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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/5427-h.zip b/5427-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..cd39a41 --- /dev/null +++ b/5427-h.zip diff --git a/5427-h/5427-h.htm b/5427-h/5427-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..059e8c7 --- /dev/null +++ b/5427-h/5427-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,24296 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title>Emile, by Jean-Jacques Rousseau</title> + <meta content="pg2html (binary v0.17)" /> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .75em; margin-bottom: .75em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 5%; text-align: justify; font-size: 80%; font-style: italic;} + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + .xx-small {font-size: 60%;} + .x-small {font-size: 75%;} + .small {font-size: 85%;} + .large {font-size: 115%;} + .x-large {font-size: 130%;} + .indent5 { margin-left: 5%;} + .indent10 { margin-left: 10%;} + .indent15 { margin-left: 15%;} + .indent20 { margin-left: 20%;} + .indent25 { margin-left: 25%;} + .indent30 { margin-left: 30%;} + .indent35 { margin-left: 35%;} + .indent40 { margin-left: 40%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {position: absolute; right: 1%; font-size: 0.6em; + font-variant: normal; font-style: normal; + text-align: right; background-color: #FFFACD; + border: 1px solid; padding: 0.3em;text-indent: 0em;} + .side { float: left; font-size: 75%; width: 15%; padding-left: 0.8em; + border-left: dashed thin; text-align: left; + text-indent: 0; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; + font-weight: bold; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: solid 1px;} + .head { float: left; font-size: 90%; width: 98%; padding-left: 0.8em; + border-left: dashed thin; text-align: center; + text-indent: 0; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; + font-weight: bold; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: solid 1px;} + p.pfirst, p.noindent {text-indent: 0} + span.dropcap { float: left; margin: 0 0.1em 0 0; line-height: 0.8 } + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} +</style> + </head> + <body> + +<pre> +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Emile, by Jean-Jacques Rousseau + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Emile + +Author: Jean-Jacques Rousseau + +Posting Date: September 26, 2011 [EBook #5427] +Release Date: April, 2004 +[This file was first posted on July 18, 2002] +Last Updated: June 1, 2018 + + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK EMILE *** + + + + +Etext Produced by Steve Harris, Charles Franks and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team. + +HTML file produced by David Widger + +</pre> + + + + + <div style="height: 8em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + EMILE + </h1> + <h2> + By Jean-Jacques Rousseau + </h2> + <h3> + Translated by Barbara Foxley + </h3> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + <b>CONTENTS</b> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> Author’s Preface </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> BOOK I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> BOOK II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> BOOK III </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> BOOK IV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> BOOK V </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Author’s Preface + </h2> + <p class="pfirst"> + <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>his collection of + scattered thoughts and observations has little order or continuity; it was + begun to give pleasure to a good mother who thinks for herself. My first + idea was to write a tract a few pages long, but I was carried away by my + subject, and before I knew what I was doing my tract had become a kind of + book, too large indeed for the matter contained in it, but too small for + the subject of which it treats. For a long time I hesitated whether to + publish it or not, and I have often felt, when at work upon it, that it is + one thing to publish a few pamphlets and another to write a book. After + vain attempts to improve it, I have decided that it is my duty to publish + it as it stands. I consider that public attention requires to be directed + to this subject, and even if my own ideas are mistaken, my time will not + have been wasted if I stir up others to form right ideas. A solitary who + casts his writings before the public without any one to advertise them, + without any party ready to defend them, one who does not even know what is + thought and said about those writings, is at least free from one anxiety—if + he is mistaken, no one will take his errors for gospel. + </p> + <p> + I shall say very little about the value of a good education, nor shall I + stop to prove that the customary method of education is bad; this has been + done again and again, and I do not wish to fill my book with things which + everyone knows. I will merely state that, go as far back as you will, you + will find a continual outcry against the established method, but no + attempt to suggest a better. The literature and science of our day tend + rather to destroy than to build up. We find fault after the manner of a + master; to suggest, we must adopt another style, a style less in + accordance with the pride of the philosopher. In spite of all those books, + whose only aim, so they say, is public utility, the most useful of all + arts, the art of training men, is still neglected. Even after Locke’s + book was written the subject remained almost untouched, and I fear that my + book will leave it pretty much as it found it. + </p> + <p> + We know nothing of childhood; and with our mistaken notions the further we + advance the further we go astray. The wisest writers devote themselves to + what a man ought to know, without asking what a child is capable of + learning. They are always looking for the man in the child, without + considering what he is before he becomes a man. It is to this study that I + have chiefly devoted myself, so that if my method is fanciful and unsound, + my observations may still be of service. I may be greatly mistaken as to + what ought to be done, but I think I have clearly perceived the material + which is to be worked upon. Begin thus by making a more careful study of + your scholars, for it is clear that you know nothing about them; yet if + you read this book with that end in view, I think you will find that it is + not entirely useless. + </p> + <p> + With regard to what will be called the systematic portion of the book, + which is nothing more than the course of nature, it is here that the + reader will probably go wrong, and no doubt I shall be attacked on this + side, and perhaps my critics may be right. You will tell me, “This + is not so much a treatise on education as the visions of a dreamer with + regard to education.” What can I do? I have not written about other + people’s ideas of education, but about my own. My thoughts are not + those of others; this reproach has been brought against me again and + again. But is it within my power to furnish myself with other eyes, or to + adopt other ideas? It is within my power to refuse to be wedded to my own + opinions and to refuse to think myself wiser than others. I cannot change + my mind; I can distrust myself. This is all I can do, and this I have + done. If I sometimes adopt a confident tone, it is not to impress the + reader, it is to make my meaning plain to him. Why should I profess to + suggest as doubtful that which is not a matter of doubt to myself? I say + just what I think. + </p> + <p> + When I freely express my opinion, I have so little idea of claiming + authority that I always give my reasons, so that you may weigh and judge + them for yourselves; but though I would not obstinately defend my ideas, I + think it my duty to put them forward; for the principles with regard to + which I differ from other writers are not matters of indifference; we must + know whether they are true or false, for on them depends the happiness or + the misery of mankind. People are always telling me to make PRACTICABLE + suggestions. You might as well tell me to suggest what people are doing + already, or at least to suggest improvements which may be incorporated + with the wrong methods at present in use. There are matters with regard to + which such a suggestion is far more chimerical than my own, for in such a + connection the good is corrupted and the bad is none the better for it. I + would rather follow exactly the established method than adopt a better + method by halves. There would be fewer contradictions in the man; he + cannot aim at one and the same time at two different objects. Fathers and + mothers, what you desire that you can do. May I count on your goodwill? + </p> + <p> + There are two things to be considered with regard to any scheme. In the + first place, “Is it good in itself” In the second, “Can + it be easily put into practice?” + </p> + <p> + With regard to the first of these it is enough that the scheme should be + intelligible and feasible in itself, that what is good in it should be + adapted to the nature of things, in this case, for example, that the + proposed method of education should be suitable to man and adapted to the + human heart. + </p> + <p> + The second consideration depends upon certain given conditions in + particular cases; these conditions are accidental and therefore variable; + they may vary indefinitely. Thus one kind of education would be possible + in Switzerland and not in France; another would be adapted to the middle + classes but not to the nobility. The scheme can be carried out, with more + or less success, according to a multitude of circumstances, and its + results can only be determined by its special application to one country + or another, to this class or that. Now all these particular applications + are not essential to my subject, and they form no part of my scheme. It is + enough for me that, wherever men are born into the world, my suggestions + with regard to them may be carried out, and when you have made them what I + would have them be, you have done what is best for them and best for other + people. If I fail to fulfil this promise, no doubt I am to blame; but if I + fulfil my promise, it is your own fault if you ask anything more of me, + for I have promised you nothing more. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + BOOK I + </h2> + <p class="pfirst"> + <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">G</span>od makes all + things good; man meddles with them and they become evil. He forces one + soil to yield the products of another, one tree to bear another’s + fruit. He confuses and confounds time, place, and natural conditions. He + mutilates his dog, his horse, and his slave. He destroys and defaces all + things; he loves all that is deformed and monstrous; he will have nothing + as nature made it, not even man himself, who must learn his paces like a + saddle-horse, and be shaped to his master’s taste like the trees in + his garden. Yet things would be worse without this education, and mankind + cannot be made by halves. Under existing conditions a man left to himself + from birth would be more of a monster than the rest. Prejudice, authority, + necessity, example, all the social conditions into which we are plunged, + would stifle nature in him and put nothing in her place. She would be like + a sapling chance sown in the midst of the highway, bent hither and thither + and soon crushed by the passers-by. + </p> + <p> + Tender, anxious mother, [Footnote: The earliest education is most + important and it undoubtedly is woman’s work. If the author of + nature had meant to assign it to men he would have given them milk to feed + the child. Address your treatises on education to the women, for not only + are they able to watch over it more closely than men, not only is their + influence always predominant in education, its success concerns them more + nearly, for most widows are at the mercy of their children, who show them + very plainly whether their education was good or bad. The laws, always + more concerned about property than about people, since their object is not + virtue but peace, the laws give too little authority to the mother. Yet + her position is more certain than that of the father, her duties are more + trying; the right ordering of the family depends more upon her, and she is + usually fonder of her children. There are occasions when a son may be + excused for lack of respect for his father, but if a child could be so + unnatural as to fail in respect for the mother who bore him and nursed him + at her breast, who for so many years devoted herself to his care, such a + monstrous wretch should be smothered at once as unworthy to live. You say + mothers spoil their children, and no doubt that is wrong, but it is worse + to deprave them as you do. The mother wants her child to be happy now. She + is right, and if her method is wrong, she must be taught a better. + Ambition, avarice, tyranny, the mistaken foresight of fathers, their + neglect, their harshness, are a hundredfold more harmful to the child than + the blind affection of the mother. Moreover, I must explain what I mean by + a mother and that explanation follows.] I appeal to you. You can remove + this young tree from the highway and shield it from the crushing force of + social conventions. Tend and water it ere it dies. One day its fruit will + reward your care. From the outset raise a wall round your child’s + soul; another may sketch the plan, you alone should carry it into + execution. + </p> + <p> + Plants are fashioned by cultivation, man by education. If a man were born + tall and strong, his size and strength would be of no good to him till he + had learnt to use them; they would even harm him by preventing others from + coming to his aid; [Footnote: Like them in externals, but without speech + and without the ideas which are expressed by speech, he would be unable to + make his wants known, while there would be nothing in his appearance to + suggest that he needed their help.] left to himself he would die of want + before he knew his needs. We lament the helplessness of infancy; we fail + to perceive that the race would have perished had not man begun by being a + child. + </p> + <p> + We are born weak, we need strength; helpless, we need aid; foolish, we + need reason. All that we lack at birth, all that we need when we come to + man’s estate, is the gift of education. + </p> + <p> + This education comes to us from nature, from men, or from things. The + inner growth of our organs and faculties is the education of nature, the + use we learn to make of this growth is the education of men, what we gain + by our experience of our surroundings is the education of things. + </p> + <p> + Thus we are each taught by three masters. If their teaching conflicts, the + scholar is ill-educated and will never be at peace with himself; if their + teaching agrees, he goes straight to his goal, he lives at peace with + himself, he is well-educated. + </p> + <p> + Now of these three factors in education nature is wholly beyond our + control, things are only partly in our power; the education of men is the + only one controlled by us; and even here our power is largely illusory, + for who can hope to direct every word and deed of all with whom the child + has to do. + </p> + <p> + Viewed as an art, the success of education is almost impossible, since the + essential conditions of success are beyond our control. Our efforts may + bring us within sight of the goal, but fortune must favour us if we are to + reach it. + </p> + <p> + What is this goal? As we have just shown, it is the goal of nature. Since + all three modes of education must work together, the two that we can + control must follow the lead of that which is beyond our control. Perhaps + this word Nature has too vague a meaning. Let us try to define it. + </p> + <p> + Nature, we are told, is merely habit. What does that mean? Are there not + habits formed under compulsion, habits which never stifle nature? Such, + for example, are the habits of plants trained horizontally. The plant + keeps its artificial shape, but the sap has not changed its course, and + any new growth the plant may make will be vertical. It is the same with a + man’s disposition; while the conditions remain the same, habits, + even the least natural of them, hold good; but change the conditions, + habits vanish, nature reasserts herself. Education itself is but habit, + for are there not people who forget or lose their education and others who + keep it? Whence comes this difference? If the term nature is to be + restricted to habits conformable to nature we need say no more. + </p> + <p> + We are born sensitive and from our birth onwards we are affected in + various ways by our environment. As soon as we become conscious of our + sensations we tend to seek or shun the things that cause them, at first + because they are pleasant or unpleasant, then because they suit us or not, + and at last because of judgments formed by means of the ideas of happiness + and goodness which reason gives us. These tendencies gain strength and + permanence with the growth of reason, but hindered by our habits they are + more or less warped by our prejudices. Before this change they are what I + call Nature within us. + </p> + <p> + Everything should therefore be brought into harmony with these natural + tendencies, and that might well be if our three modes of education merely + differed from one another; but what can be done when they conflict, when + instead of training man for himself you try to train him for others? + Harmony becomes impossible. Forced to combat either nature or society, you + must make your choice between the man and the citizen, you cannot train + both. + </p> + <p> + The smaller social group, firmly united in itself and dwelling apart from + others, tends to withdraw itself from the larger society. Every patriot + hates foreigners; they are only men, and nothing to him.[Footnote: Thus + the wars of republics are more cruel than those of monarchies. But if the + wars of kings are less cruel, their peace is terrible; better be their foe + than their subject.] This defect is inevitable, but of little importance. + The great thing is to be kind to our neighbours. Among strangers the + Spartan was selfish, grasping, and unjust, but unselfishness, justice, and + harmony ruled his home life. Distrust those cosmopolitans who search out + remote duties in their books and neglect those that lie nearest. Such + philosophers will love the Tartars to avoid loving their neighbour. + </p> + <p> + The natural man lives for himself; he is the unit, the whole, dependent + only on himself and on his like. The citizen is but the numerator of a + fraction, whose value depends on its denominator; his value depends upon + the whole, that is, on the community. Good social institutions are those + best fitted to make a man unnatural, to exchange his independence for + dependence, to merge the unit in the group, so that he no longer regards + himself as one, but as a part of the whole, and is only conscious of the + common life. A citizen of Rome was neither Caius nor Lucius, he was a + Roman; he ever loved his country better than his life. The captive Regulus + professed himself a Carthaginian; as a foreigner he refused to take his + seat in the Senate except at his master’s bidding. He scorned the + attempt to save his life. He had his will, and returned in triumph to a + cruel death. There is no great likeness between Regulus and the men of our + own day. + </p> + <p> + The Spartan Pedaretes presented himself for admission to the council of + the Three Hundred and was rejected; he went away rejoicing that there were + three hundred Spartans better than himself. I suppose he was in earnest; + there is no reason to doubt it. That was a citizen. + </p> + <p> + A Spartan mother had five sons with the army. A Helot arrived; trembling + she asked his news. “Your five sons are slain.” “Vile + slave, was that what I asked thee?” “We have won the victory.” + She hastened to the temple to render thanks to the gods. That was a + citizen. + </p> + <p> + He who would preserve the supremacy of natural feelings in social life + knows not what he asks. Ever at war with himself, hesitating between his + wishes and his duties, he will be neither a man nor a citizen. He will be + of no use to himself nor to others. He will be a man of our day, a + Frenchman, an Englishman, one of the great middle class. + </p> + <p> + To be something, to be himself, and always at one with himself, a man must + act as he speaks, must know what course he ought to take, and must follow + that course with vigour and persistence. When I meet this miracle it will + be time enough to decide whether he is a man or a citizen, or how he + contrives to be both. + </p> + <p> + Two conflicting types of educational systems spring from these conflicting + aims. One is public and common to many, the other private and domestic. + </p> + <p> + If you wish to know what is meant by public education, read Plato’s + Republic. Those who merely judge books by their titles take this for a + treatise on politics, but it is the finest treatise on education ever + written. + </p> + <p> + In popular estimation the Platonic Institute stands for all that is + fanciful and unreal. For my own part I should have thought the system of + Lycurgus far more impracticable had he merely committed it to writing. + Plato only sought to purge man’s heart; Lycurgus turned it from its + natural course. + </p> + <p> + The public institute does not and cannot exist, for there is neither + country nor patriot. The very words should be struck out of our language. + The reason does not concern us at present, so that though I know it I + refrain from stating it. + </p> + <p> + I do not consider our ridiculous colleges [Footnote: There are teachers + dear to me in many schools and especially in the University of Paris, men + for whom I have a great respect, men whom I believe to be quite capable of + instructing young people, if they were not compelled to follow the + established custom. I exhort one of them to publish the scheme of reform + which he has thought out. Perhaps people would at length seek to cure the + evil if they realised that there was a remedy.] as public institutes, nor + do I include under this head a fashionable education, for this education + facing two ways at once achieves nothing. It is only fit to turn out + hypocrites, always professing to live for others, while thinking of + themselves alone. These professions, however, deceive no one, for every + one has his share in them; they are so much labour wasted. + </p> + <p> + Our inner conflicts are caused by these contradictions. Drawn this way by + nature and that way by man, compelled to yield to both forces, we make a + compromise and reach neither goal. We go through life, struggling and + hesitating, and die before we have found peace, useless alike to ourselves + and to others. + </p> + <p> + There remains the education of the home or of nature; but how will a man + live with others if he is educated for himself alone? If the twofold aims + could be resolved into one by removing the man’s + self-contradictions, one great obstacle to his happiness would be gone. To + judge of this you must see the man full-grown; you must have noted his + inclinations, watched his progress, followed his steps; in a word you must + really know a natural man. When you have read this work, I think you will + have made some progress in this inquiry. + </p> + <p> + What must be done to train this exceptional man! We can do much, but the + chief thing is to prevent anything being done. To sail against the wind we + merely follow one tack and another; to keep our position in a stormy sea + we must cast anchor. Beware, young pilot, lest your boat slip its cable or + drag its anchor before you know it. + </p> + <p> + In the social order where each has his own place a man must be educated + for it. If such a one leave his own station he is fit for nothing else. + His education is only useful when fate agrees with his parents’ + choice; if not, education harms the scholar, if only by the prejudices it + has created. In Egypt, where the son was compelled to adopt his father’s + calling, education had at least a settled aim; where social grades remain + fixed, but the men who form them are constantly changing, no one knows + whether he is not harming his son by educating him for his own class. + </p> + <p> + In the natural order men are all equal and their common calling is that of + manhood, so that a well-educated man cannot fail to do well in that + calling and those related to it. It matters little to me whether my pupil + is intended for the army, the church, or the law. Before his parents chose + a calling for him nature called him to be a man. Life is the trade I would + teach him. When he leaves me, I grant you, he will be neither a + magistrate, a soldier, nor a priest; he will be a man. All that becomes a + man he will learn as quickly as another. In vain will fate change his + station, he will always be in his right place. “Occupavi te, + fortuna, atque cepi; omnes-que aditus tuos interclusi, ut ad me aspirare + non posses.” The real object of our study is man and his + environment. To my mind those of us who can best endure the good and evil + of life are the best educated; hence it follows that true education + consists less in precept than in practice. We begin to learn when we begin + to live; our education begins with ourselves, our first teacher is our + nurse. The ancients used the word “Education” in a different + sense, it meant “Nurture.” “Educit obstetrix,” + says Varro. “Educat nutrix, instituit paedagogus, docet magister.” + Thus, education, discipline, and instruction are three things as different + in their purpose as the dame, the usher, and the teacher. But these + distinctions are undesirable and the child should only follow one guide. + </p> + <p> + We must therefore look at the general rather than the particular, and + consider our scholar as man in the abstract, man exposed to all the + changes and chances of mortal life. If men were born attached to the soil + of our country, if one season lasted all the year round, if every man’s + fortune were so firmly grasped that he could never lose it, then the + established method of education would have certain advantages; the child + brought up to his own calling would never leave it, he could never have to + face the difficulties of any other condition. But when we consider the + fleeting nature of human affairs, the restless and uneasy spirit of our + times, when every generation overturns the work of its predecessor, can we + conceive a more senseless plan than to educate a child as if he would + never leave his room, as if he would always have his servants about him? + If the wretched creature takes a single step up or down he is lost. This + is not teaching him to bear pain; it is training him to feel it. + </p> + <p> + People think only of preserving their child’s life; this is not + enough, he must be taught to preserve his own life when he is a man, to + bear the buffets of fortune, to brave wealth and poverty, to live at need + among the snows of Iceland or on the scorching rocks of Malta. In vain you + guard against death; he must needs die; and even if you do not kill him + with your precautions, they are mistaken. Teach him to live rather than to + avoid death: life is not breath, but action, the use of our senses, our + mind, our faculties, every part of ourselves which makes us conscious of + our being. Life consists less in length of days than in the keen sense of + living. A man maybe buried at a hundred and may never have lived at all. + He would have fared better had he died young. + </p> + <p> + Our wisdom is slavish prejudice, our customs consist in control, + constraint, compulsion. Civilised man is born and dies a slave. The infant + is bound up in swaddling clothes, the corpse is nailed down in his coffin. + All his life long man is imprisoned by our institutions. + </p> + <p> + I am told that many midwives profess to improve the shape of the infant’s + head by rubbing, and they are allowed to do it. Our heads are not good + enough as God made them, they must be moulded outside by the nurse and + inside by the philosopher. The Caribs are better off than we are. The + child has hardly left the mother’s womb, it has hardly begun to move + and stretch its limbs, when it is deprived of its freedom. It is wrapped + in swaddling bands, laid down with its head fixed, its legs stretched out, + and its arms by its sides; it is wound round with linen and bandages of + all sorts so that it cannot move. It is fortunate if it has room to + breathe, and it is laid on its side so that water which should flow from + its mouth can escape, for it is not free to turn its head on one side for + this purpose. + </p> + <p> + The new-born child requires to stir and stretch his limbs to free them + from the stiffness resulting from being curled up so long. His limbs are + stretched indeed, but he is not allowed to move them. Even the head is + confined by a cap. One would think they were afraid the child should look + as if it were alive. + </p> + <p> + Thus the internal impulses which should lead to growth find an + insurmountable obstacle in the way of the necessary movements. The child + exhausts his strength in vain struggles, or he gains strength very slowly. + He was freer and less constrained in the womb; he has gained nothing by + birth. + </p> + <p> + The inaction, the constraint to which the child’s limbs are + subjected can only check the circulation of the blood and humours; it can + only hinder the child’s growth in size and strength, and injure its + constitution. Where these absurd precautions are absent, all the men are + tall, strong, and well-made. Where children are swaddled, the country + swarms with the hump-backed, the lame, the bow-legged, the rickety, and + every kind of deformity. In our fear lest the body should become deformed + by free movement, we hasten to deform it by putting it in a press. We make + our children helpless lest they should hurt themselves. + </p> + <p> + Is not such a cruel bondage certain to affect both health and temper? + Their first feeling is one of pain and suffering; they find every + necessary movement hampered; more miserable than a galley slave, in vain + they struggle, they become angry, they cry. Their first words you say are + tears. That is so. From birth you are always checking them, your first + gifts are fetters, your first treatment, torture. Their voice alone is + free; why should they not raise it in complaint? They cry because you are + hurting them; if you were swaddled you would cry louder still. + </p> + <p> + What is the origin of this senseless and unnatural custom? Since mothers + have despised their first duty and refused to nurse their own children, + they have had to be entrusted to hired nurses. Finding themselves the + mothers of a stranger’s children, without the ties of nature, they + have merely tried to save themselves trouble. A child unswaddled would + need constant watching; well swaddled it is cast into a corner and its + cries are unheeded. So long as the nurse’s negligence escapes + notice, so long as the nursling does not break its arms or legs, what + matter if it dies or becomes a weakling for life. Its limbs are kept safe + at the expense of its body, and if anything goes wrong it is not the nurse’s + fault. + </p> + <p> + These gentle mothers, having got rid of their babies, devote themselves + gaily to the pleasures of the town. Do they know how their children are + being treated in the villages? If the nurse is at all busy, the child is + hung up on a nail like a bundle of clothes and is left crucified while the + nurse goes leisurely about her business. Children have been found in this + position purple in the face, their tightly bandaged chest forbade the + circulation of the blood, and it went to the head; so the sufferer was + considered very quiet because he had not strength to cry. How long a child + might survive under such conditions I do not know, but it could not be + long. That, I fancy, is one of the chief advantages of swaddling clothes. + </p> + <p> + It is maintained that unswaddled infants would assume faulty positions and + make movements which might injure the proper development of their limbs. + That is one of the empty arguments of our false wisdom which has never + been confirmed by experience. Out of all the crowds of children who grow + up with the full use of their limbs among nations wiser than ourselves, + you never find one who hurts himself or maims himself; their movements are + too feeble to be dangerous, and when they assume an injurious position, + pain warns them to change it. + </p> + <p> + We have not yet decided to swaddle our kittens and puppies; are they any + the worse for this neglect? Children are heavier, I admit, but they are + also weaker. They can scarcely move, how could they hurt themselves! If + you lay them on their backs, they will lie there till they die, like the + turtle, unable to turn itself over. Not content with having ceased to + suckle their children, women no longer wish to do it; with the natural + result motherhood becomes a burden; means are found to avoid it. They will + destroy their work to begin it over again, and they thus turn to the + injury of the race the charm which was given them for its increase. This + practice, with other causes of depopulation, forbodes the coming fate of + Europe. Her arts and sciences, her philosophy and morals, will shortly + reduce her to a desert. She will be the home of wild beasts, and her + inhabitants will hardly have changed for the worse. + </p> + <p> + I have sometimes watched the tricks of young wives who pretend that they + wish to nurse their own children. They take care to be dissuaded from this + whim. They contrive that husbands, doctors, and especially mothers should + intervene. If a husband should let his wife nurse her own baby it would be + the ruin of him; they would make him out a murderer who wanted to be rid + of her. A prudent husband must sacrifice paternal affection to domestic + peace. Fortunately for you there are women in the country districts more + continent than your wives. You are still more fortunate if the time thus + gained is not intended for another than yourself. + </p> + <p> + There can be no doubt about a wife’s duty, but, considering the + contempt in which it is held, it is doubtful whether it is not just as + good for the child to be suckled by a stranger. This is a question for the + doctors to settle, and in my opinion they have settled it according to the + women’s wishes, [Footnote: The league between the women and the + doctors has always struck me as one of the oddest things in Paris. The + doctors’ reputation depends on the women, and by means of the + doctors the women get their own way. It is easy to see what qualifications + a doctor requires in Paris if he is to become celebrated.] and for my own + part I think it is better that the child should suck the breast of a + healthy nurse rather than of a petted mother, if he has any further evil + to fear from her who has given him birth. + </p> + <p> + Ought the question, however, to be considered only from the physiological + point of view? Does not the child need a mother’s care as much as + her milk? Other women, or even other animals, may give him the milk she + denies him, but there is no substitute for a mother’s love. + </p> + <p> + The woman who nurses another’s child in place of her own is a bad + mother; how can she be a good nurse? She may become one in time; use will + overcome nature, but the child may perish a hundred times before his nurse + has developed a mother’s affection for him. + </p> + <p> + And this affection when developed has its drawbacks, which should make any + feeling woman afraid to put her child out to nurse. Is she prepared to + divide her mother’s rights, or rather to abdicate them in favour of + a stranger; to see her child loving another more than herself; to feel + that the affection he retains for his own mother is a favour, while his + love for his foster-mother is a duty; for is not some affection due where + there has been a mother’s care? + </p> + <p> + To remove this difficulty, children are taught to look down on their + nurses, to treat them as mere servants. When their task is completed the + child is withdrawn or the nurse is dismissed. Her visits to her + foster-child are discouraged by a cold reception. After a few years the + child never sees her again. The mother expects to take her place, and to + repair by her cruelty the results of her own neglect. But she is greatly + mistaken; she is making an ungrateful foster-child, not an affectionate + son; she is teaching him ingratitude, and she is preparing him to despise + at a later day the mother who bore him, as he now despises his nurse. + </p> + <p> + How emphatically would I speak if it were not so hopeless to keep + struggling in vain on behalf of a real reform. More depends on this than + you realise. Would you restore all men to their primal duties, begin with + the mothers; the results will surprise you. Every evil follows in the + train of this first sin; the whole moral order is disturbed, nature is + quenched in every breast, the home becomes gloomy, the spectacle of a + young family no longer stirs the husband’s love and the stranger’s + reverence. The mother whose children are out of sight wins scanty esteem; + there is no home life, the ties of nature are not strengthened by those of + habit; fathers, mothers, children, brothers, and sisters cease to exist. + They are almost strangers; how should they love one another? Each thinks + of himself first. When the home is a gloomy solitude pleasure will be + sought elsewhere. + </p> + <p> + But when mothers deign to nurse their own children, then will be a reform + in morals; natural feeling will revive in every heart; there will be no + lack of citizens for the state; this first step by itself will restore + mutual affection. The charms of home are the best antidote to vice. The + noisy play of children, which we thought so trying, becomes a delight; + mother and father rely more on each other and grow dearer to one another; + the marriage tie is strengthened. In the cheerful home life the mother + finds her sweetest duties and the father his pleasantest recreation. Thus + the cure of this one evil would work a wide-spread reformation; nature + would regain her rights. When women become good mothers, men will be good + husbands and fathers. + </p> + <p> + My words are vain! When we are sick of worldly pleasures we do not return + to the pleasures of the home. Women have ceased to be mothers, they do not + and will not return to their duty. Could they do it if they would? The + contrary custom is firmly established; each would have to overcome the + opposition of her neighbours, leagued together against the example which + some have never given and others do not desire to follow. + </p> + <p> + Yet there are still a few young women of good natural disposition who + refuse to be the slaves of fashion and rebel against the clamour of other + women, who fulfil the sweet task imposed on them by nature. Would that the + reward in store for them might draw others to follow their example. My + conclusion is based upon plain reason, and upon facts I have never seen + disputed; and I venture to promise these worthy mothers the firm and + steadfast affection of their husbands and the truly filial love of their + children and the respect of all the world. Child-birth will be easy and + will leave no ill-results, their health will be strong and vigorous, and + they will see their daughters follow their example, and find that example + quoted as a pattern to others. + </p> + <p> + No mother, no child; their duties are reciprocal, and when ill done by the + one they will be neglected by the other. The child should love his mother + before he knows what he owes her. If the voice of instinct is not + strengthened by habit it soon dies, the heart is still-born. From the + outset we have strayed from the path of nature. + </p> + <p> + There is another by-way which may tempt our feet from the path of nature. + The mother may lavish excessive care on her child instead of neglecting + him; she may make an idol of him; she may develop and increase his + weakness to prevent him feeling it; she wards off every painful experience + in the hope of withdrawing him from the power of nature, and fails to + realise that for every trifling ill from which she preserves him the + future holds in store many accidents and dangers, and that it is a cruel + kindness to prolong the child’s weakness when the grown man must + bear fatigue. + </p> + <p> + Thetis, so the story goes, plunged her son in the waters of Styx to make + him invulnerable. The truth of this allegory is apparent. The cruel + mothers I speak of do otherwise; they plunge their children into softness, + and they are preparing suffering for them, they open the way to every kind + of ill, which their children will not fail to experience after they grow + up. + </p> + <p> + Fix your eyes on nature, follow the path traced by her. She keeps children + at work, she hardens them by all kinds of difficulties, she soon teaches + them the meaning of pain and grief. They cut their teeth and are feverish, + sharp colics bring on convulsions, they are choked by fits of coughing and + tormented by worms, evil humours corrupt the blood, germs of various kinds + ferment in it, causing dangerous eruptions. Sickness and danger play the + chief part in infancy. One half of the children who are born die before + their eighth year. The child who has overcome hardships has gained + strength, and as soon as he can use his life he holds it more securely. + </p> + <p> + This is nature’s law; why contradict it? Do you not see that in your + efforts to improve upon her handiwork you are destroying it; her cares are + wasted? To do from without what she does within is according to you to + increase the danger twofold. On the contrary, it is the way to avert it; + experience shows that children delicately nurtured are more likely to die. + Provided we do not overdo it, there is less risk in using their strength + than in sparing it. Accustom them therefore to the hardships they will + have to face; train them to endure extremes of temperature, climate, and + condition, hunger, thirst, and weariness. Dip them in the waters of Styx. + Before bodily habits become fixed you may teach what habits you will + without any risk, but once habits are established any change is fraught + with peril. A child will bear changes which a man cannot bear, the muscles + of the one are soft and flexible, they take whatever direction you give + them without any effort; the muscles of the grown man are harder and they + only change their accustomed mode of action when subjected to violence. So + we can make a child strong without risking his life or health, and even if + there were some risk, it should not be taken into consideration. Since + human life is full of dangers, can we do better than face them at a time + when they can do the least harm? + </p> + <p> + A child’s worth increases with his years. To his personal value must + be added the cost of the care bestowed upon him. For himself there is not + only loss of life, but the consciousness of death. We must therefore think + most of his future in our efforts for his preservation. He must be + protected against the ills of youth before he reaches them: for if the + value of life increases until the child reaches an age when he can be + useful, what madness to spare some suffering in infancy only to multiply + his pain when he reaches the age of reason. Is that what our master + teaches us? + </p> + <p> + Man is born to suffer; pain is the means of his preservation. His + childhood is happy, knowing only pain of body. These bodily sufferings are + much less cruel, much less painful, than other forms of suffering, and + they rarely lead to self-destruction. It is not the twinges of gout which + make a man kill himself, it is mental suffering that leads to despair. We + pity the sufferings of childhood; we should pity ourselves; our worst + sorrows are of our own making. + </p> + <p> + The new-born infant cries, his early days are spent in crying. He is + alternately petted and shaken by way of soothing him; sometimes he is + threatened, sometimes beaten, to keep him quiet. We do what he wants or we + make him do what we want, we submit to his whims or subject him to our + own. There is no middle course; he must rule or obey. Thus his earliest + ideas are those of the tyrant or the slave. He commands before he can + speak, he obeys before he can act, and sometimes he is punished for faults + before he is aware of them, or rather before they are committed. Thus + early are the seeds of evil passions sown in his young heart. At a later + day these are attributed to nature, and when we have taken pains to make + him bad we lament his badness. + </p> + <p> + In this way the child passes six or seven years in the hands of women, the + victim of his own caprices or theirs, and after they have taught him all + sorts of things, when they have burdened his memory with words he cannot + understand, or things which are of no use to him, when nature has been + stifled by the passions they have implanted in him, this sham article is + sent to a tutor. The tutor completes the development of the germs of + artificiality which he finds already well grown, he teaches him everything + except self-knowledge and self-control, the arts of life and happiness. + When at length this infant slave and tyrant, crammed with knowledge but + empty of sense, feeble alike in mind and body, is flung upon the world, + and his helplessness, his pride, and his other vices are displayed, we + begin to lament the wretchedness and perversity of mankind. We are wrong; + this is the creature of our fantasy; the natural man is cast in another + mould. + </p> + <p> + Would you keep him as nature made him? Watch over him from his birth. Take + possession of him as soon as he comes into the world and keep him till he + is a man; you will never succeed otherwise. The real nurse is the mother + and the real teacher is the father. Let them agree in the ordering of + their duties as well as in their method, let the child pass from one to + the other. He will be better educated by a sensible though ignorant father + than by the cleverest master in the world. For zeal will atone for lack of + knowledge, rather than knowledge for lack of zeal. But the duties of + public and private business! Duty indeed! Does a father’s duty come + last. [Footnote: When we read in Plutarch that Cato the Censor, who ruled + Rome with such glory, brought up his own sons from the cradle, and so + carefully that he left everything to be present when their nurse, that is + to say their mother, bathed them; when we read in Suetonius that Augustus, + the master of the world which he had conquered and which he himself + governed, himself taught his grandsons to write, to swim, to understand + the beginnings of science, and that he always had them with him, we cannot + help smiling at the little people of those days who amused themselves with + such follies, and who were too ignorant, no doubt, to attend to the great + affairs of the great people of our own time.] It is not surprising that + the man whose wife despises the duty of suckling her child should despise + its education. There is no more charming picture than that of family life; + but when one feature is wanting the whole is marred. If the mother is too + delicate to nurse her child, the father will be too busy to teach him. + Their children, scattered about in schools, convents, and colleges, will + find the home of their affections elsewhere, or rather they will form the + habit of caring for nothing. Brothers and sisters will scarcely know each + other; when they are together in company they will behave as strangers. + When there is no confidence between relations, when the family society + ceases to give savour to life, its place is soon usurped by vice. Is there + any man so stupid that he cannot see how all this hangs together? + </p> + <p> + A father has done but a third of his task when he begets children and + provides a living for them. He owes men to humanity, citizens to the + state. A man who can pay this threefold debt and neglect to do so is + guilty, more guilty, perhaps, if he pays it in part than when he neglects + it entirely. He has no right to be a father if he cannot fulfil a father’s + duties. Poverty, pressure of business, mistaken social prejudices, none of + these can excuse a man from his duty, which is to support and educate his + own children. If a man of any natural feeling neglects these sacred duties + he will repent it with bitter tears and will never be comforted. + </p> + <p> + But what does this rich man do, this father of a family, compelled, so he + says, to neglect his children? He pays another man to perform those duties + which are his alone. Mercenary man! do you expect to purchase a second + father for your child? Do not deceive yourself; it is not even a master + you have hired for him, it is a flunkey, who will soon train such another + as himself. + </p> + <p> + There is much discussion as to the characteristics of a good tutor. My + first requirement, and it implies a good many more, is that he should not + take up his task for reward. There are callings so great that they cannot + be undertaken for money without showing our unfitness for them; such + callings are those of the soldier and the teacher. + </p> + <p> + “But who must train my child?” “I have just told you, + you should do it yourself.” “I cannot.” “You + cannot! Then find a friend. I see no other course.” + </p> + <p> + A tutor! What a noble soul! Indeed for the training of a man one must + either be a father or more than man. It is this duty you would calmly hand + over to a hireling! + </p> + <p> + The more you think of it the harder you will find it. The tutor must have + been trained for his pupil, his servants must have been trained for their + master, so that all who come near him may have received the impression + which is to be transmitted to him. We must pass from education to + education, I know not how far. How can a child be well educated by one who + has not been well educated himself! + </p> + <p> + Can such a one be found? I know not. In this age of degradation who knows + the height of virtue to which man’s soul may attain? But let us + assume that this prodigy has been discovered. We shall learn what he + should be from the consideration of his duties. I fancy the father who + realises the value of a good tutor will contrive to do without one, for it + will be harder to find one than to become such a tutor himself; he need + search no further, nature herself having done half the work. + </p> + <p> + Some one whose rank alone is known to me suggested that I should educate + his son. He did me a great honour, no doubt, but far from regretting my + refusal, he ought to congratulate himself on my prudence. Had the offer + been accepted, and had I been mistaken in my method, there would have been + an education ruined; had I succeeded, things would have been worse—his + son would have renounced his title and refused to be a prince. + </p> + <p> + I feel too deeply the importance of a tutor’s duties and my own + unfitness, ever to accept such a post, whoever offered it, and even the + claims of friendship would be only an additional motive for my refusal. + Few, I think, will be tempted to make me such an offer when they have read + this book, and I beg any one who would do so to spare his pains. I have + had enough experience of the task to convince myself of my own unfitness, + and my circumstances would make it impossible, even if my talents were + such as to fit me for it. I have thought it my duty to make this public + declaration to those who apparently refuse to do me the honour of + believing in the sincerity of my determination. If I am unable to + undertake the more useful task, I will at least venture to attempt the + easier one; I will follow the example of my predecessors and take up, not + the task, but my pen; and instead of doing the right thing I will try to + say it. + </p> + <p> + I know that in such an undertaking the author, who ranges at will among + theoretical systems, utters many fine precepts impossible to practise, and + even when he says what is practicable it remains undone for want of + details and examples as to its application. + </p> + <p> + I have therefore decided to take an imaginary pupil, to assume on my own + part the age, health, knowledge, and talents required for the work of his + education, to guide him from birth to manhood, when he needs no guide but + himself. This method seems to me useful for an author who fears lest he + may stray from the practical to the visionary; for as soon as he departs + from common practice he has only to try his method on his pupil; he will + soon know, or the reader will know for him, whether he is following the + development of the child and the natural growth of the human heart. + </p> + <p> + This is what I have tried to do. Lest my book should be unduly bulky, I + have been content to state those principles the truth of which is + self-evident. But as to the rules which call for proof, I have applied + them to Emile or to others, and I have shown, in very great detail, how my + theories may be put into practice. Such at least is my plan; the reader + must decide whether I have succeeded. At first I have said little about + Emile, for my earliest maxims of education, though very different from + those generally accepted, are so plain that it is hard for a man of sense + to refuse to accept them, but as I advance, my scholar, educated after + another fashion than yours, is no longer an ordinary child, he needs a + special system. Then he appears upon the scene more frequently, and + towards the end I never lose sight of him for a moment, until, whatever he + may say, he needs me no longer. + </p> + <p> + I pass over the qualities required in a good tutor; I take them for + granted, and assume that I am endowed with them. As you read this book you + will see how generous I have been to myself. + </p> + <p> + I will only remark that, contrary to the received opinion, a child’s + tutor should be young, as young indeed as a man may well be who is also + wise. Were it possible, he should become a child himself, that he may be + the companion of his pupil and win his confidence by sharing his games. + Childhood and age have too little in common for the formation of a really + firm affection. Children sometimes flatter old men; they never love them. + </p> + <p> + People seek a tutor who has already educated one pupil. This is too much; + one man can only educate one pupil; if two were essential to success, what + right would he have to undertake the first? With more experience you may + know better what to do, but you are less capable of doing it; once this + task has been well done, you will know too much of its difficulties to + attempt it a second time—if ill done, the first attempt augurs badly + for the second. + </p> + <p> + It is one thing to follow a young man about for four years, another to be + his guide for five-and-twenty. You find a tutor for your son when he is + already formed; I want one for him before he is born. Your man may change + his pupil every five years; mine will never have but one pupil. You + distinguish between the teacher and the tutor. Another piece of folly! Do + you make any distinction between the pupil and the scholar? There is only + one science for children to learn—the duties of man. This science is + one, and, whatever Xenophon may say of the education of the Persians, it + is indivisible. Besides, I prefer to call the man who has this knowledge + master rather than teacher, since it is a question of guidance rather than + instruction. He must not give precepts, he must let the scholar find them + out for himself. + </p> + <p> + If the master is to be so carefully chosen, he may well choose his pupil, + above all when he proposes to set a pattern for others. This choice cannot + depend on the child’s genius or character, as I adopt him before he + is born, and they are only known when my task is finished. If I had my + choice I would take a child of ordinary mind, such as I assume in my + pupil. It is ordinary people who have to be educated, and their education + alone can serve as a pattern for the education of their fellows. The + others find their way alone. + </p> + <p> + The birthplace is not a matter of indifference in the education of man; it + is only in temperate climes that he comes to his full growth. The + disadvantages of extremes are easily seen. A man is not planted in one + place like a tree, to stay there the rest of his life, and to pass from + one extreme to another you must travel twice as far as he who starts + half-way. + </p> + <p> + If the inhabitant of a temperate climate passes in turn through both + extremes his advantage is plain, for although he may be changed as much as + he who goes from one extreme to the other, he only removes half-way from + his natural condition. A Frenchman can live in New Guinea or in Lapland, + but a negro cannot live in Tornea nor a Samoyed in Benin. It seems also as + if