You wretch! You brute! Stop, and do not dare provoke heaven's fiercest vengeance." I cannot think of any serious comment to make on this curious passage. I could produce many similar passages. Some are so sentimental that I have heard rational men describe them with disgust as indecent.

(*Footnote. Can you?—Can you? would be the most emphatical comment, were it drawled out in a whining voice.)

(*Footnote. Can you? Can you? would be the most emphatic comment if it were drawn out in a whining voice.)

Throughout there is a display of cold, artificial feelings, and that parade of sensibility which boys and girls should be taught to despise as the sure mark of a little vain mind. Florid appeals are made to heaven, and to the BEAUTEOUS INNOCENTS, the fairest images of heaven here below, whilst sober sense is left far behind. This is not the language of the heart, nor will it ever reach it, though the ear may be tickled.

Throughout, there is a display of cold, artificial feelings and a show of sensitivity. Boys and girls should be taught to despise this display as the sure sign of a petty, vain mind. Flowery appeals are made to heaven and to the BEAUTIFUL INNOCENTS, the loveliest images of heaven on earth. Meanwhile, sound judgment is left far behind. This is not the language of the heart, and it will never reach the heart, though it may please the ear.

I shall be told, perhaps, that the public have been pleased with these volumes. True—and Hervey's Meditations are still read, though he equally sinned against sense and taste.

Perhaps I will be told that the public has enjoyed these volumes. True. But Hervey's Meditations are still read, though he was equally guilty of offending both sense and taste.

I particularly object to the lover-like phrases of pumped up passion, which are every where interspersed. If women be ever allowed to walk without leading-strings, why must they be cajoled into virtue by artful flattery and sexual compliments? Speak to them the language of truth and soberness, and away with the lullaby strains of condescending endearment! Let them be taught to respect themselves as rational creatures, and not led to have a passion for their own insipid persons. It moves my gall to hear a preacher descanting on dress and needle-work; and still more, to hear him address the 'British fair, the fairest of the fair', as if they had only feelings.

I particularly object to the lover-like phrases of exaggerated passion scattered throughout. If women are ever allowed to walk without being led, why must they be coaxed into virtue through calculated flattery and compliments about their femininity? Speak to them in the language of truth and good sense. Away with the soothing strains of condescending affection! Teach women to respect themselves as rational beings, rather than leading them to become infatuated with their own bland selves. It makes me angry to hear a preacher lecture about dress and needlework. It makes me even angrier to hear him address the 'beautiful British women, the most beautiful of all', as if they had feelings and nothing else.

Even recommending piety he uses the following argument. "Never, perhaps, does a fine woman strike more deeply, than when, composed into pious recollection, and possessed with the noblest considerations, she assumes, without knowing it, superiour dignity and new graces; so that the beauties of holiness seem to radiate about her, and the by-standers are almost induced to fancy her already worshipping amongst her kindred angels!" Why are women to be thus bred up with a desire of conquest? the very epithet, used in this sense, gives me a sickly qualm! Does religion and virtue offer no stronger motives, no brighter reward? Must they always be debased by being made to consider the sex of their companions? Must they be taught always to be pleasing? And when levelling their small artillery at the heart of man, is it necessary to tell them that a little sense is sufficient to render their attention INCREDIBLY SOOTHING? "As a small degree of knowledge entertains in a woman, so from a woman, though for a different reason, a small expression of kindness delights, particularly if she have beauty!" I should have supposed for the same reason.

Even when recommending devotion, he makes the following argument: "A beautiful woman perhaps never makes a deeper impression than when she is quietly absorbed in prayer and the noblest thoughts. Without knowing it, she takes on greater dignity and new charms. The beauty of holiness seems to shine around her. Onlookers are almost led to imagine her already worshipping among her fellow angels!" Why should women be raised to desire such conquests? The very word, used in this sense, makes me feel sick! Do religion and virtue offer no stronger motives, no brighter reward? Must women always be degraded by being made to consider the sex of those around them? Must they always be taught to please? And when they aim their little weapons at a man's heart, must they be told that a little intelligence is enough to make their attention INCREDIBLY SOOTHING? "Just as a little knowledge is entertaining in a woman, so a small expression of kindness from a woman delights, though for a different reason, especially if she is beautiful!" I would have thought it was for the same reason.

Why are girls to be told that they resemble angels; but to sink them below women? Or, that a gentle, innocent female is an object that comes nearer to the idea which we have formed of angels than any other. Yet they are told, at the same time, that they are only like angels when they are young and beautiful; consequently, it is their persons, not their virtues, that procure them this homage.

Why tell girls that they resemble angels, except to lower them below women? Why say that a gentle, innocent woman comes closer to our idea of an angel than anything else? Yet girls are also told that they are like angels only when they are young and beautiful. So it is their looks, not their virtues, that earn them this praise.

Idle empty words! what can such delusive flattery lead to, but vanity and folly? The lover, it is true, has a poetic licence to exalt his mistress; his reason is the bubble of his passion, and he does not utter a falsehood when he borrows the language of adoration. His imagination may raise the idol of his heart, unblamed, above humanity; and happy would it be for women, if they were only flattered by the men who loved them; I mean, who love the individual, not the sex; but should a grave preacher interlard his discourses with such fooleries?

Empty, meaningless words! What can such misleading flattery lead to except vanity and folly? A lover, it is true, has poetic license to praise his beloved extravagantly. His passion deceives his reason, and he is not lying when he speaks as though he worships her. No one can blame him if his imagination raises the idol of his heart above ordinary humanity. Women would be fortunate if they were flattered only by men who loved them. I mean men who love the individual woman, not the whole sex. But should a serious preacher fill his sermons with such nonsense?

In sermons or novels, however, voluptuousness is always true to its text. Men are allowed by moralists to cultivate, as nature directs, different qualities, and assume the different characters, that the same passions, modified almost to infinity, give to each individual. A virtuous man may have a choleric or a sanguine constitution, be gay or grave, unreproved; be firm till be is almost over-bearing, or, weakly submissive, have no will or opinion of his own; but all women are to be levelled, by meekness and docility, into one character of yielding softness and gentle compliance.

In sermons or novels, however, sensuality always stays true to its theme. Moralists allow men to develop different qualities, as nature directs. They also allow men to develop different characters, shaped by the same passions in almost endless variations. A virtuous man may have a hot-tempered or cheerful disposition. He may be lively or serious without being criticized. He may be firm to the point of being almost overbearing. Or he may be weakly submissive, with no will or opinion of his own. But all women are to be made meek and docile, until they share one character of yielding softness and gentle obedience.

I will use the preacher's own words. "Let it be observed, that in your sex manly exercises are never graceful; that in them a tone and figure, as well as an air and deportment, of the masculine kind, are always forbidding; and that men of sensibility desire in every woman soft features, and a flowing voice, a form not robust, and demeanour delicate and gentle."

I will use the preacher's own words. "Note that masculine exercises are never graceful in women. A masculine voice, figure, manner, and bearing are always unattractive in women. Men of sensitivity want every woman to have soft features, a flowing voice, a body that is not robust, and delicate, gentle manners."

Is not the following portrait—the portrait of a house slave? "I am astonished at the folly of many women, who are still reproaching their husbands for leaving them alone, for preferring this or that company to theirs, for treating them with this and the other mark of disregard or indifference; when, to speak the truth, they have themselves in a great measure to blame. Not that I would justify the men in any thing wrong on their part. But had you behaved to them with more RESPECTFUL OBSERVANCE, and a more EQUAL TENDERNESS; STUDYING THEIR HUMOURS, OVERLOOKING THEIR MISTAKES, SUBMITTING TO THEIR OPINIONS in matters indifferent, passing by little instances of unevenness, caprice, or passion, giving SOFT answers to hasty words, complaining as seldom as possible, and making it your daily care to relieve their anxieties and prevent their wishes, to enliven the hour of dulness, and call up the ideas of felicity: had you pursued this conduct, I doubt not but you would have maintained and even increased their esteem, so far as to have secured every degree of influence that could conduce to their virtue, or your mutual satisfaction; and your house might at this day have been the abode of domestic bliss." Such a woman ought to be an angel—or she is an ass—for I discern not a trace of the human character, neither reason nor passion in this domestic drudge, whose being is absorbed in that of a tyrant's.

Isn’t the following portrait a portrait of a household slave? "I am astonished by the foolishness of many women. They keep reproaching their husbands for leaving them alone, preferring other company, or showing them disrespect or indifference. But in truth, they are largely to blame themselves. I do not mean to excuse the men for any wrongdoing on their part. But you should have treated your husbands with more RESPECTFUL ATTENTION and a more STEADY TENDERNESS. You should have STUDIED THEIR MOODS, OVERLOOKED THEIR MISTAKES, and DEFERRED TO THEIR OPINIONS in unimportant matters. You should have ignored minor fits of bad temper, whims, or outbursts, and given GENTLE answers to angry words. You should have complained as little as possible. Every day, you should have tried to ease their worries and anticipate their wishes. You should have brightened dull hours and brought happy thoughts to mind. Had you behaved this way, I have no doubt you would have kept and even increased their respect. You would have gained enough influence to encourage their virtue and promote your mutual satisfaction. And your home might still be a place of domestic happiness." Such a woman must be an angel, or else she is a fool. I see no trace of human character in this domestic drudge, neither reason nor passion. Her whole being is absorbed in that of a tyrant.

Still Dr. Fordyce must have very little acquaintance with the human heart, if he really supposed that such conduct would bring back wandering love, instead of exciting contempt. No, beauty, gentleness, etc. etc. may gain a heart; but esteem, the only lasting affection, can alone be obtained by virtue supported by reason. It is respect for the understanding that keeps alive tenderness for the person.

Still, Dr. Fordyce must know very little about the human heart if he really thought such behavior would win back a lover whose affection had wandered, rather than stir contempt. No, beauty, gentleness, and so on may win a heart. But esteem is the only lasting affection, and it can be earned only through virtue guided by reason. Respect for a person's understanding keeps tenderness for that person alive.

As these volumes are so frequently put into the hands of young people, I have taken more notice of them than strictly speaking, they deserve; but as they have contributed to vitiate the taste, and enervate the understanding of many of my fellow-creatures, I could not pass them silently over.

