How Early Associations Shape Character

Educated in the enervating style recommended by the writers on whom I have been animadverting; and not having a chance, from their subordinate state in society, to recover their lost ground, is it surprising that women every where appear a defect in nature? Is it surprising, when we consider what a determinate effect an early association of ideas has on the character, that they neglect their understandings, and turn all their attention to their persons?

Women are educated in the weakening manner recommended by the writers I have criticized. Their subordinate position in society gives them no chance to recover the ground they have lost. Is it surprising, then, that women everywhere appear to be a flaw in nature? Early associations of ideas have a powerful effect on character. Given this, is it surprising that women neglect their minds and turn all their attention to their appearance?

The great advantages which naturally result from storing the mind with knowledge, are obvious from the following considerations. The association of our ideas is either habitual or instantaneous; and the latter mode seems rather to depend on the original temperature of the mind than on the will. When the ideas, and matters of fact, are once taken in, they lie by for use, till some fortuitous circumstance makes the information dart into the mind with illustrative force, that has been received at very different periods of our lives. Like the lightning's flash are many recollections; one idea assimilating and explaining another, with astonishing rapidity. I do not now allude to that quick perception of truth, which is so intuitive that it baffles research, and makes us at a loss to determine whether it is reminiscence or ratiocination, lost sight of in its celerity, that opens the dark cloud. Over those instantaneous associations we have little power; for when the mind is once enlarged by excursive flights, or profound reflection, the raw materials, will, in some degree, arrange themselves. The understanding, it is true, may keep us from going out of drawing when we group our thoughts, or transcribe from the imagination the warm sketches of fancy; but the animal spirits, the individual character give the colouring. Over this subtile electric fluid,* how little power do we possess, and over it how little power can reason obtain! These fine intractable spirits appear to be the essence of genius, and beaming in its eagle eye, produce in the most eminent degree the happy energy of associating thoughts that surprise, delight, and instruct. These are the glowing minds that concentrate pictures for their fellow-creatures; forcing them to view with interest the objects reflected from the impassioned imagination, which they passed over in nature.

The great benefits of filling the mind with knowledge are clear from the following observations. Our ideas become connected either through habit or in an instant. Instant connections seem to depend more on the mind’s natural temperament than on our will. Once we take in ideas and facts, they remain available for use. Then some chance event may bring information gathered at very different times in our lives flashing into the mind, shedding light on something. Many memories are like flashes of lightning. One idea connects with and explains another with astonishing speed. I am not speaking here of that quick perception of truth which is so intuitive that we cannot trace it. We cannot tell whether memory or reasoning, moving too quickly to follow, has cleared away the dark cloud. We have little control over such instant associations. Once the mind has been expanded by flights of thought or deep reflection, its raw materials arrange themselves to some extent. Reason may keep us from distorting our thoughts when we group them or put the vivid sketches of fancy into words. But our natural energy and individual character give those sketches their color. How little control we have over this subtle electric fluid,* and how little control reason can gain over it! These fine, unruly spirits seem to be the essence of genius. Shining in its eagle eye, they produce, to the highest degree, that happy power of connecting thoughts in ways that surprise, delight, and instruct. These glowing minds bring pictures into focus for others. They make people look with interest at the objects reflected by an impassioned imagination, objects they had passed over in nature.

(*Footnote. I have sometimes, when inclined to laugh at materialists, asked whether, as the most powerful effects in nature are apparently produced by fluids, the magnetic, etc. the passions might not be fine volatile fluids that embraced humanity, keeping the more refractory elementary parts together—or whether they were simply a liquid fire that pervaded the more sluggish materials giving them life and heat?)

(*Footnote. When I have felt like poking fun at materialists, I have sometimes asked a question. Nature’s most powerful effects are apparently produced by fluids, such as magnetic fluid. So might the passions be fine, volatile fluids that embrace humanity, holding its more resistant basic elements together? Or might the passions simply be a liquid fire that spreads through the more sluggish materials, giving them life and heat?)

I must be allowed to explain myself. The generality of people cannot see or feel poetically, they want fancy, and therefore fly from solitude in search of sensible objects; but when an author lends them his eyes, they can see as he saw, and be amused by images they could not select, though lying before them.

I must be allowed to explain myself. Most people cannot see or feel poetically. They lack imagination, so they flee solitude in search of things they can perceive with their senses. But when an author lends them his eyes, they can see as he saw. They can enjoy images they could not have picked out themselves, even though those images were right before them.