the brain were less perfectly organised in the two extremes. Neither + the negroes nor the Laps are as wise as Europeans. So if I want my pupil + to be a citizen of the world I will choose him in the temperate zone, in + France for example, rather than elsewhere. + </p> + <p> + In the north with its barren soil men devour much food, in the fertile + south they eat little. This produces another difference: the one is + industrious, the other contemplative. Society shows us, in one and the + same spot, a similar difference between rich and poor. The one dwells in a + fertile land, the other in a barren land. + </p> + <p> + The poor man has no need of education. The education of his own station in + life is forced upon him, he can have no other; the education received by + the rich man from his own station is least fitted for himself and for + society. Moreover, a natural education should fit a man for any position. + Now it is more unreasonable to train a poor man for wealth than a rich man + for poverty, for in proportion to their numbers more rich men are ruined + and fewer poor men become rich. Let us choose our scholar among the rich; + we shall at least have made another man; the poor may come to manhood + without our help. + </p> + <p> + For the same reason I should not be sorry if Emile came of a good family. + He will be another victim snatched from prejudice. + </p> + <p> + Emile is an orphan. No matter whether he has father or mother, having + undertaken their duties I am invested with their rights. He must honour + his parents, but he must obey me. That is my first and only condition. + </p> + <p> + I must add that there is just one other point arising out of this; we must + never be separated except by mutual consent. This clause is essential, and + I would have tutor and scholar so inseparable that they should regard + their fate as one. If once they perceive the time of their separation + drawing near, the time which must make them strangers to one another, they + become strangers then and there; each makes his own little world, and both + of them being busy in thought with the time when they will no longer be + together, they remain together against their will. The disciple regards + his master as the badge and scourge of childhood, the master regards his + scholar as a heavy burden which he longs to be rid of. Both are looking + forward to the time when they will part, and as there is never any real + affection between them, there will be scant vigilance on the one hand, and + on the other scant obedience. + </p> + <p> + But when they consider they must always live together, they must needs + love one another, and in this way they really learn to love one another. + The pupil is not ashamed to follow as a child the friend who will be with + him in manhood; the tutor takes an interest in the efforts whose fruits he + will enjoy, and the virtues he is cultivating in his pupil form a store + laid up for his old age. + </p> + <p> + This agreement made beforehand assumes a normal birth, a strong, + well-made, healthy child. A father has no choice, and should have no + preference within the limits of the family God has given him; all his + children are his alike, the same care and affection is due to all. + Crippled or well-made, weak or strong, each of them is a trust for which + he is responsible to the Giver, and nature is a party to the marriage + contract along with husband and wife. + </p> + <p> + But if you undertake a duty not imposed upon you by nature, you must + secure beforehand the means for its fulfilment, unless you would undertake + duties you cannot fulfil. If you take the care of a sickly, unhealthy + child, you are a sick nurse, not a tutor. To preserve a useless life you + are wasting the time which should be spent in increasing its value, you + risk the sight of a despairing mother reproaching you for the death of her + child, who ought to have died long ago. + </p> + <p> + I would not undertake the care of a feeble, sickly child, should he live + to four score years. I want no pupil who is useless alike to himself and + others, one whose sole business is to keep himself alive, one whose body + is always a hindrance to the training of his mind. If I vainly lavish my + care upon him, what can I do but double the loss to society by robbing it + of two men, instead of one? Let another tend this weakling for me; I am + quite willing, I approve his charity, but I myself have no gift for such a + task; I could never teach the art of living to one who needs all his + strength to keep himself alive. + </p> + <p> + The body must be strong enough to obey the mind; a good servant must be + strong. I know that intemperance stimulates the passions; in course of + time it also destroys the body; fasting and penance often produce the same + results in an opposite way. The weaker the body, the more imperious its + demands; the stronger it is, the better it obeys. All sensual passions + find their home in effeminate bodies; the less satisfaction they can get + the keener their sting. + </p> + <p> + A feeble body makes a feeble mind. Hence the influence of physic, an art + which does more harm to man than all the evils it professes to cure. I do + not know what the doctors cure us of, but I know this: they infect us with + very deadly diseases, cowardice, timidity, credulity, the fear of death. + What matter if they make the dead walk, we have no need of corpses; they + fail to give us men, and it is men we need. + </p> + <p> + Medicine is all the fashion in these days, and very naturally. It is the + amusement of the idle and unemployed, who do not know what to do with + their time, and so spend it in taking care of themselves. If by ill-luck + they had happened to be born immortal, they would have been the most + miserable of men; a life they could not lose would be of no value to them. + Such men must have doctors to threaten and flatter them, to give them the + only pleasure they can enjoy, the pleasure of not being dead. + </p> + <p> + I will say no more at present as to the uselessness of medicine. My aim is + to consider its bearings on morals. Still I cannot refrain from saying + that men employ the same sophism about medicine as they do about the + search for truth. They assume that the patient is cured and that the + seeker after truth finds it. They fail to see that against one life saved + by the doctors you must set a hundred slain, and against the value of one + truth discovered the errors which creep in with it. The science which + instructs and the medicine which heals are no doubt excellent, but the + science which misleads us and the medicine which kills us are evil. Teach + us to know them apart. That is the real difficulty. If we were content to + be ignorant of truth we should not be the dupes of falsehood; if we did + not want to be cured in spite of nature, we should not be killed by the + doctors. We should do well to steer clear of both, and we should evidently + be the gainers. I do not deny that medicine is useful to some men; I + assert that it is fatal to mankind. + </p> + <p> + You will tell me, as usual, that the doctors are to blame, that medicine + herself is infallible. Well and good, then give us the medicine without + the doctor, for when we have both, the blunders of the artist are a + hundredfold greater than our hopes from the art. This lying art, invented + rather for the ills of the mind than of the body, is useless to both + alike; it does less to cure us of our diseases than to fill us with alarm. + It does less to ward off death than to make us dread its approach. It + exhausts life rather than prolongs it; should it even prolong life it + would only be to the prejudice of the race, since it makes us set its + precautions before society and our fears before our duties. It is the + knowledge of danger that makes us afraid. If we thought ourselves + invulnerable we should know no fear. The poet armed Achilles against + danger and so robbed him of the merit of courage; on such terms any man + would be an Achilles. + </p> + <p> + Would you find a really brave man? Seek him where there are no doctors, + where the results of disease are unknown, and where death is little + thought of. By nature a man bears pain bravely and dies in peace. It is + the doctors with their rules, the philosophers with their precepts, the + priests with their exhortations, who debase the heart and make us afraid + to die. + </p> + <p> + Give me a pupil who has no need of these, or I will have nothing to do + with him. No one else shall spoil my work, I will educate him myself or + not at all. That wise man, Locke, who had devoted part of his life to the + study of medicine, advises us to give no drugs to the child, whether as a + precaution, or on account of slight ailments. I will go farther, and will + declare that, as I never call in a doctor for myself, I will never send + for one for Emile, unless his life is clearly in danger, when the doctor + can but kill him. + </p> + <p> + I know the doctor will make capital out of my delay. If the child dies, he + was called in too late; if he recovers, it is his doing. So be it; let the + doctor boast, but do not call him in except in extremity. + </p> + <p> + As the child does not know how to be cured, he knows how to be ill. The + one art takes the place of the other and is often more successful; it is + the art of nature. When a beast is ill, it keeps quiet and suffers in + silence; but we see fewer sickly animals than sick men. How many men have + been slain by impatience, fear, anxiety, and above all by medicine, men + whom disease would have spared, and time alone have cured. I shall be told + that animals, who live according to nature, are less liable to disease + than ourselves. Well, that way of living is just what I mean to teach my + pupil; he should profit by it in the same way. + </p> + <p> + Hygiene is the only useful part of medicine, and hygiene is rather a + virtue than a science. Temperance and industry are man’s true + remedies; work sharpens his appetite and temperance teaches him to control + it. + </p> + <p> + To learn what system is most beneficial you have only to study those races + remarkable for health, strength, and length of days. If common observation + shows us that medicine neither increases health nor prolongs life, it + follows that this useless art is worse than useless, since it wastes time, + men, and things on what is pure loss. Not only must we deduct the time + spent, not in using life, but preserving it, but if this time is spent in + tormenting ourselves it is worse than wasted, it is so much to the bad, + and to reckon fairly a corresponding share must be deducted from what + remains to us. A man who lives ten years for himself and others without + the help of doctors lives more for himself and others than one who spends + thirty years as their victim. I have tried both, so I think I have a + better right than most to draw my own conclusions. + </p> + <p> + For these reasons I decline to take any but a strong and healthy pupil, + and these are my principles for keeping him in health. I will not stop to + prove at length the value of manual labour and bodily exercise for + strengthening the health and constitution; no one denies it. Nearly all + the instances of long life are to be found among the men who have taken + most exercise, who have endured fatigue and labour. [Footnote: I cannot + help quoting the following passage from an English newspaper, as it throws + much light on my opinions: “A certain Patrick O’Neil, born in + 1647, has just married his seventh wife in 1760. In the seventeenth year + of Charles II. he served in the dragoons and in other regiments up to + 1740, when he took his discharge. He served in all the campaigns of + William III. and Marlborough. This man has never drunk anything but small + beer; he has always lived on vegetables, and has never eaten meat except + on few occasions when he made a feast for his relations. He has always + been accustomed to rise with the sun and go to bed at sunset unless + prevented by his military duties. He is now in his 130th year; he is + healthy, his hearing is good, and he walks with the help of a stick. In + spite of his great age he is never idle, and every Sunday he goes to his + parish church accompanied by his children, grandchildren, and great + grandchildren.”] Neither will I enter into details as to the care I + shall take for this alone. It will be clear that it forms such an + essential part of my practice that it is enough to get hold of the idea + without further explanation. + </p> + <p> + When our life begins our needs begin too. The new-born infant must have a + nurse. If his mother will do her duty, so much the better; her + instructions will be given her in writing, but this advantage has its + drawbacks, it removes the tutor from his charge. But it is to be hoped + that the child’s own interests, and her respect for the person to + whom she is about to confide so precious a treasure, will induce the + mother to follow the master’s wishes, and whatever she does you may + be sure she will do better than another. If we must have a strange nurse, + make a good choice to begin with. + </p> + <p> + It is one of the misfortunes of the rich to be cheated on all sides; what + wonder they think ill of mankind! It is riches that corrupt men, and the + rich are rightly the first to feel the defects of the only tool they know. + Everything is ill-done for them, except what they do themselves, and they + do next to nothing. When a nurse must be selected the choice is left to + the doctor. What happens? The best nurse is the one who offers the highest + bribe. I shall not consult the doctor about Emile’s nurse, I shall + take care to choose her myself. I may not argue about it so elegantly as + the surgeon, but I shall be more reliable, I shall be less deceived by my + zeal than the doctor by his greed. + </p> + <p> + There is no mystery about this choice; its rules are well known, but I + think we ought probably to pay more attention to the age of the milk as + well as its quality. The first milk is watery, it must be almost an + aperient, to purge the remains of the meconium curdled in the bowels of + the new-born child. Little by little the milk thickens and supplies more + solid food as the child is able to digest it. It is surely not without + cause that nature changes the milk in the female of every species + according to the age of the offspring. + </p> + <p> + Thus a new-born child requires a nurse who has recently become mother. + There is, I know, a difficulty here, but as soon as we leave the path of + nature there are difficulties in the way of all well-doing. The wrong + course is the only right one under the circumstances, so we take it. + </p> + <p> + The nurse must be healthy alike in disposition and in body. The violence + of the passions as well as the humours may spoil her milk. Moreover, to + consider the body only is to keep only half our aim in view. The milk may + be good and the nurse bad; a good character is as necessary as a good + constitution. If you choose a vicious person, I do not say her + foster-child will acquire her vices, but he will suffer for them. Ought + she not to bestow on him day by day, along with her milk, a care which + calls for zeal, patience, gentleness, and cleanliness. If she is + intemperate and greedy her milk will soon be spoilt; if she is careless + and hasty what will become of a poor little wretch left to her mercy, and + unable either to protect himself or to complain. The wicked are never good + for anything. + </p> + <p> + The choice is all the more important because her foster-child should have + no other guardian, just as he should have no teacher but his tutor. This + was the custom of the ancients, who talked less but acted more wisely than + we. The nurse never left her foster-daughter; this is why the nurse is the + confidante in most of their plays. A child who passes through many hands + in turn, can never be well brought up. + </p> + <p> + At every change he makes a secret comparison, which continually tends to + lessen his respect for those who control him, and with it their authority + over him. If once he thinks there are grown-up people with no more sense + than children the authority of age is destroyed and his education is + ruined. A child should know no betters but its father and mother, or + failing them its foster-mother and its tutor, and even this is one too + many, but this division is inevitable, and the best that can be done in + the way of remedy is that the man and woman who control him shall be so + well agreed with regard to him that they seem like one. + </p> + <p> + The nurse must live rather more comfortably, she must have rather more + substantial food, but her whole way of living must not be altered, for a + sudden change, even a change for the better, is dangerous to health, and + since her usual way of life has made her healthy and strong, why change + it? + </p> + <p> + Country women eat less meat and more vegetables than towns-women, and this + vegetarian diet seems favourable rather than otherwise to themselves and + their children. When they take nurslings from the upper classes they eat + meat and broth with the idea that they will form better chyle and supply + more milk. I do not hold with this at all, and experience is on my side, + for we do not find children fed in this way less liable to colic and + worms. + </p> + <p> + That need not surprise us, for decaying animal matter swarms with worms, + but this is not the case with vegetable matter. [Footnote: Women eat + bread, vegetables, and dairy produce; female dogs and cats do the same; + the she-wolves eat grass. This supplies vegetable juices to their milk. + There are still those species which are unable to eat anything but flesh, + if such there are, which I very much doubt.] Milk, although manufactured + in the body of an animal, is a vegetable substance; this is shown by + analysis; it readily turns acid, and far from showing traces of any + volatile alkali like animal matter, it gives a neutral salt like plants. + </p> + <p> + The milk of herbivorous creatures is sweeter and more wholesome than the + milk of the carnivorous; formed of a substance similar to its own, it + keeps its goodness and becomes less liable to putrifaction. If quantity is + considered, it is well known that farinaceous foods produce more blood + than meat, so they ought to yield more milk. If a child were not weaned + too soon, and if it were fed on vegetarian food, and its foster-mother + were a vegetarian, I do not think it would be troubled with worms. + </p> + <p> + Milk derived from vegetable foods may perhaps be more liable to go sour, + but I am far from considering sour milk an unwholesome food; whole nations + have no other food and are none the worse, and all the array of absorbents + seems to me mere humbug. There are constitutions which do not thrive on + milk, others can take it without absorbents. People are afraid of the milk + separating or curdling; that is absurd, for we know that milk always + curdles in the stomach. This is how it becomes sufficiently solid to + nourish children and young animals; if it did not curdle it would merely + pass away without feeding them. [Footnote: Although the juices which + nourish us are liquid, they must be extracted from solids. A hard-working + man who ate nothing but soup would soon waste away. He would be far better + fed on milk, just because it curdles.] In vain you dilute milk and use + absorbents; whoever swallows milk digests cheese, this rule is without + exception; rennet is made from a calf’s stomach. + </p> + <p> + Instead of changing the nurse’s usual diet, I think it would be + enough to give food in larger quantities and better of its kind. It is not + the nature of the food that makes a vegetable diet indigestible, but the + flavouring that makes it unwholesome. Reform your cookery, use neither + butter nor oil for frying. Butter, salt, and milk should never be cooked. + Let your vegetables be cooked in water and only seasoned when they come to + table. The vegetable diet, far from disturbing the nurse, will give her a + plentiful supply of milk. [Footnote: Those who wish to study a full + account of the advantages and disadvantages of the Pythagorean regime, may + consult the works of Dr. Cocchi and his opponent Dr. Bianchi on this + important subject.] If a vegetable diet is best for the child, how can + meat food be best for his nurse? The things are contradictory. + </p> + <p> + Fresh air affects children’s constitutions, particularly in early + years. It enters every pore of a soft and tender skin, it has a powerful + effect on their young bodies. Its effects can never be destroyed. So I + should not agree with those who take a country woman from her village and + shut her up in one room in a town and her nursling with her. I would + rather send him to breathe the fresh air of the country than the foul air + of the town. He will take his new mother’s position, will live in + her cottage, where his tutor will follow him. The reader will bear in mind + that this tutor is not a paid servant, but the father’s friend. But + if this friend cannot be found, if this transfer is not easy, if none of + my advice can be followed, you will say to me, “What shall I do + instead?” I have told you already—“Do what you are + doing;” no advice is needed there. + </p> + <p> + Men are not made to be crowded together in ant-hills, but scattered over + the earth to till it. The more they are massed together, the more corrupt + they become. Disease and vice are the sure results of over-crowded cities. + Of all creatures man is least fitted to live in herds. Huddled together + like sheep, men would very soon die. Man’s breath is fatal to his + fellows. This is literally as well as figuratively true. + </p> + <p> + Men are devoured by our towns. In a few generations the race dies out or + becomes degenerate; it needs renewal, and it is always renewed from the + country. Send your children to renew themselves, so to speak, send them to + regain in the open fields the strength lost in the foul air of our crowded + cities. Women hurry home that their children may be born in the town; they + ought to do just the opposite, especially those who mean to nurse their + own children. They would lose less than they think, and in more natural + surroundings the pleasures associated by nature with maternal duties would + soon destroy the taste for other delights. + </p> + <p> + The new-born infant is first bathed in warm water to which a little wine + is usually added. I think the wine might be dispensed with. As nature does + not produce fermented liquors, it is not likely that they are of much + value to her creatures. + </p> + <p> + In the same way it is unnecessary to take the precaution of heating the + water; in fact among many races the new-born infants are bathed with no + more ado in rivers or in the sea. Our children, made tender before birth + by the softness of their parents, come into the world with a constitution + already enfeebled, which cannot be at once exposed to all the trials + required to restore it to health. Little by little they must be restored + to their natural vigour. Begin then by following this custom, and leave it + off gradually. Wash your children often, their dirty ways show the need of + this. If they are only wiped their skin is injured; but as they grow + stronger gradually reduce the heat of the water, till at last you bathe + them winter and summer in cold, even in ice-cold water. To avoid risk this + change must be slow, gradual, and imperceptible, so you may use the + thermometer for exact measurements. + </p> + <p> + This habit of the bath, once established, should never be broken off, it + must be kept up all through life. I value it not only on grounds of + cleanliness and present health, but also as a wholesome means of making + the muscles supple, and accustoming them to bear without risk or effort + extremes of heat and cold. As he gets older I would have the child trained + to bathe occasionally in hot water of every bearable degree, and often in + every degree of cold water. Now water being a denser fluid touches us at + more points than air, so that, having learnt to bear all the variations of + temperature in water, we shall scarcely feel this of the air. [Footnote: + Children in towns are stifled by being kept indoors and too much wrapped + up. Those who control them have still to learn that fresh air, far from + doing them harm, will make them strong, while hot air will make them weak, + will give rise to fevers, and will eventually kill them.] + </p> + <p> + When the child draws its first breath do not confine it in tight + wrappings. No cap, no bandages, nor swaddling clothes. Loose and flowing + flannel wrappers, which leave its limbs free and are not too heavy to + check his movements, not too warm to prevent his feeling the air. + [Footnote: I say “cradle” using the common word for want of a + better, though I am convinced that it is never necessary and often harmful + to rock children in the cradle.] Put him in a big cradle, well padded, + where he can move easily and safely. As he begins to grow stronger, let + him crawl about the room; let him develop and stretch his tiny limbs; you + will see him gain strength from day to day. Compare him with a well + swaddled child of the same age and you will be surprised at their + different rates of progress. [Footnote: The ancient Peruvians wrapped + their children in loose swaddling bands, leaving the arms quite free. + Later they placed them unswaddled in a hole in the ground, lined with + cloths, so that the lower part of the body was in the hole, and their arms + were free and they could move the head and bend the body at will without + falling or hurting themselves. When they began to walk they were enticed + to come to the breast. The little negroes are often in a position much + more difficult for sucking. They cling to the mother’s hip, and + cling so tightly that the mother’s arm is often not needed to + support them. They clasp the breast with their hand and continue sucking + while their mother goes on with her ordinary work. These children begin to + walk at two months, or rather to crawl. Later on they can run on all fours + almost as well as on their feet.—Buffon. M. Buffon might also have + quoted the example of England, where the senseless and barbarous swaddling + clothes have become almost obsolete. Cf. La Longue Voyage de Siam, Le Beau + Voyage de Canada, etc.] + </p> + <p> + You must expect great opposition from the nurses, who find a half + strangled baby needs much less watching. Besides his dirtyness is more + perceptible in an open garment; he must be attended to more frequently. + Indeed, custom is an unanswerable argument in some lands and among all + classes of people. + </p> + <p> + Do not argue with the nurses; give your orders, see them carried out, and + spare no pains to make the attention you prescribe easy in practice. Why + not take your share in it? With ordinary nurslings, where the body alone + is thought of, nothing matters so long as the child lives and does not + actually die, but with us, when education begins with life, the new-born + child is already a disciple, not of his tutor, but of nature. The tutor + merely studies under this master, and sees that his orders are not evaded. + He watches over the infant, he observes it, he looks for the first feeble + glimmering of intelligence, as the Moslem looks for the moment of the moon’s + rising in her first quarter. + </p> + <p> + We are born capable of learning, but knowing nothing, perceiving nothing. + The mind, bound up within imperfect and half grown organs, is not even + aware of its own existence. The movements and cries of the new-born child + are purely reflex, without knowledge or will. + </p> + <p> + Suppose a child born with the size and strength of manhood, entering upon + life full grown like Pallas from the brain of Jupiter; such a child-man + would be a perfect idiot, an automaton, a statue without motion and almost + without feeling; he would see and hear nothing, he would recognise no one, + he could not turn his eyes towards what he wanted to see; not only would + he perceive no external object, he would not even be aware of sensation + through the several sense-organs. His eye would not perceive colour, his + ear sounds, his body would be unaware of contact with neighbouring bodies, + he would not even know he had a body, what his hands handled would be in + his brain alone; all his sensations would be united in one place, they + would exist only in the common “sensorium,” he would have only + one idea, that of self, to which he would refer all his sensations; and + this idea, or rather this feeling, would be the only thing in which he + excelled an ordinary child. + </p> + <p> + This man, full grown at birth, would also be unable to stand on his feet, + he would need a long time to learn how to keep his balance; perhaps he + would not even be able to try to do it, and you would see the big strong + body left in one place like a stone, or creeping and crawling like a young + puppy. + </p> + <p> + He would feel the discomfort of bodily needs without knowing what was the + matter and without knowing how to provide for these needs. There is no + immediate connection between the muscles of the stomach and those of the + arms and legs to make him take a step towards food, or stretch a hand to + seize it, even were he surrounded with it; and as his body would be full + grown and his limbs well developed he would be without the perpetual + restlessness and movement of childhood, so that he might die of hunger + without stirring to seek food. However little you may have thought about + the order and development of our knowledge, you cannot deny that such a + one would be in the state of almost primitive ignorance and stupidity + natural to man before he has learnt anything from experience or from his + fellows. + </p> + <p> + We know then, or we may know, the point of departure from which we each + start towards the usual level of understanding; but who knows the other + extreme? Each progresses more or less according to his genius, his taste, + his needs, his talents, his zeal, and his opportunities for using them. No + philosopher, so far as I know, has dared to say to man, “Thus far + shalt thou go and no further.” We know not what nature allows us to + be, none of us has measured the possible difference between man and man. + Is there a mind so dead that this thought has never kindled it, that has + never said in his pride, “How much have I already done, how much + more may I achieve? Why should I lag behind my fellows?” + </p> + <p> + As I said before, man’s education begins at birth; before he can + speak or understand he is learning. Experience precedes instruction; when + he recognises his nurse he has learnt much. The knowledge of the most + ignorant man would surprise us if we had followed his course from birth to + the present time. If all human knowledge were divided into two parts, one + common to all, the other peculiar to the learned, the latter would seem + very small compared with the former. But we scarcely heed this general + experience, because it is acquired before the age of reason. Moreover, + knowledge only attracts attention by its rarity, as in algebraic equations + common factors count for nothing. Even animals learn much. They have + senses and must learn to use them; they have needs, they must learn to + satisfy them; they must learn to eat, walk, or fly. Quadrupeds which can + stand on their feet from the first cannot walk for all that; from their + first attempts it is clear that they lack confidence. Canaries who escape + from their cage are unable to fly, having never used their wings. Living + and feeling creatures are always learning. If plants could walk they would + need senses and knowledge, else their species would die out. The child’s + first mental experiences are purely affective, he is only aware of + pleasure and pain; it takes him a long time to acquire the definite + sensations which show him things outside himself, but before these things + present and withdraw themselves, so to speak, from his sight, taking size + and shape for him, the recurrence of emotional experiences is beginning to + subject the child to the rule of habit. You see his eyes constantly follow + the light, and if the light comes from the side the eyes turn towards it, + so that one must be careful to turn his head towards the light lest he + should squint. He must also be accustomed from the first to the dark, or + he will cry if he misses the light. Food and sleep, too, exactly measured, + become necessary at regular intervals, and soon desire is no longer the + effect of need, but of habit, or rather habit adds a fresh need to those + of nature. You must be on your guard against this. + </p> + <p> + The only habit the child should be allowed to contract is that of having + no habits; let him be carried on either arm, let him be accustomed to + offer either hand, to use one or other indifferently; let him not want to + eat, sleep, or do anything at fixed hours, nor be unable to be left alone + by day or night. Prepare the way for his control of his liberty and the + use of his strength by leaving his body its natural habit, by making him + capable of lasting self-control, of doing all that he wills when his will + is formed. + </p> + <p> + As soon as the child begins to take notice, what is shown him must be + carefully chosen. The natural man is interested in all new things. He + feels so feeble that he fears the unknown: the habit of seeing fresh + things without ill effects destroys this fear. Children brought up in + clean houses where there are no spiders are afraid of spiders, and this + fear often lasts through life. I never saw peasants, man, woman, or child, + afraid of spiders. + </p> + <p> + Since the mere choice of things shown him may make the child timid or + brave, why should not his education begin before he can speak or + understand? I would have him accustomed to see fresh things, ugly, + repulsive, and strange beasts, but little by little, and far off till he + is used to them, and till having seen others handle them he handles them + himself. If in childhood he sees toads, snakes, and crayfish, he will not + be afraid of any animal when he is grown up. Those who are continually + seeing terrible things think nothing of them. + </p> + <p> + All children are afraid of masks. I begin by showing Emile a mask with a + pleasant face, then some one puts this mask before his face; I begin to + laugh, they all laugh too, and the child with them. By degrees I accustom + him to less pleasing masks, and at last hideous ones. If I have arranged + my stages skilfully, far from being afraid of the last mask, he will laugh + at it as he did at the first. After that I am not afraid of people + frightening him with masks. + </p> + <p> + When Hector bids farewell to Andromache, the young Astyanax, startled by + the nodding plumes on the helmet, does not know his father; he flings + himself weeping upon his nurse’s bosom and wins from his mother a + smile mingled with tears. What must be done to stay this terror? Just what + Hector did; put the helmet on the ground and caress the child. In a calmer + moment one would do more; one would go up to the helmet, play with the + plumes, let the child feel them; at last the nurse would take the helmet + and place it laughingly on her own head, if indeed a woman’s hand + dare touch the armour of Hector. + </p> + <p> + If Emile must get used to the sound of a gun, I first fire a pistol with a + small charge. He is delighted with this sudden flash, this sort of + lightning; I repeat the process with more powder; gradually I add a small + charge without a wad, then a larger; in the end I accustom him to the + sound of a gun, to fireworks, cannon, and the most terrible explosions. + </p> + <p> + I have observed that children are rarely afraid of thunder unless the + peals are really terrible and actually hurt the ear, otherwise this fear + only comes to them when they know that thunder sometimes hurts or kills. + When reason begins to cause fear, let us reassure them. By slow and + careful stages man and child learn to fear nothing. + </p> + <p> + In the dawn of life, when memory and imagination have not begun to + function, the child only attends to what affects its senses. His sense + experiences are the raw material of thought; they should, therefore, be + presented to him in fitting order, so that memory may at a future time + present them in the same order to his understanding; but as he only + attends to his sensations it is enough, at first, to show him clearly the + connection between these sensations and the things which cause them. He + wants to touch and handle everything; do not check these movements which + teach him invaluable lessons. Thus he learns to perceive the heat, cold, + hardness, softness, weight, or lightness of bodies, to judge their size + and shape and all their physical properties, by looking, feeling, + [Footnote: Of all the senses that of smell is the latest to develop in + children up to two or three years of age they appear to be insensible of + pleasant or unpleasant odours; in this respect they are as indifferent or + rather as insensible as many animals.] listening, and, above all, by + comparing sight and touch, by judging with the eye what sensation they + would cause to his hand. + </p> + <p> + It is only by movement that we learn the difference between self and not + self; it is only by our own movements that we gain the idea of space. The + child has not this idea, so he stretches out his hand to seize the object + within his reach or that which is a hundred paces from him. You take this + as a sign of tyranny, an attempt to bid the thing draw near, or to bid you + bring it. Nothing of the kind, it is merely that the object first seen in + his brain, then before his eyes, now seems close to his arms, and he has + no idea of space beyond his reach. Be careful, therefore, to take him + about, to move him from place to place, and to let him perceive the change + in his surroundings, so as to teach him to judge of distances. + </p> + <p> + When he begins to perceive distances then you must change your plan, and + only carry him when you please, not when he pleases; for as soon as he is + no longer deceived by his senses, there is another motive for his effort. + This change is remarkable and calls for explanation. + </p> + <p> + The discomfort caused by real needs is shown by signs, when the help of + others is required. Hence the cries of children; they often cry; it must + be so. Since they are only conscious of feelings, when those feelings are + pleasant they enjoy them in silence; when they are painful they say so in + their own way and demand relief. Now when they are awake they can scarcely + be in a state of indifference, either they are asleep or else they are + feeling something. + </p> + <p> + All our languages are the result of art. It has long been a subject of + inquiry whether there ever was a natural language common to all; no doubt + there is, and it is the language of children before they begin to speak. + This language is inarticulate, but it has tone, stress, and meaning. The + use of our own language has led us to neglect it so far as to forget it + altogether. Let us study children and we shall soon learn it afresh from + them. Nurses can teach us this language; they understand all their + nurslings say to them, they answer them, and keep up long conversations + with them; and though they use words, these words are quite useless. It is + not the hearing of the word, but its accompanying intonation that is + understood. + </p> + <p> + To the language of intonation is added the no less forcible language of + gesture. The child uses, not its weak hands, but its face. The amount of + expression in these undeveloped faces is extraordinary; their features + change from one moment to another with incredible speed. You see smiles, + desires, terror, come and go like lightning; every time the face seems + different. The muscles of the face are undoubtedly more mobile than our + own. On the other hand the eyes are almost expressionless. Such must be + the sort of signs they use at an age when their only needs are those of + the body. Grimaces are the sign of sensation, the glance expresses + sentiment. + </p> + <p> + As man’s first state is one of want and weakness, his first sounds + are cries and tears. The child feels his needs and cannot satisfy them, he + begs for help by his cries. Is he hungry or thirsty? there are tears; is + he too cold or too hot? more tears; he needs movement and is kept quiet, + more tears; he wants to sleep and is disturbed, he weeps. The less + comfortable he is, the more he demands change. He has only one language + because he has, so to say, only one kind of discomfort. In the imperfect + state of his sense organs he does not distinguish their several + impressions; all ills produce one feeling of sorrow. + </p> + <p> + These tears, which you think so little worthy of your attention, give rise + to the first relation between man and his environment; here is forged the + first link in the long chain of social order. + </p> + <p> + When the child cries he is uneasy, he feels some need which he cannot + satisfy; you watch him, seek this need, find it, and satisfy it. If you + can neither find it nor satisfy it, the tears continue and become + tiresome. The child is petted to quiet him, he is rocked or sung to sleep; + if he is obstinate, the nurse becomes impatient and threatens him; cruel + nurses sometimes strike him. What strange lessons for him at his first + entrance into life! + </p> + <p> + I shall never forget seeing one of these troublesome crying children thus + beaten by his nurse. He was silent at once. I thought he was frightened, + and said to myself, “This will be a servile being from whom nothing + can be got but by harshness.” I was wrong, the poor wretch was + choking with rage, he could not breathe, he was black in the face. A + moment later there were bitter cries, every sign of the anger, rage, and + despair of this age was in his tones. I thought he would die. Had I + doubted the innate sense of justice and injustice in man’s heart, + this one instance would have convinced me. I am sure that a drop of + boiling liquid falling by chance on that child’s hand would have + hurt him less than that blow, slight in itself, but clearly given with the + intention of hurting him. + </p> + <p> + This tendency to anger, vexation, and rage needs great care. Boerhaave + thinks that most of the diseases of children are of the nature of + convulsions, because the head being larger in proportion and the nervous + system more extensive than in adults, they are more liable to nervous + irritation. Take the greatest care to remove from them any servants who + tease, annoy, or vex them. They are a hundredfold more dangerous and more + fatal than fresh air and changing seasons. When children only experience + resistance in things and never in the will of man, they do not become + rebellious or passionate, and their health is better. This is one reason + why the children of the poor, who are freer and more independent, are + generally less frail and weakly, more vigorous than those who are supposed + to be better brought up by being constantly thwarted; but you must always + remember that it is one thing to refrain from thwarting them, but quite + another to obey them. The child’s first tears are prayers, beware + lest they become commands; he begins by asking for aid, he ends by + demanding service. Thus from his own weakness, the source of his first + consciousness of dependence, springs the later idea of rule and tyranny; + but as this idea is aroused rather by his needs than by our services, we + begin to see moral results whose causes are not in nature; thus we see how + important it is, even at the earliest age, to discern the secret meaning + of the gesture or cry. + </p> + <p> + When the child tries to seize something without speaking, he thinks he can + reach the object, for he does not rightly judge its distance; when he + cries and stretches out his hands he no longer misjudges the distance, he + bids the object approach, or orders you to bring it to him. In the first + case bring it to him slowly; in the second do not even seem to hear his + cries. The more he cries the less you should heed him. He must learn in + good time not to give commands to men, for he is not their master, nor to + things, for they cannot hear him. Thus when the child wants something you + mean to give him, it is better to carry him to it rather than to bring the + thing to him. From this he will draw a conclusion suited to his age, and + there is no other way of suggesting it to him. + </p> + <p> + The Abbe Saint-Pierre calls men big children; one might also call children + little men. These statements are true, but they require explanation. But + when Hobbes calls the wicked a strong child, his statement is contradicted + by facts. All wickedness comes from weakness. The child is only naughty + because he is weak; make him strong and he will be good; if we could do + everything we should never do wrong. Of all the attributes of the + Almighty, goodness is that which it would be hardest to dissociate from + our conception of Him. All nations who have acknowledged a good and an + evil power, have always regarded the evil as inferior to the good; + otherwise their opinion would have been absurd. Compare this with the + creed of the Savoyard clergyman later on in this book. + </p> + <p> + Reason alone teaches us to know good and evil. Therefore conscience, which + makes us love the one and hate the other, though it is independent of + reason, cannot develop without it. Before the age of reason we do good or + ill without knowing it, and there is no morality in our actions, although + there is sometimes in our feeling with regard to other people’s + actions in relation to ourselves. A child wants to overturn everything he + sees. He breaks and smashes everything he can reach; he seizes a bird as + he seizes a stone, and strangles it without knowing what he is about. + </p> + <p> + Why so? In the first place philosophy will account for this by inbred sin, + man’s pride, love of power, selfishness, spite; perhaps it will say + in addition to this that the child’s consciousness of his own + weakness makes him eager to use his strength, to convince himself of it. + But watch that broken down old man reduced in the downward course of life + to the weakness of a child; not only is he quiet and peaceful, he would + have all about him quiet and peaceful too; the least change disturbs and + troubles him, he would like to see universal calm. How is it possible that + similar feebleness and similar passions should produce such different + effects in age and in infancy, if the original cause were not different? + And where can we find this difference in cause except in the bodily + condition of the two. The active principle, common to both, is growing in + one case and declining in the other; it is being formed in the one and + destroyed in the other; one is moving towards life, the other towards + death. The failing activity of the old man is centred in his heart, the + child’s overflowing activity spreads abroad. He feels, if we may say + so, strong enough to give life to all about him. To make or to destroy, it + is all one to him; change is what he seeks, and all change involves + action. If he seems to enjoy destructive activity it is only that it takes + time to make things and very little time to break them, so that the work + of destruction accords better with his eagerness. + </p> + <p> + While the Author of nature has given children this activity, He takes care + that it shall do little harm by giving them small power to use it. But as + soon as they can think of people as tools to be used, they use them to + carry out their wishes and to supplement their own weakness. This is how + they become tiresome, masterful, imperious, naughty, and unmanageable; a + development which does not spring from a natural love of power, but one + which has been taught them, for it does not need much experience to + realise how pleasant it is to set others to work and to move the world by + a word. + </p> + <p> + As the child grows it gains strength and becomes less restless and unquiet + and more independent. Soul and body become better balanced and nature no + longer asks for more movement than is required for self-preservation. But + the love of power does not die with the need that aroused it; power + arouses and flatters self-love, and habit strengthens it; thus caprice + follows upon need, and the first seeds of prejudice and obstinacy are + sown. + </p> + <p> + FIRST MAXIM.—Far from being too strong, children are not strong + enough for all the claims of nature. Give them full use of such strength + as they have; they will not abuse it. + </p> + <p> + SECOND MAXIM.—Help them and supply the experience and strength they + lack whenever the need is of the body. + </p> + <p> + THIRD MAXIM.