Because these volumes are so often given to young people, I have paid them more attention than they strictly deserve. But they have helped corrupt the taste and weaken the understanding of many of my fellow human beings. So I could not pass over them in silence.

Such paternal solicitude pervades Dr. Gregory's Legacy to his daughters, that I enter on the task of criticism with affectionate respect; but as this little volume has many attractions to recommend it to the notice of the most respectable part of my sex, I cannot silently pass over arguments that so speciously support opinions which, I think, have had the most baneful effect on the morals and manners of the female world.

Dr. Gregory's Legacy to his daughters is filled with such fatherly concern that I approach my criticism with affectionate respect. But this little book has many qualities that appeal to the most respectable women. So I cannot pass over its deceptively convincing arguments. They support opinions that I believe have had a most harmful effect on women's morals and behavior.

His easy familiar style is particularly suited to the tenor of his advice, and the melancholy tenderness which his respect for the memory of a beloved wife diffuses through the whole work, renders it very interesting; yet there is a degree of concise elegance conspicuous in many passages, that disturbs this sympathy; and we pop on the author, when we only expected to meet the—father.

His easy, familiar style is especially well suited to the kind of advice he gives. His respect for the memory of his beloved wife gives the whole work a sad tenderness, making it very engaging. Yet many passages have a concise elegance that interrupts our sympathy. We suddenly encounter the author when we expected to meet only the father.

Besides, having two objects in view, he seldom adhered steadily to either; for, wishing to make his daughters amiable, and fearing lest unhappiness should only be the consequence, of instilling sentiments, that might draw them out of the track of common life, without enabling them to act with consonant independence and dignity, he checks the natural flow of his thoughts, and neither advises one thing nor the other.

Besides, he had two aims and rarely pursued either one steadily. He wanted to make his daughters likable, but he also feared that teaching them certain ideas might only make them unhappy. Those ideas might lead them away from ordinary life without enabling them to act with matching independence and dignity. As a result, he holds back his natural train of thought and advises neither one course nor the other.

In the preface he tells them a mournful truth, "that they will hear, at least once in their lives, the genuine sentiments of a man, who has no interest in deceiving them."

In the preface, he tells them a sad truth: "At least once in their lives, they will hear the honest views of a man who has no reason to deceive them."

Hapless woman! what can be expected from thee, when the beings on whom thou art said naturally to depend for reason and support, have all an interest in deceiving thee! This is the root of the evil that has shed a corroding mildew on all thy virtues; and blighting in the bud thy opening faculties, has rendered thee the weak thing thou art! It is this separate interest— this insidious state of warfare, that undermines morality, and divides mankind!

Unfortunate woman! What can be expected of you? The beings you are said to depend on naturally for reason and support all have an interest in deceiving you! This is the root of the evil that has spread a corrosive mildew over all your virtues. It has blighted your developing abilities in the bud and made you the weak creature you are! This conflict of interests, this subtle state of warfare, undermines morality and divides humanity!

If love has made some women wretched—how many more has the cold unmeaning intercourse of gallantry rendered vain and useless! yet this heartless attention to the sex is reckoned so manly, so polite, that till society is very differently organized, I fear, this vestige of gothic manners will not be done away by a more reasonable and affectionate mode of conduct. Besides, to strip it of its imaginary dignity, I must observe, that in the most civilized European states, this lip-service prevails in a very great degree, accompanied with extreme dissoluteness of morals. In Portugal, the country that I particularly allude to, it takes place of the most serious moral obligations; for a man is seldom assassinated when in the company of a woman. The savage hand of rapine is unnerved by this chivalrous spirit; and, if the stroke of vengeance cannot be stayed—the lady is entreated to pardon the rudeness and depart in peace, though sprinkled, perhaps, with her husband's or brother's blood.

If love has made some women miserable, how many more have been made vain and useless by cold, meaningless flirtation! Yet this heartless attention to women is considered so manly and polite. I fear that, until society is organized very differently, this remnant of medieval manners will not give way to more reasonable and affectionate behavior. To strip this behavior of its imagined dignity, I must point out that it is widespread in the most civilized European countries. There, this outward show of respect goes hand in hand with extremely loose morals. In Portugal, the country I have particularly in mind, it takes priority over the most serious moral obligations. A man is seldom murdered when he is with a woman. This chivalrous spirit weakens the savage hand of a robber. And if the blow of vengeance cannot be stopped, the lady is asked to pardon the rudeness and leave in peace, though she may be splattered with her husband’s or brother’s blood.

I shall pass over his strictures on religion, because I mean to discuss that subject in a separate chapter.

I will pass over his criticisms of religion because I intend to discuss religion in a separate chapter.

The remarks relative to behaviour, though many of them very sensible, I entirely disapprove of, because it appears to me to be beginning, as it were at the wrong end. A cultivated understanding, and an affectionate heart, will never want starched rules of decorum, something more substantial than seemliness will be the result; and, without understanding, the behaviour here recommended, would be rank affectation. Decorum, indeed, is the one thing needful! decorum is to supplant nature, and banish all simplicity and variety of character out of the female world. Yet what good end can all this superficial counsel produce? It is, however, much easier to point out this or that mode of behaviour, than to set the reason to work; but, when the mind has been stored with useful knowledge, and strengthened by being employed, the regulation of the behaviour may safely be left to its guidance.

I completely disagree with the advice about behavior, though much of it is very sensible. It seems to me to start at the wrong end. A well-developed mind and a loving heart will never need rigid rules of proper conduct. They will produce something more substantial than a proper appearance. Without understanding, the recommended behavior would be pure affectation. Proper conduct, it seems, is the only thing that matters! It is supposed to replace nature and drive all simplicity and variety of character out of women's lives. Yet what good can all this superficial advice achieve? It is much easier to prescribe one kind of behavior or another than to set reason to work. But once the mind has been filled with useful knowledge and strengthened through use, behavior can safely be left to its guidance.

Why, for instance, should the following caution be given, when art of every kind must contaminate the mind; and why entangle the grand motives of action, which reason and religion equally combine to enforce, with pitiful worldly shifts and slight of hand tricks to gain the applause of gaping tasteless fools? "Be even cautious in displaying your good sense.* It will be thought you assume a superiority over the rest of the company— But if you happen to have any learning keep it a profound secret, especially from the men, who generally look with a jealous and malignant eye on a woman of great parts, and a cultivated understanding." If men of real merit, as he afterwards observes, are superior to this meanness, where is the necessity that the behaviour of the whole sex should be modulated to please fools, or men, who having little claim to respect as individuals, choose to keep close in their phalanx. Men, indeed, who insist on their common superiority, having only this sexual superiority, are certainly very excusable.

Why, for instance, should anyone give the following warning, when all kinds of artifice must corrupt the mind? Why mix the great motives for action, which reason and religion both support, with pitiful worldly tricks and sleight of hand? These tricks merely win the applause of gaping fools with no taste. "Be careful even about showing your good sense.* People will think you are claiming to be superior to everyone else present. But if you have any learning, keep it a deep secret, especially from men. Men generally look with jealousy and malice on a woman of great ability and a cultivated mind." If men of real merit are above such meanness, as he observes later, why should all women adjust their behavior to please fools? Why should they please men who have little claim to individual respect and choose to stand together in a tight formation? Indeed, men who insist on the superiority they all share are certainly very excusable, since their sex is their only source of superiority.

(*Footnote. Let women once acquire good sense—and if it deserve the name, it will teach them; or, of what use will it be how to employ it.)

(*Footnote. Let women acquire good sense. If it deserves the name, it will teach them how to use it. Otherwise, what use would it be?)

There would be no end to rules for behaviour, if it be proper always to adopt the tone of the company; for thus, for ever varying the key, a FLAT would often pass for a NATURAL note.

There would be no end to rules of behavior if we should always adopt the tone of the company we keep. For by constantly changing the key, a FLAT note would often pass for a NATURAL one.

Surely it would have been wiser to have advised women to improve themselves till they rose above the fumes of vanity; and then to let the public opinion come round—for where are rules of accommodation to stop? The narrow path of truth and virtue inclines neither to the right nor left, it is a straight-forward business, and they who are earnestly pursuing their road, may bound over many decorous prejudices, without leaving modesty behind. Make the heart clean, and give the head employment, and I will venture to predict that there will be nothing offensive in the behaviour.

Surely it would have been wiser to advise women to improve themselves until they rose above the haze of vanity. Then they could let public opinion catch up. After all, where should the rules for adapting to public opinion stop? The narrow path of truth and virtue turns neither right nor left. It leads straight ahead. Those who pursue it earnestly may leap over many prejudices about proper behavior without leaving modesty behind. Make the heart pure and keep the mind occupied, and I dare predict that nothing in their behavior will be offensive.

The air of fashion, which many young people are so eager to attain, always strikes me like the studied attitudes of some modern prints, copied with tasteless servility after the antiques; the soul is left out, and none of the parts are tied together by what may properly be termed character. This varnish of fashion, which seldom sticks very close to sense, may dazzle the weak; but leave nature to itself, and it will seldom disgust the wise. Besides, when a woman has sufficient sense not to pretend to any thing which she does not understand in some degree, there is no need of determining to hide her talents under a bushel. Let things take their natural course, and all will be well.

The fashionable manner that many young people are so eager to acquire always reminds me of the artificial poses in some modern prints. These prints copy ancient works in a slavish and tasteless way. The soul is missing, and none of the parts are held together by anything that could properly be called character. This fashionable polish seldom goes hand in hand with good sense, though it may dazzle the easily impressed. But leave nature to itself, and it will seldom offend the wise. Besides, a woman may have enough sense not to pretend to understand anything she knows little about. If so, she need not make a point of hiding her talents. Let things take their natural course, and all will be well.

It is this system of dissimulation, throughout the volume, that I despise. Women are always to SEEM to be this and that—yet virtue might apostrophize them, in the words of Hamlet—Seems! I know not seems!—Have that within that passeth show!—

I despise this system of pretense throughout the volume. Women must always SEEM to be one thing or another. Yet virtue might say to them, in Hamlet’s words: Seems! I know nothing of seems! Have something within you that goes beyond appearances!