Education thus only supplies the man of genius with knowledge to give variety and contrast to his associations; but there is an habitual association of ideas, that grows "with our growth," which has a great effect on the moral character of mankind; and by which a turn is given to the mind, that commonly remains throughout life. So ductile is the understanding, and yet so stubborn, that the associations which depend on adventitious circumstances, during the period that the body takes to arrive at maturity, can seldom be disentangled by reason. One idea calls up another, its old associate, and memory, faithful to the first impressions, particularly when the intellectual powers are not employed to cool our sensations, retraces them with mechanical exactness.

Education therefore only gives a man of genius knowledge that adds variety and contrast to the ideas he connects. But habitual connections between ideas grow "with our growth" and greatly affect people’s moral character. They give the mind a direction that usually lasts throughout life. The mind is both so flexible and so stubborn that reason can rarely untangle connections formed by chance circumstances during physical development. One idea calls up another that has long been linked to it. Memory remains faithful to first impressions and retraces them with mechanical precision. This happens especially when we do not use our intellectual powers to cool our feelings.

This habitual slavery, to first impressions, has a more baneful effect on the female than the male character, because business and other dry employments of the understanding, tend to deaden the feelings and break associations that do violence to reason. But females, who are made women of when they are mere children, and brought back to childhood when they ought to leave the go-cart forever, have not sufficient strength of mind to efface the superinductions of art that have smothered nature.

This habit of being ruled by first impressions harms women's character more than men's. Business and other undemanding exercises of the mind tend to dull feelings and break associations that conflict with reason. But females are treated as women when they are still children. Then they are pushed back into childhood when they should leave the baby walker behind forever. As a result, they lack the strength of mind to erase the artificial habits that have smothered their nature.

Every thing that they see or hear serves to fix impressions, call forth emotions, and associate ideas, that give a sexual character to the mind. False notions of beauty and delicacy stop the growth of their limbs and produce a sickly soreness, rather than delicacy of organs; and thus weakened by being employed in unfolding instead of examining the first associations, forced on them by every surrounding object, how can they attain the vigour necessary to enable them to throw off their factitious character?—where find strength to recur to reason and rise superior to a system of oppression, that blasts the fair promises of spring? This cruel association of ideas, which every thing conspires to twist into all their habits of thinking, or, to speak with more precision, of feeling, receives new force when they begin to act a little for themselves; for they then perceive, that it is only through their address to excite emotions in men, that pleasure and power are to be obtained. Besides, all the books professedly written for their instruction, which make the first impression on their minds, all inculcate the same opinions. Educated in worse than Egyptian bondage, it is unreasonable, as well as cruel, to upbraid them with faults that can scarcely be avoided, unless a degree of native vigour be supposed, that falls to the lot of very few amongst mankind.

Everything they see or hear reinforces impressions, stirs emotions, and links ideas in ways that give their minds a sexual character. False ideas of beauty and delicacy stunt the growth of their limbs. These ideas also make their bodies unhealthy and sensitive rather than delicate. Their minds are weakened because they spend their energy developing their first associations rather than examining them. Everything around them forces these associations upon them. How, then, can they gain the strength needed to cast off their artificial character? Where can they find the strength to return to reason and rise above a system of oppression that destroys the promising growth of spring? Everything around them conspires to weave this cruel association of ideas into all their habits of thought, or, more precisely, feeling. The association grows stronger when they begin to act a little for themselves. For then they see that they can gain pleasure and power only through their skill in stirring emotions in men. Besides, all the books supposedly written to instruct them, which first shape their minds, teach the same opinions. They are educated in bondage worse than that of Egypt. So it is unreasonable and cruel to blame them for faults they can hardly avoid. To avoid these faults, they would need a degree of natural strength that very few people possess.

For instance, the severest sarcasms have been levelled against the sex, and they have been ridiculed for repeating "a set of phrases learnt by rote," when nothing could be more natural, considering the education they receive, and that their "highest praise is to obey, unargued"—the will of man. If they are not allowed to have reason sufficient to govern their own conduct—why, all they learn—must be learned by rote! And when all their ingenuity is called forth to adjust their dress, "a passion for a scarlet coat," is so natural, that it never surprised me; and, allowing Pope's summary of their character to be just, "that every woman is at heart a rake," why should they be bitterly censured for seeking a congenial mind, and preferring a rake to a man of sense?

For instance, women have faced the harshest sarcasm. They have been mocked for repeating "a set of phrases learnt by rote." Yet nothing could be more natural, given their education. They are taught that their "highest praise is to obey, unargued" the will of men. If women are not allowed enough reason to govern their own conduct, then all they learn must be learned by rote! And when they must use all their ingenuity to arrange their dress, "a passion for a scarlet coat" is so natural that it has never surprised me. Even if Pope's summary of their character is fair, "that every woman is at heart a rake," why should women be bitterly criticized for seeking a kindred spirit and preferring a rake to a sensible man?