—In the help you give them confine yourself to what is + really needful, without granting anything to caprice or unreason; for they + will not be tormented by caprice if you do not call it into existence, + seeing it is no part of nature. + </p> + <p> + FOURTH MAXIM—Study carefully their speech and gestures, so that at + an age when they are incapable of deceit you may discriminate between + those desires which come from nature and those which spring from + perversity. + </p> + <p> + The spirit of these rules is to give children more real liberty and less + power, to let them do more for themselves and demand less of others; so + that by teaching them from the first to confine their wishes within the + limits of their powers they will scarcely feel the want of whatever is not + in their power. + </p> + <p> + This is another very important reason for leaving children’s limbs + and bodies perfectly free, only taking care that they do not fall, and + keeping anything that might hurt them out of their way. + </p> + <p> + The child whose body and arms are free will certainly cry much less than a + child tied up in swaddling clothes. He who knows only bodily needs, only + cries when in pain; and this is a great advantage, for then we know + exactly when he needs help, and if possible we should not delay our help + for an instant. But if you cannot relieve his pain, stay where you are and + do not flatter him by way of soothing him; your caresses will not cure his + colic, but he will remember what he must do to win them; and if he once + finds out how to gain your attention at will, he is your master; the whole + education is spoilt. + </p> + <p> + Their movements being less constrained, children will cry less; less + wearied with their tears, people will not take so much trouble to check + them. With fewer threats and promises, they will be less timid and less + obstinate, and will remain more nearly in their natural state. Ruptures + are produced less by letting children cry than by the means taken to stop + them, and my evidence for this is the fact that the most neglected + children are less liable to them than others. I am very far from wishing + that they should be neglected; on the contrary, it is of the utmost + importance that their wants should be anticipated, so that they need not + proclaim their wants by crying. But neither would I have unwise care + bestowed on them. Why should they think it wrong to cry when they find + they can get so much by it? When they have learned the value of their + silence they take good care not to waste it. In the end they will so + exaggerate its importance that no one will be able to pay its price; then + worn out with crying they become exhausted, and are at length silent. + </p> + <p> + Prolonged crying on the part of a child neither swaddled nor out of + health, a child who lacks nothing, is merely the result of habit or + obstinacy. Such tears are no longer the work of nature, but the work of + the child’s nurse, who could not resist its importunity and so has + increased it, without considering that while she quiets the child to-day + she is teaching him to cry louder to-morrow. + </p> + <p> + Moreover, when caprice or obstinacy is the cause of their tears, there is + a sure way of stopping them by distracting their attention by some + pleasant or conspicuous object which makes them forget that they want to + cry. Most nurses excel in this art, and rightly used it is very useful; + but it is of the utmost importance that the child should not perceive that + you mean to distract his attention, and that he should be amused without + suspecting you are thinking about him; now this is what most nurses cannot + do. + </p> + <p> + Most children are weaned too soon. The time to wean them is when they cut + their teeth. This generally causes pain and suffering. At this time the + child instinctively carries everything he gets hold of to his mouth to + chew it. To help forward this process he is given as a plaything some hard + object such as ivory or a wolf’s tooth. I think this is a mistake. + Hard bodies applied to the gums do not soften them; far from it, they make + the process of cutting the teeth more difficult and painful. Let us always + take instinct as our guide; we never see puppies practising their budding + teeth on pebbles, iron, or bones, but on wood, leather, rags, soft + materials which yield to their jaws, and on which the tooth leaves its + mark. + </p> + <p> + We can do nothing simply, not even for our children. Toys of silver, gold, + coral, cut crystal, rattles of every price and kind; what vain and useless + appliances. Away with them all! Let us have no corals or rattles; a small + branch of a tree with its leaves and fruit, a stick of liquorice which he + may suck and chew, will amuse him as well as these splendid trifles, and + they will have this advantage at least, he will not be brought up to + luxury from his birth. + </p> + <p> + It is admitted that pap is not a very wholesome food. Boiled milk and + uncooked flour cause gravel and do not suit the stomach. In pap the flour + is less thoroughly cooked than in bread and it has not fermented. I think + bread and milk or rice-cream are better. If you will have pap, the flour + should be lightly cooked beforehand. In my own country they make a very + pleasant and wholesome soup from flour thus heated. Meat-broth or soup is + not a very suitable food and should be used as little as possible. The + child must first get used to chewing his food; this is the right way to + bring the teeth through, and when the child begins to swallow, the saliva + mixed with the food helps digestion. + </p> + <p> + I would have them first chew dried fruit or crusts. I should give them as + playthings little bits of dry bread or biscuits, like the Piedmont bread, + known in the country as “grisses.” By dint of softening this + bread in the mouth some of it is eventually swallowed the teeth come + through of themselves, and the child is weaned almost imperceptibly. + Peasants have usually very good digestions, and they are weaned with no + more ado. + </p> + <p> + From the very first children hear spoken language; we speak to them before + they can understand or even imitate spoken sounds. The vocal organs are + still stiff, and only gradually lend themselves to the reproduction of the + sounds heard; it is even doubtful whether these sounds are heard + distinctly as we hear them. The nurse may amuse the child with songs and + with very merry and varied intonation, but I object to her bewildering the + child with a multitude of vain words of which it understands nothing but + her tone of voice. I would have the first words he hears few in number, + distinctly and often repeated, while the words themselves should be + related to things which can first be shown to the child. That fatal + facility in the use of words we do not understand begins earlier than we + think. In the schoolroom the scholar listens to the verbiage of his master + as he listened in the cradle to the babble of his nurse. I think it would + be a very useful education to leave him in ignorance of both. + </p> + <p> + All sorts of ideas crowd in upon us when we try to consider the + development of speech and the child’s first words. Whatever we do + they all learn to talk in the same way, and all philosophical speculations + are utterly useless. + </p> + <p> + To begin with, they have, so to say, a grammar of their own, whose rules + and syntax are more general than our own; if you attend carefully you will + be surprised to find how exactly they follow certain analogies, very much + mistaken if you like, but very regular; these forms are only objectionable + because of their harshness or because they are not recognised by custom. I + have just heard a child severely scolded by his father for saying, “Mon + pere, irai-je-t-y?” Now we see that this child was following the + analogy more closely than our grammarians, for as they say to him, “Vas-y,” + why should he not say, “Irai-je-t-y?” Notice too the skilful + way in which he avoids the hiatus in irai-je-y or y-irai-je? Is it the + poor child’s fault that we have so unskilfully deprived the phrase + of this determinative adverb “y,” because we did not know what + to do with it? It is an intolerable piece of pedantry and most superfluous + attention to detail to make a point of correcting all children’s + little sins against the customary expression, for they always cure + themselves with time. Always speak correctly before them, let them never + be so happy with any one as with you, and be sure that their speech will + be imperceptibly modelled upon yours without any correction on your part. + </p> + <p> + But a much greater evil, and one far less easy to guard against, is that + they are urged to speak too much, as if people were afraid they would not + learn to talk of themselves. This indiscreet zeal produces an effect + directly opposite to what is meant. They speak later and more confusedly; + the extreme attention paid to everything they say makes it unnecessary for + them to speak distinctly, and as they will scarcely open their mouths, + many of them contract a vicious pronunciation and a confused speech, which + last all their life and make them almost unintelligible. + </p> + <p> + I have lived much among peasants, and I never knew one of them lisp, man + or woman, boy or girl. Why is this? Are their speech organs differently + made from our own? No, but they are differently used. There is a hillock + facing my window on which the children of the place assemble for their + games. Although they are far enough away, I can distinguish perfectly what + they say, and often get good notes for this book. Every day my ear + deceives me as to their age. I hear the voices of children of ten; I look + and see the height and features of children of three or four. This + experience is not confined to me; the townspeople who come to see me, and + whom I consult on this point, all fall into the same mistake. + </p> + <p> + This results from the fact that, up to five or six, children in town, + brought up in a room and under the care of a nursery governess, do not + need to speak above a whisper to make themselves heard. As soon as their + lips move people take pains to make out what they mean; they are taught + words which they repeat inaccurately, and by paying great attention to + them the people who are always with them rather guess what they meant to + say than what they said. + </p> + <p> + It is quite a different matter in the country. A peasant woman is not + always with her child; he is obliged to learn to say very clearly and + loudly what he wants, if he is to make himself understood. Children + scattered about the fields at a distance from their fathers, mothers and + other children, gain practice in making themselves heard at a distance, + and in adapting the loudness of the voice to the distance which separates + them from those to whom they want to speak. This is the real way to learn + pronunciation, not by stammering out a few vowels into the ear of an + attentive governess. So when you question a peasant child, he may be too + shy to answer, but what he says he says distinctly, while the nurse must + serve as interpreter for the town child; without her one can understand + nothing of what he is muttering between his teeth. [Footnote: There are + exceptions to this; and often those children who at first are most + difficult to hear, become the noisiest when they begin to raise their + voices. But if I were to enter into all these details I should never make + an end; every sensible reader ought to see that defect and excess, caused + by the same abuse, are both corrected by my method. I regard the two + maxims as inseparable—always enough—never too much. When the + first is well established, the latter necessarily follows on it.] + </p> + <p> + As they grow older, the boys are supposed to be cured of this fault at + college, the girls in the convent schools; and indeed both usually speak + more clearly than children brought up entirely at home. But they are + prevented from acquiring as clear a pronunciation as the peasants in this + way—they are required to learn all sorts of things by heart, and to + repeat aloud what they have learnt; for when they are studying they get + into the way of gabbling and pronouncing carelessly and ill; it is still + worse when they repeat their lessons; they cannot find the right words, + they drag out their syllables. This is only possible when the memory + hesitates, the tongue does not stammer of itself. Thus they acquire or + continue habits of bad pronunciation. Later on you will see that Emile + does not acquire such habits or at least not from this cause. + </p> + <p> + I grant you uneducated people and villagers often fall into the opposite + extreme. They almost always speak too loud; their pronunciation is too + exact, and leads to rough and coarse articulation; their accent is too + pronounced, they choose their expressions badly, etc. + </p> + <p> + But, to begin with, this extreme strikes me as much less dangerous than + the other, for the first law of speech is to make oneself understood, and + the chief fault is to fail to be understood. To pride ourselves on having + no accent is to pride ourselves on ridding our phrases of strength and + elegance. Emphasis is the soul of speech, it gives it its feeling and + truth. Emphasis deceives less than words; perhaps that is why + well-educated people are so afraid of it. From the custom of saying + everything in the same tone has arisen that of poking fun at people + without their knowing it. When emphasis is proscribed, its place is taken + by all sorts of ridiculous, affected, and ephemeral pronunciations, such + as one observes especially among the young people about court. It is this + affectation of speech and manner which makes Frenchmen disagreeable and + repulsive to other nations on first acquaintance. Emphasis is found, not + in their speech, but in their bearing. That is not the way to make + themselves attractive. + </p> + <p> + All these little faults of speech, which you are so afraid the children + will acquire, are mere trifles; they may be prevented or corrected with + the greatest ease, but the faults which are taught them when you make them + speak in a low, indistinct, and timid voice, when you are always + criticising their tone and finding fault with their words, are never + cured. A man who has only learnt to speak in society of fine ladies could + not make himself heard at the head of his troops, and would make little + impression on the rabble in a riot. First teach the child to speak to men; + he will be able to speak to the women when required. + </p> + <p> + Brought up in all the rustic simplicity of the country, your children will + gain a more sonorous voice; they will not acquire the hesitating stammer + of town children, neither will they acquire the expressions nor the tone + of the villagers, or if they do they will easily lose them; their master + being with them from their earliest years, and more and more in their + society the older they grow, will be able to prevent or efface by speaking + correctly himself the impression of the peasants’ talk. Emile will + speak the purest French I know, but he will speak it more distinctly and + with a better articulation than myself. + </p> + <p> + The child who is trying to speak should hear nothing but words he can + understand, nor should he say words he cannot articulate; his efforts lead + him to repeat the same syllable as if he were practising its clear + pronunciation. When he begins to stammer, do not try to understand him. To + expect to be always listened to is a form of tyranny which is not good for + the child. See carefully to his real needs, and let him try to make you + understand the rest. Still less should you hurry him into speech; he will + learn to talk when he feels the want of it. + </p> + <p> + It has indeed been remarked that those who begin to speak very late never + speak so distinctly as others; but it is not because they talked late that + they are hesitating; on the contrary, they began to talk late because they + hesitate; if not, why did they begin to talk so late? Have they less need + of speech, have they been less urged to it? On the contrary, the anxiety + aroused with the first suspicion of this backwardness leads people to + tease them much more to begin to talk than those who articulated earlier; + and this mistaken zeal may do much to make their speech confused, when + with less haste they might have had time to bring it to greater + perfection. + </p> + <p> + Children who are forced to speak too soon have no time to learn either to + pronounce correctly or to understand what they are made to say; while left + to themselves they first practise the easiest syllables, and then, adding + to them little by little some meaning which their gestures explain, they + teach you their own words before they learn yours. By this means they do + not acquire your words till they have understood them. Being in no hurry + to use them, they begin by carefully observing the sense in which you use + them, and when they are sure of them they adopt them. + </p> + <p> + The worst evil resulting from the precocious use of speech by young + children is that we not only fail to understand the first words they use, + we misunderstand them without knowing it; so that while they seem to + answer us correctly, they fail to understand us and we them. This is the + most frequent cause of our surprise at children’s sayings; we + attribute to them ideas which they did not attach to their words. This + lack of attention on our part to the real meaning which words have for + children seems to me the cause of their earliest misconceptions; and these + misconceptions, even when corrected, colour their whole course of thought + for the rest of their life. I shall have several opportunities of + illustrating these by examples later on. + </p> + <p> + Let the child’s vocabulary, therefore, be limited; it is very + undesirable that he should have more words than ideas, that he should be + able to say more than he thinks. One of the reasons why peasants are + generally shrewder than townsfolk is, I think, that their vocabulary is + smaller. They have few ideas, but those few are thoroughly grasped. + </p> + <p> + The infant is progressing in several ways at once; he is learning to talk, + eat, and walk about the same time. This is really the first phase of his + life. Up till now, he was little more than he was before birth; he had + neither feeling nor thought, he was barely capable of sensation; he was + unconscious of his own existence. + </p> + <p> + “Vivit, et est vitae nescius ipse suae.”—Ovid. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + BOOK II + </h2> + <p class="pfirst"> + <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">W</span>e have now reached + the second phase of life; infancy, strictly so-called, is over; for the + words infans and puer are not synonymous. The latter includes the former, + which means literally “one who cannot speak;” thus Valerius + speaks of puerum infantem. But I shall continue to use the word child + (French enfant) according to the custom of our language till an age for + which there is another term. + </p> + <p> + When children begin to talk they cry less. This progress is quite natural; + one language supplants another. As soon as they can say “It hurts + me,” why should they cry, unless the pain is too sharp for words? If + they still cry, those about them are to blame. When once Emile has said, + “It hurts me,” it will take a very sharp pain to make him cry. + </p> + <p> + If the child is delicate and sensitive, if by nature he begins to cry for + nothing, I let him cry in vain and soon check his tears at their source. + So long as he cries I will not go near him; I come at once when he leaves + off crying. He will soon be quiet when he wants to call me, or rather he + will utter a single cry. Children learn the meaning of signs by their + effects; they have no other meaning for them. However much a child hurts + himself when he is alone, he rarely cries, unless he expects to be heard. + </p> + <p> + Should he fall or bump his head, or make his nose bleed, or cut his + fingers, I shall show no alarm, nor shall I make any fuss over him; I + shall take no notice, at any rate at first. The harm is done; he must bear + it; all my zeal could only frighten him more and make him more nervous. + Indeed it is not the blow but the fear of it which distresses us when we + are hurt. I shall spare him this suffering at least, for he will certainly + regard the injury as he sees me regard it; if he finds that I hasten + anxiously to him, if I pity him or comfort him, he will think he is badly + hurt. If he finds I take no notice, he will soon recover himself, and will + think the wound is healed when it ceases to hurt. This is the time for his + first lesson in courage, and by bearing slight ills without fear we + gradually learn to bear greater. + </p> + <p> + I shall not take pains to prevent Emile hurting himself; far from it, I + should be vexed if he never hurt himself, if he grew up unacquainted with + pain. To bear pain is his first and most useful lesson. It seems as if + children were small and weak on purpose to teach them these valuable + lessons without danger. The child has such a little way to fall he will + not break his leg; if he knocks himself with a stick he will not break his + arm; if he seizes a sharp knife he will not grasp it tight enough to make + a deep wound. So far as I know, no child, left to himself, has ever been + known to kill or maim itself, or even to do itself any serious harm, + unless it has been foolishly left on a high place, or alone near the fire, + or within reach of dangerous weapons. What is there to be said for all the + paraphernalia with which the child is surrounded to shield him on every + side so that he grows up at the mercy of pain, with neither courage nor + experience, so that he thinks he is killed by a pin-prick and faints at + the sight of blood? + </p> + <p> + With our foolish and pedantic methods we are always preventing children + from learning what they could learn much better by themselves, while we + neglect what we alone can teach them. Can anything be sillier than the + pains taken to teach them to walk, as if there were any one who was unable + to walk when he grows up through his nurse’s neglect? How many we + see walking badly all their life because they were ill taught? + </p> + <p> + Emile shall have no head-pads, no go-carts, no leading-strings; or at + least as soon as he can put one foot before another he shall only be + supported along pavements, and he shall be taken quickly across them. + [Footnote: There is nothing so absurd and hesitating as the gait of those + who have been kept too long in leading-strings when they were little. This + is one of the observations which are considered trivial because they are + true.] Instead of keeping him mewed up in a stuffy room, take him out into + a meadow every day; let him run about, let him struggle and fall again and + again, the oftener the better; he will learn all the sooner to pick + himself up. The delights of liberty will make up for many bruises. My + pupil will hurt himself oftener than yours, but he will always be merry; + your pupils may receive fewer injuries, but they are always thwarted, + constrained, and sad. I doubt whether they are any better off. + </p> + <p> + As their strength increases, children have also less need for tears. They + can do more for themselves, they need the help of others less frequently. + With strength comes the sense to use it. It is with this second phase that + the real personal life has its beginning; it is then that the child + becomes conscious of himself. During every moment of his life memory calls + up the feeling of self; he becomes really one person, always the same, and + therefore capable of joy or sorrow. Hence we must begin to consider him as + a moral being. + </p> + <p> + Although we know approximately the limits of human life and our chances of + attaining those limits, nothing is more uncertain than the length of the + life of any one of us. Very few reach old age. The chief risks occur at + the beginning of life; the shorter our past life, the less we must hope to + live. Of all the children who are born scarcely one half reach + adolescence, and it is very likely your pupil will not live to be a man. + </p> + <p> + What is to be thought, therefore, of that cruel education which sacrifices + the present to an uncertain future, that burdens a child with all sorts of + restrictions and begins by making him miserable, in order to prepare him + for some far-off happiness which he may never enjoy? Even if I considered + that education wise in its aims, how could I view without indignation + those poor wretches subjected to an intolerable slavery and condemned like + galley-slaves to endless toil, with no certainty that they will gain + anything by it? The age of harmless mirth is spent in tears, punishments, + threats, and slavery. You torment the poor thing for his good; you fail to + see that you are calling Death to snatch him from these gloomy + surroundings. Who can say how many children fall victims to the excessive + care of their fathers and mothers? They are happy to escape from this + cruelty; this is all that they gain from the ills they are forced to + endure: they die without regretting, having known nothing of life but its + sorrows. + </p> + <p> + Men, be kind to your fellow-men; this is your first duty, kind to every + age and station, kind to all that is not foreign to humanity. What wisdom + can you find that is greater than kindness? Love childhood, indulge its + sports, its pleasures, its delightful instincts. Who has not sometimes + regretted that age when laughter was ever on the lips, and when the heart + was ever at peace? Why rob these innocents of the joys which pass so + quickly, of that precious gift which they cannot abuse? Why fill with + bitterness the fleeting days of early childhood, days which will no more + return for them than for you? Fathers, can you tell when death will call + your children to him? Do not lay up sorrow for yourselves by robbing them + of the short span which nature has allotted to them. As soon as they are + aware of the joy of life, let them rejoice in it, go that whenever God + calls them they may not die without having tasted the joy of life. + </p> + <p> + How people will cry out against me! I hear from afar the shouts of that + false wisdom which is ever dragging us onwards, counting the present as + nothing, and pursuing without a pause a future which flies as we pursue, + that false wisdom which removes us from our place and never brings us to + any other. + </p> + <p> + Now is the time, you say, to correct his evil tendencies; we must increase + suffering in childhood, when it is less keenly felt, to lessen it in + manhood. But how do you know that you can carry out all these fine + schemes; how do you know that all this fine teaching with which you + overwhelm the feeble mind of the child will not do him more harm than good + in the future? How do you know that you can spare him anything by the + vexations you heap upon him now? Why inflict on him more ills than befit + his present condition unless you are quite sure that these present ills + will save him future ill? And what proof can you give me that those evil + tendencies you profess to cure are not the result of your foolish + precautions rather than of nature? What a poor sort of foresight, to make + a child wretched in the present with the more or less doubtful hope of + making him happy at some future day. If such blundering thinkers fail to + distinguish between liberty and licence, between a merry child and a + spoilt darling, let them learn to discriminate. + </p> + <p> + Let us not forget what befits our present state in the pursuit of vain + fancies. Mankind has its place in the sequence of things; childhood has + its place in the sequence of human life; the man must be treated as a man + and the child as a child. Give each his place, and keep him there. Control + human passions according to man’s nature; that is all we can do for + his welfare. The rest depends on external forces, which are beyond our + control. + </p> + <p> + Absolute good and evil are unknown to us. In this life they are blended + together; we never enjoy any perfectly pure feeling, nor do we remain for + more than a moment in the same state. The feelings of our minds, like the + changes in our bodies, are in a continual flux. Good and ill are common to + all, but in varying proportions. The happiest is he who suffers least; the + most miserable is he who enjoys least. Ever more sorrow than joy—this + is the lot of all of us. Man’s happiness in this world is but a + negative state; it must be reckoned by the fewness of his ills. + </p> + <p> + Every feeling of hardship is inseparable from the desire to escape from + it; every idea of pleasure from the desire to enjoy it. All desire implies + a want, and all wants are painful; hence our wretchedness consists in the + disproportion between our desires and our powers. A conscious being whose + powers were equal to his desires would be perfectly happy. + </p> + <p> + What then is human wisdom? Where is the path of true happiness? The mere + limitation of our desires is not enough, for if they were less than our + powers, part of our faculties would be idle, and we should not enjoy our + whole being; neither is the mere extension of our powers enough, for if + our desires were also increased we should only be the more miserable. True + happiness consists in decreasing the difference between our desires and + our powers, in establishing a perfect equilibrium between the power and + the will. Then only, when all its forces are employed, will the soul be at + rest and man will find himself in his true position. + </p> + <p> + In this condition, nature, who does everything for the best, has placed + him from the first. To begin with, she gives him only such desires as are + necessary for self-preservation and such powers as are sufficient for + their satisfaction. All the rest she has stored in his mind as a sort of + reserve, to be drawn upon at need. It is only in this primitive condition + that we find the equilibrium between desire and power, and then alone man + is not unhappy. As soon as his potential powers of mind begin to function, + imagination, more powerful than all the rest, awakes, and precedes all the + rest. It is imagination which enlarges the bounds of possibility for us, + whether for good or ill, and therefore stimulates and feeds desires by the + hope of satisfying them. But the object which seemed within our grasp + flies quicker than we can follow; when we think we have grasped it, it + transforms itself and is again far ahead of us. We no longer perceive the + country we have traversed, and we think nothing of it; that which lies + before us becomes vaster and stretches still before us. Thus we exhaust + our strength, yet never reach our goal, and the nearer we are to pleasure, + the further we are from happiness. + </p> + <p> + On the other hand, the more nearly a man’s condition approximates to + this state of nature the less difference is there between his desires and + his powers, and happiness is therefore less remote. Lacking everything, he + is never less miserable; for misery consists, not in the lack of things, + but in the needs which they inspire. + </p> + <p> + The world of reality has its bounds, the world of imagination is + boundless; as we cannot enlarge the one, let us restrict the other; for + all the sufferings which really make us miserable arise from the + difference between the real and the imaginary. Health, strength, and a + good conscience excepted, all the good things of life are a matter of + opinion; except bodily suffering and remorse, all our woes are imaginary. + You will tell me this is a commonplace; I admit it, but its practical + application is no commonplace, and it is with practice only that we are + now concerned. + </p> + <p> + What do you mean when you say, “Man is weak”? The term weak + implies a relation, a relation of the creature to whom it is applied. An + insect or a worm whose strength exceeds its needs is strong; an elephant, + a lion, a conqueror, a hero, a god himself, whose needs exceed his + strength is weak. The rebellious angel who fought against his own nature + was weaker than the happy mortal who is living at peace according to + nature. When man is content to be himself he is strong indeed; when he + strives to be more than man he is weak indeed. But do not imagine that you + can increase your strength by increasing your powers. Not so; if your + pride increases more rapidly your strength is diminished. Let us measure + the extent of our sphere and remain in its centre like the spider in its + web; we shall have strength sufficient for our needs, we shall have no + cause to lament our weakness, for we shall never be aware of it. + </p> + <p> + The other animals possess only such powers as are required for + self-preservation; man alone has more. Is it not very strange that this + superfluity should make him miserable? In every land a man’s labour + yields more than a bare living. If he were wise enough to disregard this + surplus he would always have enough, for he would never have too much. + “Great needs,” said Favorin, “spring from great wealth; + and often the best way of getting what we want is to get rid of what we + have.” By striving to increase our happiness we change it into + wretchedness. If a man were content to live, he would live happy; and he + would therefore be good, for what would he have to gain by vice? + </p> + <p> + If we were immortal we should all be miserable; no doubt it is hard to + die, but it is sweet to think that we shall not live for ever, and that a + better life will put an end to the sorrows of this world. If we had the + offer of immortality here below, who would accept the sorrowful gift? + [Footnote: You understand I am speaking of those who think, and not of the + crowd.] What resources, what hopes, what consolation would be left against + the cruelties of fate and man’s injustice? The ignorant man never + looks before; he knows little of the value of life and does not fear to + lose it; the wise man sees things of greater worth and prefers them to it. + Half knowledge and sham wisdom set us thinking about death and what lies + beyond it; and they thus create the worst of our ills. The wise man bears + life’s ills all the better because he knows he must die. Life would + be too dearly bought did we not know that sooner or later death will end + it. + </p> + <p> + Our moral ills are the result of prejudice, crime alone excepted, and that + depends on ourselves; our bodily ills either put an end to themselves or + to us. Time or death will cure them, but the less we know how to bear it, + the greater is our pain, and we suffer more in our efforts to cure our + diseases than if we endured them. Live according to nature; be patient, + get rid of the doctors; you will not escape death, but you will only die + once, while the doctors make you die daily through your diseased + imagination; their lying art, instead of prolonging your days, robs you of + all delight in them. I am always asking what real good this art has done + to mankind. True, the doctors cure some who would have died, but they kill + millions who would have lived. If you are wise you will decline to take + part in this lottery when the odds are so great against you. Suffer, die, + or get better; but whatever you do, live while you are alive. + </p> + <p> + Human institutions are one mass of folly and contradiction. As our life + loses its value we set a higher price upon it. The old regret life more + than the young; they do not want to lose all they have spent in preparing + for its enjoyment. At sixty it is cruel to die when one has not begun to + live. Man is credited with a strong desire for self-preservation, and this + desire exists; but we fail to perceive that this desire, as felt by us, is + largely the work of man. In a natural state man is only eager to preserve + his life while he has the means for its preservation; when + self-preservation is no longer possible, he resigns himself to his fate + and dies without vain torments. Nature teaches us the first law of + resignation. Savages, like wild beasts, make very little struggle against + death, and meet it almost without a murmur. When this natural law is + overthrown reason establishes another, but few discern it, and man’s + resignation is never so complete as nature’s. + </p> + <p> + Prudence! Prudence which is ever bidding us look forward into the future, + a future which in many cases we shall never reach; here is the real source + of all our troubles! How mad it is for so short-lived a creature as man to + look forward into a future to which he rarely attains, while he neglects + the present which is his? This madness is all the more fatal since it + increases with years, and the old, always timid, prudent, and miserly, + prefer to do without necessaries to-day that they may have luxuries at a + hundred. Thus we grasp everything, we cling to everything; we are anxious + about time, place, people, things, all that is and will be; we ourselves + are but the least part of ourselves. We spread ourselves, so to speak, + over the whole world, and all this vast expanse becomes sensitive. No + wonder our woes increase when we may be wounded on every side. How many + princes make themselves miserable for the loss of lands they never saw, + and how many merchants lament in Paris over some misfortune in the Indies! + </p> + <p> + Is it nature that carries men so far from their real selves? Is it her + will that each should learn his fate from others and even be the last to + learn it; so that a man dies happy or miserable before he knows what he is + about. There is a healthy, cheerful, strong, and vigorous man; it does me + good to see him; his eyes tell of content and well-being; he is the + picture of happiness. A letter comes by post; the happy man glances at it, + it is addressed to him, he opens it and reads it. In a moment he is + changed, he turns pale and falls into a swoon. When he comes to himself he + weeps, laments, and groans, he tears his hair, and his shrieks re-echo + through the air. You would say he was in convulsions. Fool, what harm has + this bit of paper done you? What limb has it torn away? What crime has it + made you commit? What change has it wrought in you to reduce you to this + state of misery? + </p> + <p> + Had the letter miscarried, had some kindly hand thrown it into the fire, + it strikes me that the fate of this mortal, at once happy and unhappy, + would have offered us a strange problem. His misfortunes, you say, were + real enough. Granted; but he did not feel them. What of that? His + happiness was imaginary. I admit it; health, wealth, a contented spirit, + are mere dreams. We no longer live in our own place, we live outside it. + What does it profit us to live in such fear of death, when all that makes + life worth living is our own? + </p> + <p> + Oh, man! live your own life and you will no longer be wretched. Keep to + your appointed place in the order of nature and nothing can tear you from + it. Do not kick against the stern law of necessity, nor waste in vain + resistance the strength bestowed on you by heaven, not to prolong or + extend your existence, but to preserve it so far and so long as heaven + pleases. Your freedom and your power extend as far and no further than + your natural strength; anything more is but slavery, deceit, and trickery. + Power itself is servile when it depends upon public opinion; for you are + dependent on the prejudices of others when you rule them by means of those + prejudices. To lead them as you will, they must be led as they will. They + have only to change their way of thinking and you are forced to change + your course of action. Those who approach you need only contrive to sway + the opinions of those you rule, or of the favourite by whom you are ruled, + or those of your own family or theirs. Had you the genius of Themistocles, + [Footnote: “You see that little boy,” said Themistocles to his + friends, “the fate of Greece is in his hands, for he rules his + mother and his mother rules me, I rule the Athenians and the Athenians + rule the Greeks.” What petty creatures we should often find + controlling great empires if we traced the course of power from the prince + to those who secretly put that power in motion.] viziers, courtiers, + priests, soldiers, servants, babblers, the very children themselves, would + lead you like a child in the midst of your legions. Whatever you do, your + actual authority can never extend beyond your own powers. As soon as you + are obliged to see with another’s eyes you must will what he wills. + You say with pride, “My people are my subjects.” Granted, but + what are you? The subject of your ministers. And your ministers, what are + they? The subjects of their clerks, their mistresses, the servants of + their servants. Grasp all, usurp all, and then pour out your silver with + both hands; set up your batteries, raise the gallows and the wheel; make + laws, issue proclamations, multiply your spies, your soldiers, your + hangmen, your prisons, and your chains. Poor little men, what good does it + do you? You will be no better served, you will be none the less robbed and + deceived, you will be no nearer absolute power. You will say continually, + “It is our will,” and you will continually do the will of + others. + </p> + <p> + There is only one man who gets his own way—he who can get it + single-handed; therefore freedom, not power, is the greatest good. That + man is truly free who desires what he is able to perform, and does what he + desires. This is my fundamental maxim. Apply it to childhood, and all the + rules of education spring from it. + </p> + <p> + Society has enfeebled man, not merely by robbing him of the right to his + own strength, but still more by making his strength insufficient for his + needs. This is why his desires increase in proportion to his weakness; and + this is why the child is weaker than the man. If a man is strong and a + child is weak it is not because the strength of the one is absolutely + greater than the strength of the other, but because the one can naturally + provide for himself and the other cannot. Thus the man will have more + desires and the child more caprices, a word which means, I take it, + desires which are not true needs, desires which can only be satisfied with + the help of others. + </p> + <p> + I have already given the reason for this state of weakness. Parental + affection is nature’s provision against it; but parental affection + may be carried to excess, it may be wanting, or it may be ill applied. + Parents who live under our ordinary social conditions bring their child + into these conditions too soon. By increasing his needs they do not + relieve his weakness; they rather increase it. They further increase it by + demanding of him what nature does not demand, by subjecting to their will + what little strength he has to further his own wishes, by making slaves of + themselves or of him instead of recognising that mutual dependence which + should result from his weakness or their affection. + </p> + <p> + The wise man can keep his own place; but the child who does not know what + his place is, is unable to keep it. There are a thousand ways out of it, + and it is the business of those who have charge of the child to keep him + in his place, and this is no easy task. He should be neither beast nor + man, but a child. He must feel his weakness, but not suffer through it; he + must be dependent, but he must not obey; he must ask, not command. He is + only subject to others because of his needs, and because they see better + than he what he really needs, what may help or hinder his existence. No + one, not even his father, has the right to bid the child do what is of no + use to him. + </p> + <p> + When our natural tendencies have not been interfered with by human + prejudice and human institutions, the happiness alike of children and of + men consists in the enjoyment of their liberty. But the child’s + liberty is restricted by his lack of strength. He who does as he likes is + happy provided he is self-sufficing; it is so with the man who is living + in a state of nature. He who does what he likes is not happy if his + desires exceed his strength; it is so with a child in like conditions. + Even in a state of nature children only enjoy an imperfect liberty, like + that enjoyed by men in social life. Each of us, unable to dispense with + the help of others, becomes so far weak and wretched. We were meant to be + men, laws and customs thrust us back into infancy. The rich and great, the + very kings themselves are but children; they see that we are ready to + relieve their misery; this makes them childishly vain, and they are quite + proud of the care bestowed on them, a care which they would never get if + they were grown men. + </p> + <p> + These are weighty considerations, and they provide a solution for all the + conflicting problems of our social system. There are two kinds of + dependence: dependence on things, which is the work of nature; and + dependence on men, which is the work of society. Dependence on things, + being non-moral, does no injury to liberty and begets no vices; dependence + on men, being out of order, [Footnote: In my PRINCIPLES OF POLITICAL LAW + it is proved that no private will can be ordered in the social system.] + gives rise to every kind of vice, and through this master and slave become + mutually depraved. If there is any cure for this social evil, it is to be + found in the substitution of law for the individual; in arming the general + will with a real strength beyond the power of any individual will. If the + laws of nations, like the laws of nature, could never be broken by any + human power, dependence on men would become dependence on things; all the + advantages of a state of nature would be combined with all the advantages + of social life in the commonwealth. The liberty which preserves a man from + vice would be united with the morality which raises him to virtue. + </p> + <p> + Keep the child dependent on things only. By this course of education you + will have followed the order of nature. Let his unreasonable wishes meet + with physical obstacles only, or the punishment which results from his own + actions, lessons which will be recalled when the same circumstances occur + again. It is enough to prevent him from wrong doing without forbidding him + to do wrong. Experience or lack of power should take the place of law. + Give him, not what he wants, but what he needs. Let there be no question + of obedience for him or tyranny for you. Supply the strength he lacks just + so far as is required for freedom, not for power, so that he may receive + your services with a sort of shame, and look forward to the time when he + may dispense with them and may achieve the honour of self-help. + </p> + <p> + Nature provides for the child’s growth in her own fashion, and this + should never be thwarted. Do not make him sit still when he wants to run + about, nor run when he wants to be quiet. If we did not spoil our children’s + wills by our blunders their desires would be free from caprice. Let them + run, jump, and shout to their heart’s content. All their own + activities are instincts of the body for its growth in strength; but you + should regard with suspicion those wishes which they cannot carry out for + themselves, those which others must carry out for them. Then you must + distinguish carefully between natural and artificial needs, between the + needs of budding caprice and the needs which spring from the overflowing + life just described. + </p> + <p> + I have already told you what you ought to do when a child cries for this + thing or that. I will only add that as soon as he has words to ask for + what he wants and accompanies his demands with tears, either to get his + own way quicker or to over-ride a refusal, he should never have his way. + If his words were prompted by a real need you should recognise it and + satisfy it at once; but to yield to his tears is to encourage him to cry, + to teach him to doubt your kindness, and to think that you are influenced + more by his importunity than your own good-will. If he does not think you + kind he will soon think you unkind; if he thinks you weak he will soon + become obstinate; what you mean to give must be given at once. Be chary of + refusing, but, having refused, do not change your mind. + </p> + <p> + Above all, beware of teaching the child empty phrases of politeness, which + serve as spells to subdue those around him to his will, and to get him + what he wants at once. The artificial education of the rich never fails to + make them politely imperious, by teaching them the words to use so that no + one will dare to resist them. Their children have neither the tone nor the + manner of suppliants; they are as haughty or even more haughty in their + entreaties than in their commands, as though they were more certain to be + obeyed. You see at once that “If you please” means “It + pleases me,” and “I beg” means “I command.” + What a fine sort of politeness which only succeeds in changing the meaning + of words so that every word is a command! For my own part, I would rather + Emile were rude than haughty, that he should say “Do this” as + a request, rather than “Please” as a command. What concerns me + is his meaning, not his words. + </p> + <p> + There is such a thing as excessive severity as well as excessive + indulgence, and both alike should be avoided. If you let children suffer + you risk their health and life; you make them miserable now; if you take + too much pains to spare them every kind of uneasiness you are laying up + much misery for them in the future; you are making them delicate and + over-sensitive; you are taking them out of their place among men, a place + to which they must sooner or later return, in spite of all your pains. You + will say I am falling into the same mistake as those bad fathers whom I + blamed for sacrificing the present happiness of their children to a future + which may never be theirs. + </p> + <p> + Not so; for the liberty I give my pupil makes up for the slight hardships + to which he is exposed. I see little fellows playing in the snow, stiff + and blue with cold, scarcely able to stir a finger. They could go and warm + themselves if they chose, but they do not choose; if you forced them to + come in they would feel the harshness of constraint a hundredfold more + than the sharpness of the cold. Then what becomes of your grievance? Shall + I make your child miserable by exposing him to hardships which he is + perfectly ready to endure? I secure his present good by leaving him his + freedom, and his future good by arming him against the evils he will have + to bear. If he had his choice, would he hesitate for a moment between you + and me? + </p> + <p> + Do you think any man can find true happiness elsewhere than in his natural + state; and when you try to spare him all suffering, are you not taking him + out of his natural state? Indeed I maintain that to enjoy great happiness + he must experience slight ills; such is his nature. Too much bodily + prosperity corrupts the morals. A man who knew nothing of suffering would + be incapable of tenderness towards his fellow-creatures and ignorant of + the joys of pity; he would be hard-hearted, unsocial, a very monster among + men. + </p> + <p> + Do you know the surest way to make your child miserable? Let him have + everything he wants; for as his wants increase in proportion to the ease + with which they are satisfied, you will be compelled, sooner or later, to + refuse his demands, and this unlooked-for refusal will hurt him more than + the lack of what he wants. He will want your stick first, then your watch, + the bird that flies, or the star that shines above him. He will want all + he sets eyes on, and unless you were God himself, how could you satisfy + him? + </p> + <p> + Man naturally considers all that he can get as his own. In this sense + Hobbes’ theory is true to a certain extent: Multiply both our wishes + and the means of satisfying them, and each will be master of all. Thus the + child, who has only to ask and have, thinks himself the master of the + universe; he considers all men as his slaves; and when you are at last + compelled to refuse, he takes your refusal as an act of rebellion, for he + thinks he has only to command. All the reasons you give him, while he is + still too young to reason, are so many pretences in his eyes; they seem to + him only unkindness; the sense of injustice embitters his disposition; he + hates every one. Though he has never felt grateful for kindness, he + resents all opposition. + </p> + <p> + How should I suppose that such a child can ever be happy? He is the slave + of anger, a prey to the fiercest passions. Happy! He is a tyrant, at once + the basest of slaves and the most wretched of creatures. I have known + children brought up like this who expected you to knock the house down, to + give them the weather-cock on the steeple, to stop a regiment on the march + so that they might listen to the band; when they could not get their way + they screamed and cried and would pay no attention to any one. In vain + everybody strove to please them; as their desires were stimulated by the + ease with which they got their own way, they set their hearts on + impossibilities, and found themselves face to face with opposition and + difficulty, pain and grief. Scolding, sulking, or in a rage, they wept and + cried all day. Were they really so greatly favoured? Weakness, combined + with love of power, produces nothing but folly and suffering. One spoilt + child beats the table; another whips the sea. They may beat and whip long + enough before they find contentment. + </p> + <p> + If their childhood is made wretched by these notions of power and tyranny, + what of their manhood, when their relations with their fellow-men begin to + grow and multiply? They are used to find everything give way to them; what + a painful surprise to enter society and meet with opposition on every + side, to be crushed beneath the weight of a universe which they expected + to move at will. Their insolent manners, their childish vanity, only draw + down upon them mortification, scorn, and mockery; they swallow insults + like water; sharp experience soon teaches them that they have realised + neither their position nor their strength. As they cannot do everything, + they think they can do nothing. They are daunted by unexpected obstacles, + degraded by the scorn of men; they become base, cowardly, and deceitful, + and fall as far below their true level as they formerly soared above it. + </p> + <p> + Let us come back to the primitive law. Nature has made children helpless + and in need of affection; did she make them to be obeyed and feared? Has + she given them an imposing manner, a stern eye, a loud and threatening + voice with which to make themselves feared? I understand how the roaring + of the lion strikes terror into the other beasts, so that they tremble + when they behold his terrible mane, but of all unseemly, hateful, and + ridiculous sights, was there ever anything like a body of statesmen in + their robes of office with their chief at their head bowing down before a + swaddled babe, addressing him in pompous phrases, while he cries and + slavers in reply? + </p> + <p> + If we consider childhood itself, is there anything so weak and wretched as + a child, anything so utterly at the mercy of those about it, so dependent + on their pity, their care, and their affection? Does it not seem as if his + gentle face and touching appearance were intended to interest every one on + behalf of his weakness and to make them eager to help him? And what is + there more offensive, more unsuitable, than the sight of a sulky or + imperious child, who commands those about him, and impudently assumes the + tones of a master towards those without whom he would perish? + </p> + <p> + On the other hand, do you not see how children are fettered by the + weakness of infancy? Do you not see how cruel it is to increase this + servitude by obedience to our caprices, by depriving them of such liberty + as they have? a liberty which they can scarcely abuse, a liberty the loss + of which will do so little good to them or us. If there is nothing more + ridiculous than a haughty child, there is nothing that claims our pity + like a timid child. With the age of reason the child becomes the slave of + the community; then why forestall this by slavery in the home? Let this + brief hour of life be free from a yoke which nature has not laid upon it; + leave the child the use of his natural liberty, which, for a time at + least, secures him from the vices of the slave. Bring me those harsh + masters, and those fathers who are the slaves of their children, bring + them both with their frivolous objections, and before they boast of their + own methods let them for once learn the method of nature. + </p> + <p> + I return to practical matters. I have already said your child must not get + what he asks, but what he needs; [Footnote: We must recognise that pain is + often necessary, pleasure is sometimes needed. So there is only one of the + child’s desires which should never be complied with, the desire for + power. Hence, whenever they ask for anything we must pay special attention + to their motive in asking. As far as possible give them everything they + ask for, provided it can really give them pleasure; refuse everything they + demand from mere caprice or love of power.] he must never act from + obedience, but from necessity. + </p> + <p> + The very words OBEY and COMMAND will be excluded from his vocabulary, + still more those of DUTY and OBLIGATION; but the words strength, + necessity, weakness, and constraint must have a large place in it. Before + the age of reason it is impossible to form any idea of moral beings or + social relations; so avoid, as far as may be, the use of words which + express these ideas, lest the child at an early age should attach wrong + ideas to them, ideas which you cannot or will not destroy when he is + older. The first mistaken idea he gets into his head is the germ of error + and vice; it is the first step that needs watching. Act in such a way that + while he only notices external objects his ideas are confined to + sensations; let him only see the physical world around him. If not, you + may be sure that either he will pay no heed to you at all, or he will form + fantastic ideas of the moral world of which you prate, ideas which you + will never efface as long as he lives. + </p> + <p> + “Reason with children” was Locke’s chief maxim; it is in + the height of fashion at present, and I hardly think it is justified by + its results; those children who have been constantly reasoned with strike + me as exceedingly silly. Of all man’s faculties, reason, which is, + so to speak, compounded of all the rest, is the last and choicest growth, + and it is this you would use for the child’s early training. To make + a man reasonable is the coping stone of a good education, and yet you + profess to train a child through his reason! You begin at the wrong end, + you make the end the means. If children understood reason they would not + need education, but by talking to them from their earliest age in a + language they do not understand you accustom them to be satisfied with + words, to question all that is said to them, to think themselves as wise + as their teachers; you train them to be argumentative and rebellious; and + whatever you think you gain from motives of reason, you really gain from + greediness, fear, or vanity with which you are obliged to reinforce your + reasoning. + </p> + <p> + Most of the moral lessons which are and can be given to children may be + reduced to this formula; Master. You must not do that. + </p> + <p> + Child. Why not? + </p> + <p> + Master. Because it is wrong. + </p> + <p> + Child. Wrong! What is wrong? + </p> + <p> + Master. What is forbidden you. + </p> + <p> + Child. Why is it wrong to do what is forbidden? + </p> + <p> + Master. You will be punished for disobedience. + </p> + <p> + Child. I will do it when no one is looking. + </p> + <p> + Master. We shall watch you. + </p> + <p> + Child. I will hide. + </p> + <p> + Master. We shall ask you what you were doing. + </p> + <p> + Child. I shall tell a lie. + </p> + <p> + Master. You must not tell lies. + </p> + <p> + Child. Why must not I tell lies? + </p> + <p> + Master. Because it is wrong, etc. + </p> + <p> + That is the inevitable circle. Go beyond it, and the child will not + understand you. What sort of use is there in such teaching? I should + greatly like to know what you would substitute for this dialogue. It would + have puzzled Locke himself. It is no part of a child’s business to + know right and wrong, to perceive the reason for a man’s duties. + </p> + <p> + Nature would have them children before they are men. If we try to invert + this order we shall produce a forced fruit immature and flavourless, fruit + which will be rotten before it is ripe; we shall have young doctors and + old children. Childhood has its own ways of seeing, thinking, and feeling; + nothing is more foolish than to try and substitute our ways; and I should + no more expect judgment in a ten-year-old child than I should expect him + to be five feet high. Indeed, what use would reason be to him at that age? + It is the curb of strength, and the child does not need the curb. + </p> + <p> + When you try to persuade your scholars of the duty of obedience, you add + to this so-called persuasion compulsion and threats, or still worse, + flattery and bribes. Attracted by selfishness or constrained by force, + they pretend to be convinced by reason. They see as soon as you do that + obedience is to their advantage and disobedience to their disadvantage. + But as you only demand disagreeable things of them, and as it is always + disagreeable to do another’s will, they hide themselves so that they + may do as they please, persuaded that they are doing no wrong so long as + they are not found out, but ready, if found out, to own themselves in the + wrong for fear of worse evils. The reason for duty is beyond their age, + and there is not a man in the world who could make them really aware of + it; but the fear of punishment, the hope of forgiveness, importunity, the + difficulty of answering, wrings from them as many confessions as you want; + and you think you have convinced them when you have only wearied or + frightened them. + </p> + <p> + What does it all come to? In the first place, by imposing on them a duty + which they fail to recognise, you make them disinclined to submit to your + tyranny, and you turn away their love; you teach them deceit, falsehood, + and lying as a way to gain rewards or escape punishment; then by + accustoming them to conceal a secret motive under the cloak of an apparent + one, you yourself put into their hands the means of deceiving you, of + depriving you of a knowledge of their real character, of answering you and + others with empty words whenever they have the chance. Laws, you say, + though binding on conscience, exercise the same constraint over grown-up + men. That is so, but what are these men but children spoilt by education? + This is just what you should avoid. Use force with children and reasoning + with men; this is the natural order; the wise man needs no laws. + </p> + <p> + Treat your scholar according to his age. Put him in his place from the + first, and keep him in it, so that he no longer tries to leave it. Then + before he knows what goodness is, he will be practising its chief lesson. + Give him no orders at all, absolutely none. Do not even let him think that + you claim any authority over him. Let him only know that he is weak and + you are strong, that his condition and yours puts him at your mercy; let + this be perceived, learned, and felt. Let him early find upon his proud + neck, the heavy yoke which nature has imposed upon us, the heavy yoke of + necessity, under which every finite being must bow. Let him find this + necessity in things, not in the caprices [Footnote: You may be sure the + child will regard as caprice any will which opposes his own or any will + which he does not understand. Now the child does not understand anything + which interferes with his own fancies.] of man; let the curb be force, not + authority. If there is something he should not do, do not forbid him, but + prevent him without explanation or reasoning; what you give him, give it + at his first word without prayers or entreaties, above all without + conditions. Give willingly, refuse unwillingly, but let your refusal be + irrevocable; let no entreaties move you; let your “No,” once + uttered, be a wall of brass, against which the child may exhaust his + strength some five or six times, but in the end he will try no more to + overthrow it. + </p> + <p> + Thus you will make him patient, equable, calm, and resigned, even when he + does not get all he wants; for it is in man’s nature to bear + patiently with the nature of things, but not with the ill-will of another. + A child never rebels against, “There is none left,” unless he + thinks the reply is false. Moreover, there is no middle course; you must + either make no demands on him at all, or else you must fashion him to + perfect obedience. The worst education of all is to leave him hesitating + between his own will and yours, constantly disputing whether you or he is + master; I would rather a hundred times that he were master. + </p> + <p> + It is very strange that ever since people began to think about education + they should have hit upon no other way of guiding children than emulation, + jealousy, envy, vanity, greediness, base