Still the same tone occurs; for in another place, after recommending, (without sufficiently discriminating) delicacy, he adds, "The men will complain of your reserve. They will assure you that a franker behaviour would make you more amiable. But, trust me, they are not sincere when they tell you so. I acknowledge that on some occasions it might render you more agreeable as companions, but it would make you less amiable as women: an important distinction, which many of your sex are not aware of."

The same tone appears again. Elsewhere, he recommends delicacy (without making enough distinctions) and adds, "Men will complain that you are reserved. They will assure you that being more open would make you more appealing. But trust me, they are not sincere when they say so. I admit that being more open might sometimes make you more pleasant companions, but it would make you less appealing as women. This is an important distinction that many women do not recognize."

This desire of being always women, is the very consciousness that degrades the sex. Excepting with a lover, I must repeat with emphasis, a former observation—it would be well if they were only agreeable or rational companions. But in this respect his advice is even inconsistent with a passage which I mean to quote with the most marked approbation.

The desire to be women at all times is the very self-consciousness that degrades women. I must repeat an earlier observation, and emphasize it. Except with a lover, women would do well to be simply pleasant or rational companions. But in this respect, his advice even contradicts a passage I intend to quote with strong approval.

"The sentiment, that a woman may allow all innocent freedoms, provided her virtue is secure, is both grossly indelicate and dangerous, and has proved fatal to many of your sex." With this opinion I perfectly coincide. A man, or a woman, of any feeling must always wish to convince a beloved object that it is the caresses of the individual, not the sex, that is received and returned with pleasure; and, that the heart, rather than the senses, is moved. Without this natural delicacy, love becomes a selfish personal gratification that soon degrades the character.

“The idea that a woman may permit all innocent liberties, as long as her virtue remains secure, is deeply indecent and dangerous. It has proved fatal to many women.” I completely agree with this opinion. A man or woman with any feeling must always want to convince a loved one of something. The pleasure they take in giving and receiving caresses comes from the person, not from their sex. They must also want to show that their heart, rather than their senses, is moved. Without this natural sensitivity, love becomes selfish personal gratification that soon degrades a person’s character.

I carry this sentiment still further. Affection, when love is out of the question, authorises many personal endearments, that naturally flowing from an innocent heart give life to the behaviour; but the personal intercourse of appetite, gallantry, or vanity, is despicable. When a man squeezes the hand of a pretty woman, handing her to a carriage, whom he has never seen before, she will consider such an impertinent freedom in the light of an insult, if she have any true delicacy, instead of being flattered by this unmeaning homage to beauty. These are the privileges of friendship, or the momentary homage which the heart pays to virtue, when it flashes suddenly on the notice—mere animal spirits have no claim to the kindnesses of affection.

I take this idea even further. Affection, when romantic love is not involved, permits many personal gestures of tenderness. When these gestures flow naturally from an innocent heart, they bring warmth and life to a person's behavior. But physical intimacy prompted by desire, flirtation, or vanity is contemptible. Suppose a man squeezes the hand of a pretty woman he has never met before as he helps her into a carriage. If she has any true sense of propriety, she will regard his presumptuous gesture as an insult. She will not be flattered by this meaningless tribute to her beauty. Such gestures are the privileges of friendship, or a momentary tribute the heart pays to virtue when it suddenly recognizes it. High spirits alone give no one a claim to these acts of affection.

Wishing to feed the affections with what is now the food of vanity, I would fain persuade my sex to act from simpler principles. Let them merit love, and they will obtain it, though they may never be told that: "The power of a fine woman over the hearts of men, of men of the finest parts, is even beyond what she conceives."

I want what now feeds vanity to nurture affection instead. So I hope to persuade women to act on simpler principles. Let them deserve love, and they will find it, even if they are never told: "A beautiful woman's power over men's hearts, even the hearts of the most gifted men, is greater than she imagines."

I have already noticed the narrow cautions with respect to duplicity, female softness, delicacy of constitution; for these are the changes which he rings round without ceasing, in a more decorous manner, it is true, than Rousseau; but it all comes home to the same point, and whoever is at the trouble to analyze these sentiments, will find the first principles not quite so delicate as the superstructure.

I have already noted his narrow cautions about duplicity, feminine softness, and delicate constitutions. He returns to these themes endlessly. He does so more decorously than Rousseau, it is true, but it all comes to the same point. Anyone who takes the trouble to analyze these views will find that their underlying principles are not quite as delicate as the ideas built on them.

The subject of amusements is treated in too cursory a manner; but with the same spirit.

The subject of amusements is treated too briefly, but in the same spirit.

When I treat of friendship, love, and marriage, it will be found that we materially differ in opinion; I shall not then forestall what I have to observe on these important subjects; but confine my remarks to the general tenor of them, to that cautious family prudence, to those confined views of partial unenlightened affection, which exclude pleasure and improvement, by vainly wishing to ward off sorrow and error—and by thus guarding the heart and mind, destroy also all their energy. It is far better to be often deceived than never to trust; to be disappointed in love, than never to love; to lose a husband's fondness, than forfeit his esteem.

When I discuss friendship, love, and marriage, it will become clear that our opinions differ greatly. So I will not anticipate what I have to say on these important subjects. Instead, I will confine my remarks to their general tendency toward cautious family prudence and the narrow outlook of partial, unenlightened affection. Such affection excludes pleasure and improvement by trying in vain to prevent sorrow and error. By guarding the heart and mind in this way, it also destroys all their energy. It is far better to be deceived often than never to trust, to be disappointed in love than never to love, and to lose a husband's affection than to forfeit his respect.

Happy would it be for the world, and for individuals, of course, if all this unavailing solicitude to attain worldly happiness, on a confined plan, were turned into an anxious desire to improve the understanding. "Wisdom is the principal thing: THEREFORE get wisdom; and with all thy gettings get understanding." "How long ye simple ones, will ye love simplicity, and hate knowledge?" Saith Wisdom to the daughters of men!

The world, and individuals too, would be happier if people redirected all their fruitless efforts to find worldly happiness through narrow pursuits. Instead, they should be eager to improve their understanding. "Wisdom is the most important thing: THEREFORE get wisdom, and with all you acquire, get understanding." "How long will you simple people love simplicity and hate knowledge?" Wisdom asks the daughters of men!

I do not mean to allude to all the writers who have written on the subject of female manners—it would in fact be only beating over the old ground, for they have, in general, written in the same strain; but attacking the boasted prerogative of man—the prerogative that may emphatically be called the iron sceptre of tyranny, the original sin of tyrants, I declare against all power built on prejudices, however hoary.

I do not intend to discuss all the writers who have written about women’s behavior. That would only cover familiar ground, since they have generally written in the same way. But I challenge man’s much-praised right to rule. This right may truly be called the iron scepter of tyranny, the original sin of tyrants. I declare myself against all power built on prejudice, however old that prejudice may be.

If the submission demanded be founded on justice—there is no appealing to a higher power—for God is justice itself. Let us then, as children of the same parent, if not bastardized by being the younger born, reason together, and learn to submit to the authority of reason when her voice is distinctly heard. But, if it be proved that this throne of prerogative only rests on a chaotic mass of prejudices, that have no inherent principle of order to keep them together, or on an elephant, tortoise, or even the mighty shoulders of a son of the earth, they may escape, who dare to brave the consequence without any breach of duty, without sinning against the order of things.

If the submission demanded is based on justice, there is no appeal to a higher power, for God is justice itself. So let us reason together as children of the same parent, unless being born later makes us illegitimate. And let us learn to submit to reason’s authority when her voice is clearly heard. But perhaps this throne of privilege rests only on a chaotic mass of prejudices. These prejudices have no inherent principle of order to hold them together. Or perhaps the throne rests on an elephant, a tortoise, or even the mighty shoulders of a son of the earth. If any of this is proved, those who dare face the consequences may escape. They would not be breaking any duty or sinning against the order of things.

Whilst reason raises man above the brutal herd, and death is big with promises, they alone are subject to blind authority who have no reliance on their own strength. "They are free who will be free!"*

While reason raises human beings above the herd of animals, and death is full of promise, only those who lack confidence in their own strength submit to blind authority. "They are free who will be free!"*

(*Footnote. "He is the free man, whom TRUTH makes free!" Cowper.)

(*Footnote. "The man whom TRUTH makes free is free!" Cowper.)

The being who can govern itself, has nothing to fear in life; but if any thing is dearer than its own respect, the price must be paid to the last farthing. Virtue, like every thing valuable, must be loved for herself alone; or she will not take up her abode with us. She will not impart that peace, "which passeth understanding," when she is merely made the stilts of reputation and respected with pharisaical exactness, because "honesty is the best policy."

A person who can govern themselves has nothing to fear in life. But if anything matters more to them than their own self-respect, they must pay the price down to the last penny. Virtue, like everything valuable, must be loved for its own sake, or it will not make its home with us. Virtue will not give us the peace “which passeth understanding” if we use it merely to prop up our reputation. Nor will it give us that peace if we follow its rules with self-righteous precision because “honesty is the best policy.”

That the plan of life which enables us to carry some knowledge and virtue into another world, is the one best calculated to ensure content in this, cannot be denied; yet few people act according to this principle, though it be universally allowed that it admits not of dispute. Present pleasure, or present power, carry before it these sober convictions; and it is for the day, not for life, that man bargains with happiness. How few! how very few! have sufficient foresight or resolution, to endure a small evil at the moment, to avoid a greater hereafter.

No one can deny that the best way to find contentment in this world is to live so that we can carry some knowledge and virtue into the next. Yet few people act on this principle, even though everyone agrees that it cannot be disputed. The desire for immediate pleasure or power sweeps these sober convictions aside. People bargain with happiness for the day, not for life. How few, how very few, have the foresight or determination to endure a small hardship now to avoid a greater one later!

Woman in particular, whose virtue* is built on mutual prejudices, seldom attains to this greatness of mind; so that, becoming the slave of her own feelings, she is easily subjugated by those of others. Thus degraded, her reason, her misty reason! is employed rather to burnish than to snap her chains.

Women in particular, whose virtue* is built on shared prejudices, seldom achieve this greatness of mind. As a result, a woman becomes a slave to her own feelings and is easily controlled by the feelings of others. Thus degraded, she uses her reason, her clouded reason! to polish her chains rather than break them.

(*Footnote. I mean to use a word that comprehends more than chastity, the sexual virtue.)

(*Footnote. I mean to use a word that covers more than chastity, the sexual virtue.)

Indignantly have I heard women argue in the same track as men, and adopt the sentiments that brutalize them with all the pertinacity of ignorance.

I have been angry to hear women argue just like men. They cling with the stubbornness of ignorance to beliefs that degrade them.

I must illustrate my assertion by a few examples. Mrs. Piozzi, who often repeated by rote, what she did not understand, comes forward with Johnsonian periods.

I must illustrate my claim with a few examples. Mrs. Piozzi often repeated by rote things she did not understand. She presents herself with sentences in Johnson’s style.

"Seek not for happiness in singularity; and dread a refinement of wisdom as a deviation into folly." Thus she dogmatically addresses a new married man; and to elucidate this pompous exordium, she adds, "I said that the person of your lady would not grow more pleasing to you, but pray let her never suspect that it grows less so: that a woman will pardon an affront to her understanding much sooner than one to her person, is well known; nor will any of us contradict the assertion. All our attainments, all our arts, are employed to gain and keep the heart of man; and what mortification can exceed the disappointment, if the end be not obtained: There is no reproof however pointed, no punishment however severe, that a woman of spirit will not prefer to neglect; and if she can endure it without complaint, it only proves that she means to make herself amends by the attention of others for the slights of her husband!"

"Do not look for happiness in being different. And beware of excessive wisdom, for it may lead you into folly." This is how she dogmatically addresses a newly married man. To explain this pompous opening, she adds, "I said that your wife would not grow more attractive to you. But please never let her suspect that she is growing less attractive. It is well known that a woman will forgive an insult to her intelligence much sooner than one to her appearance. None of us will deny it. All our accomplishments and all our skills are used to win and keep a man's heart. What could be more humiliating than the disappointment of failing to achieve that goal? A spirited woman would prefer any criticism, however sharp, or any punishment, however severe, to neglect. And if she can endure neglect without complaint, it only proves that she intends to make up for her husband's slights by seeking the attention of others!"

These are true masculine sentiments. "All our ARTS are employed to gain and keep the heart of man:"—and what is the inference?—if her person, and was there ever a person, though formed with Medicisan symmetry, that was not slighted? be neglected, she will make herself amends by endeavouring to please other men. Noble morality! But thus is the understanding of the whole sex affronted, and their virtue deprived of the common basis of virtue. A woman must know, that her person cannot be as pleasing to her husband as it was to her lover, and if she be offended with him for being a human creature, she may as well whine about the loss of his heart as about any other foolish thing. And this very want of discernment or unreasonable anger, proves that he could not change his fondness for her person into affection for her virtues or respect for her understanding.

These are truly masculine sentiments. "All our arts are used to win and keep a man's heart." And what follows? If a woman's looks are neglected, she will make up for it by trying to please other men. Yet was there ever anyone, even someone with the perfect proportions of a Medici statue, whose looks were never slighted? Noble morality! But this insults the understanding of the whole female sex and denies their virtue the foundation of all virtue. A woman must know that her looks cannot please her husband as much as they pleased him when he was her lover. If she resents him for being human, she might as well whine about losing his heart as about any other foolish thing. And this very lack of judgment or unreasonable anger proves that he could not turn his fondness for her looks into affection for her virtues or respect for her understanding.

Whilst women avow, and act up to such opinions, their understandings, at least, deserve the contempt and obloquy that men, WHO NEVER insult their persons, have pointedly levelled at the female mind. And it is the sentiments of these polite men, who do not wish to be encumbered with mind, that vain women thoughtlessly adopt. Yet they should know, that insulted reason alone can spread that SACRED reserve about the persons which renders human affections, for human affections have always some base alloy, as permanent as is consistent with the grand end of existence—the attainment of virtue.

As long as women profess and act on such opinions, their minds, at least, deserve contempt and scorn. Men who NEVER insult women personally have directed this contempt and scorn at the female mind. Yet vain women thoughtlessly adopt the views of these polite men, who do not want to be burdened with minds. They should know that reason alone, though insulted, can create that SACRED reserve around their persons. This reserve makes human affections as lasting as they can be, consistent with the great purpose of existence: achieving virtue. For human affections always contain some baser element.

The Baroness de Stael speaks the same language as the lady just cited, with more enthusiasm. Her eulogium on Rousseau was accidentally put into my hands, and her sentiments, the sentiments of too many of my sex, may serve as the text for a few comments. "Though Rousseau," she observes, "has endeavoured to prevent women from interfering in public affairs, and acting a brilliant part in the theatre of politics; yet, in speaking of them, how much has he done it to their satisfaction! If he wished to deprive them of some rights, foreign to their sex, how has he for ever restored to them all those to which it has a claim! And in attempting to diminish their influence over the deliberations of men, how sacredly has he established the empire they have over their happiness! In aiding them to descend from an usurped throne, he has firmly seated them upon that to which they were destined by nature; and though he be full of indignation against them when they endeavour to resemble men, yet when they come before him with all THE CHARMS WEAKNESSES, VIRTUES, and ERRORS, OF their sex, his respect for their PERSONS amounts almost to adoration." True!—For never was there a sensualist who paid more fervent adoration at the shrine of beauty. So devout, indeed, was his respect for the person, that excepting the virtue of chastity, for obvious reasons, he only wished to see it embellished by charms, weaknesses, and errors. He was afraid lest the austerity of reason should disturb the soft playfulness of love. The master wished to have a meretricious slave to fondle, entirely dependent on his reason and bounty; he did not want a companion, whom he should be compelled to esteem, or a friend to whom he could confide the care of his children's education, should death deprive them of their father, before he had fulfilled the sacred task. He denies woman reason, shuts her out from knowledge, and turns her aside from truth; yet his pardon is granted, because, "he admits the passion of love." It would require some ingenuity to show why women were to be under such an obligation to him for thus admitting love; when it is clear that he admits it only for the relaxation of men, and to perpetuate the species; but he talked with passion, and that powerful spell worked on the sensibility of a young encomiast. "What signifies it," pursues this rhapsodist, "to women, that his reason disputes with them the empire, when his heart is devotedly theirs." It is not empire—but equality, that they should contend for. Yet, if they only wished to lengthen out their sway, they should not entirely trust to their persons, for though beauty may gain a heart, it cannot keep it, even while the beauty is in full bloom, unless the mind lend, at least, some graces.

The Baroness de Stael says much the same as the lady quoted earlier, but with more enthusiasm. Her praise of Rousseau happened to come into my hands. Her views, which are shared by too many women, may serve as a starting point for a few comments. "Although Rousseau has tried to keep women from interfering in public affairs or playing a brilliant part in politics, how pleasingly he has spoken of them! If he wished to deprive them of some rights unsuited to their sex, how fully and permanently he has restored all the rights to which their sex has a claim! In trying to reduce their influence over men's decisions, how sacredly he has established their power over men's happiness! By helping them down from a throne they had seized, he has firmly seated them on the throne nature intended for them. He is full of anger when they try to resemble men. Yet when they appear before him with all the charms, weaknesses, virtues, and errors of their sex, his respect for their persons is almost worship." True! No sensualist ever worshipped more fervently at the shrine of beauty. His respect for a woman's person was indeed so devout that he wanted it adorned only with charms, weaknesses, and errors. For obvious reasons, he made an exception for the virtue of chastity. He feared that the severity of reason might disturb the gentle playfulness of love. The master wanted an alluring slave to caress, one entirely dependent on his reason and generosity. He did not want a companion he would be obliged to respect. Nor did he want a friend he could entrust with his children's education, if death took him before he had completed that sacred task. He denies women reason, shuts them out from knowledge, and turns them away from truth. Yet he is forgiven because "he acknowledges the passion of love." It would take some ingenuity to show why women should feel so indebted to him for acknowledging love. Clearly, he acknowledges it only for men's relaxation and for the continuation of the species. But he spoke passionately, and that powerful spell worked on the feelings of a young admirer. "What does it matter to women," this rhapsodist continues, "that his reason disputes their claim to power, when his heart is devoted entirely to them?" It is not power, but equality, that women should fight for. Yet even if they wanted only to extend their rule, they should not rely entirely on their persons. Beauty may win a heart, but it cannot keep it, even while beauty is in full bloom, unless the mind lends at least some graces.

When women are once sufficiently enlightened to discover their real interest, on a grand scale, they will, I am persuaded, be very ready to resign all the prerogatives of love, that are not mutual, (speaking of them as lasting prerogatives,) for the calm satisfaction of friendship, and the tender confidence of habitual esteem. Before marriage they will not assume any insolent airs, nor afterward abjectly submit; but, endeavouring to act like reasonable creatures, in both situations, they will not be tumbled from a throne to a stool.

Once women are educated enough to understand their true interests in the broader sense, I am convinced they will readily give up all the privileges of love that are not mutual, at least as lasting privileges. They will exchange them for the calm satisfaction of friendship and the tender trust that comes from lasting mutual respect. Before marriage, women will not act arrogantly, nor will they submit meekly afterward. Instead, they will try to act like reasonable people both before and after marriage. They will not be knocked from a throne onto a stool.

Madame Genlis has written several entertaining books for children; and her letters on Education afford many useful hints, that sensible parents will certainly avail themselves of; but her views are narrow, and her prejudices as unreasonable as strong.

Madame Genlis has written several entertaining books for children. Her letters on education offer many useful suggestions that sensible parents will certainly use. But her views are narrow, and her prejudices are as unreasonable as they are strong.

I shall pass over her vehement argument in favour of the eternity of future punishments, because I blush to think that a human being should ever argue vehemently in such a cause, and only make a few remarks on her absurd manner of making the parental authority supplant reason. For every where does she inculcate not only BLIND submission to parents; but to the opinion of the world.*

I will pass over her passionate argument that future punishments last forever. I blush to think that any human being would argue so passionately for such a cause. Instead, I will make a few remarks about her absurd way of putting parental authority above reason. Everywhere, she teaches not only BLIND submission to parents but also submission to the opinion of the world.*

(*Footnote. A person is not to act in this or that way, though convinced they are right in so doing, because some equivocal circumstances may lead the world to SUSPECT that they acted from different motives. This is sacrificing the substance for a shadow. Let people but watch their own hearts, and act rightly as far as they can judge, and they may patiently wait till the opinion of the world comes round. It is best to be directed by a simple motive—for justice has too often been sacrificed to propriety;—another word for convenience.)

(*Footnote. A person is told not to act, even when convinced that doing so is right. This is because some ambiguous circumstances may lead the world to SUSPECT different motives. This sacrifices the substance for a shadow. Let people examine their own hearts and act rightly, as far as they can judge. They can then patiently wait for the world to change its opinion. It is best to act from a simple motive. Justice has too often been sacrificed to propriety, another word for convenience.)

She tells a story of a young man engaged by his father's express desire to a girl of fortune. Before the marriage could take place she is deprived of her fortune, and thrown friendless on the world. The father practises the most infamous arts to separate his son from her, and when the son detects his villany, and, following the dictates of honour, marries the girl, nothing but misery ensues, because forsooth he married WITHOUT his father's consent. On what ground can religion or morality rest, when justice is thus set at defiance? In the same style she represents an accomplished young woman, as ready to marry any body that her MAMMA pleased to recommend; and, as actually marrying the young man of her own choice, without feeling any emotions of passion, because that a well educated girl had not time to be in love. Is it possible to have much respect for a system of education that thus insults reason and nature?

She tells the story of a young man whose father insists that he become engaged to a wealthy girl. Before they can marry, the girl loses her fortune and is left friendless in the world. The father uses the most disgraceful tricks to separate his son from her. But the son discovers his father's wrongdoing and, following his sense of honor, marries the girl. Nothing but misery follows, supposedly because he married WITHOUT his father's consent. What foundation can religion or morality have when justice is treated with such contempt? In the same way, she portrays an accomplished young woman as ready to marry anyone her MOTHER recommends. The young woman actually marries the man of her own choice without feeling any passion. That is because a well-educated girl has no time to fall in love. Is it possible to have much respect for a system of education that insults reason and nature in this way?

Many similar opinions occur in her writings, mixed with sentiments that do honour to her head and heart. Yet so much superstition is mixed with her religion, and so much worldly wisdom with her morality, that I should not let a young person read her works, unless I could afterwards converse on the subjects, and point out the contradictions.

Many similar opinions appear in her writings, alongside thoughts that reflect well on her mind and character. Yet her religion is so mixed with superstition, and her morality with worldly wisdom, that I would not let a young person read her works unless I could discuss the subjects with them afterward and point out the contradictions.

Mrs. Chapone's Letters are written with such good sense, and unaffected humility, and contain so many useful observations, that I only mention them to pay the worthy writer this tribute of respect. I cannot, it is true, always coincide in opinion with her; but I always respect her.

Mrs. Chapone's Letters are written with such good sense and genuine humility, and contain so many useful observations. I mention them only to pay the worthy writer this tribute of respect. It is true that I cannot always agree with her, but I always respect her.

The very word respect brings Mrs. Macaulay to my remembrance. The woman of the greatest abilities, undoubtedly, that this country has ever produced. And yet this woman has been suffered to die without sufficient respect being paid to her memory.

The very word respect reminds me of Mrs. Macaulay. She was undoubtedly the most capable woman this country has ever produced. Yet she has died without her memory receiving the respect it deserves.

Posterity, however, will be more just; and remember that Catharine Macaulay was an example of intellectual acquirements supposed to be incompatible with the weakness of her sex. In her style of writing, indeed, no sex appears, for it is like the sense it conveys, strong and clear.

Future generations, however, will be more just. They will remember that Catharine Macaulay achieved intellectual accomplishments thought incompatible with the supposed weakness of her sex. Indeed, her writing shows no sign of her sex. Like the ideas it conveys, her style is strong and clear.

I will not call her's a masculine understanding, because I admit not of such an arrogant assumption of reason; but I contend that it was a sound one, and that her judgment, the matured fruit of profound thinking, was a proof that a woman can acquire judgment, in the full extent of the word. Possessing more penetration than sagacity, more understanding than fancy, she writes with sober energy, and argumentative closeness; yet sympathy and benevolence give an interest to her sentiments, and that vital heat to arguments, which forces the reader to weigh them.*

I will not call her understanding masculine, because I reject the arrogant assumption that reason belongs to men. But I maintain that her understanding was sound. Her judgment was the mature fruit of deep thought. It proved that a woman can acquire judgment in the fullest sense of the word. She had more insight than shrewdness, and more understanding than imagination. She writes with restrained force and closely reasoned arguments. Yet sympathy and kindness make her views compelling. They also give her arguments a vital warmth that forces the reader to weigh them.*

(*Footnote. Coinciding in opinion with Mrs. Macaulay relative to many branches of education, I refer to her valuable work, instead of quoting her sentiments to support my own.)

(*Footnote. I agree with Mrs. Macaulay on many aspects of education. So I refer readers to her valuable work rather than quoting her views to support my own.)

When I first thought of writing these strictures I anticipated Mrs. Macaulay's approbation with a little of that sanguine ardour which it has been the business of my life to depress; but soon heard with the sickly qualm of disappointed hope, and the still seriousness of regret—that she was no more!

When I first thought of writing this criticism, I eagerly hoped for Mrs. Macaulay's approval. I had spent my life trying to restrain such hopeful enthusiasm. But I soon heard that she had died. I felt the sickening pain of disappointed hope and the quiet gravity of regret.

Taking a view of the different works which have been written on education, Lord Chesterfield's Letters must not be silently passed over. Not that I mean to analyze his unmanly, immoral system, or even to cull any of the useful shrewd remarks which occur in his frivolous correspondence—No, I only mean to make a few reflections on the avowed tendency of them—the art of acquiring an early knowledge of the world. An art, I will venture to assert, that preys secretly, like the worm in the bud, on the expanding powers, and turns to poison the generous juices which should mount with vigour in the youthful frame, inspiring warm affections and great resolves.

In considering the different works written on education, I cannot pass over Lord Chesterfield's Letters in silence. I do not intend to analyze his unmanly, immoral system. Nor will I pick out the useful, shrewd observations scattered through his frivolous correspondence. No, I only intend to reflect briefly on its stated aim: the art of learning about the world early in life. I dare say that this art secretly feeds on developing abilities, like a worm in a bud. It poisons the generous vital forces that should rise vigorously in young people, inspiring warm affections and great ambitions.

For every thing, saith the wise man, there is reason; and who would look for the fruits of autumn during the genial months of spring? But this is mere declamation, and I mean to reason with those worldly-wise instructors, who, instead of cultivating the judgment, instil prejudices, and render hard the heart that gradual experience would only have cooled. An early acquaintance with human infirmities; or, what is termed knowledge of the world, is the surest way, in my opinion, to contract the heart and damp the natural youthful ardour which produces not only great talents, but great virtues. For the vain attempt to bring forth the fruit of experience, before the sapling has thrown out its leaves, only exhausts its strength, and prevents its assuming a natural form; just as the form and strength of subsiding metals are injured when the attraction of cohesion is disturbed. Tell me, ye who have studied the human mind, is it not a strange way to fix principles by showing young people that they are seldom stable? And how can they be fortified by habits when they are proved to be fallacious by example? Why is the ardour of youth thus to be damped, and the luxuriancy of fancy cut to the quick? This dry caution may, it is true, guard a character from worldly mischances; but will infallibly preclude excellence in either virtue or knowledge. The stumbling-block thrown across every path by suspicion, will prevent any vigorous exertions of genius or benevolence, and life will be stripped of its most alluring charm long before its calm evening, when man should retire to contemplation for comfort and support.

The wise man says there is a reason for everything. Who would expect autumn fruit during the pleasant months of spring? But that is mere rhetoric. I mean to argue with those worldly wise teachers who instill prejudices instead of developing judgment. They harden a heart that experience would only have cooled gradually. In my opinion, learning about human weaknesses early in life is the surest way to narrow the heart. This “knowledge of the world,” as it is called, also dampens the natural enthusiasm of youth. That enthusiasm produces not only great talents but great virtues. Trying to produce the fruit of experience before the sapling has put out leaves is a vain effort. It only drains the sapling’s strength and prevents it from taking a natural shape. In the same way, metals settling into shape lose form and strength when the force holding them together is disturbed. Tell me, you who have studied the human mind, is it not strange to teach young people firm principles by showing them that principles are seldom stable? And how can habits strengthen those principles when examples show that the principles are unreliable? Why dampen the enthusiasm of youth in this way and cut back its flourishing imagination so severely? Such dry caution may protect a person’s character from worldly misfortunes. But it will certainly rule out excellence in virtue or knowledge. Suspicion puts an obstacle across every path and prevents any vigorous efforts of genius or kindness. It strips life of its most appealing charm long before its calm evening. That is when a person should turn to contemplation for comfort and support.

A young man who has been bred up with domestic friends, and led to store his mind with as much speculative knowledge as can be acquired by reading and the natural reflections which youthful ebullitions of animal spirits and instinctive feelings inspire, will enter the world with warm and erroneous expectations. But this appears to be the course of nature; and in morals, as well as in works of taste, we should be observant of her sacred indications, and not presume to lead when we ought obsequiously to follow.

A young man raised among family and friends may fill his mind with theoretical knowledge gained through reading. He may also gain knowledge by reflecting naturally on the energy and instincts of youth. Such a young man will enter the world with eager but mistaken expectations. But this seems to be the course of nature. In morals, as in works of taste, we should heed nature’s sacred signs. We should not presume to lead when we ought to follow faithfully.

In the world few people act from principle; present feelings, and early habits, are the grand springs: but how would the former be deadened, and the latter rendered iron corroding fetters, if the world were shown to young people just as it is; when no knowledge of mankind or their own hearts, slowly obtained by experience rendered them forbearing? Their fellow creatures would not then be viewed as frail beings; like themselves, condemned to struggle with human infirmities, and sometimes displaying the light and sometimes the dark side of their character; extorting alternate feelings of love and disgust; but guarded against as beasts of prey, till every enlarged social feeling, in a word—humanity, was eradicated.

In the world, few people act on principle. Present feelings and early habits are the main forces that guide them. But suppose young people were shown the world just as it is. Suppose this happened before experience had slowly taught them enough about humanity and their own hearts to make them tolerant. How much their feelings would be dulled, and their habits turned into corroding iron chains! They would no longer see other people as flawed beings like themselves, condemned to struggle with human weaknesses. They would not see them as sometimes showing the bright side of their character and sometimes the dark side, stirring feelings of love and disgust in turn. Instead, they would guard against others as beasts of prey, until every generous social feeling, in short, humanity itself, was rooted out.

In life, on the contrary, as we gradually discover the imperfections of our nature, we discover virtues, and various circumstances attach us to our fellow creatures, when we mix with them, and view the same objects, that are never thought of in acquiring a hasty unnatural knowledge of the world. We see a folly swell into a vice, by almost imperceptible degrees, and pity while we blame; but, if the hideous monster burst suddenly on our sight, fear and disgust rendering us more severe than man ought to be, might lead us with blind zeal to usurp the character of omnipotence, and denounce damnation on our fellow mortals, forgetting that we cannot read the heart, and that we have seeds of the same vices lurking in our own.

In life, by contrast, we gradually discover both the flaws and the virtues of human nature. As we spend time with others and share experiences, various circumstances draw us closer to them. These circumstances are never considered when we gain a hurried, unnatural knowledge of the world. We see a folly grow into a vice by almost imperceptible degrees, and we pity as well as blame. But if the hideous monster suddenly appeared before us, fear and disgust might make us harsher than we should be. In our blind zeal, we might claim the authority of an all-powerful being and condemn our fellow mortals to damnation. We would forget that we cannot read their hearts, and that the seeds of the same vices lie hidden in our own.

I have already remarked, that we expect more from instruction, than mere instruction can produce: for, instead of preparing young people to encounter the evils of life with dignity, and to acquire wisdom and virtue by the exercise of their own faculties, precepts are heaped upon precepts, and blind obedience required, when conviction should be brought home to reason.

I have already noted that we expect more from instruction than instruction alone can achieve. Instead of preparing young people to face life’s hardships with dignity, we pile rule upon rule. Instead of helping them develop wisdom and virtue by using their own abilities, we demand blind obedience. We should instead persuade them through reason.

Suppose, for instance, that a young person in the first ardour of friendship deifies the beloved object—what harm can arise from this mistaken enthusiastic attachment? Perhaps it is necessary for virtue first to appear in a human form to impress youthful hearts; the ideal model, which a more matured and exalted mind looks up to, and shapes for itself, would elude their sight. He who loves not his brother whom he hath seen, how can he love God? asked the wisest of men.

Suppose, for instance, that a young person idolizes a beloved friend in the first excitement of friendship. What harm can come from this misguided, passionate attachment? Perhaps virtue must first appear in human form to make an impression on young hearts. They would not see the ideal model that a more mature and elevated mind creates for itself and looks up to. As the wisest of men asked, how can someone love God if they do not love the brother they have seen?

It is natural for youth to adorn the first object of its affection with every good quality, and the emulation produced by ignorance, or, to speak with more propriety, by inexperience, brings forward the mind capable of forming such an affection, and when, in the lapse of time, perfection is found not to be within the reach of mortals, virtue, abstractly, is thought beautiful, and wisdom sublime. Admiration then gives place to friendship, properly so called, because it is cemented by esteem; and the being walks alone only dependent on heaven for that emulous panting after perfection which ever glows in a noble mind. But this knowledge a man must gain by the exertion of his own faculties; and this is surely the blessed fruit of disappointed hope! for He who delighteth to diffuse happiness and show mercy to the weak creatures, who are learning to know him, never implanted a good propensity to be a tormenting ignis fatuus.

Young people naturally imagine that the first person they love has every good quality. Their ignorance, or more accurately their inexperience, inspires a desire to emulate that person. This desire helps develop a mind capable of such affection. In time, they discover that perfection is beyond the reach of mortals. They then see virtue itself as beautiful and wisdom as sublime. Admiration gives way to friendship in the true sense, because mutual esteem holds it together. Then a person stands alone, dependent only on heaven for the eager striving for perfection that always burns in a noble mind. But a person must gain this understanding by using their own faculties. Surely this is the blessed fruit of disappointed hope! For God delights in spreading happiness and showing mercy to the weak creatures who are learning to know him. He never gave them a good impulse to be a tormenting false light.

Our trees are now allowed to spread with wild luxuriance, nor do we expect by force to combine the majestic marks of time with youthful graces; but wait patiently till they have struck deep their root, and braved many a storm. Is the mind then, which, in proportion to its dignity advances more slowly towards perfection, to be treated with less respect? To argue from analogy, every thing around us is in a progressive state; and when an unwelcome knowledge of life produces almost a satiety of life, and we discover by the natural course of things that all that is done under the sun is vanity, we are drawing near the awful close of the drama. The days of activity and hope are over, and the opportunities which the first stage of existence has afforded of advancing in the scale of intelligence, must soon be summed up. A knowledge at this period of the futility of life, or earlier, if obtained by experience, is very useful, because it is natural; but when a frail being is shown the follies and vices of man, that he may be taught prudently to guard against the common casualties of life by sacrificing his heart—surely it is not speaking harshly to call it the wisdom of this world, contrasted with the nobler fruit of piety and experience.

We now allow our trees to grow freely and abundantly. We do not try to force them to combine the majestic signs of age with the beauty of youth. Instead, we wait patiently until they have put down deep roots and weathered many storms. Should the mind be treated with less respect? Its greater dignity means that it advances more slowly toward perfection. By analogy, everything around us develops gradually. As we learn unwelcome truths about life, we grow almost weary of it. And as events take their natural course, we discover that everything done under the sun is vanity. Then we are drawing near the awe-inspiring end of the drama. The days of activity and hope are over. Soon we must reckon up how far we have advanced in understanding during the first stage of life. Recognizing the futility of life at this point is very useful because it is natural. It is also useful if experience brings that knowledge earlier. But consider what happens when a vulnerable person is shown human follies and vices for another purpose. The aim is to teach that person to guard prudently against life’s common misfortunes by sacrificing the heart. Surely it is not too harsh to call this the wisdom of the world, unlike the nobler fruit of piety and experience.

I will venture a paradox, and deliver my opinion without reserve; if men were only born to form a circle of life and death, it would be wise to take every step that foresight could suggest to render life happy. Moderation in every pursuit would then be supreme wisdom; and the prudent voluptuary might enjoy a degree of content, though he neither cultivated his understanding nor kept his heart pure. Prudence, supposing we were mortal, would be true wisdom, or, to be more explicit, would procure the greatest portion of happiness, considering the whole of life; but knowledge beyond the conveniences of life would be a curse.

I will risk a paradox and speak my mind freely. If people were born only to live and die, it would be wise to use every means foresight suggests to make life happy. Moderation in every pursuit would then be the highest wisdom. A cautious pleasure seeker could enjoy some contentment, even without developing his understanding or keeping his heart pure. If we were mortal, prudence would be true wisdom. More precisely, it would bring the greatest share of happiness over a whole lifetime. But knowledge beyond what is useful for the comforts of life would be a curse.

Why should we injure our health by close study? The exalted pleasure which intellectual pursuits afford would scarcely be equivalent to the hours of languor that follow; especially, if it be necessary to take into the reckoning the doubts and disappointments that cloud our researches. Vanity and vexation close every inquiry: for the cause which we particularly wished to discover flies like the horizon before us as we advance. The ignorant, on the contrary, resemble children, and suppose, that if they could walk straight forward they should at last arrive where the earth and clouds meet. Yet, disappointed as we are in our researches, the mind gains strength by the exercise, sufficient, perhaps, to comprehend the answers which, in another step of existence, it may receive to the anxious questions it asked, when the understanding with feeble wing was fluttering round the visible effects to dive into the hidden cause.

Why should we harm our health through intense study? The great pleasure of intellectual pursuits would hardly make up for the hours of weariness that follow. This is especially true if we must also count the doubts and disappointments that cloud our investigations. Every inquiry ends in futility and frustration. The cause we most wanted to discover recedes before us like the horizon as we advance. Ignorant people, by contrast, are like children. They imagine that if they walked straight ahead, they would eventually reach the place where the earth and clouds meet. Yet, although our investigations disappoint us, the mind grows stronger through the effort. Perhaps it grows strong enough to understand the answers it may receive in another stage of existence. Those answers may respond to the anxious questions it asked when its understanding was still weak. Then, like a feeble wing, it fluttered around visible effects, trying to dive into their hidden cause.

The passions also, the winds of life, would be useless, if not injurious, did the substance which composes our thinking being, after we have thought in vain, only become the support of vegetable life, and invigorate a cabbage, or blush in a rose. The appetites would answer every earthly purpose, and produce more moderate and permanent happiness. But the powers of the soul that are of little use here, and, probably, disturb our animal enjoyments, even while conscious dignity makes us glory in possessing them, prove that life is merely an education, a state of infancy, of which the only hopes worth cherishing should not be sacrificed. I mean, therefore to infer, that we ought to have a precise idea of what we wish to attain by education, for the immortality of the soul is contradicted by the actions of many people, who firmly profess the belief.

The passions, the winds of life, would also be useless, if not harmful, if our thoughts came to nothing. That would be so if the substance of our thinking being merely nourished plant life after we had thought in vain. It might strengthen a cabbage or bring color to a rose. Our appetites would serve every earthly purpose and produce a more moderate and lasting happiness. But the powers of the soul are of little use here. They probably disturb our physical pleasures, even as our sense of dignity makes us proud to possess them. These powers prove that life is merely an education, a state of infancy. We should not sacrifice the only hopes worth cherishing in this state. I therefore mean to suggest that we should have a clear idea of what we wish to achieve through education. For many people firmly profess belief in the immortality of the soul, yet their actions contradict that belief.

If you mean to secure ease and prosperity on earth as the first consideration, and leave futurity to provide for itself, you act prudently in giving your child an early insight into the weaknesses of his nature. You may not, it is true, make an Inkle of him; but do not imagine that he will stick to more than the letter of the law, who has very early imbibed a mean opinion of human nature; nor will he think it necessary to rise much above the common standard. He may avoid gross vices, because honesty is the best policy; but he will never aim at attaining great virtues. The example of writers and artists will illustrate this remark.

If your first concern is to secure comfort and prosperity in this life, and you leave the future to take care of itself, you are wise to teach your child early about the weaknesses of human nature. You may not make an Inkle of him, it is true. But if he learns early to think poorly of human nature, do not imagine that he will follow more than the letter of the law. Nor will he think he needs to rise much above the usual standard. He may avoid serious vices because honesty is the best policy. But he will never aim to achieve great virtues. The example of writers and artists will illustrate this point.

I must therefore venture to doubt, whether what has been thought an axiom in morals, may not have been a dogmatical assertion made by men who have coolly seen mankind through the medium of books, and say, in direct contradiction to them, that the regulation of the passions is not always wisdom. On the contrary, it should seem, that one reason why men have superiour judgment and more fortitude than women, is undoubtedly this, that they give a freer scope to the grand passions, and by more frequently going astray, enlarge their minds. If then by the exercise of their own reason, they fix on some stable principle, they have probably to thank the force of their passions, nourished by FALSE views of life, and permitted to overleap the boundary that secures content. But if, in the dawn of life, we could soberly survey the scenes before us as in perspective, and see every thing in its true colours, how could the passions gain sufficient strength to unfold the faculties?

I must therefore dare to doubt what has been considered a basic moral truth. Perhaps it was only a dogmatic claim made by men who have viewed humanity dispassionately through books. In direct contradiction to them, I say that controlling the passions is not always wise. On the contrary, one reason men have better judgment and more courage than women is undoubtedly that they give their strongest passions freer rein. By going astray more often, they broaden their minds. If men then use their own reason to settle on a firm principle, they probably owe it to the force of their passions. Those passions were fed by FALSE views of life and allowed to cross the boundary that keeps people content. But suppose we could calmly survey the course of our lives from the beginning and see everything as it truly is. How could our passions grow strong enough to develop our abilities?

Let me now, as from an eminence, survey the world stripped of all its false delusive charms. The clear atmosphere enables me to see each object in its true point of view, while my heart is still. I am calm as the prospect in a morning when the mists, slowly dispersing, silently unveil the beauties of nature, refreshed by rest.

Let me now look out over the world, as if from a height, stripped of all its false and deceptive charms. The clear air lets me see everything as it truly is, while my heart is still. I am as calm as the morning landscape, when the slowly clearing mist silently reveals nature’s beauty, refreshed by rest.

In what light will the world now appear? I rub my eyes and think, perchance, that I am just awaking from a lively dream.

How will the world look now? I rub my eyes and think that perhaps I am waking from a vivid dream.

I see the sons and daughters of men pursuing shadows, and anxiously wasting their powers to feed passions which have no adequate object—if the very excess of these blind impulses pampered by that lying, yet constantly-trusted guide, the imagination, did not, by preparing them for some other state, render short sighted mortals wiser without their own concurrence; or, what comes to the same thing, when they were pursuing some imaginary present good.

I see men and women chasing shadows. They anxiously waste their abilities feeding passions that have no worthy object. Yet the very excess of these blind impulses may make these short-sighted mortals wiser, without their own help, by preparing them for another state. Imagination, that lying guide people always trust, encourages these impulses. In other words, people may become wiser while pursuing some imaginary good in the present.

After viewing objects in this light, it would not be very fanciful to imagine, that this world was a stage on which a pantomime is daily performed for the amusement of superiour beings. How would they be diverted to see the ambitious man consuming himself by running after a phantom, and, pursuing the bubble fame in "the cannon's mouth" that was to blow him to nothing: for when consciousness is lost, it matters not whether we mount in a whirlwind or descend in rain. And should they compassionately invigorate his sight, and show him the thorny path which led to eminence, that like a quicksand sinks as he ascends, disappointing his hopes when almost within his grasp, would he not leave to others the honour of amusing them, and labour to secure the present moment, though from the constitution of his nature he would not find it very easy to catch the flying stream? Such slaves are we to hope and fear!

Seen in this light, the world might not seem too fancifully imagined as a stage. On it, a pantomime is performed every day for the amusement of superior beings. How amused they would be to see an ambitious man exhausting himself by chasing a phantom. He pursues the bubble of fame in "the cannon's mouth", only to be blown to nothing. For once consciousness is lost, it makes no difference whether we rise in a whirlwind or fall in rain. Suppose those superior beings took pity on the ambitious man and sharpened his sight. They might show him the thorny path to greatness, which sinks like quicksand as he climbs it. The path disappoints his hopes just as they are almost within his grasp. Would he not then leave the honor of amusing those beings to others and work to secure the present moment? Even so, his nature would make it difficult for him to catch the flying stream. How enslaved we are by hope and fear!

But, vain as the ambitious man's pursuit would be, he is often striving for something more substantial than fame—that indeed would be the veriest meteor, the wildest fire that could lure a man to ruin. What! renounce the most trifling gratification to be applauded when he should be no more! Wherefore this struggle, whether man is mortal or immortal, if that noble passion did not really raise the being above his fellows?

But however futile an ambitious man's pursuit may be, he is often striving for something more substantial than fame. Fame alone would be the most deceptive light, the wildest fire that could lure a man to ruin. What! Give up even the smallest pleasure just to be applauded after he is dead! Why struggle for fame, whether man is mortal or immortal, if that noble passion did not truly raise him above his fellows?

And love! What diverting scenes would it produce—Pantaloon's tricks must yield to more egregious folly. To see a mortal adorn an object with imaginary charms, and then fall down and worship the idol which he had himself set up—how ridiculous! But what serious consequences ensue to rob man of that portion of happiness, which the Deity by calling him into existence has (or, on what can his attributes rest?) indubitably promised; would not all the purposes of life have been much better fulfilled if he had only felt what has been termed physical love? And, would not the sight of the object, not seen through the medium of the imagination, soon reduce the passion to an appetite, if reflection, the noble distinction of man, did not give it force, and make it an instrument to raise him above this earthy dross, by teaching him to love the centre of all perfection! whose wisdom appears clearer and clearer in the works of nature, in proportion as reason is illuminated and exalted by contemplation, and by acquiring that love of order which the struggles of passion produce?

And love! What entertaining scenes it would produce! Pantaloon’s tricks would be surpassed by even greater foolishness. How ridiculous to see a person give someone imaginary charms, then fall down and worship the idol he created himself! But the serious consequences rob man of a share of happiness that the Deity surely promised him by bringing him into existence. Otherwise, what basis could there be for the Deity’s attributes? Would not all the purposes of life have been much better fulfilled if he had felt only what is called physical love? And if he saw the person he loved without the filter of imagination, would his passion not soon be reduced to an appetite? It would, if reflection, the noble distinction of man, did not give passion force. Reflection also makes passion a means of raising man above this earthly dross. It does this by teaching him to love the center of all perfection! The wisdom of this perfect being appears ever more clearly in the works of nature. It becomes clearer as reason is enlightened and elevated through contemplation and through acquiring the love of order that struggles with passion produce.

The habit of reflection, and the knowledge attained by fostering any passion, might be shown to be equally useful though the object be proved equally fallacious; for they would all appear in the same light, if they were not magnified by the governing passion implanted in us by the Author of all good, to call forth and strengthen the faculties of each individual, and enable it to attain all the experience that an infant can obtain, who does certain things, it cannot tell why.

The habit of reflection and the knowledge gained by cultivating any passion might be shown to be equally useful, even if its object proved equally false. For all such objects would appear in the same light if they were not magnified by the ruling passion. The Author of all good implanted this passion in us to awaken and strengthen each individual’s faculties. Its purpose is also to enable each individual to gain all the experience an infant can gain, an infant who does certain things without knowing why.

I descend from my height, and mixing with my fellow creatures, feel myself hurried along the common stream; ambition, love, hope, and fear, exert their wonted power, though we be convinced by reason that their present and most attractive promises are only lying dreams; but had the cold hand of circumspection damped each generous feeling before it had left any permanent character, or fixed some habit, what could be expected, but selfish prudence and reason just rising above instinct? Who that has read Dean Swift's disgusting description of the Yahoos, and insipid one of Houyhnhnm with a philosophical eye, can avoid seeing the futility of degrading the passions, or making man rest in contentment?

I come down from my lofty position and mingle with my fellow creatures. I feel myself swept along by the common current. Ambition, love, hope, and fear exercise their usual power. They do so even though reason convinces us that their present, most attractive promises are only false dreams. But suppose cold caution had stifled every generous feeling before it had left any lasting mark on our character or formed a habit. What could we expect then, except selfish prudence and a reason barely above instinct? Who can read Dean Swift's disgusting description of the Yahoos and his dull description of Houyhnhnm with a philosophical eye without seeing how futile it is to debase the passions or make people settle for contentment?

The youth should ACT; for had he the experience of a grey head, he would be fitter for death than life, though his virtues, rather residing in his head than his heart could produce nothing great, and his understanding prepared for this world, would not, by its noble flights, prove that it had a title to a better.

The young man should ACT. If he had the experience of an old man, he would be better suited to death than to life. Yet his virtues, based in his head rather than his heart, could achieve nothing great. His understanding would be prepared for this world, but its noble flights would not prove it worthy of a better one.

Besides, it is not possible to give a young person a just view of life; he must have struggled with his own passions before he can estimate the force of the temptation which betrayed his brother into vice. Those who are entering life, and those who are departing, see the world from such very different points of view, that they can seldom think alike, unless the unfledged reason of the former never attempted a solitary flight.

Besides, it is impossible to give a young person an accurate view of life. He must first struggle with his own passions. Only then can he judge the strength of the temptation that led his brother into vice. Those entering life and those leaving it see the world from very different viewpoints. They can seldom think alike, unless the younger person’s inexperienced reason has never tried to fly on its own.

When we hear of some daring crime—it comes full upon us in the deepest shade of turpitude, and raises indignation; but the eye that gradually saw the darkness thicken, must observe it with more compassionate forbearance. The world cannot be seen by an unmoved spectator, we must mix in the throng, and feel as men feel before we can judge of their feelings. If we mean, in short, to live in the world to grow wiser and better, and not merely to enjoy the good things of life, we must attain a knowledge of others at the same time that we become acquainted with ourselves— knowledge acquired any other way only hardens the heart and perplexes the understanding.

When we hear of some daring crime, its full wickedness strikes us at once and arouses our anger. But someone who watched the darkness deepen gradually must view the crime with more compassion and patience. We cannot understand the world as detached spectators. We must join the crowd and feel as people feel before we can judge their feelings. In short, we may want to live in the world to become wiser and better, not merely to enjoy life’s pleasures. If so, we must learn about others while we come to know ourselves. Knowledge gained in any other way only hardens the heart and confuses the mind.

I may be told, that the knowledge thus acquired, is sometimes purchased at too dear a rate. I can only answer, that I very much doubt whether any knowledge can be attained without labour and sorrow; and those who wish to spare their children both, should not complain if they are neither wise nor virtuous. They only aimed at making them prudent; and prudence, early in life, is but the cautious craft of ignorant self-love. I have observed, that young people, to whose education particular attention has been paid, have, in general, been very superficial and conceited, and far from pleasing in any respect, because they had neither the unsuspecting warmth of youth, nor the cool depth of age. I cannot help imputing this unnatural appearance principally to that hasty premature instruction, which leads them presumptuously to repeat all the crude notions they have taken upon trust, so that the careful education which they received, makes them all their lives the slaves of prejudices.

I may be told that the knowledge gained in this way sometimes comes at too high a price. I can only answer that I very much doubt any knowledge can be gained without work and sorrow. Those who want to spare their children both should not complain if the children are neither wise nor virtuous. They only aimed to make their children prudent. And prudence early in life is merely the cautious cunning of ignorant self-love. I have observed that young people whose education received special attention have generally been very shallow and conceited. They have been far from pleasing in any respect. This is because they had neither the trusting warmth of youth nor the calm depth of age. I cannot help blaming this unnatural appearance chiefly on their rushed, premature instruction. It leads them to repeat presumptuously all the half-formed ideas they have accepted on trust. So the careful education they received makes them slaves to prejudice all their lives.

Mental as well as bodily exertion is, at first, irksome; so much so, that the many would fain let others both work and think for them. An observation which I have often made will illustrate my meaning. When in a circle of strangers, or acquaintances, a person of moderate abilities, asserts an opinion with heat, I will venture to affirm, for I have traced this fact home, very often, that it is a prejudice. These echoes have a high respect for the understanding of some relation or friend, and without fully comprehending the opinions, which they are so eager to retail, they maintain them with a degree of obstinacy, that would surprise even the person who concocted them.

Mental effort, like physical effort, is unpleasant at first. So unpleasant, in fact, that most people would rather let others work and think for them. An observation I have often made will illustrate my meaning. Suppose a person of moderate ability asserts an opinion heatedly among strangers or acquaintances. I would venture to say that the opinion is very often a prejudice. I have investigated this many times. These people are echoes. They greatly respect the intelligence of some relative or friend, but they do not fully understand the opinions they are so eager to repeat. Yet they defend those opinions with a stubbornness that would surprise even the person who came up with them.

I know that a kind of fashion now prevails of respecting prejudices; and when any one dares to face them, though actuated by humanity and armed by reason, he is superciliously asked, whether his ancestors were fools. No, I should reply; opinions, at first, of every description, were all, probably, considered, and therefore were founded on some reason; yet not unfrequently, of course, it was rather a local expedient than a fundamental principle, that would be reasonable at all times. But, moss-covered opinions assume the disproportioned form of prejudices, when they are indolently adopted only because age has given them a venerable aspect, though the reason on which they were built ceases to be a reason, or cannot be traced. Why are we to love prejudices, merely because they are prejudices? A prejudice is a fond obstinate persuasion, for which we can give no reason; for the moment a reason can be given for an opinion, it ceases to be a prejudice, though it may be an error in judgment: and are we then advised to cherish opinions only to set reason at defiance? This mode of arguing, if arguing it may be called, reminds me of what is vulgarly termed a woman's reason. For women sometimes declare that they love, or believe certain things, BECAUSE they love, or believe them.

I know it is now fashionable to respect prejudices. When someone dares to challenge them, even with humane motives and armed with reason, people ask him scornfully, “Were your ancestors fools?” No, I would reply. All opinions, of every kind, were probably considered when they first arose, and so were founded on some reason. Yet that reason was often a solution to a local problem, not a fundamental principle that would be reasonable at all times. But old, moss-covered opinions grow into oversized prejudices when people accept them lazily, simply because age makes them look worthy of respect. This happens even though the reason behind them is no longer valid or cannot be found. Why should we love prejudices merely because they are prejudices? A prejudice is a stubborn, cherished belief for which we can give no reason. The moment a reason can be given for an opinion, it stops being a prejudice, though it may still be mistaken. Are we then being advised to cherish opinions just to defy reason? This way of arguing, if it can be called arguing, reminds me of what people commonly call a woman’s reason. For women sometimes say they love or believe certain things BECAUSE they love or believe them.

It is impossible to converse with people to any purpose, who, in this style, only use affirmatives and negatives. Before you can bring them to a point, to start fairly from, you must go back to the simple principles that were antecedent to the prejudices broached by power; and it is ten to one but you are stopped by the philosophical assertion, that certain principles are as practically false as they are abstractly true. Nay, it may be inferred, that reason has whispered some doubts, for it generally happens that people assert their opinions with the greatest heat when they begin to waver; striving to drive out their own doubts by convincing their opponent, they grow angry when those gnawing doubts are thrown back to prey on themselves.

It is impossible to have a useful conversation with people who do nothing but say yes or no. Before you can reach a fair starting point, you must go back to the basic principles that existed before those in power introduced their prejudices. And chances are, you will be stopped by the philosophical claim that certain principles are as false in practice as they are true in theory. Indeed, you may infer that reason has raised some doubts in these people’s minds. People generally defend their opinions most fiercely when they begin to waver. They try to drive out their own doubts by convincing their opponent. They grow angry when those nagging doubts are thrown back at them, leaving them to gnaw away at their own minds.

The fact is, that men expect from education, what education cannot give. A sagacious parent or tutor may strengthen the body and sharpen the instruments by which the child is to gather knowledge; but the honey must be the reward of the individual's own industry. It is almost as absurd to attempt to make a youth wise by the experience of another, as to expect the body to grow strong by the exercise which is only talked of, or seen.

The fact is that men expect education to provide what it cannot. A wise parent or teacher may strengthen a child's body and sharpen the tools the child needs to gather knowledge. But the honey must be the reward of the child's own effort. Trying to make a young person wise through someone else's experience is almost as absurd as expecting the body to grow strong from exercise that is only discussed or watched.

Many of those children whose conduct has been most narrowly watched, become the weakest men, because their instructors only instill certain notions into their minds, that have no other foundation than their authority; and if they are loved or respected, the mind is cramped in its exertions and wavering in its advances. The business of education in this case, is only to conduct the shooting tendrils to a proper pole; yet after laying precept upon precept, without allowing a child to acquire judgment itself, parents expect them to act in the same manner by this borrowed fallacious light, as if they had illuminated it themselves; and be, when they enter life, what their parents are at the close. They do not consider that the tree, and even the human body, does not strengthen its fibres till it has reached its full growth.

Many children whose behavior has been watched most closely become the weakest men. Their teachers merely plant ideas in their minds that rest on nothing but the teachers’ authority. If the teachers are loved or respected, the child’s mind is constrained in its efforts and hesitant in its progress. Education in this case is merely a matter of guiding growing tendrils toward a suitable support. Yet parents pile rule upon rule without allowing a child to develop judgment. Then they expect the child to act by this borrowed, misleading light as if they had found it themselves. They expect the child, on entering life, to be what the parents are at its close. They do not consider that a tree, or even the human body, does not strengthen its fibers until it has reached its full growth.

There appears to be something analogous in the mind. The senses and the imagination give a form to the character, during childhood and youth; and the understanding as life advances, gives firmness to the first fair purposes of sensibility—till virtue, arising rather from the clear conviction of reason than the impulse of the heart, morality is made to rest on a rock against which the storms of passion vainly beat.

Something similar seems to happen in the mind. During childhood and youth, the senses and imagination shape character. As life goes on, understanding gives firmness to the first good intentions inspired by feeling. Eventually, virtue comes from the clear conviction of reason rather than the impulse of the heart. Morality then rests on a rock against which the storms of passion beat in vain.

I hope I shall not be misunderstood when I say, that religion will not have this condensing energy, unless it be founded on reason. If it be merely the refuge of weakness or wild fanaticism, and not a governing principle of conduct, drawn from self-knowledge, and a rational opinion respecting the attributes of God, what can it be expected to produce? The religion which consists in warming the affections, and exalting the imagination, is only the poetical part, and may afford the individual pleasure without rendering it a more moral being. It may be a substitute for worldly pursuits; yet narrow instead of enlarging the heart: but virtue must be loved as in itself sublime and excellent, and not for the advantages it procures or the evils it averts, if any great degree of excellence be expected. Men will not become moral when they only build airy castles in a future world to compensate for the disappointments which they meet with in this; if they turn their thoughts from relative duties to religious reveries.

I hope I will not be misunderstood when I say that religion cannot give this unifying strength unless it is based on reason. Suppose religion is merely a refuge for weakness or wild fanaticism. Suppose it is not a guiding principle of conduct, drawn from self-knowledge and a reasoned understanding of God’s attributes. What can we expect it to produce? Religion that stirs the emotions and excites the imagination is only the poetic side of religion. It may give people pleasure without making them more moral. It may replace worldly pursuits, yet narrow the heart instead of opening it. But if we expect to achieve any great excellence, we must love virtue as sublime and excellent in itself. We must not love it for the advantages it brings or the evils it prevents. People will not become moral if they merely build castles in the air about a future world to make up for disappointments in this one. Nor will they become moral if they turn their thoughts from their duties to others toward religious daydreams.

Most prospects in life are marred by the shuffling worldly wisdom of men, who, forgetting that they cannot serve God and mammon, endeavour to blend contradictory things. If you wish to make your son rich, pursue one course —if you are only anxious to make him virtuous, you must take another; but do not imagine that you can bound from one road to the other without losing your way.*

Most prospects in life are spoiled by men's evasive worldly wisdom. They forget that they cannot serve both God and wealth, and try to combine things that contradict each other. If you want to make your son rich, follow one path. If you care only about making him virtuous, you must take another. But do not imagine you can jump from one path to the other without losing your way.*