Rakes know how to work on their sensibility, whilst the modest merit of reasonable men has, of course, less effect on their feelings, and they cannot reach the heart by the way of the understanding, because they have few sentiments in common.

Rakes know how to appeal to their feelings. The modest virtues of reasonable men, of course, have less effect on them. These men cannot reach their hearts through reason because they have few feelings in common.

It seems a little absurd to expect women to be more reasonable than men in their LIKINGS, and still to deny them the uncontroled use of reason. When do men FALL IN LOVE with sense? When do they, with their superior powers and advantages, turn from the person to the mind? And how can they then expect women, who are only taught to observe behaviour, and acquire manners rather than morals, to despise what they have been all their lives labouring to attain? Where are they suddenly to find judgment enough to weigh patiently the sense of an awkward virtuous man, when his manners, of which they are made critical judges, are rebuffing, and his conversation cold and dull, because it does not consist of pretty repartees, or well-turned compliments? In order to admire or esteem any thing for a continuance, we must, at least, have our curiosity excited by knowing, in some degree, what we admire; for we are unable to estimate the value of qualities and virtues above our comprehension. Such a respect, when it is felt, may be very sublime; and the confused consciousness of humility may render the dependent creature an interesting object, in some points of view; but human love must have grosser ingredients; and the person very naturally will come in for its share—and, an ample share it mostly has!

It seems a little absurd to expect women to be more reasonable than men in their preferences, while denying them the free use of reason. When do men FALL IN LOVE with good sense? With all their superior abilities and advantages, when do they look beyond a person’s appearance to their mind? How, then, can men expect women to despise what they have spent their whole lives trying to attain? Women are taught only to observe behavior and acquire manners rather than morals. Where are they suddenly to find enough judgment to appreciate the good sense of an awkward but virtuous man? His manners repel them, though they have been trained to judge manners critically. And his conversation is cold and dull because it does not consist of witty replies or polished compliments. To admire or esteem anything for long, we must at least be curious about it. We can only be curious if we know something about what we admire. We cannot judge the value of qualities and virtues beyond our understanding. Such respect, when felt, may be very sublime. And a vague awareness of one’s own humility may make a dependent person interesting in some respects. But human love must have more physical ingredients. A person’s appearance will naturally play a part, and it usually plays a large one!

Love is, in a great degree, an arbitrary passion, and will reign like some other stalking mischiefs, by its own authority, without deigning to reason; and it may also be easily distinguished from esteem, the foundation of friendship, because it is often excited by evanescent beauties and graces, though to give an energy to the sentiment something more solid must deepen their impression and set the imagination to work, to make the most fair— the first good.

Love is, to a great extent, a passion that follows no rules. Like some other menacing forces, it rules by its own authority and refuses to listen to reason. Love can also be easily distinguished from esteem, the foundation of friendship. This is because love is often stirred by fleeting beauty and grace. Yet, to give love strength, something more lasting must deepen the impression made by beauty and grace. It must also set the imagination to work, making the most beautiful person seem the best.

Common passions are excited by common qualities. Men look for beauty and the simper of good humoured docility: women are captivated by easy manners: a gentleman-like man seldom fails to please them, and their thirsty ears eagerly drink the insinuating nothings of politeness, whilst they turn from the unintelligible sounds of the charmer—reason, charm he never so wisely. With respect to superficial accomplishments, the rake certainly has the advantage; and of these, females can form an opinion, for it is their own ground. Rendered gay and giddy by the whole tenor of their lives, the very aspect of wisdom, or the severe graces of virtue must have a lugubrious appearance to them; and produce a kind of restraint from which they and love, sportive child, naturally revolt. Without taste, excepting of the lighter kind, for taste is the offspring of judgment, how can they discover, that true beauty and grace must arise from the play of the mind? and how can they be expected to relish in a lover what they do not, or very imperfectly, possess themselves? The sympathy that unites hearts, and invites to confidence, in them is so very faint, that it cannot take fire, and thus mount to passion. No, I repeat it, the love cherished by such minds, must have grosser fuel!

Ordinary passions are stirred by ordinary qualities. Men look for beauty and the smile of cheerful obedience. Women are captivated by easy manners. A gentlemanly man rarely fails to please them. Their eager ears drink in the subtle empty phrases of politeness. Yet they turn away from the unintelligible voice of that charmer, reason, however wisely he may charm. When it comes to superficial accomplishments, the rake certainly has the advantage. Women can judge these accomplishments, for they are on familiar ground. The whole course of their lives has made them frivolous and giddy. To them, even the appearance of wisdom or the austere beauty of virtue must seem gloomy. Both must impose a kind of restraint from which they, like love, that playful child, naturally recoil. Their taste extends only to lighter things, for taste is the offspring of judgment. How, then, can they discover that true beauty and grace must arise from the play of the mind? And how can they be expected to appreciate in a lover what they themselves lack or possess only imperfectly? The sympathy that joins hearts and invites trust is so faint in them that it cannot catch fire and grow into passion. No, I repeat, the love nurtured by such minds must have coarser fuel!

The inference is obvious; till women are led to exercise their understandings, they should not be satirized for their attachment to rakes; nor even for being rakes at heart, when it appears to be the inevitable consequence of their education. They who live to please must find their enjoyments, their happiness, in pleasure! It is a trite, yet true remark, that we never do any thing well, unless we love it for its own sake.

The conclusion is obvious. Until women are encouraged to use their minds, they should not be mocked for their attraction to promiscuous men. Nor should they be mocked for being promiscuous at heart, when this seems to be the inevitable result of their education. Those who live to please others must find their enjoyment, their happiness, in pleasure! It is a familiar but true observation that we never do anything well unless we love it for its own sake.

Supposing, however, for a moment, that women were, in some future revolution of time, to become, what I sincerely wish them to be, even love would acquire more serious dignity, and be purified in its own fires; and virtue giving true delicacy to their affections, they would turn with disgust from a rake. Reasoning then, as well as feeling, the only province of woman, at present, they might easily guard against exterior graces, and quickly learn to despise the sensibility that had been excited and hackneyed in the ways of women, whose trade was vice; and allurement's wanton airs. They would recollect that the flame, (one must use appropriate expressions,) which they wished to light up, had been exhausted by lust, and that the sated appetite, losing all relish for pure and simple pleasures, could only be roused by licentious arts of variety. What satisfaction could a woman of delicacy promise herself in a union with such a man, when the very artlessness of her affection might appear insipid? Thus does Dryden describe the situation:

Suppose, however, that women someday become what I sincerely wish them to be. Even love would gain a more serious dignity and be purified in its own fires. Virtue would give true delicacy to their affections, and they would turn away from a rake in disgust. Women would then reason as well as feel, though feeling is their only sphere at present. They could easily guard against outward charm. They would quickly learn to despise feelings that had been aroused and worn out by prostitutes’ ways and their wanton, seductive airs. They would remember that the flame they wished to kindle had been exhausted by lust. (One must use fitting expressions.) They would remember that a man’s appetite, once satisfied, loses all taste for pure and simple pleasures. It can then be aroused only by a variety of immoral practices. What satisfaction could a woman of delicacy hope for in a union with such a man? Her very affection, innocent and unaffected, might seem dull to him. Dryden describes the situation this way:

But one grand truth women have yet to learn, though much it imports them to act accordingly. In the choice of a husband they should not be led astray by the qualities of a lover—for a lover the husband, even supposing him to be wise and virtuous, cannot long remain.

But women have yet to learn one great truth, although it is very important that they act on it. When choosing a husband, they should not be led astray by the qualities of a lover. Even a wise and virtuous husband cannot remain a lover for long.

Were women more rationally educated, could they take a more comprehensive view of things, they would be contented to love but once in their lives; and after marriage calmly let passion subside into friendship—into that tender intimacy, which is the best refuge from care; yet is built on such pure, still affections, that idle jealousies would not be allowed to disturb the discharge of the sober duties of life, nor to engross the thoughts that ought to be otherwise employed. This is a state in which many men live; but few, very few women. And the difference may easily be accounted for, without recurring to a sexual character. Men, for whom we are told women are made, have too much occupied the thoughts of women; and this association has so entangled love, with all their motives of action; and, to harp a little on an old string, having been solely employed either to prepare themselves to excite love, or actually putting their lessons in practice, they cannot live without love. But, when a sense of duty, or fear of shame, obliges them to restrain this pampered desire of pleasing beyond certain lengths, too far for delicacy, it is true, though far from criminality, they obstinately determine to love, I speak of their passion, their husbands to the end of the chapter—and then acting the part which they foolishly exacted from their lovers, they become abject wooers, and fond slaves.