cowardice, all the most dangerous + passions, passions ever ready to ferment, ever prepared to corrupt the + soul even before the body is full-grown. With every piece of precocious + instruction which you try to force into their minds you plant a vice in + the depths of their hearts; foolish teachers think they are doing wonders + when they are making their scholars wicked in order to teach them what + goodness is, and then they tell us seriously, “Such is man.” + Yes, such is man, as you have made him. Every means has been tried except + one, the very one which might succeed—well-regulated liberty. Do not + undertake to bring up a child if you cannot guide him merely by the laws + of what can or cannot be. The limits of the possible and the impossible + are alike unknown to him, so they can be extended or contracted around him + at your will. Without a murmur he is restrained, urged on, held back, by + the hands of necessity alone; he is made adaptable and teachable by the + mere force of things, without any chance for vice to spring up in him; for + passions do not arise so long as they have accomplished nothing. + </p> + <p> + Give your scholar no verbal lessons; he should be taught by experience + alone; never punish him, for he does not know what it is to do wrong; + never make him say, “Forgive me,” for he does not know how to + do you wrong. Wholly unmoral in his actions, he can do nothing morally + wrong, and he deserves neither punishment nor reproof. + </p> + <p> + Already I see the frightened reader comparing this child with those of our + time; he is mistaken. The perpetual restraint imposed upon your scholars + stimulates their activity; the more subdued they are in your presence, the + more boisterous they are as soon as they are out of your sight. They must + make amends to themselves in some way or other for the harsh constraint to + which you subject them. Two schoolboys from the town will do more damage + in the country than all the children of the village. Shut up a young + gentleman and a young peasant in a room; the former will have upset and + smashed everything before the latter has stirred from his place. Why is + that, unless that the one hastens to misuse a moment’s licence, + while the other, always sure of freedom, does not use it rashly. And yet + the village children, often flattered or constrained, are still very far + from the state in which I would have them kept. + </p> + <p> + Let us lay it down as an incontrovertible rule that the first impulses of + nature are always right; there is no original sin in the human heart, the + how and why of the entrance of every vice can be traced. The only natural + passion is self-love or selfishness taken in a wider sense. This + selfishness is good in itself and in relation to ourselves; and as the + child has no necessary relations to other people he is naturally + indifferent to them; his self-love only becomes good or bad by the use + made of it and the relations established by its means. Until the time is + ripe for the appearance of reason, that guide of selfishness, the main + thing is that the child shall do nothing because you are watching him or + listening to him; in a word, nothing because of other people, but only + what nature asks of him; then he will never do wrong. + </p> + <p> + I do not mean to say that he will never do any mischief, never hurt + himself, never break a costly ornament if you leave it within his reach. + He might do much damage without doing wrong, since wrong-doing depends on + the harmful intention which will never be his. If once he meant to do + harm, his whole education would be ruined; he would be almost hopelessly + bad. + </p> + <p> + Greed considers some things wrong which are not wrong in the eyes of + reason. When you leave free scope to a child’s heedlessness, you + must put anything he could spoil out of his way, and leave nothing fragile + or costly within his reach. Let the room be furnished with plain and solid + furniture; no mirrors, china, or useless ornaments. My pupil Emile, who is + brought up in the country, shall have a room just like a peasant’s. + Why take such pains to adorn it when he will be so little in it? I am + mistaken, however; he will ornament it for himself, and we shall soon see + how. + </p> + <p> + But if, in spite of your precautions, the child contrives to do some + damage, if he breaks some useful article, do not punish him for your + carelessness, do not even scold him; let him hear no word of reproval, do + not even let him see that he has vexed you; behave just as if the thing + had come to pieces of itself; you may consider you have done great things + if you have managed to hold your tongue. + </p> + <p> + May I venture at this point to state the greatest, the most important, the + most useful rule of education? It is: Do not save time, but lose it. I + hope that every-day readers will excuse my paradoxes; you cannot avoid + paradox if you think for yourself, and whatever you may say I would rather + fall into paradox than into prejudice. The most dangerous period in human + life lies between birth and the age of twelve. It is the time when errors + and vices spring up, while as yet there is no means to destroy them; when + the means of destruction are ready, the roots have gone too deep to be + pulled up. If the infant sprang at one bound from its mother’s + breast to the age of reason, the present type of education would be quite + suitable, but its natural growth calls for quite a different training. The + mind should be left undisturbed till its faculties have developed; for + while it is blind it cannot see the torch you offer it, nor can it follow + through the vast expanse of ideas a path so faintly traced by reason that + the best eyes can scarcely follow it. + </p> + <p> + Therefore the education of the earliest years should be merely negative. + It consists, not in teaching virtue or truth, but in preserving the heart + from vice and from the spirit of error. If only you could let well alone, + and get others to follow your example; if you could bring your scholar to + the age of twelve strong and healthy, but unable to tell his right hand + from his left, the eyes of his understanding would be open to reason as + soon as you began to teach him. Free from prejudices and free from habits, + there would be nothing in him to counteract the effects of your labours. + In your hands he would soon become the wisest of men; by doing nothing to + begin with, you would end with a prodigy of education. + </p> + <p> + Reverse the usual practice and you will almost always do right. Fathers + and teachers who want to make the child, not a child but a man of + learning, think it never too soon to scold, correct, reprove, threaten, + bribe, teach, and reason. Do better than they; be reasonable, and do not + reason with your pupil, more especially do not try to make him approve + what he dislikes; for if reason is always connected with disagreeable + matters, you make it distasteful to him, you discredit it at an early age + in a mind not yet ready to understand it. Exercise his body, his limbs, + his senses, his strength, but keep his mind idle as long as you can. + Distrust all opinions which appear before the judgment to discriminate + between them. Restrain and ward off strange impressions; and to prevent + the birth of evil do not hasten to do well, for goodness is only possible + when enlightened by reason. Regard all delays as so much time gained; you + have achieved much, you approach the boundary without loss. Leave + childhood to ripen in your children. In a word, beware of giving anything + they need to-day if it can be deferred without danger to to-morrow. + </p> + <p> + There is another point to be considered which confirms the suitability of + this method: it is the child’s individual bent, which must be + thoroughly known before we can choose the fittest moral training. Every + mind has its own form, in accordance with which it must be controlled; and + the success of the pains taken depends largely on the fact that he is + controlled in this way and no other. Oh, wise man, take time to observe + nature; watch your scholar well before you say a word to him; first leave + the germ of his character free to show itself, do not constrain him in + anything, the better to see him as he really is. Do you think this time of + liberty is wasted? On the contrary, your scholar will be the better + employed, for this is the way you yourself will learn not to lose a single + moment when time is of more value. If, however, you begin to act before + you know what to do, you act at random; you may make mistakes, and must + retrace your steps; your haste to reach your goal will only take you + further from it. Do not imitate the miser who loses much lest he should + lose a little. Sacrifice a little time in early childhood, and it will be + repaid you with usury when your scholar is older. The wise physician does + not hastily give prescriptions at first sight, but he studies the + constitution of the sick man before he prescribes anything; the treatment + is begun later, but the patient is cured, while the hasty doctor kills + him. + </p> + <p> + But where shall we find a place for our child so as to bring him up as a + senseless being, an automaton? Shall we keep him in the moon, or on a + desert island? Shall we remove him from human society? Will he not always + have around him the sight and the pattern of the passions of other people? + Will he never see children of his own age? Will he not see his parents, + his neighbours, his nurse, his governess, his man-servant, his tutor + himself, who after all will not be an angel? Here we have a real and + serious objection. But did I tell you that an education according to + nature would be an easy task? Oh, men! is it my fault that you have made + all good things difficult? I admit that I am aware of these difficulties; + perhaps they are insuperable; but nevertheless it is certain that we do to + some extent avoid them by trying to do so. I am showing what we should try + to attain, I do not say we can attain it, but I do say that whoever comes + nearest to it is nearest to success. + </p> + <p> + Remember you must be a man yourself before you try to train a man; you + yourself must set the pattern he shall copy. While the child is still + unconscious there is time to prepare his surroundings, so that nothing + shall strike his eye but what is fit for his sight. Gain the respect of + every one, begin to win their hearts, so that they may try to please you. + You will not be master of the child if you cannot control every one about + him; and this authority will never suffice unless it rests upon respect + for your goodness. There is no question of squandering one’s means + and giving money right and left; I never knew money win love. You must + neither be harsh nor niggardly, nor must you merely pity misery when you + can relieve it; but in vain will you open your purse if you do not open + your heart along with it, the hearts of others will always be closed to + you. You must give your own time, attention, affection, your very self; + for whatever you do, people always perceive that your money is not you. + There are proofs of kindly interest which produce more results and are + really more useful than any gift; how many of the sick and wretched have + more need of comfort than of charity; how many of the oppressed need + protection rather than money? Reconcile those who are at strife, prevent + lawsuits; incline children to duty, fathers to kindness; promote happy + marriages; prevent annoyances; freely use the credit of your pupil’s + parents on behalf of the weak who cannot obtain justice, the weak who are + oppressed by the strong. Be just, human, kindly. Do not give alms alone, + give charity; works of mercy do more than money for the relief of + suffering; love others and they will love you; serve them and they will + serve you; be their brother and they will be your children. + </p> + <p> + This is one reason why I want to bring up Emile in the country, far from + those miserable lacqueys, the most degraded of men except their masters; + far from the vile morals of the town, whose gilded surface makes them + seductive and contagious to children; while the vices of peasants, + unadorned and in their naked grossness, are more fitted to repel than to + seduce, when there is no motive for imitating them. + </p> + <p> + In the village a tutor will have much more control over the things he + wishes to show the child; his reputation, his words, his example, will + have a weight they would never have in the town; he is of use to every + one, so every one is eager to oblige him, to win his esteem, to appeal + before the disciple what the master would have him be; if vice is not + corrected, public scandal is at least avoided, which is all that our + present purpose requires. + </p> + <p> + Cease to blame others for your own faults; children are corrupted less by + what they see than by your own teaching. With your endless preaching, + moralising, and pedantry, for one idea you give your scholars, believing + it to be good, you give them twenty more which are good for nothing; you + are full of what is going on in your own minds, and you fail to see the + effect you produce on theirs. In the continual flow of words with which + you overwhelm them, do you think there is none which they get hold of in a + wrong sense? Do you suppose they do not make their own comments on your + long-winded explanations, that they do not find material for the + construction of a system they can understand—one which they will use + against you when they get the chance? + </p> + <p> + Listen to a little fellow who has just been under instruction; let him + chatter freely, ask questions, and talk at his ease, and you will be + surprised to find the strange forms your arguments have assumed in his + mind; he confuses everything, and turns everything topsy-turvy; you are + vexed and grieved by his unforeseen objections; he reduces you to be + silent yourself or to silence him: and what can he think of silence in one + who is so fond of talking? If ever he gains this advantage and is aware of + it, farewell education; from that moment all is lost; he is no longer + trying to learn, he is trying to refute you. + </p> + <p> + Zealous teachers, be simple, sensible, and reticent; be in no hurry to act + unless to prevent the actions of others. Again and again I say, reject, if + it may be, a good lesson for fear of giving a bad one. Beware of playing + the tempter in this world, which nature intended as an earthly paradise + for men, and do not attempt to give the innocent child the knowledge of + good and evil; since you cannot prevent the child learning by what he sees + outside himself, restrict your own efforts to impressing those examples on + his mind in the form best suited for him. + </p> + <p> + The explosive passions produce a great effect upon the child when he sees + them; their outward expression is very marked; he is struck by this and + his attention is arrested. Anger especially is so noisy in its rage that + it is impossible not to perceive it if you are within reach. You need not + ask yourself whether this is an opportunity for a pedagogue to frame a + fine disquisition. What! no fine disquisition, nothing, not a word! Let + the child come to you; impressed by what he has seen, he will not fail to + ask you questions. The answer is easy; it is drawn from the very things + which have appealed to his senses. He sees a flushed face, flashing eyes, + a threatening gesture, he hears cries; everything shows that the body is + ill at ease. Tell him plainly, without affectation or mystery, “This + poor man is ill, he is in a fever.” You may take the opportunity of + giving him in a few words some idea of disease and its effects; for that + too belongs to nature, and is one of the bonds of necessity which he must + recognise. By means of this idea, which is not false in itself, may he not + early acquire a certain aversion to giving way to excessive passions, + which he regards as diseases; and do you not think that such a notion, + given at the right moment, will produce a more wholesome effect than the + most tedious sermon? But consider the after effects of this idea; you have + authority, if ever you find it necessary, to treat the rebellious child as + a sick child; to keep him in his room, in bed if need be, to diet him, to + make him afraid of his growing vices, to make him hate and dread them + without ever regarding as a punishment the strict measures you will + perhaps have to use for his recovery. If it happens that you yourself in a + moment’s heat depart from the calm and self-control which you should + aim at, do not try to conceal your fault, but tell him frankly, with a + gentle reproach, “My dear, you have hurt me.” + </p> + <p> + Moreover, it is a matter of great importance that no notice should be + taken in his presence of the quaint sayings which result from the + simplicity of the ideas in which he is brought up, nor should they be + quoted in a way he can understand. A foolish laugh may destroy six months’ + work and do irreparable damage for life. I cannot repeat too often that to + control the child one must often control oneself. + </p> + <p> + I picture my little Emile at the height of a dispute between two + neighbours going up to the fiercest of them and saying in a tone of pity, + “You are ill, I am very sorry for you.” This speech will no + doubt have its effect on the spectators and perhaps on the disputants. + Without laughter, scolding, or praise I should take him away, willing or + no, before he could see this result, or at least before he could think + about it; and I should make haste to turn his thoughts to other things, so + that he would soon forget all about it. + </p> + <p> + I do not propose to enter into every detail, but only to explain general + rules and to give illustrations in cases of difficulty. I think it is + impossible to train a child up to the age of twelve in the midst of + society, without giving him some idea of the relations between one man and + another, and of the morality of human actions. It is enough to delay the + development of these ideas as long as possible, and when they can no + longer be avoided to limit them to present needs, so that he may neither + think himself master of everything nor do harm to others without knowing + or caring. There are calm and gentle characters which can be led a long + way in their first innocence without any danger; but there are also stormy + dispositions whose passions develop early; you must hasten to make men of + them lest you should have to keep them in chains. + </p> + <p> + Our first duties are to ourselves; our first feelings are centred on self; + all our instincts are at first directed to our own preservation and our + own welfare. Thus the first notion of justice springs not from what we owe + to others, but from what is due to us. Here is another error in popular + methods of education. If you talk to children of their duties, and not of + their rights, you are beginning at the wrong end, and telling them what + they cannot understand, what cannot be of any interest to them. + </p> + <p> + If I had to train a child such as I have just described, I should say to + myself, “A child never attacks people, [Footnote: A child should + never be allowed to play with grown-up people as if they were his + inferiors, nor even as if they were only his equals. If he ventured to + strike any one in earnest, were it only the footman, were it the hangman + himself, let the sufferer return his blows with interest, so that he will + not want to do it again. I have seen silly women inciting children to + rebellion, encouraging them to hit people, allowing themselves to be + beaten, and laughing at the harmless blows, never thinking that those + blows were in intention the blows of a murderer, and that the child who + desires to beat people now will desire to kill them when he is grown up.] + only things; and he soon learns by experience to respect those older and + stronger than himself. Things, however, do not defend themselves. + Therefore the first idea he needs is not that of liberty but of property, + and that he may get this idea he must have something of his own.” It + is useless to enumerate his clothes, furniture, and playthings; although + he uses these he knows not how or why he has come by them. To tell him + they were given him is little better, for giving implies having; so here + is property before his own, and it is the principle of property that you + want to teach him; moreover, giving is a convention, and the child as yet + has no idea of conventions. I hope my reader will note, in this and many + other cases, how people think they have taught children thoroughly, when + they have only thrust on them words which have no intelligible meaning to + them. [Footnote: This is why most children want to take back what they + have given, and cry if they cannot get it. They do not do this when once + they know what a gift is; only they are more careful about giving things + away.] + </p> + <p> + We must therefore go back to the origin of property, for that is where the + first idea of it must begin. The child, living in the country, will have + got some idea of field work; eyes and leisure suffice for that, and he + will have both. In every age, and especially in childhood, we want to + create, to copy, to produce, to give all the signs of power and activity. + He will hardly have seen the gardener at work twice, sowing, planting, and + growing vegetables, before he will want to garden himself. + </p> + <p> + According to the principles I have already laid down, I shall not thwart + him; on the contrary, I shall approve of his plan, share his hobby, and + work with him, not for his pleasure but my own; at least, so he thinks; I + shall be his under-gardener, and dig the ground for him till his arms are + strong enough to do it; he will take possession of it by planting a bean, + and this is surely a more sacred possession, and one more worthy of + respect, than that of Nunes Balboa, who took possession of South America + in the name of the King of Spain, by planting his banner on the coast of + the Southern Sea. + </p> + <p> + We water the beans every day, we watch them coming up with the greatest + delight. Day by day I increase this delight by saying, “Those belong + to you.” To explain what that word “belong” means, I + show him how he has given his time, his labour, and his trouble, his very + self to it; that in this ground there is a part of himself which he can + claim against all the world, as he could withdraw his arm from the hand of + another man who wanted to keep it against his will. + </p> + <p> + One fine day he hurries up with his watering-can in his hand. What a scene + of woe! Alas! all the beans are pulled up, the soil is dug over, you can + scarcely find the place. Oh! what has become of my labour, my work, the + beloved fruits of my care and effort? Who has stolen my property! Who has + taken my beans? The young heart revolts; the first feeling of injustice + brings its sorrow and bitterness; tears come in torrents, the unhappy + child fills the air with cries and groans, I share his sorrow and anger; + we look around us, we make inquiries. At last we discover that the + gardener did it. We send for him. + </p> + <p> + But we are greatly mistaken. The gardener, hearing our complaint, begins + to complain louder than we: + </p> + <p> + What, gentlemen, was it you who spoilt my work! I had sown some Maltese + melons; the seed was given me as something quite out of the common, and I + meant to give you a treat when they were ripe; but you have planted your + miserable beans and destroyed my melons, which were coming up so nicely, + and I can never get any more. You have behaved very badly to me and you + have deprived yourselves of the pleasure of eating most delicious melons. + </p> + <p> + JEAN JACQUES. My poor Robert, you must forgive us. You had given your + labour and your pains to it. I see we were wrong to spoil your work, but + we will send to Malta for some more seed for you, and we will never dig + the ground again without finding out if some one else has been beforehand + with us. + </p> + <p> + ROBERT. Well, gentlemen, you need not trouble yourselves, for there is no + more waste ground. I dig what my father tilled; every one does the same, + and all the land you see has been occupied time out of mind. + </p> + <p> + EMILE. Mr. Robert, do people often lose the seed of Maltese melons? + </p> + <p> + ROBERT. No indeed, sir; we do not often find such silly little gentlemen + as you. No one meddles with his neighbour’s garden; every one + respects other people’s work so that his own may be safe. + </p> + <p> + EMILE. But I have not got a garden. + </p> + <p> + ROBERT. I don’t care; if you spoil mine I won’t let you walk + in it, for you see I do not mean to lose my labour. + </p> + <p> + JEAN JACQUES. Could not we suggest an arrangement with this kind Robert? + Let him give my young friend and myself a corner of his garden to + cultivate, on condition that he has half the crop. + </p> + <p> + ROBERT. You may have it free. But remember I shall dig up your beans if + you touch my melons. + </p> + <p> + In this attempt to show how a child may be taught certain primitive ideas + we see how the notion of property goes back naturally to the right of the + first occupier to the results of his work. That is plain and simple, and + quite within the child’s grasp. From that to the rights of property + and exchange there is but a step, after which you must stop short. + </p> + <p> + You also see that an explanation which I can give in writing in a couple + of pages may take a year in practice, for in the course of moral ideas we + cannot advance too slowly, nor plant each step too firmly. Young teacher, + pray consider this example, and remember that your lessons should always + be in deeds rather than words, for children soon forget what they say or + what is said to them, but not what they have done nor what has been done + to them. + </p> + <p> + Such teaching should be given, as I have said, sooner or later, as the + scholar’s disposition, gentle or turbulent, requires it. The way of + using it is unmistakable; but to omit no matter of importance in a + difficult business let us take another example. + </p> + <p> + Your ill-tempered child destroys everything he touches. Do not vex + yourself; put anything he can spoil out of his reach. He breaks the things + he is using; do not be in a hurry to give him more; let him feel the want + of them. He breaks the windows of his room; let the wind blow upon him + night and day, and do not be afraid of his catching cold; it is better to + catch cold than to be reckless. Never complain of the inconvenience he + causes you, but let him feel it first. At last you will have the windows + mended without saying anything. He breaks them again; then change your + plan; tell him dryly and without anger, “The windows are mine, I + took pains to have them put in, and I mean to keep them safe.” Then + you will shut him up in a dark place without a window. At this unexpected + proceeding he cries and howls; no one heeds. Soon he gets tired and + changes his tone; he laments and sighs; a servant appears, the rebel begs + to be let out. Without seeking any excuse for refusing, the servant merely + says, “I, too, have windows to keep,” and goes away. At last, + when the child has been there several hours, long enough to get very tired + of it, long enough to make an impression on his memory, some one suggests + to him that he should offer to make terms with you, so that you may set + him free and he will never break windows again. That is just what he + wants. He will send and ask you to come and see him; you will come, he + will suggest his plan, and you will agree to it at once, saying, “That + is a very good idea; it will suit us both; why didn’t you think of + it sooner?” Then without asking for any affirmation or confirmation + of his promise, you will embrace him joyfully and take him back at once to + his own room, considering this agreement as sacred as if he had confirmed + it by a formal oath. What idea do you think he will form from these + proceedings, as to the fulfilment of a promise and its usefulness? If I am + not greatly mistaken, there is not a child upon earth, unless he is + utterly spoilt already, who could resist this treatment, or one who would + ever dream of breaking windows again on purpose. Follow out the whole + train of thought. The naughty little fellow hardly thought when he was + making a hole for his beans that he was hewing out a cell in which his own + knowledge would soon imprison him. [Footnote: Moreover if the duty of + keeping his word were not established in the child’s mind by its own + utility, the child’s growing consciousness would soon impress it on + him as a law of conscience, as an innate principle, only requiring + suitable experiences for its development. This first outline is not + sketched by man, it is engraved on the heart by the author of all justice. + Take away the primitive law of contract and the obligation imposed by + contract and there is nothing left of human society but vanity and empty + show. He who only keeps his word because it is to his own profit is hardly + more pledged than if he had given no promise at all. This principle is of + the utmost importance, and deserves to be thoroughly studied, for man is + now beginning to be at war with himself.] + </p> + <p> + We are now in the world of morals, the door to vice is open. Deceit and + falsehood are born along with conventions and duties. As soon as we can do + what we ought not to do, we try to hide what we ought not to have done. As + soon as self-interest makes us give a promise, a greater interest may make + us break it; it is merely a question of doing it with impunity; we + naturally take refuge in concealment and falsehood. As we have not been + able to prevent vice, we must punish it. The sorrows of life begin with + its mistakes. + </p> + <p> + I have already said enough to show that children should never receive + punishment merely as such; it should always come as the natural + consequence of their fault. Thus you will not exclaim against their + falsehood, you will not exactly punish them for lying, but you will + arrange that all the ill effects of lying, such as not being believed when + we speak the truth, or being accused of what we have not done in spite of + our protests, shall fall on their heads when they have told a lie. But let + us explain what lying means to the child. + </p> + <p> + There are two kinds of lies; one concerns an accomplished fact, the other + concerns a future duty. The first occurs when we falsely deny or assert + that we did or did not do something, or, to put it in general terms, when + we knowingly say what is contrary to facts. The other occurs when we + promise what we do not mean to perform, or, in general terms, when we + profess an intention which we do not really mean to carry out. These two + kinds of lie are sometimes found in combination, [Footnote: Thus the + guilty person, accused of some evil deed, defends himself by asserting + that he is a good man. His statement is false in itself and false in its + application to the matter in hand.] but their differences are my present + business. + </p> + <p> + He who feels the need of help from others, he who is constantly + experiencing their kindness, has nothing to gain by deceiving them; it is + plainly to his advantage that they should see things as they are, lest + they should mistake his interests. It is therefore plain that lying with + regard to actual facts is not natural to children, but lying is made + necessary by the law of obedience; since obedience is disagreeable, + children disobey as far as they can in secret, and the present good of + avoiding punishment or reproof outweighs the remoter good of speaking the + truth. Under a free and natural education why should your child lie? What + has he to conceal from you? You do not thwart him, you do not punish him, + you demand nothing from him. Why should he not tell everything to you as + simply as to his little playmate? He cannot see anything more risky in the + one course than in the other. + </p> + <p> + The lie concerning duty is even less natural, since promises to do or + refrain from doing are conventional agreements which are outside the state + of nature and detract from our liberty. Moreover, all promises made by + children are in themselves void; when they pledge themselves they do not + know what they are doing, for their narrow vision cannot look beyond the + present. A child can hardly lie when he makes a promise; for he is only + thinking how he can get out of the present difficulty, any means which has + not an immediate result is the same to him; when he promises for the + future he promises nothing, and his imagination is as yet incapable of + projecting him into the future while he lives in the present. If he could + escape a whipping or get a packet of sweets by promising to throw himself + out of the window to-morrow, he would promise on the spot. This is why the + law disregards all promises made by minors, and when fathers and teachers + are stricter and demand that promises shall be kept, it is only when the + promise refers to something the child ought to do even if he had made no + promise. + </p> + <p> + The child cannot lie when he makes a promise, for he does not know what he + is doing when he makes his promise. The case is different when he breaks + his promise, which is a sort of retrospective falsehood; for he clearly + remembers making the promise, but he fails to see the importance of + keeping it. Unable to look into the future, he cannot foresee the results + of things, and when he breaks his promises he does nothing contrary to his + stage of reasoning. + </p> + <p> + Children’s lies are therefore entirely the work of their teachers, + and to teach them to speak the truth is nothing less than to teach them + the art of lying. In your zeal to rule, control, and teach them, you never + find sufficient means at your disposal. You wish to gain fresh influence + over their minds by baseless maxims, by unreasonable precepts; and you + would rather they knew their lessons and told lies, than leave them + ignorant and truthful. + </p> + <p> + We, who only give our scholars lessons in practice, who prefer to have + them good rather than clever, never demand the truth lest they should + conceal it, and never claim any promise lest they should be tempted to + break it. If some mischief has been done in my absence and I do not know + who did it, I shall take care not to accuse Emile, nor to say, “Did + you do it?” [Footnote: Nothing could be more indiscreet than such a + question, especially if the child is guilty. Then if he thinks you know + what he has done, he will think you are setting a trap for him, and this + idea can only set him against you. If he thinks you do not know, he will + say to himself, “Why should I make my fault known?” And here + we have the first temptation to falsehood as the direct result of your + foolish question.] For in so doing what should I do but teach him to deny + it? If his difficult temperament compels me to make some agreement with + him, I will take good care that the suggestion always comes from him, + never from me; that when he undertakes anything he has always a present + and effective interest in fulfilling his promise, and if he ever fails + this lie will bring down on him all the unpleasant consequences which he + sees arising from the natural order of things, and not from his tutor’s + vengeance. But far from having recourse to such cruel measures, I feel + almost certain that Emile will not know for many years what it is to lie, + and that when he does find out, he will be astonished and unable to + understand what can be the use of it. It is quite clear that the less I + make his welfare dependent on the will or the opinions of others, the less + is it to his interest to lie. + </p> + <p> + When we are in no hurry to teach there is no hurry to demand, and we can + take our time, so as to demand nothing except under fitting conditions. + Then the child is training himself, in so far as he is not being spoilt. + But when a fool of a tutor, who does not know how to set about his + business, is always making his pupil promise first this and then that, + without discrimination, choice, or proportion, the child is puzzled and + overburdened with all these promises, and neglects, forgets or even scorns + them, and considering them as so many empty phrases he makes a game of + making and breaking promises. Would you have him keep his promise + faithfully, be moderate in your claims upon him. + </p> + <p> + The detailed treatment I have just given to lying may be applied in many + respects to all the other duties imposed upon children, whereby these + duties are made not only hateful but impracticable. For the sake of a show + of preaching virtue you make them love every vice; you instil these vices + by forbidding them. Would you have them pious, you take them to church + till they are sick of it; you teach them to gabble prayers until they long + for the happy time when they will not have to pray to God. To teach them + charity you make them give alms as if you scorned to give yourself. It is + not the child, but the master, who should give; however much he loves his + pupil he should vie with him for this honour; he should make him think + that he is too young to deserve it. Alms-giving is the deed of a man who + can measure the worth of his gift and the needs of his fellow-men. The + child, who knows nothing of these, can have no merit in giving; he gives + without charity, without kindness; he is almost ashamed to give, for, to + judge by your practice and his own, he thinks it is only children who + give, and that there is no need for charity when we are grown up. + </p> + <p> + Observe that the only things children are set to give are things of which + they do not know the value, bits of metal carried in their pockets for + which they have no further use. A child would rather give a hundred coins + than one cake. But get this prodigal giver to distribute what is dear to + him, his toys, his sweets, his own lunch, and we shall soon see if you + have made him really generous. + </p> + <p> + People try yet another way; they soon restore what he gave to the child, + so that he gets used to giving everything which he knows will come back to + him. I have scarcely seen generosity in children except of these two + types, giving what is of no use to them, or what they expect to get back + again. “Arrange things,” says Locke, “so that experience + may convince them that the most generous giver gets the biggest share.” + That is to make the child superficially generous but really greedy. He + adds that “children will thus form the habit of liberality.” + Yes, a usurer’s liberality, which expects cent. per cent. But when + it is a question of real giving, good-bye to the habit; when they do not + get things back, they will not give. It is the habit of the mind, not of + the hands, that needs watching. All the other virtues taught to children + are like this, and to preach these baseless virtues you waste their youth + in sorrow. What a sensible sort of education! + </p> + <p> + Teachers, have done with these shams; be good and kind; let your example + sink into your scholars’ memories till they are old enough to take + it to heart. Rather than hasten to demand deeds of charity from my pupil I + prefer to perform such deeds in his presence, even depriving him of the + means of imitating me, as an honour beyond his years; for it is of the + utmost importance that he should not regard a man’s duties as merely + those of a child. If when he sees me help the poor he asks me about it, + and it is time to reply to his questions, [Footnote: It must be understood + that I do not answer his questions when he wants; that would be to subject + myself to his will and to place myself in the most dangerous state of + dependence that ever a tutor was in.] I shall say, “My dear boy, the + rich only exist, through the good-will of the poor, so they have promised + to feed those who have not enough to live on, either in goods or labour.” + “Then you promised to do this?” “Certainly; I am only + master of the wealth that passes through my hands on the condition + attached to its ownership.” + </p> + <p> + After this talk (and we have seen how a child may be brought to understand + it) another than Emile would be tempted to imitate me and behave like a + rich man; in such a case I should at least take care that it was done + without ostentation; I would rather he robbed me of my privilege and hid + himself to give. It is a fraud suitable to his age, and the only one I + could forgive in him. + </p> + <p> + I know that all these imitative virtues are only the virtues of a monkey, + and that a good action is only morally good when it is done as such and + not because of others. But at an age when the heart does not yet feel + anything, you must make children copy the deeds you wish to grow into + habits, until they can do them with understanding and for the love of what + is good. Man imitates, as do the beasts. The love of imitating is well + regulated by nature; in society it becomes a vice. The monkey imitates + man, whom he fears, and not the other beasts, which he scorns; he thinks + what is done by his betters must be good. Among ourselves, our harlequins + imitate all that is good to degrade it and bring it into ridicule; knowing + their owners’ baseness they try to equal what is better than they + are, or they strive to imitate what they admire, and their bad taste + appears in their choice of models, they would rather deceive others or win + applause for their own talents than become wiser or better. Imitation has + its roots in our desire to escape from ourselves. If I succeed in my + undertaking, Emile will certainly have no such wish. So we must dispense + with any seeming good that might arise from it. + </p> + <p> + Examine your rules of education; you will find them all topsy-turvy, + especially in all that concerns virtue and morals. The only moral lesson + which is suited for a child—the most important lesson for every time + of life—is this: “Never hurt anybody.” The very rule of + well-doing, if not subordinated to this rule, is dangerous, false, and + contradictory. Who is there who does no good? Every one does some good, + the wicked as well as the righteous; he makes one happy at the cost of the + misery of a hundred, and hence spring all our misfortunes. The noblest + virtues are negative, they are also the most difficult, for they make + little show, and do not even make room for that pleasure so dear to the + heart of man, the thought that some one is pleased with us. If there be a + man who does no harm to his neighbours, what good must he have + accomplished! What a bold heart, what a strong character it needs! It is + not in talking about this maxim, but in trying to practise it, that we + discover both its greatness and its difficulty. [Footnote: The precept + “Never hurt anybody,” implies the greatest possible + independence of human society; for in the social state one man’s + good is another man’s evil. This relation is part of the nature of + things; it is inevitable. You may apply this test to man in society and to + the hermit to discover which is best. A distinguished author says, “None + but the wicked can live alone.” I say, “None but the good can + live alone.” This proposition, if less sententious, is truer and + more logical than the other. If the wicked were alone, what evil would he + do? It is among his fellows that he lays his snares for others. If they + wish to apply this argument to the man of property, my answer is to be + found in the passage to which this note is appended.] + </p> + <p> + This will give you some slight idea of the precautions I would have you + take in giving children instruction which cannot always be refused without + risk to themselves or others, or the far greater risk of the formation of + bad habits, which would be difficult to correct later on; but be sure this + necessity will not often arise with children who are properly brought up, + for they cannot possibly become rebellious, spiteful, untruthful, or + greedy, unless the seeds of these vices are sown in their hearts. What I + have just said applies therefore rather to the exception than the rule. + But the oftener children have the opportunity of quitting their proper + condition, and contracting the vices of men, the oftener will these + exceptions arise. Those who are brought up in the world must receive more + precocious instruction than those who are brought up in retirement. So + this solitary education would be preferable, even if it did nothing more + than leave childhood time to ripen. + </p> + <p> + There is quite another class of exceptions: those so gifted by nature that + they rise above the level of their age. As there are men who never get + beyond infancy, so there are others who are never, so to speak, children, + they are men almost from birth. The difficulty is that these cases are + very rare, very difficult to distinguish; while every mother, who knows + that a child may be a prodigy, is convinced that her child is that one. + They go further; they mistake the common signs of growth for marks of + exceptional talent. Liveliness, sharp sayings, romping, amusing + simplicity, these are the characteristic marks of this age, and show that + the child is a child indeed. Is it strange that a child who is encouraged + to chatter and allowed to say anything, who is restrained neither by + consideration nor convention, should chance to say something clever? Were + he never to hit the mark, his case would be stranger than that of the + astrologer who, among a thousand errors, occasionally predicts the truth. + “They lie so often,” said Henry IV., “that at last they + say what is true.” If you want to say something clever, you have + only to talk long enough. May Providence watch over those fine folk who + have no other claim to social distinction. + </p> + <p> + The finest thoughts may spring from a child’s brain, or rather the + best words may drop from his lips, just as diamonds of great worth may + fall into his hands, while neither the thoughts nor the diamonds are his + own; at that age neither can be really his. The child’s sayings do + not mean to him what they mean to us, the ideas he attaches to them are + different. His ideas, if indeed he has any ideas at all, have neither + order nor connection; there is nothing sure, nothing certain, in his + thoughts. Examine your so-called prodigy. Now and again you will discover + in him extreme activity of mind and extraordinary clearness of thought. + More often this same mind will seem slack and spiritless, as if wrapped in + mist. Sometimes he goes before you, sometimes he will not stir. One moment + you would call him a genius, another a fool. You would be mistaken in + both; he is a child, an eaglet who soars aloft for a moment, only to drop + back into the nest. + </p> + <p> + Treat him, therefore, according to his age, in spite of appearances, and + beware of exhausting his strength by over-much exercise. If the young + brain grows warm and begins to bubble, let it work freely, but do not heat + it any further, lest it lose its goodness, and when the first gases have + been given off, collect and compress the rest so that in after years they + may turn to life-giving heat and real energy. If not, your time and your + pains will be wasted, you will destroy your own work, and after foolishly + intoxicating yourself with these heady fumes, you will have nothing left + but an insipid and worthless wine. + </p> + <p> + Silly children grow into ordinary men. I know no generalisation more + certain than this. It is the most difficult thing in the world to + distinguish between genuine stupidity, and that apparent and deceitful + stupidity which is the sign of a strong character. At first sight it seems + strange that the two extremes should have the same outward signs; and yet + it may well be so, for at an age when man has as yet no true ideas, the + whole difference between the genius and the rest consists in this: the + latter only take in false ideas, while the former, finding nothing but + false ideas, receives no ideas at all. In this he resembles the fool; the + one is fit for nothing, the other finds nothing fit for him. The only way + of distinguishing between them depends upon chance, which may offer the + genius some idea which he can understand, while the fool is always the + same. As a child, the young Cato was taken for an idiot by his parents; he + was obstinate and silent, and that was all they perceived in him; it was + only in Sulla’s ante-chamber that his uncle discovered what was in + him. Had he never found his way there, he might have passed for a fool + till he reached the age of reason. Had Caesar never lived, perhaps this + same Cato, who discerned his fatal genius, and foretold his great schemes, + would have passed for a dreamer all his days. Those who judge children + hastily are apt to be mistaken; they are often more childish than the + child himself. I knew a middle-aged man, [Footnote: The Abbe de Condillac] + whose friendship I esteemed an honour, who was reckoned a fool by his + family. All at once he made his name as a philosopher, and I have no doubt + posterity will give him a high place among the greatest thinkers and the + profoundest metaphysicians of his day. + </p> + <p> + Hold childhood in reverence, and do not be in any hurry to judge it for + good or ill. Leave exceptional cases to show themselves, let their + qualities be tested and confirmed, before special methods are adopted. + Give nature time to work before you take over her business, lest you + interfere with her dealings. You assert that you know the value of time + and are afraid to waste it. You fail to perceive that it is a greater + waste of time to use it ill than to do nothing, and that a child ill + taught is further from virtue than a child who has learnt nothing at all. + You are afraid to see him spending his early years doing nothing. What! is + it nothing to be happy, nothing to run and jump all day? He will never be + so busy again all his life long. Plato, in his Republic, which is + considered so stern, teaches the children only through festivals, games, + songs, and amusements. It seems as if he had accomplished his purpose when + he had taught them to be happy; and Seneca, speaking of the Roman lads in + olden days, says, “They were always on their feet, they were never + taught anything which kept them sitting.” Were they any the worse + for it in manhood? Do not be afraid, therefore, of this so-called + idleness. What would you think of a man who refused to sleep lest he + should waste part of his life? You would say, “He is mad; he is not + enjoying his life, he is robbing himself of part of it; to avoid sleep he + is hastening his death.” Remember that these two cases are alike, + and that childhood is the sleep of reason. + </p> + <p> + The apparent ease with which children learn is their ruin. You fail to see + that this very facility proves that they are not learning. Their shining, + polished brain reflects, as in a mirror, the things you show them, but + nothing sinks in. The child remembers the words and the ideas are + reflected back; his hearers understand them, but to him they are + meaningless. + </p> + <p> + Although memory and reason are wholly different faculties, the one does + not really develop apart from the other. Before the age of reason the + child receives images, not ideas; and there is this difference between + them: images are merely the pictures of external objects, while ideas are + notions about those objects determined by their relations. An image when + it is recalled may exist by itself in the mind, but every idea implies + other ideas. When we image we merely perceive, when we reason we compare. + Our sensations are merely passive, our notions or ideas spring from an + active principle which judges. The proof of this will be given later. + </p> + <p> + I maintain, therefore, that as children are incapable of judging, they + have no true memory. They retain sounds, form, sensation, but rarely + ideas, and still more rarely relations. You tell me they acquire some + rudiments of geometry, and you think you prove your case; not so, it is + mine you prove; you show that far from being able to reason themselves, + children are unable to retain the reasoning of others; for if you follow + the method of these little geometricians you will see they only retain the + exact impression of the figure and the terms of the demonstration. They + cannot meet the slightest new objection; if the figure is reversed they + can do nothing. All their knowledge is on the sensation-level, nothing has + penetrated to their understanding. Their memory is little better than + their other powers, for they always have to learn over again, when they + are grown up, what they learnt as children. + </p> + <p> + I am far from thinking, however, that children have no sort of reason. + [Footnote: I have noticed again and again that it is impossible in writing + a lengthy work to use the same words always in the same sense. There is no + language rich enough to supply terms and expressions sufficient for the + modifications of our ideas. The method of defining every term and + constantly substituting the definition for the term defined looks well, + but it is impracticable. For how can we escape from our vicious circle? + Definitions would be all very well if we did not use words in the making + of them. In spite of this I am convinced that even in our poor language we + can make our meaning clear, not by always using words in the same sense, + but by taking care that every time we use a word the sense in which we use + it is sufficiently indicated by the sense of the context, so that each + sentence in which the word occurs acts as a sort of definition. Sometimes + I say children are incapable of reasoning. Sometimes I say they reason + cleverly. I must admit that my words are often contradictory, but I do not + think there is any contradiction in my ideas.] On the contrary, I think + they reason very well with regard to things that affect their actual and + sensible well-being. But people are mistaken as to the extent of their + information, and they attribute to them knowledge they do not possess, and + make them reason about things they cannot understand. Another mistake is + to try to turn their attention to matters which do not concern them in the + least, such as their future interest, their happiness when they are grown + up, the opinion people will have of them when they are men—terms + which are absolutely meaningless when addressed to creatures who are + entirely without foresight. But all the forced studies of these poor + little wretches are directed towards matters utterly remote from their + minds. You may judge how much attention they can give to them. + </p> + <p> + The pedagogues, who make a great display of the teaching they give their + pupils, are paid to say just the opposite; yet their actions show that + they think just as I do. For what do they teach? Words! words! words! + Among the various sciences they boast of teaching their scholars, they + take good care never to choose those which might be really useful to them, + for then they would be compelled to deal with things and would fail + utterly; the sciences they choose are those we seem to know when we know + their technical terms—heraldry, geography, chronology, languages, + etc., studies so remote from man, and even more remote from the child, + that it is a wonder if he can ever make any use of any part of them. + </p> + <p> + You will be surprised to find that I reckon the study of languages among + the useless lumber of education; but you must remember that I am speaking + of the studies of the earliest years, and whatever you may say, I do not + believe any child under twelve or fifteen ever really acquired two + languages. + </p> + <p> + If the study of languages were merely the study of words, that is, of the + symbols by which language expresses itself, then this might be a suitable + study for children; but languages, as they change the symbols, also modify + the ideas which the symbols express. Minds are formed by language, + thoughts take their colour from its ideas. Reason alone is common to all. + Every language has its own form, a difference which may be partly cause + and partly effect of differences in national character; this conjecture + appears to be confirmed by the fact that in every nation under the sun + speech follows the changes of manners, and is preserved or altered along + with them. + </p> + <p> + By use the child acquires one of these different forms, and it is the only + language he retains till the age of reason. To acquire two languages he + must be able to compare their ideas, and how can he compare ideas he can + barely understand? Everything may have a thousand meanings to him, but + each idea can only have one form, so he can only learn one language. You + assure me he learns several languages; I deny it. I have seen those little + prodigies who are supposed to speak half a dozen languages. I have heard + them speak first in German, then in Latin, French, or Italian; true, they + used half a dozen different vocabularies, but they always spoke German. In + a word, you may give children as many synonyms as you like; it is not + their language but their words that you change; they will never have but + one language. + </p> + <p> + To conceal their deficiencies teachers choose the dead languages, in which + we have no longer any judges whose authority is beyond dispute. The + familiar use of these tongues disappeared long ago, so they are content to + imitate what they find in books, and they call that talking. If the master’s + Greek and Latin is such poor stuff, what about the children? They have + scarcely learnt their primer by heart, without understanding a word of it, + when they are set to translate a French speech into Latin words; then when + they are more advanced they piece together a few phrases of Cicero for + prose or a few lines of Vergil for verse. Then they think they can speak + Latin, and who will contradict them? + </p> + <p> + In any study whatsoever the symbols are of no value without the idea of + the things symbolised. Yet the education of the child in confined to those + symbols, while no one ever succeeds in making him understand the thing + signified. You think you are teaching him what the world is like; he is + only learning the map; he is taught the names of towns, countries, rivers, + which have no existence for him except on the paper before him. I remember + seeing a geography somewhere which began with: “What is the world?”—“A + sphere of cardboard.” That is the child’s geography. I + maintain that after two years’ work with the globe and cosmography, + there is not a single ten-year-old child who could find his way from Paris + to Saint Denis by the help of the rules he has learnt. I maintain that not + one of these children could find his way by the map about the paths on his + father’s estate without getting lost. These are the young doctors + who can tell us the position of Pekin, Ispahan, Mexico, and every country + in the world. + </p> + <p> + You tell me the child must be employed on studies which only need eyes. + That may be; but if there are any such studies, they are unknown to me. + </p> + <p> + It is a still more ridiculous error to set them to study history, which is + considered within their grasp because it is merely a collection of facts. + But what is meant by this word “fact”? Do you think the + relations which determine the facts of history are so easy to grasp that + the corresponding ideas are easily developed in the child’s mind! Do + you think that a real knowledge of events can exist apart from the + knowledge of their causes and effects, and that history has so little + relation to words that the one can be learnt without the other? If you + perceive nothing in a man’s actions beyond merely physical and + external movements, what do you learn from history? Absolutely nothing; + while this study, robbed of all that makes it interesting, gives you + neither pleasure nor information. If you want to judge actions by their + moral bearings, try to make these moral bearings intelligible to your + scholars. You will soon find out if they are old enough to learn history. + </p> + <p> + Remember, reader, that he who speaks to you is neither a scholar nor a + philosopher, but a plain man and a lover of truth; a man who is pledged to + no one party or system, a hermit, who mixes little with other men, and has + less opportunity of imbibing their prejudices, and more time to reflect on + the things that strike him in his intercourse with them. My arguments are + based less on theories than on facts, and I think I can find no better way + to bring the facts home to you than by quoting continually some example + from the observations which suggested my arguments. + </p> + <p> + I had gone to spend a few days in the country with a worthy mother of a + family who took great pains with her children and their education. One + morning I was present while the eldest boy had his lessons. His tutor, who + had taken great pains to teach him ancient history, began upon the story + of Alexander and lighted on the well-known anecdote of Philip the Doctor. + There is a picture of it, and the story is well worth study. The tutor, + worthy man, made several reflections which I did not like with regard to + Alexander’s courage, but I did not argue with him lest I should + lower him in the eyes of his pupil. At dinner they did not fail to get the + little fellow talking, French fashion. The eager spirit of a child of his + age, and the confident expectation of applause, made him say a number of + silly things, and among them from time to time there were things to the + point, and these made people forget the rest. At last came the story of + Philip the Doctor. He told it very distinctly and prettily. After the + usual meed of praise, demanded by his mother and expected by the child + himself, they discussed what he had said. Most of them blamed Alexander’s + rashness, some of them, following the tutor’s example, praised his + resolution, which showed me that none of those present really saw the + beauty of the story. “For my own part,” I said, “if + there was any courage or any steadfastness at all in Alexander’s + conduct I think it was only a piece of bravado.” Then every one + agreed that it was a piece of bravado. I was getting angry, and would have + replied, when a lady sitting beside me, who had not hitherto spoken, bent + towards me and whispered in my ear. “Jean Jacques,” said she, + “say no more, they will never understand you.” I looked at + her, I recognised the wisdom of her advice, and I held my tongue. + </p> + <p> + Several things made me suspect that our young professor had not in the + least understood the story he told so prettily. After dinner I took his + hand in mine and we went for a walk in the park. When I had questioned him + quietly, I discovered that he admired the vaunted courage of Alexander + more than any one. But in what do you suppose he thought this courage + consisted? Merely in swallowing a disagreeable drink at a single draught + without hesitation and without any signs of dislike. Not a fortnight + before the poor child had been made to take some medicine which he could + hardly swallow, and the taste of it was still in his mouth. Death, and + death by poisoning, were for him only disagreeable sensations, and senna + was his only idea of poison. I must admit, however, that Alexander’s + resolution had made a great impression on his young mind, and he was + determined that next time he had to take medicine he would be an + Alexander. Without entering upon explanations which were clearly beyond + his grasp, I confirmed him in his praiseworthy intention, and returned + home smiling to myself over the great wisdom of parents and teachers who + expect to teach history to children. + </p> + <p> + Such words as king, emperor, war, conquest, law, and revolution are easily + put into their mouths; but when it is a question of attaching clear ideas + to these words the explanations are very different from our talk with + Robert the gardener. + </p> + <p> + I feel sure some readers dissatisfied with that “Say no more, Jean + Jacques,” will ask what I really saw to admire in the conduct of + Alexander. Poor things! if you need telling, how can you comprehend it? + Alexander believed in virtue, he staked his head, he staked his own life + on that faith, his great soul was fitted to hold such a faith. To swallow + that draught was to make a noble profession of the faith that was in him. + Never did mortal man recite a finer creed. If there is an Alexander in our + own days, show me such deeds. + </p> + <p> + If children have no knowledge of words, there is no study that is suitable + for them. If they have no real ideas they have no real memory, for I do + not call that a memory which only recalls sensations. What is the use of + inscribing on their brains a list of symbols which mean nothing to them? + They will learn the symbols when they learn the things signified; why give + them the useless trouble of learning them twice over? And yet what + dangerous prejudices are you implanting when you teach them to accept as + knowledge words which have no meaning for them. The first meaningless + phrase, the first thing taken for granted on the word of another person + without seeing its use for himself, this is the beginning of the ruin of + the child’s judgment. He may dazzle the eyes of fools long enough + before he recovers from such a loss. [Footnote: The learning of most + philosophers is like the learning of children. Vast erudition results less + in the multitude of ideas than in a multitude of images. Dates, names, + places, all objects isolated or unconnected with ideas are merely retained + in the memory for symbols, and we rarely recall any of these without + seeing the right or left page of the book in which we read it, or the form + in which we first saw it. Most science was of this kind till recently. The + science of our times is another matter; study and observation are things + of the past; we dream and the dreams of a bad night are given to us as + philosophy. You will say I too am a dreamer; I admit it, but I do what the + others fail to do, I give my dreams as dreams, and leave the reader to + discover whether there is anything in them which may prove useful to those + who are awake.] + </p> + <p> + No, if nature has given the child this plasticity of brain which fits him + to receive every kind of impression, it was not that you should imprint on + it the names and dates of kings, the jargon of heraldry, the globe and + geography, all those words without present meaning or future use for the + child, which flood of words overwhelms his sad and barren childhood. But + by means of this plasticity all the ideas he can understand and use, all + that concern his happiness and will some day throw light upon his duties, + should be traced at an early age in indelible characters upon his brain, + to guide him to live in such a way as befits his nature and his powers. + </p> + <p> + Without the study of books, such a memory as the child may possess is not + left idle; everything he sees and hears makes an impression on him, he + keeps a record of men’s sayings and doings, and his whole + environment is the book from which he unconsciously enriches his memory, + till his judgment is able to profit by it. + </p> + <p> + To select these objects, to take care to present him constantly with those + he may know, to conceal from him those he ought not to know, this is the + real way of training his early memory; and in this way you must try to + provide him with a storehouse of knowledge which will serve for his + education in youth and his conduct throughout life. True, this method does + not produce infant prodigies, nor will it reflect glory upon their tutors + and governesses, but it produces men, strong, right-thinking men, vigorous + both in mind and body, men who do not win admiration as children, but + honour as men. + </p> + <p> + Emile will not learn anything by heart, not even fables, not even the + fables of La Fontaine, simple and delightful as they are, for the words + are no more the fable than the words of history are history. How can + people be so blind as to call fables the child’s system of morals, + without considering that the child is not only amused by the apologue but + misled by it? He is attracted by what is false and he misses the truth, + and the means adopted to make the teaching pleasant prevent him profiting + by it. Men may be taught by fables; children require the naked truth. + </p> + <p> + All children learn La Fontaine’s fables, but not one of them + understands them. It is just as well that they do not understand, for the + morality of the fables is so mixed and so unsuitable for their age that it + would be more likely to incline them to vice than to virtue. “More + paradoxes!” you exclaim. Paradoxes they may be; but let us see if + there is not some truth in them. + </p> + <p> + I maintain that the child does not understand the fables he is taught, for + however you try to explain them, the teaching you wish to extract from + them demands ideas which he cannot grasp, while the poetical form which + makes it easier to remember makes it harder to understand, so that + clearness is sacrificed to facility. Without quoting the host of wholly + unintelligible and useless fables which are taught to children because + they happen to be in the same book as the others, let us keep to those + which the author seems to have written specially for children. + </p> + <p> + In the whole of La Fontaine’s works I only know five or six fables + conspicuous for child-like simplicity; I will take the first of these as + an example, for it is one whose moral is most suitable for all ages, one + which children get hold of with the least difficulty, which they have most + pleasure in learning, one which for this very reason the author has placed + at the beginning of his book. If his object were really to delight and + instruct children, this fable is his masterpiece. Let us go through it and + examine it briefly. + </p> + <h3> + THE FOX AND THE CROW + </h3> + <h3> + A FABLE + </h3> + <p> + “Maitre corbeau, sur un arbre perche” (Mr. Crow perched on a + tree).—“Mr.!” what does that word really mean? What does + it mean before a proper noun? What is its meaning here? What is a crow? + What is “un arbre perche”? We do not say “on a tree + perched,” but perched on a tree. So we must speak of poetical + inversions, we must distinguish between prose and verse. + </p> + <p> + “Tenait dans son bec un fromage” (Held a cheese in his beak)—What + sort of a cheese? Swiss, Brie, or Dutch? If the child has never seen + crows, what is the good of talking about them? If he has seen crows will + he believe that they can hold a cheese in their beak? Your illustrations + should always be taken from nature. + </p> + <p> + “Maitre renard, par l’odeur alleche” (Mr. Fox, attracted + by the smell).—Another Master! But the title suits the fox,—who + is master of all the tricks of his trade. You must explain what a fox is, + and distinguish between the real fox and the conventional fox of the + fables. + </p> + <p> + “Alleche.” The word is obsolete; you will have to explain it. + You will say it is only used in verse. Perhaps the child will ask why + people talk differently in verse. How will you answer that question? + </p> + <p> + “Alleche, par l’odeur d’un fromage.” The cheese + was held in his beak by a crow perched on a tree; it must indeed have + smelt strong if the fox, in his thicket or his earth, could smell it. This + is the way you train your pupil in that spirit of right judgment, which + rejects all but reasonable arguments, and is able to distinguish between + truth and falsehood in other tales. + </p> + <p> + “Lui tient a peu pres ce langage” (Spoke to him after this + fashion).—“Ce langage.” So foxes talk, do they! They + talk like crows! Mind what you are about, oh, wise tutor; weigh your + answer before you give it, it is more important than you suspect. + </p> + <p> + “Eh! Bonjour, Monsieur le Corbeau!” (“Good-day, Mr. + Crow!”)—Mr.! The child sees this title laughed to scorn before + he knows it is a title of honour. Those who say “Monsieur du Corbeau” + will find their work cut out for them to explain that “du.” + </p> + <p> + “Que vous etes joli! Que vous me semblez beau!” (“How + handsome you are, how beautiful in my eyes!”)—Mere padding. + The child, finding the same thing repeated twice over in different words, + is learning to speak carelessly. If you say this redundance is a device of + the author, a part of the fox’s scheme to make his praise seem all + the greater by his flow of words, that is a valid excuse for me, but not + for my pupil. + </p> + <p> + “Sans mentir, si votre ramage” (“Without lying, if your + song”).—“Without lying.” So people do tell lies + sometimes. What will the child think of you if you tell him the fox only + says “Sans mentir” because he is lying? + </p> + <p> + “Se rapporte a votre plumage” (“Answered to your fine + feathers”).—“Answered!” What does that mean? Try + to make the child compare qualities so different as those of song and + plumage; you will see how much he understands. + </p> + <p> + “Vous seriez le phenix des hotes de ces bois!” (“You + would be the phoenix of all the inhabitants of this wood!”)—The + phoenix! What is a phoenix? All of a sudden we are floundering in the lies + of antiquity—we are on the edge of mythology. + </p> + <p> + “The inhabitants of this wood.” What figurative language! The + flatterer adopts the grand style to add dignity to his speech, to make it + more attractive. Will the child understand this cunning? Does he know, how + could he possibly know, what is meant by grand style and simple style? + </p> + <p> + “A ces mots le corbeau ne se sent pas de joie” (At these + words, the crow is beside himself with delight).—To realise the full + force of this proverbial expression we must have experienced very strong + feeling. + </p> + <p> + “Et, pour montrer sa belle voix” (And, to show his fine + voice).—Remember that the child, to understand this line and the + whole fable, must know what is meant by the crow’s fine voice. + </p> + <p> + “Il ouvre un large bec, laisse tomber sa proie” (He opens his + wide beak and drops his prey).—This is a splendid line; its very + sound suggests a picture. I see the great big ugly gaping beak, I hear the + cheese crashing through the branches; but this kind of beauty is thrown + away upon children. + </p> + <p> + “Le renard s’en saisit, et dit, ‘Mon bon monsieur’” + (The fox catches it, and says, “My dear sir”).—So + kindness is already folly. You certainly waste no time in teaching your + children. + </p> + <p> + “Apprenez que tout flatteur” (“You must learn that every + flatterer”).—A general maxim. The child can make neither head + nor tail of it. + </p> + <p> + “Vit au depens de celui qui l’ecoute” (“Lives at + the expense of the person who listens to his flattery”).—No + child of ten ever understood that. + </p> + <p> + “Ce lecon vaut bien un fromage, sans doute” (“No doubt + this lesson is well worth a cheese”).—This is intelligible and + its meaning is very good. Yet there are few children who could compare a + cheese and a lesson, few who would not prefer the cheese. You will + therefore have to make them understand that this is said in mockery. What + subtlety for a child! + </p> + <p> + “Le corbeau, honteux et confus” (The crow, ashamed and + confused).—A nothing pleonasm, and there is no excuse for it this + time. + </p> + <p> + “Jura, mais un peu tard, qu’on ne l’y prendrait plus” + (Swore, but rather too late, that he would not be caught in that way + again).—“Swore.” What master will be such a fool as to + try to explain to a child the meaning of an oath? + </p> + <p> + What a host of details! but much more would be needed for the analysis of + all the ideas in this fable and their reduction to the simple and + elementary ideas of which each is composed. But who thinks this analysis + necessary to make himself intelligible to children? Who of us is + philosopher enough to be able to put himself in the child’s place? + Let us now proceed to the moral. + </p> + <p> + Should we teach a six-year-old child that there are people who flatter and + lie for the sake of gain? One might perhaps teach them that there are + people who make fools of little boys and laugh at their foolish vanity + behind their backs. But the whole thing is spoilt by the cheese. You are + teaching them how to make another drop his cheese rather than how to keep + their own. This is my second paradox, and it is not less weighty than the + former one. + </p> + <p> + Watch children learning their fables and you will see that when they have + a chance of applying them they almost always use them exactly contrary to + the author’s meaning; instead of being on their guard against the + fault which you would prevent or cure, they are disposed to like the vice + by which one takes advantage of another’s defects. In the above + fable children laugh at the crow, but they all love the fox. In the next + fable you expect them to follow the example of the grasshopper. Not so, + they will choose the ant. They do not care to abase themselves, they will + always choose the principal part—this is the choice of self-love, a + very natural choice. But what a dreadful lesson for children! There could + be no monster more detestable than a harsh and avaricious child, who + realised what he was asked to give and what he refused. The ant does more; + she teaches him not merely to refuse but to revile. + </p> + <p> + In all the fables where the lion plays a part, usually the chief part, the + child pretends to be the lion, and when he has to preside over some + distribution of good things, he takes care to keep everything for himself; + but when the lion is overthrown by the gnat, the child is the gnat. He + learns how to sting to death those whom he dare not attack openly. + </p> + <p> + From the fable of the sleek dog and the starving wolf he learns a lesson + of licence rather than the lesson of moderation which you profess to teach + him. I shall never forget seeing a little girl weeping bitterly over this + tale, which had been told her as a lesson in obedience. The poor child + hated to be chained up; she felt the chain chafing her neck; she was + crying because she was not a wolf. + </p> + <p> + So from the first of these fables the child learns the basest flattery; + from the second, cruelty; from the third, injustice; from the fourth, + satire; from the fifth, insubordination. The last of these lessons is no + more suitable for your pupils than for mine, though he has no use for it. + What results do you expect to get from your teaching when it contradicts + itself! But perhaps the same system of morals which furnishes me with + objections against the fables supplies you with as many reasons for + keeping to them. Society requires a rule of morality in our words; it also + requires a rule of morality in our deeds; and these two rules are quite + different. The former is contained in the Catechism and it is left there; + the other is contained in La Fontaine’s fables for children and his + tales for mothers. The same author does for both. + </p> + <p> + Let us make a bargain, M. de la Fontaine. For my own part, I undertake to + make your books my favourite study; I undertake to love you, and to learn + from your fables, for I hope I shall not mistake their meaning. As to my + pupil, permit me to prevent him studying any one of them till you have + convinced me that it is good for him to learn things three-fourths of + which are unintelligible to him, and until you can convince me that in + those fables he can understand he will never reverse the order and imitate + the villain instead of taking warning from his dupe. + </p> + <p> + When I thus get rid of children’s lessons, I get rid of the chief + cause of their sorrows, namely their books. Reading is the curse of + childhood, yet it is almost the only occupation you can find for children. + Emile, at twelve years old, will hardly know what a book is. “But,” + you say, “he must, at least, know how to read.” + </p> + <p> + When reading is of use to him, I admit he must learn to read, but till + then he will only find it a nuisance. + </p> + <p> + If children are not to be required to do anything as a matter of + obedience, it follows that they will only learn what they perceive to be + of real and present value, either for use or enjoyment; what other motive + could they have for learning? The art of speaking to our absent friends, + of hearing their words; the art of letting them know at first hand our + feelings, our desires, and our longings, is an art whose usefulness can be + made plain at any age. How is it that this art, so useful and pleasant in + itself, has become a terror to children? Because the child is compelled to + acquire it against his will, and to use it for purposes beyond his + comprehension. A child has no great wish to perfect himself in the use of + an instrument of torture, but make it a means to his pleasure, and soon + you will not be able to keep him from it. + </p> + <p> + People make a great fuss about discovering the beat way to teach children + to read. They invent “bureaux” [Footnote: Translator’s + note.—The “bureau” was a sort of case containing letters + to be put together to form words. It was a favourite device for the + teaching of reading and gave its name to a special method, called the + bureau-method, of learning to read.] and cards, they turn the nursery into + a printer’s shop. Locke would have them taught to read by means of + dice. What a fine idea! And the pity of it! There is a better way than any + of those, and one which is generally overlooked—it consists in the + desire to learn. Arouse this desire in your scholar and have done with + your “bureaux” and your dice—any method will serve. + </p> + <p> + Present interest, that is the motive power, the only motive power that + takes us far and safely. Sometimes Emile receives notes of invitation from + his father or mother, his relations or friends; he is invited to a dinner, + a walk, a boating expedition, to see some public entertainment. These + notes are short, clear, plain, and well written. Some one must read them + to him, and he cannot always find anybody when wanted; no more + consideration is shown to him than he himself showed to you yesterday. + Time passes, the chance is lost. The note is read to him at last, but it + is too late. Oh! if only he had known how to read! He receives other + notes, so short, so interesting, he would like to try to read them. + Sometimes he gets help, sometimes none. He does his best, and at last he + makes out half the note; it is something about going to-morrow to drink + cream—Where? With whom? He cannot tell—how hard he tries to + make out the rest! I do not think Emile will need a “bureau.” + Shall I proceed to the teaching of writing? No, I am ashamed to toy with + these trifles in a treatise on education. + </p> + <p> + I will just add a few words which contain a principle of great importance. + It is this—What we are in no hurry to get is usually obtained with + speed and certainty. I am pretty sure Emile will learn to read and write + before he is ten, just because I care very little whether he can do so + before he is fifteen; but I would rather he never learnt to read at all, + than that this art should be acquired at the price of all that makes + reading useful. What is the use of reading to him if he always hates it? + “Id imprimis cavere oportebit, ne studia, qui amare nondum potest, + oderit, et amaritudinem semel perceptam etiam ultra rudes annos + reformidet.”—Quintil. + </p> + <p> + The more I urge my method of letting well alone, the more objections I + perceive against it. If your pupil learns nothing from you, he will learn + from others. If you do not instil truth he will learn falsehoods; the + prejudices you fear to teach him he will acquire from those about him, + they will find their way through every one of his senses; they will either + corrupt his reason before it is fully developed or his mind will become + torpid through inaction, and will become engrossed in material things. If + we do not form the habit of thinking as children, we shall lose the power + of thinking for the rest of our life. + </p> + <p> + I fancy I could easily answer that objection, but why should I answer + every objection? If my method itself answers your objections, it is good; + if not, it is good for nothing. I continue my explanation. + </p> + <p> + If, in accordance with the plan I have sketched, you follow rules which + are just the opposite of the established practice, if instead of taking + your scholar far afield, instead of wandering with him in distant places, + in far-off lands, in remote centuries, in the ends of the earth, and in + the very heavens themselves, you try to keep him to himself, to his own + concerns, you will then find him able to perceive, to remember, and even + to reason; this is nature’s order. As the sentient being becomes + active his discernment develops along with his strength. Not till his + strength is in excess of what is needed for self-preservation, is the + speculative faculty developed, the faculty adapted for using this + superfluous strength for other purposes. Would you cultivate your pupil’s + intelligence, cultivate the strength it is meant to control. Give his body + constant exercise, make it strong and healthy, in order to make him good + and wise; let him work, let him do things, let him run and shout, let him + be always on the go; make a man of him in strength, and he will soon be a + man in reason. + </p> + <p> + Of course by this method you will make him stupid if you are always giving + him directions, always saying come here, go there, stop, do this, don’t + do that. If your head always guides his hands, his own mind will become + useless. But remember the conditions we laid down; if you are a mere + pedant it is not worth your while to read my book. + </p> + <p> + It is a lamentable mistake to imagine that bodily activity hinders the + working of the mind, as if these two kinds of activity ought not to + advance hand in hand, and as if the one were not intended to act as guide + to the other. + </p> + <p> + There are two classes of men who are constantly engaged in bodily + activity, peasants and savages, and certainly neither of these pays the + least attention to the cultivation of the mind. Peasants are rough, + coarse, and clumsy; savages are noted, not only for their keen senses, but + for great subtility of mind. Speaking generally, there is nothing duller + than a peasant or sharper than a savage. What is the cause of this + difference? The peasant has always done as he was told, what his father + did before him, what he himself has always done; he is the creature of + habit, he spends his life almost like an automaton on the same tasks; + habit and obedience have taken the place of reason. + </p> + <p> + The case of the savage is very different; he is tied to no one place, he + has no prescribed task, no superior to obey, he knows no law but his own + will; he is therefore forced to reason at every step he takes. He can + neither move nor walk without considering the consequences. Thus the more + his body is exercised, the more alert is his mind; his strength and his + reason increase together, and each helps to develop the other. + </p> + <p> + Oh, learned tutor, let us see which of our two scholars is most like the + savage and which is most like the peasant. Your scholar is subject to a + power which is continually giving him instruction; he acts only at the + word of command; he dare not eat when he is hungry, nor laugh when he is + merry, nor weep when he is sad, nor offer one hand rather than the other, + nor stir a foot unless he is told to do it; before long he will not + venture to breathe without orders. What would you have him think about, + when you do all the thinking for him? He rests securely on your foresight, + why should he think for himself? He knows you have undertaken to take care + of him, to secure his welfare, and he feels himself freed from this + responsibility. His judgment relies on yours; what you have not forbidden + that he does, knowing that he runs no risk. Why should he learn the signs + of rain? He knows you watch the clouds for him. Why should he time his + walk? He knows there is no fear of your letting him miss his dinner hour. + He eats till you tell him to stop, he stops when you tell him to do so; he + does not attend to the teaching of his own stomach, but yours. In vain do + you make his body soft by inaction; his understanding does not become + subtle. Far from it, you complete your task of discrediting reason in his + eyes, by making him use such reasoning power as he has on the things which + seem of least importance to him. As he never finds his reason any use to + him, he decides at last that it is useless. If he reasons badly he will be + found fault with; nothing worse will happen to him; and he has been found + fault with so often that he pays no attention to it, such a common danger + no longer alarms him. + </p> + <p> + Yet you will find he has a mind. He is quick enough to chatter with the + women in the way I spoke of further back; but if he is in danger, if he + must come to a decision in difficult circumstances, you will find him a + hundredfold more stupid and silly than the son of the roughest labourer. + </p> + <p> + As for my pupil, or rather Nature’s pupil, he has been trained from + the outset to be as self-reliant as possible, he has not formed the habit + of constantly seeking help from others, still less of displaying his + stores of learning. On the other hand, he exercises discrimination and + forethought, he reasons about everything that concerns himself. He does + not chatter, he acts. Not a word does he know of what is going on in the + world at large, but he knows very thoroughly what affects himself. As he + is always stirring he is compelled to notice many things, to recognise + many effects; he soon acquires a good deal of experience. Nature, not man, + is his schoolmaster, and he learns all the quicker because he is not aware + that he has any lesson to learn. So mind and body work together. He is + always carrying out his own ideas, not those of other people, and thus he + unites thought and action; as he grows in health and strength he grows in + wisdom and discernment. This is the way to attain later on to what is + generally considered incompatible, though most great men have achieved it, + strength of body and strength of mind, the reason of the philosopher and + the vigour of the athlete. + </p> + <p> + Young teacher, I am setting before you a difficult task, the art of + controlling without precepts, and doing everything without doing anything + at all. This art is, I confess, beyond your years, it is not calculated to + display your talents nor to make your value known to your scholar’s + parents; but it is the only road to success. You will never succeed in + making wise men if you do not first make little imps of mischief. This was + the education of the Spartans; they were not taught to stick to their + books, they were set to steal their dinners. Were they any the worse for + it in after life? Ever ready for victory, they crushed their foes in every + kind of warfare, and the prating Athenians were as much afraid of their + words as of their blows. + </p> + <p> + When education is most carefully attended to, the teacher issues his + orders and thinks himself master, but it is the child who is really + master. He uses the tasks you set him to obtain what he wants from you, + and he can always make you pay for an hour’s industry by a week’s + complaisance. You must always be making bargains with him. These bargains, + suggested in your fashion, but carried out in his, always follow the + direction of his own fancies, especially when you are foolish enough to + make the condition some advantage he is almost sure to obtain, whether he + fulfils his part of the bargain or not. The child is usually much quicker + to read the master’s thoughts than the master to read the child’s + feelings. And that is as it should be, for all the sagacity which the + child would have devoted to self-preservation, had he been left to + himself, is now devoted to the rescue of his native freedom from the + chains of his tyrant; while the latter, who has no such pressing need to + understand the child, sometimes finds that it pays him better to leave him + in idleness or vanity. + </p> + <p> + Take the opposite course with your pupil; let him always think he is + master while you are really master. There is no subjection so complete as + that which preserves the forms of freedom; it is thus that the will itself + is taken captive. Is not this poor child, without knowledge, strength, or + wisdom, entirely at your mercy? Are you not master of his whole + environment so far as it affects him? Cannot you make of him what you + please? His work and play, his pleasure and pain, are they not, unknown to + him, under your control? No doubt he ought only to do what he wants, but + he ought to want to do nothing but what you want him to do. He should + never take a step you have not foreseen, nor utter a word you could not + foretell. + </p> + <p> + Then he can devote himself to the bodily exercises adapted to his age + without brutalising his mind; instead of developing his cunning to evade + an unwelcome control, you will then find him entirely occupied in getting + the best he can out of his environment with a view to his present welfare, + and you will be surprised by the subtlety of the means he devises to get + for himself such things as he can obtain, and to really enjoy things + without the aid of other people’s ideas. You leave him master of his + own wishes, but you do not multiply his caprices. When he only does what + he wants, he will soon only do what he ought, and although his body is + constantly in motion, so far as his sensible and present interests are + concerned, you will find him developing all the reason of which he is + capable, far better and in a manner much better fitted for him than in + purely theoretical studies. + </p> + <p> + Thus when he does not find you continually thwarting him, when he no + longer distrusts you, no longer has anything to conceal from you, he will + neither tell you lies nor deceive you; he will show himself fearlessly as + he really is, and you can study him at your ease, and surround him with + all the lessons you would have him learn, without awaking his suspicions. + </p> + <p> + Neither will he keep a curious and jealous eye on your own conduct, nor + take a secret delight in catching you at fault. It is a great thing to + avoid this. One of the child’s first objects is, as I have said, to + find the weak spots in its rulers. Though this leads to spitefulness, it + does not arise from it, but from the desire to evade a disagreeable + control. Overburdened by the yoke laid upon him, he tries to shake it off, + and the faults he finds in his master give him a good opportunity for + this. Still the habit of spying out faults and delighting in them grows + upon people. Clearly we have stopped another of the springs of vice in + Emile’s heart. Having nothing to gain from my faults, he will not be + on the watch for them, nor will he be tempted to look out for the faults + of others. + </p> + <p> + All these methods seem difficult because they are new to us, but they + ought not to be really difficult. I have a right to assume that you have + the knowledge required for the business you have chosen; that you know the + usual course of development of the human thought, that you can study + mankind and man, that you know beforehand the effect on your pupil’s + will of the various objects suited to his age which you put before him. + You have the tools and the art to use them; are you not master of your + trade? + </p> + <p> + You speak of childish caprice; you are mistaken. Children’s caprices + are never the work of nature, but of bad discipline; they have either + obeyed or given orders, and I have said again and again, they must do + neither. Your pupil will have the caprices you have taught him; it is fair + you should bear the punishment of your own faults. “But how can I + cure them?” do you say? That may still be done by better conduct on + your own part and great patience. I once undertook the charge of a child + for a few weeks; he was accustomed not only to have his own way, but to + make every one else do as he pleased; he was therefore capricious. The + very first day he wanted to get up at midnight, to try how far he could go + with me. When I was sound asleep he jumped out of bed, got his + dressing-gown, and waked me up. I got up and lighted the candle, which was + all he wanted. After a quarter of an hour he became sleepy and went back + to bed quite satisfied with his experiment. Two days later he repeated it, + with the same success and with no sign of impatience on my part. When he + kissed me as he lay down, I said to him very quietly, “My little + dear, this is all very well, but do not try it again.” His curiosity + was aroused by this, and the very next day he did not fail to get up at + the same time and woke me to see whether I should dare to disobey him. I + asked what he wanted, and he told me he could not sleep. “So much + the worse for you,” I replied, and I lay quiet. He seemed perplexed + by this way of speaking. He felt his way to the flint and steel and tried + to strike a light. I could not help laughing when I heard him strike his + fingers. Convinced at last that he could not manage it, he brought the + steel to my bed; I told him I did not want it, and I turned my back to + him. Then he began to rush wildly about the room, shouting, singing, + making a great noise, knocking against chairs and tables, but taking, + however, good care not to hurt himself seriously, but screaming loudly in + the hope of alarming me. All this had no effect, but I perceived that + though he was prepared for scolding or anger, he was quite unprepared for + indifference. + </p> + <p> + However, he was determined to overcome my patience with his own obstinacy, + and he continued his racket so successfully that at last I lost my temper. + I foresaw that I should spoil the whole business by an unseemly outburst + of passion. I determined on another course. I got up quietly, went to the + tinder box, but could not find it; I asked him for it, and he gave it me, + delighted to have won the victory over me. I struck a light, lighted the + candle, took my young gentleman by the hand and led him quietly into an + adjoining dressing-room with the shutters firmly fastened, and nothing he + could break. + </p> + <p> + I left him there without a light; then locking him in I went back to my + bed without a word. What a noise there was! That was what I expected, and + took no notice. At last the noise ceased; I listened, heard him settling + down, and I was quite easy about him. Next morning I entered the room at + daybreak, and my little rebel was lying on a sofa enjoying a sound and + much needed sleep after his exertions. + </p> + <p> + The matter did not end there. His mother heard that the child had spent a + great part of the night out of bed. That spoilt the whole thing; her child + was as good as dead. Finding a good chance for revenge, he pretended to be + ill, not seeing that he would gain nothing by it. They sent for the + doctor. Unluckily for the mother, the doctor was a practical joker, and to + amuse himself with her terrors he did his best to increase them. However, + he whispered to me, “Leave it to me, I promise to cure the child of + wanting to be ill for some time to come.” As a matter of fact he + prescribed bed and dieting, and the child was handed over to the + apothecary. I sighed to see the mother cheated on every hand except by me, + whom she hated because I did not deceive her. + </p> + <p> + After pretty severe reproaches, she told me her son was delicate, that he + was the sole heir of the family, his life must be preserved at all costs, + and she would not have him contradicted. In that I thoroughly agreed with + her, but what she meant by contradicting was not obeying him in + everything. I saw I should have to treat the mother as I had treated the + son. “Madam,” I said coldly, “I do not know how to + educate the heir to a fortune, and what is more, I do not mean to study + that art. You can take that as settled.” I was wanted for some days + longer, and the father smoothed things over. The mother wrote to the tutor + to hasten his return, and the child, finding he got nothing by disturbing + my rest, nor yet by being ill, decided at last to get better and to go to + sleep. + </p> + <p> + You can form no idea of the number of similar caprices to which the little + tyrant had subjected his unlucky tutor; for his education was carried on + under his mother’s eye, and she would not allow her son and heir to + be disobeyed in anything. Whenever he wanted to go out, you must be ready + to take him, or rather to follow him, and he always took good care to + choose the time when he knew his tutor was very busy. He wished to + exercise the same power over me and to avenge himself by day for having to + leave me in peace at night. I gladly agreed and began by showing plainly + how pleased I was to give him pleasure; after that when it was a matter of + curing him of his fancies I set about it differently. + </p> + <p> + In the first place, he must be shown that he was in the wrong. This was + not difficult; knowing that children think only of the present, I took the + easy advantage which foresight gives; I took care to provide him with some + indoor amusement of which he was very fond. Just when he was most occupied + with it, I went and suggested a short walk, and he sent me away. I + insisted, but he paid no attention. I had to give in, and he took note of + this sign of submission. + </p> + <p> + The next day it was my turn. As I expected, he got tired of his + occupation; I, however, pretended to be very busy. That was enough to + decide him. He came to drag me from my work, to take him at once for a + walk. I refused; he persisted. “No,” I said, “when I did + what you wanted, you taught me how to get my own way; I shall not go out.” + “Very well,” he replied eagerly, “I shall go out by + myself.” “As you please,” and I returned to my work. + </p> + <p> + He put on his things rather uneasily when he saw I did not follow his + example. When he was ready he came and made his bow; I bowed too; he tried + to frighten me with stories of the expeditions he was going to make; to + hear him talk you would think he was going to the world’s end. Quite + unmoved, I wished him a pleasant journey. He became more and more + perplexed. However, he put a good face on it, and when he was ready to go + out he told his foot man to follow him. The footman, who had his + instructions, replied that he had no time, and that he was busy carrying + out my orders, and he must obey me first. For the moment the child was + taken aback. How could he think they would really let him go out alone, + him, who, in his own eyes, was the most important person in the world, who + thought that everything in heaven and earth was wrapped up in his welfare? + However, he was beginning to feel his weakness, he perceived that he + should find himself alone among people who knew nothing of him. He saw + beforehand the risks he would run; obstinacy alone sustained him; very + slowly and unwillingly he went downstairs. At last he went out into the + street, consoling himself a little for the harm that might happen to + himself, in the hope that I should be held responsible for it. + </p> + <p> + This was just what I expected. All was arranged beforehand, and as it + meant some sort of public scene I had got his father’s consent. He + had scarcely gone a few steps, when he heard, first on this side then on + that, all sorts of remarks about himself. “What a pretty little + gentleman, neighbour? Where is he going all alone? He will get lost! I + will ask him into our house.” “Take care you don’t. Don’t + you see he is a naughty little boy, who has been turned out of his own + house because he is good for nothing? You must not stop naughty boys; let + him go where he likes.” “Well, well; the good God take care of + him. I should be sorry if anything happened to him.” A little + further on he met some young urchins of about his own age who teased him + and made fun of him. The further he got the more difficulties he found. + Alone and unprotected he was at the mercy of everybody, and he found to + his great surprise that his shoulder knot and his gold lace commanded no + respect. + </p> + <p> + However, I had got a friend of mine, who was a stranger to him, to keep an + eye on him. Unnoticed by him, this friend followed him step by step, and + in due time he spoke to him. The role, like that of Sbrigani in + Pourceaugnac, required an intelligent actor, and it was played to + perfection. Without making the child fearful and timid by inspiring + excessive terror, he made him realise so thoroughly the folly of his + exploit that in half an hour’s time he brought him home to me, + ashamed and humble, and afraid to look me in the face. + </p> + <p> + To put the finishing touch to his discomfiture, just as he was coming in + his father came down on his way out and met him on the stairs. He had to + explain where he had been, and why I was not with him. [Footnote: In a + case like this there is no danger in asking a child to tell the truth, for + he knows very well that it cannot be hid, and that if he ventured to tell + a lie he would be found out at once.] The poor child would gladly have + sunk into the earth. His father did not take the trouble to scold him at + length, but said with more severity than I should have expected, “When + you want to go out by yourself, you can do so, but I will not have a rebel + in my house, so when you go, take good care that you never come back.” + </p> + <p> + As for me, I received him somewhat gravely, but without blame and without + mockery, and for fear he should find out we had been playing with him, I + declined to take him out walking that day. Next day I was well pleased to + find that he passed in triumph with me through the very same people who + had mocked him the previous day, when they met him out by himself. You may + be sure he never threatened to go out without me again. + </p> + <p> + By these means and other like them I succeeded during the short time I was + with him in getting him to do everything I wanted without bidding him or + forbidding him to do anything, without preaching or exhortation, without + wearying him with unnecessary lessons. So he was pleased when I spoke to + him, but when I was silent he was frightened, for he knew there was + something amiss, and he always got his lesson from the thing itself. But + let us return to our subject. + </p> + <p> + The body is strengthened by this constant exercise under the guidance of + nature herself, and far from brutalising the mind, this exercise develops + in it the only kind of reason of which young children are capable, the + kind of reason most necessary at every age. It teaches us how to use our + strength, to perceive the relations between our own and neighbouring + bodies, to use the natural tools, which are within our reach and adapted + to our senses. Is there anything sillier than a child brought up indoors + under his mother’s eye, who, in his ignorance of weight and + resistance, tries to uproot a tall tree or pick up a rock. The first time + I found myself outside Geneva I tried to catch a galloping horse, and I + threw stones at Mont Saleve, two leagues away; I was the laughing stock of + the whole village, and was supposed to be a regular idiot. At eighteen we + are taught in our natural philosophy the use of the lever; every village + boy of twelve knows how to use a lever better than the cleverest + mechanician in the academy. The lessons the scholars learn from one + another in the playground are worth a hundredfold more than what they + learn in the class-room. + </p> + <p> + Watch a cat when she comes into a room for the first time; she goes from + place to place, she sniffs about and examines everything, she is never + still for a moment; she is suspicious of everything till she has examined + it and found out what it is. It is the same with the child when he begins + to walk, and enters, so to speak, the room of the world around him. The + only difference is that, while both use sight, the child uses his hands + and the cat that subtle sense of smell which nature has bestowed upon it. + It is this instinct, rightly or wrongly educated, which makes children + skilful or clumsy, quick or slow, wise or foolish. + </p> + <p> + Man’s primary natural goals are, therefore, to measure himself + against his environment, to discover in every object he sees those + sensible qualities which may concern himself, so his first study is a kind + of experimental physics for his own preservation. He is turned away from + this and sent to speculative studies before he has found his proper place + in the world. While his delicate and flexible limbs can adjust themselves + to the bodies upon which they are intended to act, while his senses are + keen and as yet free from illusions, then is the time to exercise both + limbs and senses in their proper business. It is the time to learn to + perceive the physical relations between ourselves and things. Since + everything that comes into the human mind enters through the gates of + sense, man’s first reason is a reason of sense-experience. It is + this that serves as a foundation for the reason of the intelligence; our + first teachers in natural philosophy are our feet, hands, and eyes. To + substitute books for them does not teach us to reason, it teaches us to + use the reason of others rather than our own; it teaches us to believe + much and know little. + </p> + <p> + Before you can practise an art you must first get your tools; and if you + are to make good use of those tools, they must be fashioned sufficiently + strong to stand use. To learn to think we must therefore exercise our + limbs, our senses, and our bodily organs, which are the tools of the + intellect; and to get the best use out of these tools, the body which + supplies us with them must be strong and healthy. Not only is it quite a + mistake that true reason is developed apart from the body, but it is a + good bodily constitution which makes the workings of the mind easy and + correct. + </p> + <p> + While I am showing how the child’s long period of leisure should be + spent, I am entering into details which may seem absurd. You will say, + “This is a strange sort of education, and it is subject to your own + criticism, for it only teaches what no one needs to learn. Why spend your + time in teaching what will come of itself without care or trouble? Is + there any child of twelve who is ignorant of all you wish to teach your + pupil, while he also knows what his master has taught him.” + </p> + <p> + Gentlemen, you are mistaken. I am teaching my pupil an art, the + acquirement of which demands much time and trouble, an art which your + scholars certainly do not possess; it is the art of being ignorant; for + the knowledge of any one who only thinks he knows, what he really does + know is a very small matter. You teach science; well and good; I am busy + fashioning the necessary tools for its acquisition. Once upon a time, they + say the Venetians were displaying the treasures of the Cathedral of Saint + Mark to the Spanish ambassador; the only comment he made was, “Qui + non c’e la radice.” When I see a tutor showing off his pupil’s + learning, I am always tempted to say the same to him. + </p> + <p> + Every one who has considered the manner of life among the ancients, + attributes the strength of body and mind by which they are distinguished + from the men of our own day to their gymnastic exercises. The stress laid + by Montaigne upon this opinion, shows that it had made a great impression + on him; he returns to it again and again. Speaking of a child’s + education he says, “To strengthen the mind you must harden the + muscles; by training the child to labour you train him to suffering; he + must be broken in to the hardships of gymnastic exercises to prepare him + for the hardships of dislocations, colics, and other bodily ills.” + The philosopher Locke, the worthy Rollin, the learned Fleury, the pedant + De Crouzas, differing as they do so widely from one another, are agreed in + this one matter of sufficient bodily exercise for children. This is the + wisest of their precepts, and the one which is certain to be neglected. I + have already dwelt sufficiently on its importance, and as better reasons + and more sensible rules cannot be found than those in Locke’s book, + I will content myself with referring to it, after taking the liberty of + adding a few remarks of my own. + </p> + <p> + The limbs of a growing child should be free to move easily in his + clothing; nothing should cramp their growth or movement; there should be + nothing tight, nothing fitting closely to the body, no belts of any kind. + The French style of dress, uncomfortable and unhealthy for a man, is + especially bad for children. The stagnant humours, whose circulation is + interrupted, putrify in a state of inaction, and this process proceeds + more rapidly in an inactive and sedentary life; they become corrupt and + give rise to scurvy; this disease, which is continually on the increase + among us, was almost unknown to the ancients, whose way of dressing and + living protected them from it. The hussar’s dress, far from + correcting this fault, increases it, and compresses the whole of the child’s + body, by way of dispensing with a few bands. The best plan is to keep + children in frocks as long as possible and then to provide them with loose + clothing, without trying to define the shape which is only another way of + deforming it. Their defects of body and mind may all be traced to the same + source, the desire to make men of them before their time. + </p> + <p> + There are bright colours and dull; children like the bright colours best, + and they suit them better too. I see no reason why such natural + suitability should not be taken into consideration; but as soon as they + prefer a material because it is rich, their hearts are already given over + to luxury, to every caprice of fashion, and this taste is certainly not + their own. It is impossible to say how much education is influenced by + this choice of clothes, and the motives for this choice. Not only do + short-sighted mothers offer ornaments as rewards to their children, but + there are foolish tutors who threaten to make their pupils wear the + plainest and coarsest clothes as a punishment. “If you do not do + your lessons better, if you do not take more care of your clothes, you + shall be dressed like that little peasant boy.” This is like saying + to them, “Understand that clothes make the man.” Is it to be + wondered at that our young people profit by such wise teaching, that they + care for nothing but dress, and that they only judge of merit by its + outside. + </p> + <p> + If I had to bring such a spoilt child to his senses, I would take care + that his smartest clothes were the most uncomfortable, that he was always + cramped, constrained, and embarrassed in every way; freedom and mirth + should flee before his splendour. If he wanted to take part in the games + of children more simply dressed, they should cease their play and run + away. Before long I should make him so tired and sick of his magnificence, + such a slave to his gold-laced coat, that it would become the plague of + his life, and he would be less afraid to behold the darkest dungeon than + to see the preparations for his adornment. Before the child is enslaved by + our prejudices his first wish is always to be free and comfortable. The + plainest and most comfortable clothes, those which leave him most liberty, + are what he always likes best. + </p> + <p> + There are habits of body suited for an active life and others for a + sedentary life. The latter leaves the humours an equable and uniform + course, and the body should be protected from changes in temperature; the + former is constantly passing from action to rest, from heat to cold, and + the body should be inured to these changes. Hence people, engaged in + sedentary pursuits indoors, should always be warmly dressed, to keep their + bodies as nearly as possible at the same temperature at all times and + seasons. Those, however, who come and go in sun, wind, and rain, who take + much exercise, and spend most of their time out of doors, should always be + lightly clad, so as to get used to the changes in the air and to every + degree of temperature without suffering inconvenience. I would advise both + never to change their clothes with the changing seasons, and that would be + the invariable habit of my pupil Emile. By this I do not mean that he + should wear his winter clothes in summer like many people of sedentary + habits, but that he should wear his summer clothes in winter like + hard-working folk. Sir Isaac Newton always did this, and he lived to be + eighty. + </p> + <p> + Emile should wear little or nothing on his head all the year round. The + ancient Egyptians always went bareheaded; the Persians used to wear heavy + tiaras and still wear large turbans, which according to Chardin are + required by their climate. I have remarked elsewhere on the difference + observed by Herodotus on a battle-field between the skulls of the Persians + and those of the Egyptians. Since it is desirable that the bones of the + skull should grow harder and more substantial, less fragile and porous, + not only to protect the brain against injuries but against colds, fever, + and every influence of the air, you should therefore accustom your + children to go bare-headed winter and summer, day and night. If you make + them wear a night-cap to keep their hair clean and tidy, let it be thin + and transparent like the nets with which the Basques cover their hair. I + am aware that most mothers will be more impressed by Chardin’s + observations than my arguments, and will think that all climates are the + climate of Persia, but I did not choose a European pupil to turn him into + an Asiatic. + </p> + <p> + Children are generally too much wrapped up, particularly in infancy. They + should be accustomed to cold rather than heat; great cold never does them + any harm, if they are exposed to it soon enough; but their skin is still + too soft and tender and leaves too free a course for perspiration, so that + they are inevitably exhausted by excessive heat. It has been observed that + infant mortality is greatest in August. Moreover, it seems certain from a + comparison of northern and southern races that we become stronger by + bearing extreme cold rather than excessive heat. But as the child’s + body grows bigger and his muscles get stronger, train him gradually to + bear the rays of the sun. Little by little you will harden him till he can + face the burning heat of the tropics without danger. + </p> + <p> + Locke, in the midst of the manly and sensible advice he gives us, falls + into inconsistencies one would hardly expect in such a careful thinker. + The same man who would have children take an ice-cold bath summer and + winter, will not let them drink cold water when they are hot, or lie on + damp grass. But he would never have their shoes water-tight; and why + should they let in more water when the child is hot than when he is cold, + and may we not draw the same inference with regard to the feet and body + that he draws with regard to the hands and feet and the body and face? If + he would have a man all face, why blame me if I would have him all feet? + </p> + <p> + To prevent children drinking when they are hot, he says they should be + trained to eat a piece of bread first. It is a strange thing to make a + child eat because he is thirsty; I would as soon give him a drink when he + is hungry. You will never convince me that our first instincts are so + ill-regulated that we cannot satisfy them without endangering our lives. + Were that so, the man would have perished over and over again before he + had learned how to keep himself alive. + </p> + <p> + Whenever Emile is thirsty let him have a drink, and let him drink fresh + water just as it is, not even taking the chill off it in the depths of + winter and when he is bathed in perspiration. The only precaution I advise + is to take care what sort of water you give him. If the water comes from a + river, give it him just as it is; if it is spring-water let it stand a + little exposed to the air before he drinks it. In warm weather rivers are + warm; it is not so with springs, whose water has not been in contact with + the air. You must wait till the temperature of the water is the same as + that of the air. In winter, on the other hand, spring water is safer than + river water. It is, however, unusual and unnatural to perspire greatly in + winter, especially in the open air, for the cold air constantly strikes + the skin and drives the perspiration inwards, and prevents the pores + opening enough to give it passage. Now I do not intend Emile to take his + exercise by the fireside in winter, but in the open air and among the ice. + If he only gets warm with making and throwing snowballs, let him drink + when he is thirsty, and go on with his game after drinking, and you need + not be afraid of any ill effects. And if any other exercise makes him + perspire let him drink cold water even in winter provided he is thirsty. + Only take care to take him to get the water some little distance away. In + such cold as I am supposing, he would have cooled down sufficiently when + he got there to be able to drink without danger. Above all, take care to + conceal these precautions from him. I would rather he were ill now and + then, than always thinking about his health. + </p> + <p> + Since children take such violent exercise they need a great deal of sleep. + The one makes up for the other, and this shows that both are necessary. + Night is the time set apart by nature for rest. It is an established fact + that sleep is quieter and calmer when the sun is below the horizon, and + that our senses are less calm when the air is warmed by the rays of the + sun. So it is certainly the healthiest plan to rise with the sun and go to + bed with the sun. Hence in our country man and all the other animals with + him want more sleep in winter than in summer. But town life is so complex, + so unnatural, so subject to chances and changes, that it is not wise to + accustom a man to such uniformity that he cannot do without it. No doubt + he must submit to rules; but the chief rule is this—be able to break + the rule if necessary. So do not be so foolish as to soften your pupil by + letting him always sleep his sleep out. Leave him at first to the law of + nature without any hindrance, but never forget that under our conditions + he must rise above this law; he must be able to go to bed late and rise + early, be awakened suddenly, or sit up all night without ill effects. + Begin early and proceed gently, a step at a time, and the constitution + adapts itself to the very conditions which would destroy it if they were + imposed for the first time on the grown man. + </p> + <p> + In the next place he must be accustomed to sleep in an uncomfortable bed, + which is the best way to find no bed uncomfortable. Speaking generally, a + hard life, when once we have become used to it, increases our pleasant + experiences; an easy life prepares the way for innumerable unpleasant + experiences. Those who are too tenderly nurtured can only sleep on down; + those who are used to sleep on bare boards can find them anywhere. There + is no such thing as a hard bed for the man who falls asleep at once. + </p> + <p> + The body is, so to speak, melted and dissolved in a soft bed where one + sinks into feathers and eider-down. The reins when too warmly covered + become inflamed. Stone and other diseases are often due to this, and it + invariably produces a delicate constitution, which is the seed-ground of + every ailment. + </p> + <p> + The best bed is that in which we get the best sleep. Emile and I will + prepare such a bed for ourselves during the daytime. We do not need + Persian slaves to make our beds; when we are digging the soil we are + turning our mattresses. I know that a healthy child may be made to sleep + or wake almost at will. When the child is put to bed and his nurse grows + weary of his chatter, she says to him, “Go to sleep.” That is + much like saying, “Get well,” when he is ill. The right way is + to let him get tired of himself. Talk so much that he is compelled to hold + his tongue, and he will soon be asleep. Here is at least one use for + sermons, and you may as well preach to him as rock his cradle; but if you + use this narcotic at night, do not use it by day. + </p> + <p> + I shall sometimes rouse Emile, not so much to prevent his sleeping too + much, as to accustom him to anything—even to waking with a start. + Moreover, I should be unfit for my business if I could not make him wake + himself, and get up, so to speak, at my will, without being called. + </p> + <p> + If he wakes too soon, I shall let him look forward to a tedious morning, + so that he will count as gain any time he can give to sleep. If he sleeps + too late I shall show him some favourite toy when he wakes. If I want him + to wake at a given hour I shall say, “To-morrow at six I am going + fishing,” or “I shall take a walk to such and such a place. + Would you like to come too?” He assents, and begs me to wake him. I + promise, or do not promise, as the case requires. If he wakes too late, he + finds me gone. There is something amiss if he does not soon learn to wake + himself. + </p> + <p> + Moreover, should it happen, though it rarely does, that a sluggish child + desires to stagnate in idleness, you must not give way to this tendency, + which might stupefy him entirely, but you must apply some stimulus to wake + him. You must understand that is no question of applying force, but of + arousing some appetite which leads to action, and such an appetite, + carefully selected on the lines laid down by nature, kills two birds with + one stone. + </p> + <p> + If one has any sort of skill, I can think of nothing for which a taste, a + very passion, cannot be aroused in children, and that without vanity, + emulation, or jealousy. Their keenness, their spirit of imitation, is + enough of itself; above all, there is their natural liveliness, of which + no teacher so far has contrived to take advantage. In every game, when + they are quite sure it is only play, they endure without complaint, or + even with laughter, hardships which they would not submit to otherwise + without floods of tears. The sports of the young savage involve long + fasting, blows, burns, and fatigue of every kind, a proof that even pain + has a charm of its own, which may remove its bitterness. It is not every + master, however, who knows how to season this dish, nor can every scholar + eat it without making faces. However, I must take care or I shall be + wandering off again after exceptions. + </p> + <p> + It is not to be endured that man should become the slave of pain, disease, + accident, the perils of life, or even death itself; the more familiar he + becomes with these ideas the sooner he will be cured of that + over-sensitiveness which adds to the pain by impatience in bearing it; the + sooner he becomes used to the sufferings which may overtake him, the + sooner he shall, as Montaigne has put it, rob those pains of the sting of + unfamiliarity, and so make his soul strong and invulnerable; his body will + be the coat of mail which stops all the darts which might otherwise find a + vital part. Even the approach of death, which is not death itself, will + scarcely be felt as such; he will not die, he will be, so to speak, alive + or dead and nothing more. Montaigne might say of him as he did of a + certain king of Morocco, “No man ever prolonged his life so far into + death.” A child serves his apprenticeship in courage and endurance + as well as in other virtues; but you cannot teach children these virtues + by name alone; they must learn them unconsciously through experience. + </p> + <p> + But speaking of death, what steps shall I take with regard to my pupil and + the smallpox? Shall he be inoculated in infancy, or shall I wait till he + takes it in the natural course of things? The former plan is more in + accordance with our practice, for it preserves his life at a time when it + is of greater value, at the cost of some danger when his life is of less + worth; if indeed we can use the word danger with regard to inoculation + when properly performed. + </p> + <p> + But the other plan is more in accordance with our general principles—to + leave nature to take the precautions she delights in, precautions she + abandons whenever man interferes. The natural man is always ready; let + nature inoculate him herself, she will choose the fitting occasion better + than we. + </p> + <p> + Do not think I am finding fault with inoculation, for my reasons for + exempting my pupil from it do not in the least apply to yours. Your + training does not prepare them to escape catching smallpox as soon as they + are exposed to infection. If you let them take it anyhow, they will + probably die. I perceive that in different lands the resistance to + inoculation is in proportion to the need for it; and the reason is plain. + So I scarcely condescend to discuss this question with regard to Emile. He + will be inoculated or not according to time, place, and circumstances; it + is almost a matter of indifference, as far as he is concerned. If it gives + him smallpox, there will be the advantage of knowing what to expect, + knowing what the disease is; that is a good thing, but if he catches it + naturally it will have kept him out of the doctor’s hands, which is + better. + </p> + <p> + An exclusive education, which merely tends to keep those who have received + it apart from the mass of mankind, always selects such teaching as is + costly rather than cheap, even when the latter is of more use. Thus all + carefully educated young men learn to ride, because it is costly, but + scarcely any of them learn to swim, as it costs nothing, and an artisan + can swim as well as any one. Yet without passing through the riding + school, the traveller learns to mount his horse, to stick on it, and to + ride well enough for practical purposes; but in the water if you cannot + swim you will drown, and we cannot swim unless we are taught. Again, you + are not forced to ride on pain of death, while no one is sure of escaping + such a common danger as drowning. Emile shall be as much at home in the + water as on land. Why should he not be able to live in every element? If + he could learn to fly, he should be an eagle; I would make him a + salamander, if he could bear the heat. + </p> + <p> + People are afraid lest the child should be drowned while he is learning to + swim; if he dies while he is learning, or if he dies because he has not + learnt, it will be your own fault. Foolhardiness is the result of vanity; + we are not rash when no one is looking. Emile will not be foolhardy, + though all the world were watching him. As the exercise does not depend on + its danger, he will learn to swim the Hellespont by swimming, without any + danger, a stream in his father’s park; but he must get used to + danger too, so as not to be flustered by it. This is an essential part of + the apprenticeship I spoke of just now. Moreover, I shall take care to + proportion the danger to his strength, and I shall always share it myself, + so that I need scarcely fear any imprudence if I take as much care for his + life as for my own. + </p> + <p> + A child is smaller than a man; he has not the man’s strength or + reason, but he sees and hears as well or nearly as well; his sense of + taste is very good, though he is less fastidious, and he distinguishes + scents as clearly though less sensuously. The senses are the first of our + faculties to mature; they are those most frequently overlooked or + neglected. + </p> + <p> + To train the senses it is not enough merely to use them; we must learn to + judge by their means, to learn to feel, so to speak; for we cannot touch, + see, or hear, except as we have been taught. + </p> + <p> + There is a mere natural and mechanical use of the senses which strengthens + the body without improving the judgment. It is all very well to swim, run, + jump, whip a top, throw stones; but have we nothing but arms and legs? + Have we not eyes and ears as well; and are not these organs necessary for + the use of the rest? Do not merely exercise the strength, exercise all the + senses by which it is guided; make the best use of every one of them, and + check the results of one by the other. Measure, count, weigh, compare. Do + not use force till you have estimated the resistance; let the estimation + of the effect always precede the application of the means. Get the child + interested in avoiding insufficient or superfluous efforts. If in this way + you train him to calculate the effects of all his movements, and to + correct his mistakes by experience, is it not clear that the more he does + the wiser he will become? + </p> + <p> + Take the case of moving a heavy mass; if he takes too long a lever, he + will waste his strength; if it is too short, he will not have strength + enough; experience will teach him to use the very stick he needs. This + knowledge is not beyond his years. Take, for example, a load to be + carried; if he wants to carry as much as he can, and not to take up more + than he can carry, must he not calculate the weight by the appearance? + Does he know how to compare masses of like substance and different size, + or to choose between masses of the same size and different substances? He + must set to work to compare their specific weights. I have seen a young + man, very highly educated, who could not be convinced, till he had tried + it, that a bucket full of blocks of oak weighed less than the same bucket + full of water. + </p> + <p> + All our senses are not equally under our control. One of them, touch, is + always busy during our waking hours; it is spread over the whole surface + of the body, like a sentinel ever on the watch to warn us of anything + which may do us harm. Whether we will or not, we learn to use it first of + all by experience, by constant practice, and therefore we have less need + for special training for it. Yet we know that the blind have a surer and + more delicate sense of touch than we, for not being guided by the one + sense, they are forced to get from the touch what we get from sight. Why, + then, are not we trained to walk as they do in the dark, to recognise what + we touch, to distinguish things about us; in a word, to do at night and in + the dark what they do in the daytime without sight? We are better off than + they while the sun shines; in the dark it is their turn to be our guide. + We are blind half our time, with this difference: the really blind always + know what to do, while we are afraid to stir in the dark. We have lights, + you say. What always artificial aids. Who can insure that they will always + be at hand when required. I had rather Emil’s eyes were in his + finger tips, than in the chandler’s shop. + </p> + <p> + If you are shut up in a building at night, clap your hands, you will know + from the sound whether the space is large or small, if you are in the + middle or in one corner. Half a foot from a wall the air, which is + refracted and does not circulate freely, produces a different effect on + your face. Stand still in one place and turn this way and that; a slight + draught will tell you if there is a door open. If you are on a boat you + will perceive from the way the air strikes your face not merely the + direction in which you are going, but whether the current is bearing you + slow or fast. These observations and many others like them can only be + properly made at night; however much attention we give to them by + daylight, we are always helped or hindered by sight, so that the results + escape us. Yet here we use neither hand nor stick. How much may be learnt + by touch, without ever touching anything! + </p> + <p> + I would have plenty of games in the dark! This suggestion is more valuable + than it seems at first sight. Men are naturally afraid of the dark; so are + some animals. [Footnote: This terror is very noticeable during great + eclipses of the sun.] Only a few men are freed from this burden by + knowledge, determination, and courage. I have seen thinkers, unbelievers, + philosophers, exceedingly brave by daylight, tremble like women at the + rustling of a leaf in the dark. This terror is put down to nurses’ + tales; this is a mistake; it has a natural cause. What is this cause? What + makes the deaf suspicious and the lower classes superstitious? Ignorance + of the things about us, and of what is taking place around us. [Footnote: + Another cause has been well explained by a philosopher, often quoted in + this work, a philosopher to whose wide views I am very greatly indebted.] + </p> + <p> + When under special conditions we cannot form a fair idea of distance, when + we can only judge things by the size of the angle or rather of the image + formed in our eyes, we cannot avoid being deceived as to the size of these + objects. Every one knows by experience how when we are travelling at night + we take a bush near at hand for a great tree at a distance, and vice + versa. In the same way, if the objects were of a shape unknown to us, so + that we could not tell their size in that way, we should be equally + mistaken with regard to it. If a fly flew quickly past a few inches from + our eyes, we should think it was a distant bird; a horse standing still at + a distance from us in the midst of open country, in a position somewhat + like that of a sheep, would be taken for a large sheep, so long as we did + not perceive that it was a horse; but as soon as we recognise what it is, + it seems as large as a horse, and we at once correct our former judgment. + </p> + <p> + Whenever one finds oneself in unknown places at night where we cannot + judge of distance, and where we cannot recognise objects by their shape on + account of the darkness, we are in constant danger of forming mistaken + judgments as to the objects which present themselves to our notice. Hence + that terror, that kind of inward fear experienced by most people on dark + nights. This is foundation for the supposed appearances of spectres, or + gigantic and terrible forms which so many people profess to have seen. + They are generally told that they imagined these things, yet they may + really have seen them, and it is quite possible they really saw what they + say they did see; for it will always be the case that when we can only + estimate the size of an object by the angle it forms in the eye, that + object will swell and grow as we approach it; and if the spectator thought + it several feet high when it was thirty or forty feet away, it will seem + very large indeed when it is a few feet off; this must indeed astonish and + alarm the spectator until he touches it and perceives what it is, for as + soon as he perceives what it is, the object which seemed so gigantic will + suddenly shrink and assume its real size, but if we run away or are afraid + to approach, we shall certainly form no other idea of the thing than the + image formed in the eye, and we shall have really seen a gigantic figure + of alarming size and shape. There is, therefore, a natural ground for the + tendency to see ghosts, and these appearances are not merely the creation + of the imagination, as the men of science would have us think.—Buffon, + Nat. Hist. + </p> + <p> + In the text I have tried to show that they are always partly the creation + of the imagination, and with regard to the cause explained in this + quotation, it is clear that the habit of walking by night should teach us + to distinguish those appearances which similarity of form and diversity of + distance lend to the objects seen in the dark. For if the air is light + enough for us to see the outlines there must be more air between us and + them when they are further off, so that we ought to see them less + distinctly when further off, which should be enough, when we are used to + it, to prevent the error described by M. Buffon. [Whichever explanation + you prefer, my mode of procedure is still efficacious, and experience + entirely confirms it.] Accustomed to perceive things from a distance and + to calculate their effects, how can I help supposing, when I cannot see, + that there are hosts of creatures and all sorts of movements all about me + which may do me harm, and against which I cannot protect myself? In vain + do I know I am safe where I am; I am never so sure of it as when I can + actually see it, so that I have always a cause for fear which did not + exist in broad daylight. I know, indeed, that a foreign body can scarcely + act upon me without some slight sound, and how intently I listen! At the + least sound which I cannot explain, the desire of self-preservation makes + me picture everything that would put me on my guard, and therefore + everything most calculated to alarm me. + </p> + <p> + I am just as uneasy if I hear no sound, for I might be taken unawares + without a sound. I must picture things as they were before, as they ought + to be; I must see what I do not see. Thus driven to exercise my + imagination, it soon becomes my master, and what I did to reassure myself + only alarms me more. I hear a noise, it is a robber; I hear nothing, it is + a ghost. The watchfulness inspired by the instinct of self-preservation + only makes me more afraid. Everything that ought to reassure me exists + only for my reason, and the voice of instinct is louder than that of + reason. What is the good of thinking there is nothing to be afraid of, + since in that case there is nothing we can do? + </p> + <p> + The cause indicates the cure. In everything habit overpowers imagination; + it is only aroused by what is new. It is no longer imagination, but memory + which is concerned with what we see every day, and that is the reason of + the maxim, “Ab assuetis non fit passio,” for it is only at the + flame of imagination that the passions are kindled. Therefore do not argue + with any one whom you want to cure of the fear of darkness; take him often + into dark places and be assured this practice will be of more avail than + all the arguments of philosophy. The tiler on the roof does not know what + it is to be dizzy, and those who are used to the dark will not be afraid. + </p> + <p> + There is another advantage to be gained from our games in the dark. But if + these games are to be a success I cannot speak too strongly of the need + for gaiety. Nothing is so gloomy as the dark: do not shut your child up in + a dungeon, let him laugh when he goes, into a dark place, let him laugh + when he comes out, so that the thought of the game he is leaving and the + games he will play next may protect him from the fantastic imagination + which might lay hold on him. + </p> + <p> + There comes a stage in life beyond which we progress backwards. I feel I + have reached this stage. I am, so to speak, returning to a past career. + The approach of age makes us recall the happy days of our childhood. As I + grow old I become a child again, and I recall more readily what I did at + ten than at thirty. Reader, forgive me if I sometimes draw my examples + from my own experience. If this book is to be well written, I must enjoy + writing it. + </p> + <p> + I was living in the country with a pastor called M. Lambercier. My + companion was a cousin richer than myself, who was regarded as the heir to + some property, while I, far from my father, was but a poor orphan. My big + cousin Bernard was unusually timid, especially at night. I laughed at his + fears, till M. Lambercier was tired of my boasting, and determined to put + my courage to the proof. One autumn evening, when it was very dark, he + gave me the church key, and told me to go and fetch a Bible he had left in + the pulpit. To put me on my mettle he said something which made it + impossible for me to refuse. + </p> + <p> + I set out without a light; if I had had one, it would perhaps have been + even worse. I had to pass through the graveyard; I crossed it bravely, for + as long as I was in the open air I was never afraid of the dark. + </p> + <p> + As I opened the door I heard a sort of echo in the roof; it sounded like + voices and it began to shake my Roman courage. Having opened the door I + tried to enter, but when I had gone a few steps I stopped. At the sight of + the profound darkness in which the vast building lay I was seized with + terror and my hair stood on end. I turned, I went out through the door, + and took to my heels. In the yard I found a little dog, called Sultan, + whose caresses reassured me. Ashamed of my fears, I retraced my steps, + trying to take Sultan with me, but he refused to follow. Hurriedly I + opened the door and entered the church. I was hardly inside when terror + again got hold of me and so firmly that I lost my head, and though the + pulpit was on the right, as I very well knew, I sought it on the left, and + entangling myself among the benches I was completely lost. Unable to find + either pulpit or door, I fell into an indescribable state of mind. At last + I found the door and managed to get out of the church and run away as I + had done before, quite determined never to enter the church again except + in broad daylight. + </p> + <p> + I returned to the house; on the doorstep I heard M. Lambercier laughing, + laughing, as I supposed, at me. Ashamed to face his laughter, I was + hesitating to open the door, when I heard Miss Lambercier, who was anxious + about me, tell the maid to get the lantern, and M. Lambercier got ready to + come and look for me, escorted by my gallant cousin, who would have got + all the credit for the expedition. All at once my fears departed, and left + me merely surprised at my terror. I ran, I fairly flew, to the church; + without losing my way, without groping about, I reached the pulpit, took + the Bible, and ran down the steps. In three strides I was out of the + church, leaving the door open. Breathless, I entered the room and threw + the Bible on the table, frightened indeed, but throbbing with pride that I + had done it without the proposed assistance. + </p> + <p> + You will ask if I am giving this anecdote as an example, and as an + illustration, of the mirth which I say should accompany these games. Not + so, but I give it as a proof that there is nothing so well calculated to + reassure any one who is afraid in the dark as to hear sounds of laughter + and talking in an adjoining room. Instead of playing alone with your pupil + in the evening, I would have you get together a number of merry children; + do not send them alone to begin with, but several together, and do not + venture to send any one quite alone, until you are quite certain + beforehand that he will not be too frightened. + </p> + <p> + I can picture nothing more amusing and more profitable than such games, + considering how little skill is required to organise them. In a large room + I should arrange a sort of labyrinth of tables, armchairs, chairs, and + screens. In the inextricable windings of this labyrinth I should place + some eight or ten sham boxes, and one real box almost exactly like them, + but well filled with sweets. I should describe clearly and briefly the + place where the right box would be found. I should give instructions + sufficient to enable people more attentive and less excitable than + children to find it. [Footnote: To practise them in attention, only tell + them things which it is clearly to their present interest that they should + understand thoroughly; above all be brief, never say a word more than + necessary. But neither let your speech be obscure nor of doubtful + meaning.] Then having made the little competitors draw lots, I should send + first one and then another till the right box was found. I should increase + the difficulty of the task in proportion to their skill. + </p> + <p> + Picture to yourself a youthful Hercules returning, box in hand, quite + proud of his expedition. The box is placed on the table and opened with + great ceremony. I can hear the bursts of laughter and the shouts of the + merry party when, instead of the looked-for sweets, he finds, neatly + arranged on moss or cotton-wool, a beetle, a snail, a bit of coal, a few + acorns, a turnip, or some such thing. Another time in a newly whitewashed + room, a toy or some small article of furniture would be hung on the wall + and the children would have to fetch it without touching the wall. When + the child who fetches it comes back, if he has failed ever so little to + fulfil the conditions, a dab of white on the brim of his cap, the tip of + his shoe, the flap of his coat or his sleeve, will betray his lack of + skill. + </p> + <p> + This is enough, or more than enough, to show the spirit of these games. Do + not read my book if you expect me to tell you everything. + </p> + <p> + What great advantages would be possessed by a man so educated, when + compared with others. His feet are accustomed to tread firmly in the dark, + and his hands to touch lightly; they will guide him safely in the thickest + darkness. His imagination is busy with the evening games of his childhood, + and will find it difficult to turn towards objects of alarm. If he thinks + he hears laughter, it will be the laughter of his former playfellows, not + of frenzied spirits; if he thinks there is a host of people, it will not + be the witches’ sabbath, but the party in his tutor’s study. + Night only recalls these cheerful memories, and it will never alarm him; + it will inspire delight rather than fear. He will be ready for a military + expedition at any hour, with or without his troop. He will enter the camp + of Saul, he will find his way, he will reach the king’s tent without + waking any one, and he will return unobserved. Are the steeds of Rhesus to + be stolen, you may trust him. You will scarcely find a Ulysses among men + educated in any other fashion. + </p> + <p> + I have known people who tried to train the children not to fear the dark + by startling them. This is a very bad plan; its effects are just the + opposite of those desired, and it only makes children more timid. Neither + reason nor habit can secure us from the fear of a present danger whose + degree and kind are unknown, nor from the fear of surprises which we have + often experienced. Yet how will you make sure that you can preserve your + pupil from such accidents? I consider this the best advice to give him + beforehand. I should say to Emile, “This is a matter of + self-defence, for the aggressor does not let you know whether he means to + hurt or frighten you, and as the advantage is on his side you cannot even + take refuge in flight. Therefore seize boldly anything, whether man or + beast, which takes you unawares in the dark. Grasp it, squeeze it with all + your might; if it struggles, strike, and do not spare your blows; and + whatever he may say or do, do not let him go till you know just who he is. + The event will probably prove that you had little to be afraid of, but + this way of treating practical jokers would naturally prevent their trying + it again.” + </p> + <p> + Although touch is the sense oftenest used, its discrimination remains, as + I have already pointed out, coarser and more imperfect than that of any + other sense, because we always use sight along with it; the eye perceives + the thing first, and the mind almost always judges without the hand. On + the other hand, discrimination by touch is the surest just because of its + limitations; for extending only as far as our hands can reach, it corrects + the hasty judgments of the other senses, which pounce upon objects + scarcely perceived, while what we learn by touch is learnt thoroughly. + Moreover, touch, when required, unites the force of our muscles to the + action of the nerves; we associate by simultaneous sensations our ideas of + temperature, size, and shape, to those of weight and density. Thus touch + is the sense which best teaches us the action of foreign bodies upon + ourselves, the sense which most directly supplies us with the knowledge + required for self-preservation. + </p> + <p> + As the trained touch takes the place of sight, why should it not, to some + extent, take the place of hearing, since sounds set up, in sonorous + bodies, vibrations perceptible by touch? By placing the hand on the body + of a ’cello one can distinguish without the use of eye or ear, + merely by the way in which the wood vibrates and trembles, whether the + sound given out is sharp or flat, whether it is drawn from the treble + string or the bass. If our touch were trained to note these differences, + no doubt we might in time become so sensitive as to hear a whole tune by + means of our fingers. But if we admit this, it is clear that one could + easily speak to the deaf by means of music; for tone and measure are no + less capable of regular combination than voice and articulation, so that + they might be used as the elements of speech. + </p> + <p> + There are exercises by which the sense of touch is blunted and deadened, + and others which sharpen it and make it delicate and discriminating. The + former, which employ much movement and force for the continued impression + of hard bodies, make the skin hard and thick, and deprive it of its + natural sensitiveness. The latter are those which give variety to this + feeling, by slight and repeated contact, so that the mind is attentive to + constantly recurring impressions, and readily learns to discern their + variations. This difference is clear in the use of musical instruments. + The harsh and painful touch of the ’cello, bass-viol, and even of + the violin, hardens the finger-tips, although it gives flexibility to the + fingers. The soft and smooth touch of the harpsichord makes the fingers + both flexible and sensitive. In this respect the harpsichord is to be + preferred. + </p> + <p> + The skin protects the rest of the body, so it is very important to harden + it to the effects of the air that it may be able to bear its changes. With + regard to this I may say I would not have the hand roughened by too + servile application to the same kind of work, nor should the skin of the + hand become hardened so as to lose its delicate sense of touch which keeps + the body informed of what is going on, and by the kind of contact + sometimes makes us shudder in different ways even in the dark. + </p> + <p> + Why should my pupil be always compelled to wear the skin of an ox under + his foot? What harm would come of it if his own skin could serve him at + need as a sole. It is clear that a delicate skin could never be of any use + in this way, and may often do harm. The Genevese, aroused at midnight by + their enemies in the depth of winter, seized their guns rather than their + shoes. Who can tell whether the town would have escaped capture if its + citizens had not been able to go barefoot? + </p> + <p> + Let a man be always fore-armed against the unforeseen. Let Emile run about + barefoot all the year round, upstairs, downstairs, and in the garden. Far + from scolding him, I shall follow his example; only I shall be careful to + remove any broken glass. I shall soon proceed to speak of work and manual + occupations. Meanwhile, let him learn to perform every exercise which + encourages agility of body; let him learn to hold himself easily and + steadily in any position, let him practise jumping and leaping, climbing + trees and walls. Let him always find his balance, and let his every + movement and gesture be regulated by the laws of weight, long before he + learns to explain them by the science of statics. By the way his foot is + planted on the ground, and his body supported on his leg, he ought to know + if he is holding himself well or ill. An easy carriage is always graceful, + and the steadiest positions are the most elegant. If I were a dancing + master I would refuse to play the monkey tricks of Marcel, which are only + fit for the stage where they are performed; but instead of keeping my + pupil busy with fancy steps, I would take him to the foot of a cliff. + There I would show him how to hold himself, how to carry his body and + head, how to place first a foot then a hand, to follow lightly the steep, + toilsome, and rugged paths, to leap from point to point, either up or + down. He should emulate the mountain-goat, not the ballet dancer. + </p> + <p> + As touch confines its operations to the man’s immediate + surroundings, so sight extends its range beyond them; it is this which + makes it misleading; man sees half his horizon at a glance. In the midst + of this host of simultaneous impressions and the thoughts excited by them, + how can he fail now and then to make mistakes? Thus sight is the least + reliable of our senses, just because it has the widest range; it functions + long before our other senses, and its work is too hasty and on too large a + scale to be corrected by the rest. Moreover, the very illusions of + perspective are necessary if we are to arrive at a knowledge of space and + compare one part of space with another. Without false appearances we + should never see anything at a distance; without the gradations of size + and tone we could not judge of distance, or rather distance would have no + existence for us. If two trees, one of which was a hundred paces from us + and the other ten, looked equally large and distinct, we should think they + were side by side. If we perceived the real dimensions of things, we + should know nothing of space; everything would seem close to our eyes. + </p> + <p> + The angle formed between any objects and our eye is the only means by + which our sight estimates their size and distance, and as this angle is + the simple effect of complex causes, the judgment we form does not + distinguish between the several causes; we are compelled to be inaccurate. + For how can I tell, by sight alone, whether the angle at which an object + appears to me smaller than another, indicates that it is really smaller or + that it is further off. + </p> + <p> + Here we must just reverse our former plan. Instead of simplifying the + sensation, always reinforce it and verify it by means of another sense. + Subject the eye to the hand, and, so to speak, restrain the precipitation + of the former sense by the slower and more reasoned pace of the latter. + For want of this sort of practice our sight measurements are very + imperfect. We cannot correctly, and at a glance, estimate height, length, + breadth, and distance; and the fact that engineers, surveyors, architects, + masons, and painters are generally quicker to see and better able to + estimate distances correctly, proves that the fault is not in our eyes, + but in our use of them. Their occupations give them the training we lack, + and they check the equivocal results of the angle of vision by its + accompanying experiences, which determine the relations of the two causes + of this angle for their eyes. + </p> + <p> + Children will always do anything that keeps them moving freely. There are + countless ways of rousing their interest in measuring, perceiving, and + estimating distance. There is a very tall cherry tree; how shall we gather + the cherries? Will the ladder in the barn be big enough? There is a wide + stream; how shall we get to the other side? Would one of the wooden planks + in the yard reach from bank to bank? From our windows we want to fish in + the moat; how many yards of line are required? I want to make a swing + between two trees; will two fathoms of cord be enough? They tell me our + room in the new house will be twenty-five feet square; do you think it + will be big enough for us? Will it be larger than this? We are very + hungry; here are two villages, which can we get to first for our dinner? + </p> + <p> + An idle, lazy child was to be taught to run. He had no liking for this or + any other exercise, though he was intended for the army. Somehow or other + he had got it into his head that a man of his rank need know nothing and + do nothing—that his birth would serve as a substitute for arms and + legs, as well as for every kind of virtue. The skill of Chiron himself + would have failed to make a fleet-footed Achilles of this young gentleman. + The difficulty was increased by my determination to give him no kind of + orders. I had renounced all right to direct him by preaching, promises, + threats, emulation, or the desire to show off. How should I make him want + to run without saying anything? I might run myself, but he might not + follow my example, and this plan had other drawbacks. Moreover, I must + find some means of teaching him through this exercise, so as to train mind + and body to work together. This is how I, or rather how the teacher who + supplied me with this illustration, set about it. + </p> + <p> + When I took him a walk of an afternoon I sometimes put in my pocket a + couple of cakes, of a kind he was very fond of; we each ate one while we + were out, and we came back well pleased with our outing. One day he + noticed I had three cakes; he could have easily eaten six, so he ate his + cake quickly and asked for the other. “No,” said I, “I + could eat it myself, or we might divide it, but I would rather see those + two little boys run a race for it.” I called them to us, showed them + the cake, and suggested that they should race for it. They were delighted. + The cake was placed on a large stone which was to be the goal; the course + was marked out, we sat down, and at a given signal off flew the children! + The victor seized the cake and ate it without pity in the sight of the + spectators and of his defeated rival. + </p> + <p> + The sport was better than the cake; but the lesson did not take effect all + at once, and produced no result. I was not discouraged, nor did I hurry; + teaching is a trade at which one must be able to lose time and save it. + Our walks were continued, sometimes we took three cakes, sometimes four, + and from time to time there were one or two cakes for the racers. If the + prize was not great, neither was the ambition of the competitors. The + winner was praised and petted, and everything was done with much ceremony. + To give room to run and to add interest to the race I marked out a longer + course and admitted several fresh competitors. Scarcely had they entered + the lists than all the passers-by stopped to watch. They were encouraged + by shouting, cheering, and clapping. I sometimes saw my little man + trembling with excitement, jumping up and shouting when one was about to + reach or overtake another—to him these were the Olympian games. + </p> + <p> + However, the competitors did not always play fair, they got in each other’s + way, or knocked one another down, or put stones on the track. That led us + to separate them and make them start from different places at equal + distances from the goal. You will soon see the reason for this, for I must + describe this important affair at length. + </p> + <p> + Tired of seeing his favourite cakes devoured before his eyes, the young + lord began to suspect that there was some use in being a quick runner, and + seeing that he had two legs of his own, he began to practise running on + the quiet. I took care to see nothing, but I knew my stratagem had taken + effect. When he thought he was good enough (and I thought so too), he + pretended to tease me to give him the other cake. I refused; he persisted, + and at last he said angrily, “Well, put it on the stone and mark out + the course, and we shall see.” “Very good,” said I, + laughing, “You will get a good appetite, but you will not get the + cake.” Stung by my mockery, he took heart, won the prize, all the + more easily because I had marked out a very short course and taken care + that the best runner was out of the way. It will be evident that, after + the first step, I had no difficulty in keeping him in training. Soon he + took such a fancy for this form of exercise that without any favour he was + almost certain to beat the little peasant boys at running, however long + the course. + </p> + <p> + The advantage thus obtained led unexpectedly to another. So long as he + seldom won the prize, he ate it himself like his rivals, but as he got + used to victory he grew generous, and often shared it with the defeated. + That taught me a lesson in morals and I saw what was the real root of + generosity. + </p> + <p> + While I continued to mark out a different starting place for each + competitor, he did not notice that I had made the distances unequal, so + that one of them, having farther to run to reach the goal, was clearly at + a disadvantage. But though I left the choice to my pupil he did not know + how to take advantage of it. Without thinking of the distance, he always + chose the smoothest path, so that I could easily predict his choice, and + could almost make him win or lose the cake at my pleasure. I had more than + one end in view in this stratagem; but as my plan was to get him to notice + the difference himself, I tried to make him aware of it. Though he was + generally lazy and easy going, he was so eager in his sports and trusted + me so completely that I had great difficulty in making him see that I was + cheating him. When at last I managed to make him see it in spite of his + excitement, he was angry with me. “What have you to complain of?” + said I. “In a gift which I propose to give of my own free will am + not I master of the conditions? Who makes you run? Did I promise to make + the courses equal? Is not the choice yours? Do not you see that I am + favouring you, and that the inequality you complain of is all to your + advantage, if you knew how to use it?” That was plain to him; and to + choose he must observe more carefully. At first he wanted to count the + paces, but a child measures paces slowly and inaccurately; moreover, I + decided to have several races on one day; and the game having become a + sort of passion with the child, he was sorry to waste in measuring the + portion of time intended for running. Such delays are not in accordance + with a child’s impatience; he tried therefore to see better and to + reckon the distance more accurately at sight. It was now quite easy to + extend and develop this power. At length, after some months’ + practice, and the correction of his errors, I so trained his power of + judging at sight that I had only to place an imaginary cake on any distant + object and his glance was nearly as accurate as the surveyor’s + chain. + </p> + <p> + Of all the senses, sight is that which we can least distinguish from the + judgments of the mind; as it takes a long time to learn to see. It takes a + long time to compare sight and touch, and to train the former sense to + give a true report of shape and distance. Without touch, without + progressive motion, the sharpest eyes in the world could give us no idea + of space. To the oyster the whole world must seem a point, and it would + seem nothing more to it even if it had a human mind. It is only by + walking, feeling, counting, measuring the dimensions of things, that we + learn to judge them rightly; but, on the other hand, if we were always + measuring, our senses would trust to the instrument and would never gain + confidence. Nor must the child pass abruptly from measurement to judgment; + he must continue to compare the parts when he could not compare the whole; + he must substitute his estimated aliquot parts for exact aliquot parts, + and instead of always applying the measure by hand he must get used to + applying it by eye alone. I would, however, have his first estimates + tested by measurement, so that he may correct his errors, and if there is + a false impression left upon the senses he may correct it by a better + judgment. The same natural standards of measurement are in use almost + everywhere, the man’s foot, the extent of his outstretched arms, his + height. When the child wants to measure the height of a room, his tutor + may serve as a measuring rod; if he is estimating the height of a steeple + let him measure it by the house; if he wants to know how many leagues of + road there are, let him count the hours spent in walking along it. Above + all, do not do this for him; let him do it himself. + </p> + <p> + One cannot learn to estimate the extent and size of bodies without at the + same time learning to know and even to copy their shape; for at bottom + this copying depends entirely on the laws of perspective, and one cannot + estimate distance without some feeling for these laws. All children in the + course of their endless imitation try to draw; and I would have Emile + cultivate this art; not so much for art’s sake, as to give him + exactness of eye and flexibility of hand. Generally speaking, it matters + little whether he is acquainted with this or that occupation, provided he + gains clearness of sense—perception and the good bodily habits which + belong to the exercise in question. So I shall take good care not to + provide him with a drawing master, who would only set him to copy copies + and draw from drawings. Nature should be his only teacher, and things his + only models. He should have the real thing before his eyes, not its copy + on paper. Let him draw a house from a house, a tree from a tree, a man + from a man; so that he may train himself to observe objects and their + appearance accurately and not to take false and conventional copies for + truth. I would even train him to draw only from objects actually before + him and not from memory, so that, by repeated observation, their exact + form may be impressed on his imagination, for fear lest he should + substitute absurd and fantastic forms for the real truth of things, and + lose his sense of proportion and his taste for the beauties of nature. + </p> + <p> + Of course I know that in this way he will make any number of daubs before + he produces anything recognisable, that it will be long before he attains + to the graceful outline and light touch of the draughtsman; perhaps he + will never have an eye for picturesque effect or a good taste in drawing. + On the other hand, he will certainly get a truer eye, a surer hand, a + knowledge of the real relations of form and size between animals, plants, + and natural objects, together with a quicker sense of the effects of + perspective. That is just what I wanted, and my purpose is rather that he + should know things than copy them. I would rather he showed me a plant of + acanthus even if he drew a capital with less accuracy. + </p> + <p> + Moreover, in this occupation as in others, I do not intend my pupil to + play by himself; I mean to make it pleasanter for him by always sharing it + with him. He shall have no other rival; but mine will be a continual + rivalry, and there will be no risk attaching to it; it will give interest + to his pursuits without awaking jealousy between us. I shall follow his + example and take up a pencil; at first I shall use it as unskilfully as + he. I should be an Apelles if I did not set myself daubing. To begin with, + I shall draw a man such as lads draw on walls, a line for each arm, + another for each leg, with the fingers longer than the arm. Long after, + one or other of us will notice this lack of proportion; we shall observe + that the leg is thick, that this thickness varies, that the length of the + arm is proportionate to the body. In this improvement I shall either go + side by side with my pupil, or so little in advance that he will always + overtake me easily and sometimes get ahead of me. We shall get brushes and + paints, we shall try to copy the colours of things and their whole + appearance, not merely their shape. We shall colour prints, we shall + paint, we shall daub; but in all our daubing we shall be searching out the + secrets of nature, and whatever we do shall be done under the eye of that + master. + </p> + <p> + We badly needed ornaments for our room, and now we have them ready to our + hand. I will have our drawings framed and covered with good glass, so that + no one will touch them, and thus seeing them where we put them, each of us + has a motive for taking care of his own. I arrange them in order round the + room, each drawing repeated some twenty or thirty times, thus showing the + author’s progress in each specimen, from the time when the house is + merely a rude square, till its front view, its side view, its proportions, + its light and shade are all exactly portrayed. These graduations will + certainly furnish us with pictures, a source of interest to ourselves and + of curiosity to others, which will spur us on to further emulation. The + first and roughest drawings I put in very smart gilt frames to show them + off; but as the copy becomes more accurate and the drawing really good, I + only give it a very plain dark frame; it needs no other ornament than + itself, and it would be a pity if the frame distracted the attention which + the picture itself deserves. Thus we each aspire to a plain frame, and + when we desire to pour scorn on each other’s drawings, we condemn + them to a gilded frame. Some day perhaps “the gilt frame” will + become a proverb among us, and we shall be surprised to find how many + people show what they are really made of by demanding a gilt frame. + </p> + <p> + I have said already that geometry is beyond the child’s reach; but + that is our own fault. We fail to perceive that their method is not ours, + that what is for us the art of reasoning, should be for them the art of + seeing. Instead of teaching them our way, we should do better to adopt + theirs, for our way of learning geometry is quite as much a matter of + imagination as of reasoning. When a proposition is enunciated you must + imagine the proof; that is, you must discover on what proposition already + learnt it depends, and of all the possible deductions from that + proposition you must choose just the one required. + </p> + <p> + In this way the closest reasoner, if he is not inventive, may find himself + at a loss. What is the result? Instead of making us discover proofs, they + are dictated to us; instead of teaching us to reason, our memory only is + employed. + </p> + <p> + Draw accurate figures, combine them together, put them one upon another, + examine their relations, and you will discover the whole of elementary + geometry in passing from one observation to another, without a word of + definitions, problems, or any other form of demonstration but + super-position. I do not profess to teach Emile geometry; he will teach + me; I shall seek for relations, he will find them, for I shall seek in + such a fashion as to make him find. For instance, instead of using a pair + of compasses to draw a circle, I shall draw it with a pencil at the end of + bit of string attached to a pivot. After that, when I want to compare the + radii one with another, Emile will laugh at me and show me that the same + thread at full stretch cannot have given distances of unequal length. If I + wish to measure an angle of 60 degrees I describe from the apex of the + angle, not an arc, but a complete circle, for with children nothing must + be taken for granted. I find that the part of the circle contained between + the two lines of the angle is the sixth part of a circle. Then I describe + another and larger circle from the same centre, and I find the second arc + is again the sixth part of its circle. I describe a third concentric + circle with a similar result, and I continue with more and more circles + till Emile, shocked at my stupidity, shows me that every arc, large or + small, contained by the same angle will always be the sixth part of its + circle. Now we are ready to use the protractor. + </p> + <p> + To prove that two adjacent angles are equal to two right angles people + describe a circle. On the contrary I would have Emile observe the fact in + a circle, and then I should say, “If we took away the circle and + left the straight lines, would the angles have changed their size, etc.?” + </p> + <p> + Exactness in the construction of figures is neglected; it is taken for + granted and stress is laid on the proof. With us, on the other hand, there + will be no question of proof. Our chief business will be to draw very + straight, accurate, and even lines, a perfect square, a really round + circle. To verify the exactness of a figure we will test it by each of its + sensible properties, and that will give us a chance to discover fresh + properties day by day. We will fold the two semi-circles along the + diameter, the two halves of the square by the diagonal; he will compare + our two figures to see who has got the edges to fit most exactly, i.e., + who has done it best; we should argue whether this equal division would + always be possible in parallelograms, trapezes, etc. We shall sometimes + try to forecast the result of an experiment, to find reasons, etc. + </p> + <p> + Geometry means to my scholar the successful use of the rule and compass; + he must not confuse it with drawing, in which these instruments are not + used. The rule and compass will be locked up, so that he will not get into + the way of messing about with them, but we may sometimes take our figures + with us when we go for a walk, and talk over what we have done, or what we + mean to do. + </p> + <p> + I shall never forget seeing a young man at Turin, who had learnt as a + child the relations of contours and surfaces by having to choose every day + isoperimetric cakes among cakes of every geometrical figure. The greedy + little fellow had exhausted the art of Archimedes to find which were the + biggest. + </p> + <p> + When the child flies a kite he is training eye and hand to accuracy; when + he whips a top, he is increasing his strength by using it, but without + learning anything. I have sometimes asked why children are not given the + same games of skill as men; tennis, mall, billiards, archery, football, + and musical instruments. I was told that some of these are beyond their + strength, that the child’s senses are not sufficiently developed for + others. These do not strike me as valid reasons; a child is not as tall as + a man, but he wears the same sort of coat; I do not want him to play with + our cues at a billiard-table three feet high; I do not want him knocking + about among our games, nor carrying one of our racquets in his little + hand; but let him play in a room whose windows have been protected; at + first let him only use soft balls, let his first racquets be of wood, then + of parchment, and lastly of gut, according to his progress. You prefer the + kite because it is less tiring and there is no danger. You are doubly + wrong. Kite-flying is a sport for women, but every woman will run away + from a swift ball. Their white skins were not meant to be hardened by + blows and their faces were not made for bruises. But we men are made for + strength; do you think we can attain it without hardship, and what defence + shall we be able to make if we are attacked? People always play carelessly + in games where there is no danger. A falling kite hurts nobody, but + nothing makes the arm so supple as protecting the head, nothing makes the + sight so accurate as having to guard the eye. To dash from one end of the + room to another, to judge the rebound of a ball before it touches the + ground, to return it with strength and accuracy, such games are not so + much sports fit for a man, as sports fit to make a man of him. + </p> + <p> + The child’s limbs, you say, are too tender. They are not so strong + as those of a man, but they are more supple. His arm is weak, still it is + an arm, and it should be used with due consideration as we use other + tools. Children have no skill in the use of their hands. That is just why + I want them to acquire skill; a man with as little practice would be just + as clumsy. We can only learn the use of our limbs by using them. It is + only by long experience that we learn to make the best of ourselves, and + this experience is the real object of study to which we cannot apply + ourselves too early. + </p> + <p> + What is done can be done. Now there is nothing commoner than to find + nimble and skilful children whose limbs are as active as those of a man. + They may be seen at any fair, swinging, walking on their hands, jumping, + dancing on the tight rope. For many years past, troops of children have + attracted spectators to the ballets at the Italian Comedy House. Who is + there in Germany and Italy who has not heard of the famous pantomime + company of Nicolini? Has it ever occurred to any one that the movements of + these children were less finished, their postures less graceful, their + ears less true, their dancing more clumsy than those of grown-up dancers? + If at first the fingers are thick, short, and awkward, the dimpled hands + unable to grasp anything, does this prevent many children from learning to + read and write at an age when others cannot even hold a pen or pencil? All + Paris still recalls the little English girl of ten who did wonders on the + harpsichord. I once saw a little fellow of eight, the son of a magistrate, + who was set like a statuette on the table among the dishes, to play on a + fiddle almost as big as himself, and even artists were surprised at his + execution. + </p> + <p> + To my mind, these and many more examples prove that the supposed + incapacity of children for our games is imaginary, and that if they are + unsuccessful in some of them, it is for want of practice. + </p> + <p> + You will tell me that with regard to the body I am falling into the same + mistake of precocious development which I found fault with for the mind. + The cases are very different: in the one, progress is apparent only; in + the other it is real. I have shown that children have not the mental + development they appear to have, while they really do what they seem to + do. Besides, we must never forget that all this should be play, the easy + and voluntary control of the movements which nature demands of them, the + art of varying their games to make them pleasanter, without the least bit + of constraint to transform them into work; for what games do they play in + which I cannot find material for instruction for them? And even if I could + not do so, so long as they are amusing themselves harmlessly and passing + the time pleasantly, their progress in learning is not yet of such great + importance. But if one must be teaching them this or that at every + opportunity, it cannot be done without constraint, vexation, or tedium. + </p> + <p> + What I have said about the use of the two senses whose use is most + constant and most important, may serve as an example of how to train the + rest. Sight and touch are applied to bodies at rest and bodies in motion, + but as hearing is only affected by vibrations of the air, only a body in + motion can make a noise or sound; if everything were at rest we should + never hear. At night, when we ourselves only move as we choose, we have + nothing to fear but moving bodies; hence we need a quick ear, and power to + judge from the sensations experienced whether the body which causes them + is large or small, far off or near, whether its movements are gentle or + violent. When once the air is set in motion, it is subject to + repercussions which produce echoes, these renew the sensations and make us + hear a loud or penetrating sound in another quarter. If you put your ear + to the ground you may hear the sound of men’s voices or horses’ + feet in a plain or valley much further off than when you stand upright. + </p> + <p> + As we have made a comparison between sight and touch, it will be as well + to do the same for hearing, and to find out which of the two impressions + starting simultaneously from a given body first reaches the sense-organ. + When you see the flash of a cannon, you have still time to take cover; but + when you hear the sound it is too late, the ball is close to you. One can + reckon the distance of a thunderstorm by the interval between the + lightning and the thunder. Let the child learn all these facts, let him + learn those that are within his reach by experiment, and discover the rest + by induction; but I would far rather he knew nothing at all about them, + than that you should tell him. + </p> + <p> + In the voice we have an organ answering to hearing; we have no such organ + answering to sight, and we do not repeat colours as we repeat sounds. This + supplies an additional means of cultivating the ear by practising the + active and passive organs one with the other. + </p> + <p> + Man has three kinds of voice, the speaking or articulate voice, the + singing or melodious voice, and the pathetic or expressive voice, which + serves as the language of the passions, and gives life to song and speech. + The child has these three voices, just as the man has them, but he does + not know how to use them in combination. Like us, he laughs, cries, + laments, shrieks, and groans, but he does not know how to combine these + inflexions with speech or song. These three voices find their best + expression in perfect music. Children are incapable of such music, and + their singing lacks feeling. In the same way their spoken language lacks + expression; they shout, but they do not speak with emphasis, and there is + as little power in their voice as there is emphasis in their speech. Our + pupil’s speech will be plainer and simpler still, for his passions + are still asleep, and will not blend their tones with his. Do not, + therefore, set him to recite tragedy or comedy, nor try to teach + declamation so-called. He will have too much sense to give voice to things + he cannot understand, or expression to feelings he has never known. + </p> + <p> + Teach him to speak plainly and distinctly, to articulate clearly, to + pronounce correctly and without affectation, to perceive and imitate the + right accent in prose and verse, and always to speak loud enough to be + heard, but without speaking too loud—a common fault with + school-children. Let there be no waste in anything. + </p> + <p> + The same method applies to singing; make his voice smooth and true, + flexible and full, his ear alive to time and tune, but nothing more. + Descriptive and theatrical music is not suitable at his age——I + would rather he sang no words; if he must have words, I would try to + compose songs on purpose for him, songs interesting to a child, and as + simple as his own thoughts. + </p> + <p> + You may perhaps suppose that as I am in no hurry to teach Emile to read + and write, I shall not want to teach him to read music. Let us spare his + brain the strain of excessive attention, and let us be in no hurry to turn + his mind towards conventional signs. I grant you there seems to be a + difficulty here, for if at first sight the knowledge of notes seems no + more necessary for singing than the knowledge of letters for speaking, + there is really this difference between them: When we speak, we are + expressing our own thoughts; when we sing we are expressing the thoughts + of others. Now in order to express them we must read them. + </p> + <p> + But at first we can listen to them instead of reading them, and a song is + better learnt by ear than by eye. Moreover, to learn music thoroughly we + must make songs as well as sing them, and the two processes must be + studied together, or we shall never have any real knowledge of music. + First give your young musician practice in very regular, well-cadenced + phrases; then let him connect these phrases with the very simplest + modulations; then show him their relation one to another by correct + accent, which can be done by a fit choice of cadences and rests. On no + account give him anything unusual, or anything that requires pathos or + expression. A simple, tuneful air, always based on the common chords of + the key, with its bass so clearly indicated that it is easily felt and + accompanied, for to train his voice and ear he should always sing with the + harpsichord. + </p> + <p> + We articulate the notes we sing the better to distinguish them; hence the + custom of sol-faing with certain syllables. To tell the keys one from + another they must have names and fixed intervals; hence the names of the + intervals, and also the letters of the alphabet attached to the keys of + the clavier and the notes of the scale. C and A indicate fixed sounds, + invariable and always rendered by the same keys; Ut and La are different. + Ut is always the dominant of a major scale, or the leading-note of a minor + scale. La is always the dominant of a minor scale or the sixth of a major + scale. Thus the letters indicate fixed terms in our system of music, and + the syllables indicate terms homologous to the similar relations in + different keys. The letters show the keys on the piano, and the syllables + the degrees in the scale. French musicians have made a strange muddle of + this. They have confused the meaning of the syllables with that of the + letters, and while they have unnecessarily given us two sets of symbols + for the keys of the piano, they have left none for the chords of the + scales; so that Ut and C are always the same for them; this is not and + ought not to be; if so, what is the use of C? Their method of sol-faing + is, therefore, extremely and needlessly difficult, neither does it give + any clear idea to the mind; since, by this method, Ut and Me, for example, + may mean either a major third, a minor third, an augmented third, or a + diminished third. What a strange thing that the country which produces the + finest books about music should be the very country where it is hardest to + learn music! + </p> + <p> + Let us adopt a simpler and clearer plan with our pupil; let him have only + two scales whose relations remain unchanged, and indicated by the same + symbols. Whether he sings or plays, let him learn to fix his scale on one + of the twelve tones which may serve as a base, and whether he modulates in + D, C, or G, let the close be always Ut or La, according to the scale. In + this way he will understand what you mean, and the essential relations for + correct singing and playing will always be present in his mind; his + execution will be better and his progress quicker. There is nothing + funnier than what the French call “natural sol-faing;” it + consists in removing the real meaning of things and putting in their place + other meanings which only distract us. There is nothing more natural than + sol-faing by transposition, when the scale is transposed. But I have said + enough, and more than enough, about music; teach it as you please, so long + as it is nothing but play. + </p> + <p> + We are now thoroughly acquainted with the condition of foreign bodies in + relation to our own, their weight, form, colour, density, size, distance, + temperature, stability, or motion. We have learnt which of them to + approach or avoid, how to set about overcoming their resistance or to + resist them so as to prevent ourselves from injury; but this is not + enough. Our own body is constantly wasting and as constantly requires to + be renewed. Although we have the power of changing other substances into + our own, our choice is not a matter of indifference. Everything is not + food for man, and what may be food for him is not all equally suitable; it + depends on his racial constitution, the country he lives in, his + individual temperament, and the way of living which his condition demands. + </p> + <p> + If we had to wait till experience taught us to know and choose fit food + for ourselves, we should die of hunger or poison; but a kindly providence + which has made pleasure the means of self-preservation to sentient beings + teaches us through our palate what is suitable for our stomach. In a state + of nature there is no better doctor than a man’s own appetite, and + no doubt in a state of nature man could find the most palateable food the + most wholesome. + </p> + <p> + Nor is this all. Our Maker provides, not only for those needs he has + created, but for those we create for ourselves; and it is to keep the + balance between our wants and our needs that he has caused our tastes to + change and vary with our way of living. The further we are from a state of + nature, the more we lose our natural tastes; or rather, habit becomes a + second nature, and so completely replaces our real nature, that we have + lost all knowledge of it. + </p> + <p> + From this it follows that the most natural tastes should be the simplest, + for those are more easily changed; but when they are sharpened and + stimulated by our fancies they assume a form which is incapable of + modification. The man who so far has not adapted himself to one country + can learn the ways of any country whatsoever; but the man who has adopted + the habits of one particular country can never shake them off. + </p> + <p> + This seems to be true of all our senses, especially of taste. Our first + food is milk; we only become accustomed by degrees to strong flavours; at + first we dislike them. Fruit, vegetables, herbs, and then fried meat + without salt or seasoning, formed the feasts of primitive man. When the + savage tastes wine for the first time, he makes a grimace and spits it + out; and even among ourselves a man who has not tasted fermented liquors + before twenty cannot get used to them; we should all be sober if we did + not have wine when we were children. Indeed, the simpler our tastes are, + the more general they are; made dishes are those most frequently disliked. + Did you ever meet with any one who disliked bread or water? Here is the + finger of nature, this then is our rule. Preserve the child’s + primitive tastes as long as possible; let his food be plain and simple, + let strong flavours be unknown to his palate, and do not let his diet be + too uniform. + </p> + <p> + I am not asking, for the present, whether this way of living is healthier + or no; that is not what I have in view. It is enough for me to know that + my choice is more in accordance with nature, and that it can be more + readily adapted to other conditions. In my opinion, those who say children + should be accustomed to the food they will have when they are grown up are + mistaken. Why should their food be the same when their way of living is so + different? A man worn out by labour, anxiety, and pain needs tasty foods + to give fresh vigour to his brain; a child fresh from his games, a child + whose body is growing, needs plentiful food which will supply more chyle. + Moreover the grown man has already a settled profession, occupation, and + home, but who can tell what Fate holds in store for the child? Let us not + give him so fixed a bent in any direction that he cannot change it if + required without hardship. Do not bring him up so that he would die of + hunger in a foreign land if he does not take a French cook about with him; + do not let him say at some future time that France is the only country + where the food is fit to eat. By the way, that is a strange way of + praising one’s country. On the other hand, I myself should say that + the French are the only people who do not know what good food is, since + they require such a special art to make their dishes eatable. + </p> + <p> + Of all our different senses, we are usually most affected by taste. Thus + it concerns us more nearly to judge aright of what will actually become + part of ourselves, than of that which will merely form part of our + environment. Many things are matters of indifference to touch, hearing, + and sight; but taste is affected by almost everything. Moreover the + activity of this sense is wholly physical and material; of all the senses, + it alone makes no appeal to the imagination, or at least, imagination + plays a smaller part in its sensations; while imitation and imagination + often bring morality into the impressions of the other senses. Thus, + speaking generally, soft and pleasure-loving minds, passionate and truly + sensitive dispositions, which are easily stirred by the other senses, are + usually indifferent to this. From this very fact, which apparently places + taste below our other senses and makes our inclination towards it the more + despicable, I draw just the opposite conclusion—that the best way to + lead children is by the mouth. Greediness is a better motive than vanity; + for the former is a natural appetite directly dependent on the senses, + while the latter is the outcome of convention, it is the slave of human + caprice and liable to every kind of abuse. Believe me the child will cease + to care about his food only too soon, and when his heart is too busy, his + palate will be idle. When he is grown up greediness will be expelled by a + host of stronger passions, while vanity will only be stimulated by them; + for this latter passion feeds upon the rest till at length they are all + swallowed up in it. I have sometimes studied those men who pay great + attention to good eating, men whose first waking thought is—What + shall we have to eat to-day? men who describe their dinner with as much + detail as Polybius describes a combat. I have found these so-called men + were only children of forty, without strength or vigour—fruges + consumere nati. Gluttony is the vice of feeble minds. The gourmand has his + brains in his palate, he can do nothing but eat; he is so stupid and + incapable that the table is the only place for him, and dishes are the + only things he knows anything about. Let us leave him to this business + without regret; it is better for him and for us. + </p> + <p> + It is a small mind that fears lest greediness should take root in the + child who is fit for something better. The child thinks of nothing but his + food, the youth pays no heed to it at all; every kind of food is good, and + we have other things to attend to. Yet I would not have you use the low + motive unwisely. I would not have you trust to dainties rather than to the + honour which is the reward of a good deed. But childhood is, or ought to + be, a time of play and merry sports, and I do not see why the rewards of + purely bodily exercises should not be material and sensible rewards. If a + little lad in Majorca sees a basket on the tree-top and brings it down + with his sling, is it not fair that he should get something by this, and a + good breakfast should repair the strength spent in getting it. If a young + Spartan, facing the risk of a hundred stripes, slips skilfully into the + kitchen, and steals a live fox cub, carries it off in his garment, and is + scratched, bitten till the blood comes, and for shame lest he should be + caught the child allows his bowels to be torn out without a movement or a + cry, is it not fair that he should keep his spoils, that he should eat his + prey after it has eaten him? A good meal should never be a reward; but why + should it not be sometimes the result of efforts made to get it. Emile + does not consider the cake I put on the stone as a reward for good + running; he knows that the only way to get the cake is to get there first. + </p> + <p> + This does not contradict my previous rules about simple food; for to tempt + a child’s appetite you need not stimulate it, you need only satisfy + it; and the commonest things will do this if you do not attempt to refine + children’s taste. Their perpetual hunger, the result of their need + for growth, will be the best sauce. Fruit, milk, a piece of cake just a + little better than ordinary bread, and above all the art of dispensing + these things prudently, by these means you may lead a host of children to + the world’s end, without on the one hand giving them a taste for + strong flavours, nor on the other hand letting them get tired of their + food. + </p> + <p> + The indifference of children towards meat is one proof that the taste for + meat is unnatural; their preference is for vegetable foods, such as milk, + pastry, fruit, etc. Beware of changing this natural taste and making + children flesh-eaters, if not for their health’s sake, for the sake + of their character; for how can one explain away the fact that great + meat-eaters are usually fiercer and more cruel than other men; this has + been recognised at all times and in all places. The English are noted for + their cruelty [Footnote: I am aware that the English make a boast of their + humanity and of the kindly disposition of their race, which they call + “good-natured people;” but in vain do they proclaim this fact; + no one else says it of them.] while the Gaures are the gentlest of men. + [Footnote: The Banians, who abstain from flesh even more completely than + the Gaures, are almost as gentle as the Gaures themselves, but as their + morality is less pure and their form of worship less reasonable they are + not such good men.] All savages are cruel, and it is not their customs + that tend in this direction; their cruelty is the result of their food. + They go to war as to the chase, and treat men as they would treat bears. + Indeed in England butchers are not allowed to give evidence in a court of + law, no more can surgeons. [Footnote: One of the English translators of my + book has pointed out my mistake, and both of them have corrected it. + Butchers and surgeons are allowed to give evidence in the law courts, but + butchers may not serve on juries in criminal cases, though surgeons are + allowed to do so.] Great criminals prepare themselves for murder by + drinking blood. Homer makes his flesh-eating Cyclops a terrible man, while + his Lotus-eaters are so delightful that those who went to trade with them + forgot even their own country to dwell among them. + </p> + <p> + “You ask me,” said Plutarch, “why Pythagoras abstained + from eating the flesh of beasts, but I ask you, what courage must have + been needed by the first man who raised to his lips the flesh of the + slain, who broke with his teeth the bones of a dying beast, who had dead + bodies, corpses, placed before him and swallowed down limbs which a few + moments ago were bleating, bellowing, walking, and seeing? How could his + hand plunge the knife into the heart of a sentient creature, how could his + eyes look on murder, how could he behold a poor helpless animal bled to + death, scorched, and dismembered? how can he bear the sight of this + quivering flesh? does not the very smell of it turn his stomach? is he not + repelled, disgusted, horror-struck, when he has to handle the blood from + these wounds, and to cleanse his fingers from the dark and viscous + bloodstains? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “The scorched skins wriggled upon the ground, + The shrinking flesh bellowed upon the spit. + Man cannot eat them without a shudder; + He seems to hear their cries within his breast. +</pre> + <p> + “Thus must he have felt the first time he did despite to nature and + made this horrible meal; the first time he hungered for the living + creature, and desired to feed upon the beast which was still grazing; when + he bade them slay, dismember, and cut up the sheep which licked his hands. + It is those who began these cruel feasts, not those who abandon them, who + should cause surprise, and there were excuses for those primitive men, + excuses which we have not, and the absence of such excuses multiplies our + barbarity a hundredfold. + </p> + <p> + “‘Mortals, beloved of the gods,’ says this primitive + man, ‘compare our times with yours; see how happy you are, and how + wretched were we. The earth, newly formed, the air heavy with moisture, + were not yet subjected to the rule of the seasons. Three-fourths of the + surface of the globe was flooded by the ever-shifting channels of rivers + uncertain of their course, and covered with pools, lakes, and bottomless + morasses. The remaining quarter was covered with woods and barren forests. + The earth yielded no good fruit, we had no instruments of tillage, we did + not even know the use of them, and the time of harvest never came for + those who had sown nothing. Thus hunger was always in our midst. In + winter, mosses and the bark of trees were our common food. A few green + roots of dogs-bit or heather were a feast, and when men found beech-mast, + nuts, or acorns, they danced for joy round the beech or oak, to the sound + of some rude song, while they called the earth their mother and their + nurse. This was their only festival, their only sport; all the rest of man’s + life was spent in sorrow, pain, and hunger. + </p> + <p> + “‘At length, when the bare and naked earth no longer offered + us any food, we were compelled in self-defence to outrage nature, and to + feed upon our companions in distress, rather than perish with them. But + you, oh, cruel men! who forces you to shed blood? Behold the wealth of + good things about you, the fruits yielded by the earth, the wealth of + field and vineyard; the animals give their milk for your drink and their + fleece for your clothing. What more do you ask? What madness compels you + to commit such murders, when you have already more than you can eat or + drink? Why do you slander our mother earth, and accuse her of denying you + food? Why do you sin against Ceres, the inventor of the sacred laws, and + against the gracious Bacchus, the comforter of man, as if their lavish + gifts were not enough to preserve mankind? Have you the heart to mingle + their sweet fruits with the bones upon your table, to eat with the milk + the blood of the beasts which gave it? The lions and panthers, wild beasts + as you call them, are driven to follow their natural instinct, and they + kill other beasts that they may live. But, a hundredfold fiercer than + they, you fight against your instincts without cause, and abandon + yourselves to the most cruel pleasures. The animals you eat are not those + who devour others; you do not eat the carnivorous beasts, you take them as + your pattern. You only hunger for the sweet and gentle creatures which + harm no one, which follow you, serve you, and are devoured by you as the + reward of their service. + </p> + <p> + “‘O unnatural murderer! if you persist in the assertion that + nature has made you to devour your fellow-creatures, beings of flesh and + blood, living and feeling like yourself, stifle if you can that horror + with which nature makes you regard these horrible feasts; slay the animals + yourself, slay them, I say, with your own hands, without knife or mallet; + tear them with your nails like the lion and the bear, take this ox and + rend him in pieces, plunge your claws into his hide; eat this lamb while + it is yet alive, devour its warm flesh, drink its soul with its blood. You + shudder! you dare not feel the living throbbing flesh between your teeth? + Ruthless man; you begin by slaying the animal and then you devour it, as + if to slay it twice. It is not enough. You turn against the dead flesh, it + revolts you, it must be transformed by fire, boiled and roasted, seasoned + and disguised with drugs; you must have butchers, cooks, turnspits, men + who will rid the murder of its horrors, who will dress the dead bodies so + that the taste deceived by these disguises will not reject what is strange + to it, and will feast on corpses, the very sight of which would sicken + you.’” + </p> + <p> + Although this quotation is irrelevant, I cannot resist the temptation to + transcribe it, and I think few of my readers will resent it. + </p> + <p> + In conclusion, whatever food you give your children, provided you accustom + them to nothing but plain and simple dishes, let them eat and run and play + as much as they want; you may be sure they will never eat too much and + will never have indigestion; but if you keep them hungry half their time, + when they do contrive to evade your vigilance, they will take advantage of + it as far as they can; they will eat till they are sick, they will gorge + themselves till they can eat no more. Our appetite is only excessive + because we try to impose on it rules other than those of nature, opposing, + controlling, prescribing, adding, or substracting; the scales are always + in our hands, but the scales are the measure of our caprices not of our + stomachs. I return to my usual illustration; among peasants the cupboard + and the apple-loft are always left open, and indigestion is unknown alike + to children and grown-up people. + </p> + <p> + If, however, it happened that a child were too great an eater, though, + under my system, I think it is impossible, he is so easily distracted by + his favourite games that one might easily starve him without his knowing + it. How is it that teachers have failed to use such a safe and easy + weapon. Herodotus records that the Lydians, [Footnote: The ancient + historians are full of opinions which may be useful, even if the facts + which they present are false. But we do not know how to make any real use + of history. Criticism and erudition are our only care; as if it mattered + more that a statement were true or false than that we should be able to + get a useful lesson from it. A wise man should consider history a tissue + of fables whose morals are well adapted to the human heart.] under the + pressure of great scarcity, decided to invent sports and other amusements + with which to cheat their hunger, and they passed whole days without + thought of food. Your learned teachers may have read this passage time + after time without seeing how it might be applied to children. One of + these teachers will probably tell me that a child does not like to leave + his dinner for his lessons. You are right, sir—I was not thinking of + that sort of sport. + </p> + <p> + The sense of smell is to taste what sight is to touch; it goes before it + and gives it warning that it will be affected by this or that substance; + and it inclines it to seek or shun this experience according to the + impressions received beforehand. I have been told that savages receive + impressions quite different from ours, and that they have quite different + ideas with regard to pleasant or unpleasant odours. I can well believe it. + Odours alone are slight sensations; they affect the imagination rather + than the senses, and they work mainly through the anticipations they + arouse. This being so, and the tastes of savages being so unlike the taste + of civilised men, they should lead them to form very different ideas with + regard to flavours and therefore with regard to the odours which announce + them. A Tartar must enjoy the smell of a haunch of putrid horseflesh, much + as a sportsman enjoys a very high partridge. Our idle sensations, such as + the scents wafted from the flower beds, must pass unnoticed among men who + walk too much to care for strolling in a garden, and do not work enough to + find pleasure in repose. Hungry men would find little pleasure in scents + which did not proclaim the approach of food. + </p> + <p> + Smell is the sense of the imagination; as it gives tone to the nerves it + must have a great effect on the brain; that is why it revives us for the + time, but eventually causes exhaustion. Its effects on love are pretty + generally recognised. The sweet perfumes of a dressing-room are not so + slight a snare as you may fancy them, and I hardly know whether to + congratulate or condole with that wise and somewhat insensible person + whose senses are never stirred by the scent of the flowers his mistress + wears in her bosom. + </p> + <p> + Hence the sense of smell should not be over-active in early childhood; the + imagination, as yet unstirred by changing passions, is scarcely + susceptible of emotion, and we have not enough experience to discern + beforehand from one sense the promise of another. This view is confirmed + by observation, and it is certain that the sense of smell is dull and + almost blunted in most children. Not that their sensations are less acute + than those of grown-up people, but that there is no idea associated with + them; they do not easily experience pleasure or pain, and are not + flattered or hurt as we are. Without going beyond my system, and without + recourse to comparative anatomy, I think we can easily see why women are + generally fonder of perfumes than men. + </p> + <p> + It is said that from early childhood the Redskins of Canada, train their + sense of smell to such a degree of subtlety that, although they have dogs, + they do not condescend to use them in hunting—they are their own + dogs. Indeed I believe that if children were trained to scent their dinner + as a dog scents game, their sense of smell might be nearly as perfect; but + I see no very real advantage to be derived from this sense, except by + teaching the child to observe the relation between smell and taste. Nature + has taken care to compel us to learn these relations. She has made the + exercise of the latter sense practically inseparable from that of the + former, by placing their organs close together, and by providing, in the + mouth, a direct pathway between them, so that we taste nothing without + smelling it too. Only I would not have these natural relations disturbed + in order to deceive the child, e.g.; to conceal the taste of medicine with + an aromatic odour, for the discord between the senses is too great for + deception, the more active sense overpowers the other, the medicine is + just as distasteful, and this disagreeable association extends to every + sensation experienced at the time; so the slightest of these sensations + recalls the rest to his imagination and a very pleasant perfume is for him + only a nasty smell; thus our foolish precautions increase the sum total of + his unpleasant sensations at the cost of his pleasant sensations. + </p> + <p> + In the following books I have still to speak of the training of a sort of + sixth sense, called common-sense, not so much because it is common to all + men, but because it results from the well-regulated use of the other five, + and teaches the nature of things by the sum-total of their external + aspects. So this sixth sense has no special organ, it has its seat in the + brain, and its sensations which are purely internal are called percepts or + ideas. The number of these ideas is the measure of our knowledge; + exactness of thought depends on their clearness and precision; the art of + comparing them one with another is called human reason. Thus what I call + the reasoning of the senses, or the reasoning of the child, consists in + the formation of simple ideas through the associated experience of several + sensations; what I call the reasoning of the intellect, consists in the + formation, of complex ideas through the association of several simple + ideas. + </p> + <p> + If my method is indeed that of nature, and if I am not mistaken in the + application of that method, we have led our pupil through the region of + sensation to the bounds of the child’s reasoning; the first step we + take beyond these bounds must be the step of a man. But before we make + this fresh advance, let us glance back for a moment at the path we have + hitherto followed. Every age, every station in life, has a perfection, a + ripeness, of its own. We have often heard the phrase “a grown man;” + but we will consider “a grown child.” This will be a new + experience and none the less pleasing. + </p> + <p> + The life of finite creatures is so poor and narrow that the mere sight of + what is arouses no emotion. It is fancy which decks reality, and if + imagination does not lend its charm to that which touches our senses, our + barren pleasure is confined to the senses alone, while the heart remains + cold. The earth adorned with the treasures of autumn displays a wealth of + colour which the eye admires; but this admiration fails to move us, it + springs rather from thought than from feeling. In spring the country is + almost bare and leafless, the trees give no shade, the grass has hardly + begun to grow, yet the heart is touched by the sight. In this new birth of + nature, we feel the revival of our own life; the memories of past + pleasures surround us; tears of delight, those companions of pleasure ever + ready to accompany a pleasing sentiment, tremble on our eyelids. Animated, + lively, and delightful though the vintage may be, we behold it without a + tear. + </p> + <p> + And why is this? Because imagination adds to the sight of spring the image + of the seasons which are yet to come; the eye sees the tender shoot, the + mind’s eye beholds its flowers, fruit, and foliage, and even the + mysteries they may conceal. It blends successive stages into one moment’s + experience; we see things, not so much as they will be, but as we would + have them be, for imagination has only to take her choice. In autumn, on + the other hand, we only behold the present; if we wish to look forward to + spring, winter bars the way, and our shivering imagination dies away among + its frost and snow. + </p> + <p> + This is the source of the charm we find in beholding the beauties of + childhood, rather than the perfection of manhood. When do we really + delight in beholding a man? When the memory of his deeds leads us to look + back over his life and his youth is renewed in our eyes. If we are reduced + to viewing him as he is, or to picturing him as he will be in old age, the + thought of declining years destroys all our pleasure. There is no pleasure + in seeing a man hastening to his grave; the image of death makes all + hideous. + </p> + <p> + But when I think of a child of ten or twelve, strong, healthy, well-grown + for his age, only pleasant thoughts are called up, whether of the present + or the future. I see him keen, eager, and full of life, free from gnawing + cares and painful forebodings, absorbed in this present state, and + delighting in a fullness of life which seems to extend beyond himself. I + look forward to a time when he will use his daily increasing sense, + intelligence and vigour, those growing powers of which he continually + gives fresh proof. I watch the child with delight, I picture to myself the + man with even greater pleasure. His eager life seems to stir my own + pulses, I seem to live his life and in his vigour I renew my own. + </p> + <p> + The hour strikes, the scene is changed. All of a sudden his eye grows dim, + his mirth has fled. Farewell mirth, farewell untrammelled sports in which + he delighted. A stern, angry man takes him by the hand, saying gravely, + “Come with me, sir,” and he is led away. As they are entering + the room, I catch a glimpse of books. Books, what dull food for a child of + his age! The poor child allows himself to be dragged away; he casts a + sorrowful look on all about him, and departs in silence, his eyes swollen + with the tears he dare not shed, and his heart bursting with the sighs he + dare not utter. + </p> + <p> + You who have no such cause for fear, you for whom no period of life is a + time of weariness and tedium, you who welcome days without care and nights + without impatience, you who only reckon time by your pleasures, come, my + happy kindly pupil, and console us for the departure of that miserable + creature. Come! Here he is and at his approach I feel a thrill of delight + which I see he shares. It is his friend, his comrade, who meets him; when + he sees me he knows very well that he will not be long without amusement; + we are never dependent on each other, but we are always on good terms, and + we are never so happy as when together. + </p> + <p> + His face, his bearing, his expression, speak of confidence and + contentment; health shines in his countenance, his firm step speaks of + strength; his colour, delicate but not sickly, has nothing of softness or + effeminacy. Sun and wind have already set the honourable stamp of manhood + on his countenance; his rounded muscles already begin to show some signs + of growing individuality; his eyes, as yet unlighted by the flame of + feeling, have at least all their native calm; They have not been darkened + by prolonged sorrow, nor are his cheeks furrowed by ceaseless tears. + Behold in his quick and certain movements the natural vigour of his age + and the confidence of independence. His manner is free and open, but + without a trace of insolence or vanity; his head which has not been bent + over books does not fall upon his breast; there is no need to say, “Hold + your head up,” he will neither hang his head for shame or fear. + </p> + <p> + Make room for him, gentlemen, in your midst; question him boldly; have no + fear of importunity, chatter, or impertinent questions. You need not be + afraid that he will take possession of you and expect you to devote + yourself entirely to him, so that you cannot get rid of him. + </p> + <p> + Neither need you look for compliments from him; nor will he tell you what + I have taught him to say; expect nothing from him but the plain, simple + truth, without addition or ornament and without vanity. He will tell you + the wrong things he has done and thought as readily as the right, without + troubling himself in the least as to the effect of his words upon you; he + will use speech with all the simplicity of its first beginnings. + </p> + <p> + We love to augur well of our children, and we are continually regretting + the flood of folly which overwhelms the hopes we would fain have rested on + some chance phrase. If my scholar rarely gives me cause for such + prophecies, neither will he give me cause for such regrets, for he never + says a useless word, and does not exhaust himself by chattering when he + knows there is no one to listen to him. His ideas are few but precise, he + knows nothing by rote but much by experience. If he reads our books worse + than other children, he reads far better in the book of nature; his + thoughts are not in his tongue but in his brain; he has less memory and + more judgment; he can only speak one language, but he understands what he + is saying, and if his speech is not so good as that of other children his + deeds are better. + </p> + <p> + He does not know the meaning of habit, routine, and custom; what he did + yesterday has no control over what he is doing to-day; he follows no rule, + submits to no authority, copies no pattern, and only acts or speaks as he + pleases. So do not expect set speeches or studied manners from him, but + just the faithful expression of his thoughts and the conduct that springs + from his inclinations. [Footnote: Habit owes its charm to man’s + natural idleness, and this idleness grows upon us if indulged; it is + easier to do what we have already done, there is a beaten path which is + easily followed. Thus we may observe that habit is very strong in the aged + and in the indolent, and very weak in the young and active. The rule of + habit is only good for feeble hearts, and it makes them more and more + feeble day by day. The only useful habit for children is to be accustomed + to submit without difficulty to necessity, and the only useful habit for + man is to submit without difficulty to the rule of reason. Every other + habit is a vice.] + </p> + <p> + You will find he has a few moral ideas concerning his present state and + none concerning manhood; what use could he make of them, for the child is + not, as yet, an active member of society. Speak to him of freedom, of + property, or even of what is usually done; he may understand you so far; + he knows why his things are his own, and why other things are not his, and + nothing more. Speak to him of duty or obedience; he will not know what you + are talking about; bid him do something and he will pay no attention; but + say to him, “If you will give me this pleasure, I will repay it when + required,” and he will hasten to give you satisfaction, for he asks + nothing better than to extend his domain, to acquire rights over you, + which will, he knows, be respected. Maybe he is not sorry to have a place + of his own, to be reckoned of some account; but if he has formed this + latter idea, he has already left the realms of nature, and you have failed + to bar the gates of vanity. + </p> + <p> + For his own part, should he need help, he will ask it readily of the first + person he meets. He will ask it of a king as readily as of his servant; + all men are equals in his eyes. From his way of asking you will see he + knows you owe him nothing, that he is asking a favour. He knows too that + humanity moves you to grant this favour; his words are few and simple. His + voice, his look, his gesture are those of a being equally familiar with + compliance and refusal. It is neither the crawling, servile submission of + the slave, nor the imperious tone of the master, it is a modest confidence + in mankind; it is the noble and touching gentleness of a creature, free, + yet sensitive and feeble, who asks aid of a being, free, but strong and + kindly. If you grant his request he will not thank you, but he will feel + he has incurred a debt. If you refuse he will neither complain nor insist; + he knows it is useless; he will not say, “They refused to help me,” + but “It was impossible,” and as I have already said, we do not + rebel against necessity when once we have perceived it. + </p> + <p> + Leave him to himself and watch his actions without speaking, consider what + he is doing and how he sets about it. He does not require to convince + himself that he is free, so he never acts thoughtlessly and merely to show + that he can do what he likes; does he not know that he is always his own + master? He is quick, alert, and ready; his movements are eager as befits + his age, but you will not find one which has no end in view. Whatever he + wants, he will never attempt what is beyond his powers, for he has learnt + by experience what those powers are; his means will always be adapted to + the end in view, and he will rarely attempt anything without the certainty + of success; his eye is keen and true; he will not be so stupid as to go + and ask other people about what he sees; he will examine it on his own + account, and before he asks he will try every means at his disposal to + discover what he wants to know for himself. If he lights upon some + unexpected difficulty, he will be less upset than others; if there is + danger he will be less afraid. His imagination is still asleep and nothing + has been done to arouse it; he only sees what is really there, and rates + the danger at its true worth; so he never loses his head. He does not + rebel against necessity, her hand is too heavy upon him; he has borne her + yoke all his life long, he is well used to it; he is always ready for + anything. + </p> + <p> + Work or play are all one to him, his games are his work; he knows no + difference. He brings to everything the cheerfulness of interest, the + charm of freedom, and he shows the bent of his own mind and the extent of + his knowledge. Is there anything better worth seeing, anything more + touching or more delightful, than a pretty child, with merry, cheerful + glance, easy contented manner, open smiling countenance, playing at the + most important things, or working at the lightest amusements? + </p> + <p> + Would you now judge him by comparison? Set him among other children and + leave him to himself. You will soon see which has made most progress, + which comes nearer to the perfection of childhood. Among all the children + in the town there is none more skilful and none so strong. Among young + peasants he is their equal in strength and their superior in skill. In + everything within a child’s grasp he judges, reasons, and shows a + forethought beyond the rest. Is it a matter of action, running, jumping, + or shifting things, raising weights or estimating distance, inventing + games, carrying off prizes; you might say, “Nature obeys his word,” + so easily does he bend all things to his will. He is made to lead, to rule + his fellows; talent and experience take the place of right and authority. + In any garb, under any name, he will still be first; everywhere he will + rule the rest, they will always feel his superiority, he will be master + without knowing it, and they will serve him unawares. + </p> + <p> + He has reached the perfection of childhood; he has lived the life of a + child; his progress has not been bought at the price of his happiness, he + has gained both. While he has acquired all the wisdom of a child, he has + been as free and happy as his health permits. If the Reaper Death should + cut him off and rob us of our hopes, we need not bewail alike his life and + death, we shall not have the added grief of knowing that we caused him + pain; we will say, “His childhood, at least, was happy; we have + robbed him of nothing that nature gave him.” + </p> + <p> + The chief drawback to this early education is that it is only appreciated + by the wise; to vulgar eyes the child so carefully educated is nothing but + a rough little boy. A tutor thinks rather of the advantage to himself than + to his pupil; he makes a point of showing that there has been no time + wasted; he provides his pupil with goods which can be readily displayed in + the shop window, accomplishments which can be shown off at will; no matter + whether they are useful, provided they are easily seen. Without choice or + discrimination he loads his memory with a pack of rubbish. If the child is + to be examined he is set to display his wares; he spreads them out, + satisfies those who behold them, packs up his bundle and goes his way. My + pupil is poorer, he has no bundle to display, he has only himself to show. + Now neither child nor man can be read at a glance. Where are the observers + who can at once discern the characteristics of this child? There are such + people, but they are few and far between; among a thousand fathers you + will scarcely find one. + </p> + <p> + Too many questions are tedious and revolting to most of us and especially + to children. After a few minutes their attention flags, they cease to + listen to your everlasting questions and reply at random. This way of + testing them is pedantic and useless; a chance word will often show their + sense and intelligence better than much talking, but take care that the + answer is neither a matter of chance nor yet learnt by heart. A man must + needs have a good judgment if he is to estimate the judgment of a child. + </p> + <p> + I heard the late Lord Hyde tell the following story about one of his + friends. He had returned from Italy after a three years’ absence, + and was anxious to test the progress of his son, a child of nine or ten. + One evening he took a walk with the child and his tutor across a level + space where the schoolboys were flying their kites. As they went, the + father said to his son, “Where is the kite that casts this shadow?” + Without hesitating and without glancing upwards the child replied, “Over + the high road.” “And indeed,” said Lord Hyde, “the + high road was between us and the sun.” At these words, the father + kissed his child, and having finished his examination he departed. The + next day he sent the tutor the papers settling an annuity on him in + addition to his salary. + </p> + <p> + What a father! and what a promising child! The question is exactly adapted + to the child’s age, the answer is perfectly simple; but see what + precision it implies in the child’s judgment. Thus did the pupil of + Aristotle master the famous steed which no squire had ever been able to + tame. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + BOOK III + </h2> + <p class="pfirst"> + <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he whole course of + man’s life up to adolescence is a period of weakness; yet there + comes a time during these early years when the child’s strength + overtakes the demands upon it, when the growing creature, though + absolutely weak, is relatively strong. His needs are not fully developed + and his present strength is more than enough for them. He would be a very + feeble man, but he is a strong child. + </p> + <p> + What is the cause of man’s weakness? It is to be found in the + disproportion between his strength and his desires. It is our passions + that make us weak, for our natural strength is not enough for their + satisfaction. To limit our desires comes to the same thing, therefore, as + to increase our strength. When we can do more than we want, we have + strength enough and to spare, we are really strong. This is the third + stage of childhood, the stage with which I am about to deal. I still speak + of childhood for want of a better word; for our scholar is approaching + adolescence, though he has not yet reached the age of puberty. + </p> + <p> + About twelve or thirteen the child’s strength increases far more + rapidly than his needs. The strongest and fiercest of the passions is + still unknown, his physical development is still imperfect and seems to + await the call of the will. He is scarcely aware of extremes of heat and + cold and braves them with impunity. He needs no coat, his blood is warm; + no spices, hunger is his sauce, no food comes amiss at this age; if he is + sleepy he stretches himself on the ground and goes to sleep; he finds all + he needs within his reach; he is not tormented by any imaginary wants; he + cares nothing what others think; his desires are not beyond his grasp; not + only is he self-sufficing, but for the first and last time in his life he + has more strength than he needs. + </p> + <p> + I know beforehand what you will say. You will not assert that the child + has more needs than I attribute to him, but you will deny his strength. + You forget that I am speaking of my own pupil, not of those puppets who + walk with difficulty from one room to another, who toil indoors and carry + bundles of paper. Manly strength, you say, appears only with manhood; the + vital spirits, distilled in their proper vessels and spreading through the + whole body, can alone make the muscles firm, sensitive, tense, and + springy, can alone cause real strength. This is the philosophy of the + study; I appeal to that of experience. In the country districts, I see big + lads hoeing, digging, guiding the plough, filling the wine-cask, driving + the cart, like their fathers; you would take them for grown men if their + voices did not betray them. Even in our towns, iron-workers’, tool + makers’, and blacksmiths’ lads are almost as strong as their + masters and would be scarcely less skilful had their training begun + earlier. If there is a difference, and I do not deny that there is, it is, + I repeat, much less than the difference between the stormy passions of the + man and the few wants of the child. Moreover, it is not merely a question + of bodily strength, but more especially of strength of mind, which + reinforces and directs the bodily strength. + </p> + <p> + This interval in which the strength of the individual is in excess of his + wants is, as I have said, relatively though not absolutely the time of + greatest strength. It is the most precious time in his life; it comes but + once; it is very short, all too short, as you will see when you consider + the importance of using it aright. + </p> + <p> + He has, therefore, a surplus of strength and capacity which he will never + have again. What use shall he make of it? He will strive to use it in + tasks which will help at need. He will, so to speak, cast his present + surplus into the storehouse of the future; the vigorous child will make + provision for the feeble man; but he will not store his goods where + thieves may break in, nor in barns which are not his own. To store them + aright, they must be in the hands and the head, they must be stored within + himself. This is the time for work, instruction, and inquiry. And note + that this is no arbitrary choice of mine, it is the way of nature herself. + </p> + <p> + Human intelligence is finite, and not only can no man know everything, he + cannot even acquire all the scanty knowledge of others. Since the contrary + of every false proposition is a truth, there are as many truths as + falsehoods. We must, therefore, choose what to teach as well as when to + teach it. Some of the information within our reach is false, some is + useless, some merely serves to puff up its possessor. The small store + which really contributes to our welfare alone deserves the study of a wise + man, and therefore of a child whom one would have wise. He must know not + merely what is, but what is useful. + </p> + <p> + From this small stock we must also deduct those truths which require a + full grown mind for their understanding, those which suppose a knowledge + of man’s relations to his fellow-men—a knowledge which no + child can acquire; these things, although in themselves true, lead an + inexperienced mind into mistakes with regard to other matters. + </p> + <p> + We are now confined to a circle, small indeed compared with the whole of + human thought, but this circle is still a vast sphere when measured by the + child’s mind. Dark places of the human understanding, what rash hand + shall dare to raise your veil? What pitfalls does our so-called science + prepare for the miserable child. Would you guide him along this dangerous + path and draw the veil from the face of nature? Stay your hand. First make + sure that neither he nor you will become dizzy. Beware of the specious + charms of error and the intoxicating fumes of pride. Keep this truth ever + before you—Ignorance never did any one any harm, error alone is + fatal, and we do not lose our way through ignorance but through + self-confidence. + </p> + <p> + His progress in geometry may serve as a test and a true measure of the + growth of his intelligence, but as soon as he can distinguish between what + is useful and what is useless, much skill and discretion are required to + lead him towards theoretical studies. For example, would you have him find + a mean proportional between two lines, contrive that he should require to + find a square equal to a given rectangle; if two mean proportionals are + required, you must first contrive to interest him in the doubling of the + cube. See how we are gradually approaching the moral ideas which + distinguish between good and evil. Hitherto we have known no law but + necessity, now we are considering what is useful; we shall soon come to + what is fitting and right. + </p> + <p> + Man’s diverse powers are stirred by the same instinct. The bodily + activity, which seeks an outlet for its energies, is succeeded by the + mental activity which seeks for knowledge. Children are first restless, + then curious; and this curiosity, rightly directed, is the means of + development for the age with which we are dealing. Always distinguish + between natural and acquired tendencies. There is a zeal for learning + which has no other foundation than a wish to appear learned, and there is + another which springs from man’s natural curiosity about all things + far or near which may affect himself. The innate desire for comfort and + the impossibility of its complete satisfaction impel him to the endless + search for fresh means of contributing to its satisfaction. This is the + first principle of curiosity; a principle natural to the human heart, + though its growth is proportional to the development of our feeling and + knowledge. If a man of science were left on a desert island with his books + and instruments and knowing that he must spend the rest of his life there, + he would scarcely trouble himself about the solar system, the laws of + attraction, or the differential calculus. He might never even open a book + again; but he would never rest till he had explored the furthest corner of + his island, however large it might be. Let us therefore omit from our + early studies such knowledge as has no natural attraction for us, and + confine ourselves to such things as instinct impels us to study. + </p> + <p> + Our island is this earth; and the most striking object we behold is the + sun. As soon as we pass beyond our immediate surroundings, one or both of + these must meet our eye. Thus the philosophy of most savage races is + mainly directed to imaginary divisions of the earth or to the divinity of + the sun. + </p> + <p> + What a sudden change you will say. Just now we were concerned with what + touches ourselves, with our immediate environment, and all at once we are + exploring the round world and leaping to the bounds of the universe. This + change is the result of our growing strength and of the natural bent of + the mind. While we were weak and feeble, self-preservation concentrated + our attention on ourselves; now that we are strong and powerful, the + desire for a wider sphere carries us beyond ourselves as far as our eyes + can reach. But as the intellectual world is still unknown to us, our + thoughts are bounded by the visible horizon, and our understanding only + develops within the limits of our vision. + </p> + <p> + Let us transform our sensations into ideas, but do not let us jump all at + once from the objects of sense to objects of thought. The latter are + attained by means of the former. Let the senses be the only guide for the + first workings of reason. No book but the world, no teaching but that of + fact. The child who reads ceases to think, he only reads. He is acquiring + words not knowledge. + </p> + <p> + Teach your scholar to observe the phenomena of nature; you will soon rouse + his curiosity, but if you would have it grow, do not be in too great a + hurry to satisfy this curiosity. Put the problems before him and let him + solve them himself. Let him know nothing because you have told him, but + because he has learnt it for himself. Let him not be taught science, let + him discover it. If ever you substitute authority for reason he will cease + to reason; he will be a mere plaything of other people’s thoughts. + </p> + <p> + You wish to teach this child geography and you provide him with globes, + spheres, and maps. What elaborate preparations! What is the use of all + these symbols; why not begin by showing him the real thing so that he may + at least know what you are talking about? + </p> + <p> + One fine evening we are walking in a suitable place where the wide horizon + gives us a full view of the setting sun, and we note the objects which + mark the place where it sets. Next morning we return to the same place for + a breath of fresh air before sun-rise. We see the rays of light which + announce the sun’s approach; the glow increases, the east seems + afire, and long before the sun appears the light leads us to expect its + return. Every moment you expect to see it. There it is at last! A shining + point appears like a flash of lightning and soon fills the whole space; + the veil of darkness rolls away, man perceives his dwelling place in fresh + beauty. During the night the grass has assumed a fresher green; in the + light of early dawn, and gilded by the first rays of the sun, it seems + covered with a shining network of dew reflecting the light and colour. The + birds raise their chorus of praise to greet the Father of life, not one of + them is mute; their gentle warbling is softer than by day, it expresses + the langour of a peaceful waking. All these produce an impression of + freshness which seems to reach the very soul. It is a brief hour of + enchantment which no man can resist; a sight so grand, so fair, so + delicious, that none can behold it unmoved. + </p> + <p> + Fired with this enthusiasm, the master wishes to impart it to the child. + He expects to rouse his emotion by drawing attention to his own. Mere + folly! The splendour of nature lives in man’s heart; to be seen, it + must be felt. The child sees the objects themselves, but does not perceive + their relations, and cannot hear their harmony. It needs knowledge he has + not yet acquired, feelings he has not yet experienced, to receive the + complex impression which results from all these separate sensations. If he + has not wandered over arid plains, if his feet have not been scorched by + the burning sands of the desert, if he has not breathed the hot and + oppressive air reflected from the glowing rocks, how shall he delight in + the fresh air of a fine morning. The scent of flowers, the beauty of + foliage, the moistness of the dew, the soft turf beneath his feet, how + shall all these delight his senses. How shall the song of the birds arouse + voluptuous emotion if love and pleasure are still unknown to him? How + shall he behold with rapture the birth of this fair day, if his + imagination cannot paint the joys it may bring in its track? How can he + feel the beauty of nature, while the hand that formed it is unknown? + </p> + <p> + Never tell the child what he cannot understand: no descriptions, no + eloquence, no figures of speech, no poetry. The time has not come for + feeling or taste. Continue to be clear and cold; the time will come only + too soon when you must adopt another tone. + </p> + <p> + Brought up in the spirit of our maxims, accustomed to make his own tools + and not to appeal to others until he has tried and failed, he will examine + everything he sees carefully and in silence. He thinks rather than + questions. Be content, therefore, to show him things at a fit season; + then, when you see that his curiosity is thoroughly aroused, put some + brief question which will set him trying to discover the answer. + </p> + <p> + On the present occasion when you and he have carefully observed the rising + sun, when you have called his attention to the mountains and other objects + visible from the same spot, after he has chattered freely about them, keep + quiet for a few minutes as if lost in thought and then say, “I think + the sun set over there last night; it rose here this morning. How can that + be?” Say no more; if he asks questions, do not answer them; talk of + something else. Let him alone, and be sure he will think about it. + </p> + <p> + To train a child to be really attentive so that he may be really impressed + by any truth of experience, he must spend anxious days before he discovers + that truth. If he does not learn enough in this way, there is another way + of drawing his attention to the matter. Turn the question about. If he + does not know how the sun gets from the place where it sets to where it + rises, he knows at least how it travels from sunrise to sunset, his eyes + teach him that. Use the second question to throw light on the first; + either your pupil is a regular dunce or the analogy is too clear to be + missed. This is his first lesson in cosmography. + </p> + <p> + As we always advance slowly from one sensible idea to another, and as we + give time enough to each for him to become really familiar with it before + we go on to another, and lastly as we never force our scholar’s + attention, we are still a long way from a knowledge of the course of the + sun or the shape of the earth; but as all the apparent movements of the + celestial bodies depend on the same principle, and the first observation + leads on to all the rest, less effort is needed, though more time, to + proceed from the diurnal revolution to the calculation of eclipses, than + to get a thorough understanding of day and night. + </p> + <p> + Since the sun revolves round the earth it describes a circle, and every + circle must have a centre; that we know already. This centre is invisible, + it is in the middle of the earth, but we can mark out two opposite points + on the earth’s surface which correspond to it. A skewer passed + through the three points and prolonged to the sky at either end would + represent the earth’s axis and the sun’s daily course. A round + teetotum revolving on its point represents the sky turning on its axis, + the two points of the teetotum are the two poles; the child will be + delighted to find one of them, and I show him the tail of the Little bear. + Here is a another game for the dark. Little by little we get to know the + stars, and from this comes a wish to know the planets and observe the + constellations. + </p> + <p> + We saw the sun rise at midsummer, we shall see it rise at Christmas or + some other fine winter’s day; for you know we are no lie-a-beds and + we enjoy the cold. I take care to make this second observation in the same + place as the first, and if skilfully lead up to, one or other will + certainly exclaim, “What a funny thing! The sun is not rising in the + same place; here are our landmarks, but it is rising over there. So there + is the summer east and the winter east, etc.” Young teacher, you are + on the right track. These examples should show you how to teach the sphere + without any difficulty, taking the earth for the earth and the sun for the + sun. + </p> + <p> + As a general rule—never substitute the symbol for the thing + signified, unless it is impossible to show the thing itself; for the child’s + attention is so taken up with the symbol that he will forget what it + signifies. + </p> + <p> + I consider the armillary sphere a clumsy disproportioned bit of apparatus. + The confused circles and the strange figures described on it suggest + witchcraft and frighten the child. The earth is too small, the circles too + large and too numerous, some of them, the colures, for instance, are quite + useless, and the thickness of the pasteboard gives them an appearance of + solidity so that they are taken for circular masses having a real + existence, and when you tell the child that these are imaginary circles, + he does not know what he is looking at and is none the wiser. + </p> + <p> + We are unable to put ourselves in the child’s place, we fail to + enter into his thoughts, we invest him with our own ideas, and while we + are following our own chain of reasoning, we merely fill his head with + errors and absurdities. + </p> + <p> + Should the method of studying science be analytic or synthetic? People + dispute over this question, but it is not always necessary to choose + between them. Sometimes the same experiments allow one to use both + analysis and synthesis, and thus to guide the child by the method of + instruction when he fancies he is only analysing. Then, by using both at + once, each method confirms the results of the other. Starting from + opposite ends, without thinking of following the same road, he will + unexpectedly reach their meeting place and this will be a delightful + surprise. For example, I would begin geography at both ends and add to the + study of the earth’s revolution the measurement of its divisions, + beginning at home. While the child is studying the sphere and is thus + transported to the heavens, bring him back to the divisions of the globe + and show him his own home. + </p> + <p> + His geography will begin with the town he lives in and his father’s + country house, then the places between them, the rivers near them, and + then the sun’s aspect and how to find one’s way by its aid. + This is the meeting place. Let him make his own map, a very simple map, at + first containing only two places; others may be added from time to time, + as he is able to estimate their distance and position. You see at once + what a good start we have given him by making his eye his compass. + </p> + <p> + No doubt he will require some guidance in spite of this, but very little, + and that little without his knowing it. If he goes wrong let him alone, do + not correct his mistakes; hold your tongue till he finds them out for + himself and corrects them, or at most arrange something, as opportunity + offers, which may show him his mistakes. If he never makes mistakes he + will never learn anything thoroughly. Moreover, what he needs is not an + exact knowledge of local topography, but how to find out for himself. No + matter whether he carries maps in his head provided he understands what + they mean, and has a clear idea of the art of making them. See what a + difference there is already between the knowledge of your scholars and the + ignorance of mine. They learn maps, he makes them. Here are fresh + ornaments for his room. + </p> + <p> + Remember that this is the essential point in my method—Do not teach + the child many things, but never to let him form inaccurate or confused + ideas. I care not if he knows nothing provided he is not mistaken, and I + only acquaint him with truths to guard him against the errors he might put + in their place. Reason and judgment come slowly, prejudices flock to us in + crowds, and from these he must be protected. But if you make science + itself your object, you embark on an unfathomable and shoreless ocean, an + ocean strewn with reefs from which you will never return. When I see a man + in love with knowledge, yielding to its charms and flitting from one + branch to another unable to stay his steps, he seems to me like a child + gathering shells on the sea-shore, now picking them up, then throwing them + aside for others which he sees beyond them, then taking them again, till + overwhelmed by their number and unable to choose between them, he flings + them all away and returns empty handed. + </p> + <p> + Time was long during early childhood; we only tried to pass our time for + fear of using it ill; now it is the other way; we have not time enough for + all that would be of use. The passions, remember, are drawing near, and + when they knock at the door your scholar will have no ear for anything + else. The peaceful age of intelligence is so short, it flies so swiftly, + there is so much to be done, that it is madness to try to make your child + learned. It is not your business to teach him the various sciences, but to + give him a taste for them and methods of learning them when this taste is + more mature. That is assuredly a fundamental principle of all good + education. + </p> + <p> + This is also the time to train him gradually to prolonged attention to a + given object; but this attention should never be the result of constraint, + but of interest or desire; you must be very careful that it is not too + much for his strength, and that it is not carried to the point of tedium. + Watch him, therefore, and whatever happens, stop before he is tired, for + it matters little what he learns; it does matter that he should do nothing + against his will. + </p> + <p> + If he asks questions let your answers be enough to whet his curiosity but + not enough to satisfy it; above all, when you find him talking at random + and overwhelming you with silly questions instead of asking for + information, at once refuse to answer; for it is clear that he no longer + cares about the matter in hand, but wants to make you a slave to his + questions. Consider his motives rather than his words. This warning, which + was scarcely needed before, becomes of supreme importance when the child + begins to reason. + </p> + <p> + There is a series of abstract truths by means of which all the sciences + are related to common principles and are developed each in its turn. This + relationship is the method of the philosophers. We are not concerned with + it at present. There is quite another method by which every concrete + example suggests another and always points to the next in the series. This + succession, which stimulates the curiosity and so arouses the attention + required by every object in turn, is the order followed by most men, and + it is the right order for all children. To take our bearings so as to make + our maps we must find meridians. Two points of intersection between the + equal shadows morning and evening supply an excellent meridian for a + thirteen-year-old astronomer. But these meridians disappear, it takes time + to trace them, and you are obliged to work in one place. So much trouble + and attention will at last become irksome. We foresaw this and are ready + for it. + </p> + <p> + Again I must enter into minute and detailed explanations. I hear my + readers murmur, but I am prepared to meet their disapproval; I will not + sacrifice the most important part of this book to your impatience. You may + think me as long-winded as you please; I have my own opinion as to your + complaints. + </p> + <p> + Long ago my pupil and I remarked that some substances such as amber, + glass, and wax, when well rubbed, attracted straws, while others did not. + We accidentally discover a substance which has a more unusual property, + that of attracting filings or other small particles of iron from a + distance and without rubbing. How much time do we devote to this game to + the exclusion of everything else! At last we discover that this property + is communicated to the iron itself, which is, so to speak, endowed with + life. We go to the fair one day [Footnote: I could not help laughing when + I read an elaborate criticism of this little tale by M. de Formy. “This + conjuror,” says he, “who is afraid of a child’s + competition and preaches to his tutor is the sort of person we meet with + in the world in which Emile and such as he are living.” This witty + M. de Formy could not guess that this little scene was arranged + beforehand, and that the juggler was taught his part in it; indeed I did + not state this fact. But I have said again and again that I was not + writing for people who expected to be told everything.] and a conjuror has + a wax duck floating in a basin of water, and he makes it follow a bit of + bread. We are greatly surprised, but we do not call him a wizard, never + having heard of such persons. As we are continually observing effects + whose causes are unknown to us, we are in no hurry to make up our minds, + and we remain in ignorance till we find an opportunity of learning. + </p> + <p> + When we get home we discuss the duck till we try to imitate it. We take a + needle thoroughly magnetised, we imbed it in white wax, shaped as far as + possible like a duck, with the needle running through the body, so that + its eye forms the beak. We put the duck in water and put the end of a key + near its beak, and you will readily understand our delight when we find + that our duck follows the key just as the duck at the fair followed the + bit of bread. Another time we may note the direction assumed by the duck + when left in the basin; for the present we are wholly occupied with our + work and we want nothing more. + </p> + <p> + The same evening we return to the fair with some bread specially prepared + in our pockets, and as soon as the conjuror has performed his trick, my + little doctor, who can scarcely sit still, exclaims, “The trick is + quite easy; I can do it myself.” “Do it then.” He at + once takes the bread with a bit of iron hidden in it from his pocket; his + heart throbs as he approaches the table and holds out the bread, his hand + trembles with excitement. The duck approaches and follows his hand. The + child cries out and jumps for joy. The applause, the shouts of the crowd, + are too much for him, he is beside himself. The conjuror, though + disappointed, embraces him, congratulates him, begs the honour of his + company on the following day, and promises to collect a still greater + crowd to applaud his skill. My young scientist is very proud of himself + and is beginning to chatter, but I check him at once and take him home + overwhelmed with praise. + </p> + <p> + The child counts the minutes till to-morrow with absurd anxiety. He + invites every one he meets, he wants all mankind to behold his glory; he + can scarcely wait till the appointed hour. He hurries to the place; the + hall is full already; as he enters his young heart swells with pride. + Other tricks are to come first. The conjuror surpasses himself and does + the most surprising things. The child sees none of these; he wriggles, + perspires, and hardly breathes; the time is spent in fingering with a + trembling hand the bit of bread in his pocket. His turn comes at last; the + master announces it to the audience with all ceremony; he goes up looking + somewhat shamefaced and takes out his bit of bread. Oh fleeting joys of + human life! the duck, so tame yesterday, is quite wild to-day; instead of + offering its beak it turns tail and swims away; it avoids the bread and + the hand that holds it as carefully as it followed them yesterday. After + many vain attempts accompanied by derisive shouts from the audience the + child complains that he is being cheated, that is not the same duck, and + he defies the conjuror to attract it. + </p> + <p> + The conjuror, without further words, takes a bit of bread and offers it to + the duck, which at once follows it and comes to the hand which holds it. + The child takes the same bit of bread with no better success; the duck + mocks his efforts and swims round the basin. Overwhelmed with confusion he + abandons the attempt, ashamed to face the crowd any longer. Then the + conjuror takes the bit of bread the child brought with him and uses it as + successfully as his own. He takes out the bit of iron before the audience—another + laugh at our expense—then with this same bread he attracts the duck + as before. He repeats the experiment with a piece of bread cut by a third + person in full view of the audience. He does it with his glove, with his + finger-tip. Finally he goes into the middle of the room and in the + emphatic tones used by such persons he declares that his duck will obey + his voice as readily as his hand; he speaks and the duck obeys; he bids + him go to the right and he goes, to come back again and he comes. The + movement is as ready as the command. The growing applause completes our + discomfiture. We slip away unnoticed and shut ourselves up in our room, + without relating our successes to everybody as we had expected. + </p> + <p> + Next day there is a knock at the door. When I open it there is the + conjuror, who makes a modest complaint with regard to our conduct. What + had he done that we should try to discredit his tricks and deprive him of + his livelihood? What is there so wonderful in attracting a duck that we + should purchase this honour at the price of an honest man’s living? + “My word, gentlemen! had I any other trade by which I could earn a + living I would not pride myself on this. You may well believe that a man + who has spent his life at this miserable trade knows more about it than + you who only give your spare time to it. If I did not show you my best + tricks at first, it was because one must not be so foolish as to display + all one knows at once. I always take care to keep my best tricks for + emergencies; and I have plenty more to prevent young folks from meddling. + However, I have come, gentlemen, in all kindness, to show you the trick + that gave you so much trouble; I only beg you not to use it to my hurt, + and to be more discreet in future.” He then shows us his apparatus, + and to our great surprise we find it is merely a strong magnet in the hand + of a boy concealed under the table. The man puts up his things, and after + we have offered our thanks and apologies, we try to give him something. He + refuses it. “No, gentlemen,” says he, “I owe you no + gratitude and I will not accept your gift. I leave you in my debt in spite + of all, and that is my only revenge. Generosity may be found among all + sorts of people, and I earn my pay by doing my tricks not by teaching + them.” + </p> + <p> + As he is going he blames me out-right. “I can make excuses for the + child,” he says, “he sinned in ignorance. But you, sir, should + know better. Why did you let him do it? As you are living together and you + are older than he, you should look after him and give him good advice. + Your experience should be his guide. When he is grown up he will reproach, + not only himself, but you, for the faults of his youth.” + </p> + <p> + When he is gone we are greatly downcast. I blame myself for my easy-going + ways. I promise the child that another time I will put his interests first + and warn him against faults before he falls into them, for the time is + coming when our relations will be changed, when the severity of the master + must give way to the friendliness of the comrade; this change must come + gradually, you must look ahead, and very far ahead. + </p> + <p> + We go to the fair again the next day to see the trick whose secret we + know. We approach our Socrates, the conjuror, with profound respect, we + scarcely dare to look him in the face. He overwhelms us with politeness, + gives us the best places, and heaps coals of fire on our heads. He goes + through his performance as usual, but he lingers affectionately over the + duck, and often glances proudly in our direction. We are in the secret, + but we do not tell. If my pupil did but open his mouth he would be worthy + of death. + </p> + <p> + There is more meaning than you suspect in this detailed illustration. How + many lessons in one! How mortifying are the results of a first impulse + towards vanity! Young tutor, watch this first impulse carefully. If you + can use it to bring about shame and disgrace, you may be sure it will not + recur for many a day. What a fuss you will say. Just so; and all to + provide a compass which will enable us to dispense with a meridian! + </p> + <p> + Having learnt that a magnet acts through other bodies, our next business + is to construct a bit of apparatus similar to that shown us. A bare table, + a shallow bowl placed on it and filled with water, a duck rather better + finished than the first, and so on. We often watch the thing and at last + we notice that the duck, when at rest, always turns the same way. We + follow up this observation; we examine the direction, we find that it is + from south to north. Enough! we have found our compass or its equivalent; + the study of physics is begun. + </p> + <p> + There are various regions of the earth, and these regions differ in + temperature. The variation is more evident as we approach the poles; all + bodies expand with heat and contract with cold; this is best measured in + liquids and best of all in spirits; hence the thermometer. The wind + strikes the face, then the air is a body, a fluid; we feel it though we + cannot see it. I invert a glass in water; the water will not fill it + unless you leave a passage for the escape of the air; so air is capable of + resistance. Plunge the glass further in the water; the water will encroach + on the air-space without filling it entirely; so air yields somewhat to + pressure. A ball filled with compressed air bounces better than one filled + with anything else; so air is elastic. Raise your arm horizontally from + the water when you are lying in your bath; you will feel a terrible weight + on it; so air is a heavy body. By establishing an equilibrium between air + and other fluids its weight can be measured, hence the barometer, the + siphon, the air-gun, and the air-pump. All the laws of statics and + hydrostatics are discovered by such rough experiments. For none of these + would I take the child into a physical cabinet; I dislike that array of + instruments and apparatus. The scientific atmosphere destroys science. + Either the child is frightened by these instruments or his attention, + which should be fixed on their effects, is distracted by their appearance. + </p> + <p> + We shall make all our apparatus ourselves, and I would not make it + beforehand, but having caught a glimpse of the experiment by chance we + mean to invent step by step an instrument for its verification. I would + rather our apparatus was somewhat clumsy and imperfect, but our ideas + clear as to what the apparatus ought to be, and the results to be obtained + by means of it. For my first lesson in statics, instead of fetching a + balance, I lay a stick across the back of a chair, I measure the two parts + when it is balanced; add equal or unequal weights to either end; by + pulling or pushing it as required, I find at last that equilibrium is the + result of a reciprocal proportion between the amount of the weights and + the length of the levers. Thus my little physicist is ready to rectify a + balance before ever he sees one. + </p> + <p> + Undoubtedly the notions of things thus acquired for oneself are clearer + and much more convincing than those acquired from the teaching of others; + and not only is our reason not accustomed to a slavish submission to + authority, but we develop greater ingenuity in discovering relations, + connecting ideas and inventing apparatus, than when we merely accept what + is given us and allow our minds to be enfeebled by indifference, like the + body of a man whose servants always wait on him, dress him and put on his + shoes, whose horse carries him, till he loses the use of his limbs. + Boileau used to boast that he had taught Racine the art of rhyming with + difficulty. Among the many short cuts to science, we badly need some one + to teach us the art of learning with difficulty. + </p> + <p> + The most obvious advantage of these slow and laborious inquiries is this: + the scholar, while engaged in speculative studies, is actively using his + body, gaining suppleness of limb, and training his hands to labour so that + he will be able to make them useful when he is a man. Too much apparatus, + designed to guide us in our experiments and to supplement the exactness of + our senses, makes us neglect to use those senses. The theodolite makes it + unnecessary to estimate the size of angles; the eye which used to judge + distances with much precision, trusts to the chain for its measurements; + the steel yard dispenses with the need of judging weight by the hand as I + used to do. The more ingenious our apparatus, the coarser and more + unskilful are our senses. We surround ourselves with tools and fail to use + those with which nature has provided every one of us. + </p> + <p> + But when we devote to the making of these instruments the skill which did + instead of them, when for their construction we use the intelligence which + enabled us to dispense with them, this is gain not loss, we add art to + nature, we gain ingenuity without loss of skill. If instead of making a + child stick to his books I employ him in a workshop, his hands work for + the development of his mind. While he fancies himself a workman he is + becoming a philosopher. Moreover, this exercise has other advantages of + which I shall speak later; and you will see how, through philosophy in + sport, one may rise to the real duties of man. + </p> + <p> + I have said already that purely theoretical science is hardly suitable for + children, even for children approaching adolescence; but without going far + into theoretical physics, take care that all their experiments are + connected together by some chain of reasoning, so that they may follow an + orderly sequence in the mind, and may be recalled at need; for it is very + difficult to remember isolated facts or arguments, when there is no cue + for their recall. + </p> + <p> + In your inquiry into the laws of nature always begin with the commonest + and most conspicuous phenomena, and train your scholar not to accept these + phenomena as causes but as facts. I take a stone and pretend to place it + in the air; I open my hand, the stone falls. I see Emile watching my + action and I say, “Why does this stone fall?” + </p> + <p> + What child will hesitate over this question? None, not even Emile, unless + I have taken great pains to teach him not to answer. Every one will say, + “The stone falls because it is heavy.” “And what do you + mean by heavy?” “That which falls.” “So the stone + falls because it falls?” Here is a poser for my little philosopher. + This is his first lesson in systematic physics, and whether he learns + physics or no it is a good lesson in common-sense. + </p> + <p> + As the child develops in intelligence other important considerations + require us to be still more careful in our choice of his occupations. As + soon as he has sufficient self-knowledge to understand what constitutes + his well-being, as soon as he can grasp such far-reaching relations as to + judge what is good for him and what is not, then he is able to discern the + difference between work and play, and to consider the latter merely as + relaxation. The objects of real utility may be introduced into his studies + and may lead him to more prolonged attention than he gave to his games. + The ever-recurring law of necessity soon teaches a man to do what he does + not like, so as to avert evils which he would dislike still more. Such is + the use of foresight, and this foresight, well or ill used, is the source + of all the wisdom or the wretchedness of mankind. + </p> + <p> + Every one desires happiness, but to secure it he must know what happiness + is. For the natural man happiness is as simple as his life; it consists in + the absence of pain; health, freedom, the necessaries of life are its + elements. The happiness of the moral man is another matter, but it does + not concern us at present. I cannot repeat too often that it is only + objects which can be perceived by the senses which can have any interest + for children, especially children whose vanity has not been stimulated nor + their minds corrupted by social conventions. + </p> + <p> + As soon as they foresee their needs before they feel them, their + intelligence has made a great step forward, they are beginning to know the + value of time. They must then be trained to devote this time to useful + purposes, but this usefulness should be such as they can readily perceive + and should be within the reach of their age and experience. What concerns + the moral order and the customs of society should not yet be given them, + for they are not in a condition to understand it. It is folly to expect + them to attend to things vaguely described as good for them, when they do + not know what this good is, things which they are assured will be to their + advantage when they are grown up, though for the present they take no + interest in this so-called advantage, which they are unable to understand. + </p> + <p> + Let the child do nothing because he is told; nothing is good for him but + what he recognises as good. When you are always urging him beyond his + present understanding, you think you are exercising a foresight which you + really lack. To provide him with useless tools which he may never require, + you deprive him of man’s most useful tool—common-sense. You + would have him docile as a child; he will be a credulous dupe when he + grows up. You are always saying, “What I ask is for your good, + though you cannot understand it. What does it matter to me whether you do + it or not; my efforts are entirely on your account.” All these fine + speeches with which you hope to make him good, are preparing the way, so + that the visionary, the tempter, the charlatan, the rascal, and every kind + of fool may catch him in his snare or draw him into his folly. + </p> + <p> + A man must know many things which seem useless to a child, but need the + child learn, or can he indeed learn, all that the man must know? Try to + teach the child what is of use to a child and you will find that it takes + all his time. Why urge him to the studies of an age he may never reach, to + the neglect of those studies which meet his present needs? “But,” + you ask, “will it not be too late to learn what he ought to know + when the time comes to use it?” I cannot tell; but this I do know, + it is impossible to teach it sooner, for our real teachers are experience + and emotion, and man will never learn what befits a man except under its + own conditions. A child knows he must become a man; all the ideas he may + have as to man’s estate are so many opportunities for his + instruction, but he should remain in complete ignorance of those ideas + which are beyond his grasp. My whole book is one continued argument in + support of this fundamental principle of education. + </p> + <p> + As soon as we have contrived to give our pupil an idea of the word “Useful,” + we have got an additional means of controlling him, for this word makes a + great impression on him, provided that its meaning for him is a meaning + relative to his own age, and provided he clearly sees its relation to his + own well-being. This word makes no impression on your scholars because you + have taken no pains to give it a meaning they can understand, and because + other people always undertake to supply their needs so that they never + require to think for themselves, and do not know what utility is. + </p> + <p> + “What is the use of that?” In future this is the sacred + formula, the formula by which he and I test every action of our lives. + This is the question with which I invariably answer all his questions; it + serves to check the stream of foolish and tiresome questions with which + children weary those about them. These incessant questions produce no + result, and their object is rather to get a hold over you than to gain any + real advantage. A pupil, who has been really taught only to want to know + what is useful, questions like Socrates; he never asks a question without + a reason for it, for he knows he will be required to give his reason + before he gets an answer. + </p> + <p> + See what a powerful instrument I have put into your hands for use with + your pupil. As he does not know the reason for anything you can reduce him + to silence almost at will; and what advantages do your knowledge and + experience give you to show him the usefulness of what you suggest. For, + make no mistake about it, when you put this question to him, you are + teaching him to put it to you, and you must expect that whatever you + suggest to him in the future he will follow your own example and ask, + “What is the use of this?” + </p> + <p> + Perhaps this is the greatest of the tutor’s difficulties. If you + merely try to put the child off when he asks a question, and if you give + him a single reason he is not able to understand, if he finds that you + reason according to your own ideas, not his, he will think what you tell + him is good for you but not for him; you will lose his confidence and all + your labour is thrown away. But what master will stop short and confess + his faults to his pupil? We all make it a rule never to own to the faults + we really have. Now I would make it a rule to admit even the faults I have + not, if I could not make my reasons clear to him; as my conduct will + always be intelligible to him, he will never doubt me and I shall gain + more credit by confessing my imaginary faults than those who conceal their + real defects. + </p> + <p> + In the first place do not forget that it is rarely your business to + suggest what he ought to learn; it is for him to want to learn, to seek + and to find it. You should put it within his reach, you should skilfully + awaken the desire and supply him with means for its satisfaction. So your + questions should be few and well-chosen, and as he will always have more + questions to put to you than you to him, you will always have the + advantage and will be able to ask all the oftener, “What is the use + of that question?” Moreover, as it matters little what he learns + provided he understands it and knows how to use it, as soon as you cannot + give him a suitable explanation give him none at all. Do not hesitate to + say, “I have no good answer to give you; I was wrong, let us drop + the subject.” If your teaching was really ill-chosen there is no + harm in dropping it altogether; if it was not, with a little care you will + soon find an opportunity of making its use apparent to him. + </p> + <p> + I do not like verbal explanations. Young people pay little heed to them, + nor do they remember them. Things! Things! I cannot repeat it too often. + We lay too much stress upon words; we teachers babble, and our scholars + follow our example. + </p> + <p> + Suppose we are studying the course of the sun and the way to find our + bearings, when all at once Emile interrupts me with the question, “What + is the use of that?” what a fine lecture I might give, how many + things I might take occasion to teach him in reply to his question, + especially if there is any one there. I might speak of the advantages of + travel, the value of commerce, the special products of different lands and + the peculiar customs of different nations, the use of the calendar, the + way to reckon the seasons for agriculture, the art of navigation, how to + steer our course at sea, how to find our way without knowing exactly where + we are. Politics, natural history, astronomy, even morals and + international law are involved in my explanation, so as to give my pupil + some idea of all these sciences and a great wish to learn them. When I + have finished I shall have shown myself a regular pedant, I shall have + made a great display of learning, and not one single idea has he + understood. He is longing to ask me again, “What is the use of + taking one’s bearings?” but he dare not for fear of vexing me. + He finds it pays best to pretend to listen to what he is forced to hear. + This is the practical result of our fine systems of education. + </p> + <p> + But Emile is educated in a simpler fashion. We take so much pains to teach + him a difficult idea that he will have heard nothing of all this. At the + first word he does not understand, he will run away, he will prance about + the room, and leave me to speechify by myself. Let us seek a more + commonplace explanation; my scientific learning is of no use to him. + </p> + <p> + We were observing the position of the forest to the north of Montmorency + when he interrupted me with the usual question, “What is the use of + that?” “You are right,” I said. “Let us take time + to think it over, and if we find it is no use we will drop it, for we only + want useful games.” We find something else to do and geography is + put aside for the day. + </p> + <p> + Next morning I suggest a walk before breakfast; there is nothing he would + like better; children are always ready to run about, and he is a good + walker. We climb up to the forest, we wander through its clearings and + lose ourselves; we have no idea where we are, and when we want to retrace + our steps we cannot find the way. Time passes, we are hot and hungry; + hurrying vainly this way and that we find nothing but woods, quarries, + plains, not a landmark to guide us. Very hot, very tired, very hungry, we + only get further astray. At last we sit down to rest and to consider our + position. I assume that Emile has been educated like an ordinary child. He + does not think, he begins to cry; he has no idea we are close to + Montmorency, which is hidden from our view by a mere thicket; but this + thicket is a forest to him, a man of his size is buried among bushes. + After a few minutes’ silence I begin anxiously—— + </p> + <p> + JEAN JACQUES. My dear Emile, what shall we do get out? + </p> + <p> + EMILE. I am sure I do not know. I am tired, I am hungry, I am thirsty. I + cannot go any further. + </p> + <p> + JEAN JACQUES. Do you suppose I am any better off? I would cry too if I + could make my breakfast off tears. Crying is no use, we must look about + us. Let us see your watch; what time is it? + </p> + <p> + EMILE. It is noon and I am so hungry! + </p> + <p> + JEAN JACQUES. Just so; it is noon and I am so hungry too. + </p> + <p> + EMILE. You must be very hungry indeed. + </p> + <p> + JEAN JACQUES. Unluckily my dinner won’t come to find me. It is + twelve o’clock. This time yesterday we were observing the position + of the forest from Montmorency. If only we could see the position of + Montmorency from the forest. + </p> + <p> + EMILE. But yesterday we could see the forest, and here we cannot see the + town. + </p> + <p> + JEAN JACQUES. That is just it. If we could only find it without seeing it. + </p> + <p> + EMILE. Oh! my dear friend! + </p> + <p> + JEAN JACQUES. Did not we say the forest was... + </p> + <p> + EMILE. North of Montmorency. + </p> + <p> + JEAN JACQUES. Then Montmorency must lie... + </p> + <p> + EMILE. South of the forest. + </p> + <p> + JEAN JACQUES. We know how to find the north at midday. + </p> + <p> + EMILE. Yes, by the direction of the shadows. + </p> + <p> + JEAN JACQUES. But the south? + </p> + <p> + EMILE. What shall we do? + </p> + <p> + JEAN JACQUES. The south is opposite the north. + </p> + <p> + EMILE. That is true; we need only find the opposite of the shadows. That + is the south! That is the south! Montmorency must be over there! Let us + look for it there! + </p> + <p> + JEAN JACQUES. Perhaps you are right; let us follow this path through the + wood. + </p> + <p> + EMILE. (Clapping his hands.) Oh, I can see Montmorency! there it is, quite + plain, just in front of us! Come to luncheon, come to dinner, make haste! + Astronomy is some use after all. + </p> + <p> + Be sure that he thinks this if he does not say it; no matter which, + provided I do not say it myself. He will certainly never forget this day’s + lesson as long as he lives, while if I had only led him to think of all + this at home, my lecture would have been forgotten the next day. Teach by + doing whenever you can, and only fall back upon words when doing is out of + the question. + </p> + <p> + The reader will not expect me to have such a poor opinion of him as to + supply him with an example of every kind of study; but, whatever is + taught, I cannot too strongly urge the tutor to adapt his instances to the + capacity of his scholar; for once more I repeat the risk is not in what he + does not know, but in what he thinks he knows. + </p> + <p> + I remember how I once tried to give a child a taste for chemistry. After + showing him several metallic precipitates, I explained how ink was made. I + told him how its blackness was merely the result of fine particles of iron + separated from the vitriol and precipitated by an alkaline solution. In + the midst of my learned explanation the little rascal pulled me up short + with the question I myself had taught him. I was greatly puzzled. After a + few moments’ thought I decided what to do. I sent for some wine from + the cellar of our landlord, and some very cheap wine from a wine-merchant. + I took a small [Footnote: Before giving any explanation to a child a + little bit of apparatus serves to fix his attention.] flask of an alkaline + solution, and placing two glasses before me filled with the two sorts of + wine, I said. + </p> + <p> + Food and drink are adulterated to make them seem better than they really + are. These adulterations deceive both the eye and the palate, but they are + unwholesome and make the adulterated article even worse than before in + spite of its fine appearance. + </p> + <p> + All sorts of drinks are adulterated, and wine more than others; for the + fraud is more difficult to detect, and more profitable to the fraudulent + person. + </p> + <p> + Sour wine is adulterated with litharge; litharge is a preparation of lead. + Lead in combination with acids forms a sweet salt which corrects the harsh + taste of the sour wine, but it is poisonous. So before we drink wine of + doubtful quality we should be able to tell if there is lead in it. This is + how I should do it. + </p> + <p> + Wine contains not merely an inflammable spirit as you have seen from the + brandy made from it; it also contains an acid as you know from the vinegar + made from it. + </p> + <p> + This acid has an affinity for metals, it combines with them and forms + salts, such as iron-rust, which is only iron dissolved by the acid in air + or water, or such as verdegris, which is only copper dissolved in vinegar. + </p> + <p> + But this acid has a still greater affinity for alkalis than for metals, so + that when we add alkalis to the above-mentioned salts, the acid sets free + the metal with which it had combined, and combines with the alkali. + </p> + <p> + