 | Letters from New York |  |
LETTER XXXIV.
You ask what are my opinions about “Women's Rights.”
I confess, a strong distaste to the subject, as it has been
generally treated. On no other theme, probably, has there
been uttered so much of false, mawkish sentiment, shallow
philosophy, and sputtering, farthing-candle wit. If the
style of its advocates has often been offensive to taste, and
unacceptable to reason, assuredly that of its opponents have
been still more so. College boys have amused themselves
with their feet hoisted, and chairs tilted back, or growling
and bickering at each other in legislative halls, or fighting at
the polls, with eyes blackened by fisticuffs. But it never
seems to have occurred to these facetious writers, that the
proceedings which appear so ludicrous and improper in
women, are also ridiculous and disgraceful in men. It were
well than men should learn not to hoist their feet above their
heads, and tilt their chairs backward, not to growl and snap
in the halls of legislation, or give each other black eyes
at the polls.
Maria Edgeworth says, “We are disgusted when we
see a woman's mind overwhelmed with a torrent of learning;
that the tide of literature has passed over it should be
betrayed only by its fertility.” This is beautiful and true;
but is it not likewise applicable to man? The truly great
never seek to display themselves. If they carry their heads
high above the crowd, it is only made manifest to others by
accidental revelations of their extended vision. “Human
duties and proprieties do not lie so very far apart,” said
Harriet Martineau; “if they did, there would be two gospels,
and two teachers, one for man, and another for woman.”
It would seem, indeed, as if men were willing to give
women the exclusive benefit of gospel-teaching. “Women
should be gentle,” say the advocates of subordination; but
when Christ said, “Blessed are the meek,” did he preach
to women only? “Girls should be modest,” is the language
of common teaching, continually uttered in words
and customs. Would it not be an improvement for men,
also, to be scrupulously pure in manners, conversation, and
life? Books addressed to young married people abound
with advice to the wife, to control her temper, and never
to utter wearisome complaints, or vexatious words, when
the husband comes home fretful or unreasonable, from his
out-of-door conflicts with the world. Would not the advice
to conquer his fretfulness, and forbear his complaints, in
consideration of his wife's ill-health, fatiguing cares, and
the thousand disheartening influences of domestic routine?
In short, whatsoever can be named as loveliest, best, and
most graceful in woman, would likewise be good and
graceful in man. You will perhaps remind me of courage.
If you use the word in its highest signification, I answer
that woman, above others, has abundant need of it, in
her pilgrimage; and the true woman wears it with a quiet
grace. If you mean mere animal courage, that is not mentioned
in the Sermon on the Mount, among those qualities
which enable us to inherit the earth, or become the children
of God. That the feminine ideal approaches much
nearer to the gospel standard, than the prevalent idea of
manhood, is shown by the universal tendency to represent
the Saviour and his most beloved disciple with mild, meek
expression, and feminine beauty. None speak of the
bravery, the might, or the intellect of Jesus; but the devil
is always imagined as a being of acute intellect, political
cunning, and the fiercest courage. These universal and
instinctive tendencies of the human mind reveal much.
That the present position of women in society is the result
of physical force, is obvious enough; whosoever doubts it,
let her reflect why she is afraid to go out in the evening without
the protection of a man. What constitutes the danger of
aggression? Superior physical strength, uncontrolled by
the moral sentiments. If physical strength were in complete
subjection to moral influence, there would be no need
of outward protection. That animal instinct and brute
force now govern the world, is painfully apparent in the
condition of women everywhere; from the Morduan Tartars,
whose ceremony of marriage consists in placing the
bride on a mat, and consigning her to the bridegroom, with
the words, “Here, wolf, take thy lamb,”—to the German
smart dress, are the best things.” The same thing, softened
by the refinements of civilization, peeps out in Stephen's
remark, that “woman never looks so interesting, as
when leaning on the arm of a soldier:” and in Hazlitt's
complaint that “it is not easy to keep up a conversation with
women in company. It is thought a piece of rudeness to
differ from them; it is not quite fair to ask them a reason for
what they say.”
This sort of politeness to women is what men call gallantry;
an odious word to every sensible woman, because
she sees that it is merely the flimsy veil which foppery
throws over sensuality, to conceal its grossness. So far
is it from indicating sincere esteem and affection for women,
that the profligacy of a nation may, in general, be
fairly measured by its gallantry. This taking away rights,
and condescending to grant privileges, is an old trick
of the physical force principle; and with the immense
majority, who only look on the surface of things, this mask
effectually disguises an ugliness, which would otherwise
be abhorred. The most inveterate slaveholders are probably
those who take most pride in dressing their household
servants handsomely, and who would be most ashamed
to have the name of being unnecessarily cruel. And
profligates, who form the lowest and most sensual estimate
of women, are the very ones to treat them with an excess
of outward deference.
There are few books, which I can read through, without
feeling insulted as a woman; but this insult is almost universally
conveyed through that which was intended for
praise. Just imagine, for a moment, what impression it
would make on men, if women authors should write about
their “rosy lips,” and “melting eyes,” and “voluptuous
forms,” as they write about us! That women in general
do not feel this kind of flattery to be an insult, I readily admit;
chattel-principle, of which it is the utterance; moreover,
they have, from long habit, become accustomed to consider
themselves as household conveniences, or gilded toys.
Hence, they consider it feminine and pretty to abjure all
such use of their faculties, as would make them co-workers
with man in the advancement of those great principles, on
which the progress of society depends. “There is perhaps
no animal,” say Hannah More, “so much indebted
to subordination, for its good behaviour, as woman.” Alas,
for the animal age, in which such utterance could be tolerated
by public sentiment!
Martha More, sister of Hannah, describing a very impressive
scene at the funeral of one of her Charity School
teachers, says: “The spirit within seemed struggling to
speak, and I was in a sort of agony; but I recollected that
I had heard, somewhere, a woman must not speak in
the church. Oh, had she been buried in the church yard,
a messenger from Mr. Pitt himself should not have restrained
me; for I seemed to have received a message
from a higher Master within.”
This application of theological teaching carries its own
commentary.
I have said enough to show that I consider prevalent
opinions and customs highly unfavourable to the moral and
intellectual development of women: and I need not say,
that, in proportion to their true culture, women will be more
useful and happy, and domestic life more perfected. True
culture, in them, as in men, consists in the full and free
development of individual character, regulated by their own
perceptions of what is true, and their own love of what is
good.
This individual responsibility is rarely acknowledged,
even by the most refined, as necessary to the spiritual progress
of women. I once heard a very beautiful lecture
course of many remarks, as true as they were graceful, he
urged women to be, rather than seem. He told them that
all their laboured education of forms, strict observance of
genteel etiquette, tasteful arrangement of the toilette, &c.
all this seeming would not gain hearts like being truly
what God made them; that earnest simplicity, the sincerity
of nature, would kindle the eye, light up the countenance,
and give an inexpressible charm to the plainest
features.
The advice was excellent, but the motive, by which it
was urged, brought a flush of indignation over my face.
Men were exhorted to be, rather than to seem, that they
might fulfil the sacred mission for which their souls were
embodied; that they might, in God's freedom, grow up into
the full stature of spiritual manhood; but women were urged
to simplicity and truthfulness, that they might become more
pleasing.
Are we not all immortal beings? Is not each one responsible
for himself and herself? There is no measuring
the mischief done by the prevailing tendency to teach women
to be virtuous as a duty to man, rather than to God—
for the sake of pleasing the creature, rather than the
Creator. “God is thy law, thou mine,” said Eve to Adam.
May Milton be forgiven for sending that thought “out into
everlasting time” in such a jewelled setting. What weakness,
vanity, frivolity, infirmity of moral purpose, sinful
flexibility of principle—in a word, what soul-stifling, has
been the result of thus putting man in the place of God!
But while I see plainly that society is on a false foundation,
and that prevailing views concerning women indicate
the want of wisdom and purity, which they serve to perpetuate—still,
I must acknowledge that much of the talk
about Women's Rights offends both my reason and my
taste. I am not of those who maintain there is no sex in
Kinmont, in his admirable book, called the Natural History
of Man, speaking of the warlike courage of the ancient
German women, and of their being respectfully consulted
on important public affairs, says: “You ask me if I consider
all this right, and deserving of approbation? or that
women were here engaged in their appropriate tasks? I
answer, yes; it is just as right that they should take this
interest in the honour of their country, as the other sex.
Of course, I do not think that women were made for war
and battle; neither do I believe that men were. But since
the fashion of the times had made it so, and settled it that
war was a necessary element of greatness, and that no
safety was to be procured without it, I argue that it shows a
healthful state of feeling in other respects, that the feelings
of both sexes were equally enlisted in the cause: that there
was no division in the house, or the State; and that the
serious pursuits and objects of the one were also the serious
pursuits and objects of the other.”
The nearer society approaches to divine order, the less
separation will there be in the characters, duties, and pursuits
of men and women. Women will not become less
gentle and graceful, but men will become more so. Women
will not neglect the care and education of their children,
but men will find themselves ennobled and refined by
sharing those duties with them; and will receive, in return,
co-operation and sympathy in the discharge of various
other duties, now deemed inappropriate to women. The
more women become rational companions, partners in business
and in thought, as well as in affection and amusement,
the more highly will men appreciate home—that blessed
word, which opens to the human heart the most perfect
glimpse of Heaven, and helps to carry it thither, as on an
angel's wings.
That can, the world eluding, be itself
A world enjoyed; that wants no witnesses
But its own sharers, and approving heaven;
That, like a flower deep hid in rocky cleft,
Smiles, though 'tis looking only at the sky.”
Alas, for these days of Astor houses, and Tremonts, and
Albions! where families exchange comfort for costliness,
fireside retirement for flirtation and flaunting, and the simple,
healthful, cozy meal, for gravies and gout, dainties and
dyspepsia. There is no characteristic of my countrymen
which I regret so deeply, as their slight degree of adhesiveness
to home. Closely intertwined with this instinct,
is the religion of a nation. The Home and the Church
bear a near relation to each other. The French have no
such word as home in their language, and I believe they
are the least reverential and religious of all the Christian
nations. A Frenchman had been in the habit of visiting a
lady constantly for several years, and being alarmed at a
report that she was sought in marriage, he was asked why
he did not marry her himself. “Marry her!” exclaimed
he; “Good heavens! where should I spend my evenings?”
The idea of domestic happiness was altogether a foreign
idea to his soul, like a word that conveyed no meaning.
Religious sentiment in France leads the same roving life
as the domestic affections; breakfasting at one restaurateur's,
and supping at another's. When some wag in Boston
reported that Louis Philippe had sent over for Dr.
Channing to manufacture a religion for the French people,
the witty significance of the joke was generally appreciated.
There is a deep spiritual reason why all that relates to
the domestic affections should ever be found in close proximity
with religious faith. The age of chivalry was likewise
one of unquestioning veneration, which led to the crusade
which tore down churches, and voted that there was no
God, likewise annulled marriage; and the doctrine that
there is no sex in souls has usually been urged by those of
infidel tendencies. Carlyle says: “But what feeling it
was in the ancient, devout, deep soul, which of marriage
made a sacrament, this, of all things in the world, is what
Diderot will think of for æons without discovering; unless,
perhaps, it were to increase the vestry fees.”
The conviction that woman's present position in society
is a false one, and therefore re-acts disastrously on the happiness
and improvement of man, is pressing, by slow degrees,
on the common consciousness, through all the obstacles
of bigotry, sensuality, and selfishness. As man approaches
to the truest life, he will perceive more and more
that there is no separation or discord in their mutual duties.
They will be one; but it will be as affection and thought
are one; the treble and bass of the same harmonious tune.
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