If women were educated more rationally, they could see things more broadly. Then they would be content to love only once in their lives. After marriage, they would calmly let passion settle into friendship and tender intimacy. That intimacy is the best refuge from worry. It rests on such pure, calm affection that baseless jealousy would not interfere with life’s serious duties. Nor would jealousy consume thoughts that should be occupied with other things. Many men live this way, but few, very few women do. The difference can easily be explained without appealing to some inherent difference between the sexes. We are told that women were made for men, and men have occupied too much of women’s thoughts. This association has entangled love with all their motives for action. And, to return to an old theme, women have spent their time solely preparing to inspire love or putting those lessons into practice. As a result, they cannot live without love. But a sense of duty or fear of shame may oblige them to restrain this indulged desire to please. Otherwise, it would go to lengths that are too far for modesty, though far from criminal. When obliged to restrain it, they stubbornly resolve to love their husbands passionately to the very end. Then they play the part they foolishly demanded of their lovers. They become abject suitors and doting slaves.

Men of wit and fancy are often rakes; and fancy is the food of love. Such men will inspire passion. Half the sex, in its present infantine state, would pine for a Lovelace; a man so witty, so graceful, and so valiant; and can they DESERVE blame for acting according to principles so constantly inculcated? They want a lover and protector: and behold him kneeling before them—bravery prostrate to beauty! The virtues of a husband are thus thrown by love into the background, and gay hopes, or lively emotions, banish reflection till the day of reckoning comes; and come it surely will, to turn the sprightly lover into a surly suspicious tyrant, who contemptuously insults the very weakness he fostered. Or, supposing the rake reformed, he cannot quickly get rid of old habits. When a man of abilities is first carried away by his passions, it is necessary that sentiment and taste varnish the enormities of vice, and give a zest to brutal indulgences: but when the gloss of novelty is worn off, and pleasure palls upon the sense, lasciviousness becomes barefaced, and enjoyment only the desperate effort of weakness flying from reflection as from a legion of devils. Oh! virtue, thou art not an empty name! All that life can give— thou givest!

Men of wit and imagination are often rakes, and imagination feeds love. Such men will inspire passion. Half of women, in their present childlike state, would long for a Lovelace, a man so witty, graceful, and brave. Can women DESERVE blame for acting on principles taught to them so constantly? They want a lover and protector, and there he is, kneeling before them. Bravery bows before beauty! Love thus pushes the virtues of a husband into the background. Happy hopes or lively emotions drive out reflection until the day of reckoning comes. And it surely will come, turning the lively lover into a sullen, suspicious tyrant. He will scornfully insult the very weakness he encouraged. Or suppose the rake reforms. He cannot quickly rid himself of old habits. When a man of ability is first carried away by his passions, feeling and taste must disguise the enormities of vice and add zest to his brutal pleasures. But once the appeal of novelty wears off and pleasure no longer satisfies his senses, lust becomes shameless. Enjoyment becomes nothing more than a desperate effort by a weak man fleeing reflection as if from a legion of devils. Oh, virtue, you are not an empty name! You give all that life can give!

If much comfort cannot be expected from the friendship of a reformed rake of superior abilities, what is the consequence when he lacketh sense, as well as principles? Verily misery in its most hideous shape. When the habits of weak people are consolidated by time, a reformation is barely possible; and actually makes the beings miserable who have not sufficient mind to be amused by innocent pleasure; like the tradesman who retires from the hurry of business, nature presents to them only a universal blank; and the restless thoughts prey on the damped spirits. Their reformation as well as his retirement actually makes them wretched, because it deprives them of all employment, by quenching the hopes and fears that set in motion their sluggish minds.

If the friendship of a reformed rake with exceptional abilities offers little comfort, what happens when he lacks sense as well as principles? The result is misery in its most hideous form. Once weak people's habits have hardened over time, reform is barely possible. Reform actually makes them miserable if they lack the mental resources to enjoy innocent pleasures. Like a tradesman who retires from the bustle of business, they find only emptiness in the world around them. Their restless thoughts prey on their subdued spirits. Their reform, like his retirement, actually makes them miserable because it leaves them with nothing to do. It extinguishes the hopes and fears that stirred their sluggish minds into action.

If such be the force of habit; if such be the bondage of folly, how carefully ought we to guard the mind from storing up vicious associations; and equally careful should we be to cultivate the understanding, to save the poor wight from the weak dependent state of even harmless ignorance. For it is the right use of reason alone which makes us independent of every thing—excepting the unclouded Reason—"Whose service is perfect freedom."

If habit is so powerful, and folly can enslave us so completely, we must take great care to keep harmful associations out of the mind. We must be equally careful to develop understanding, to save the poor person from the weak, dependent state of even harmless ignorance. For only the right use of reason makes us independent of everything except unclouded Reason, "Whose service is perfect freedom."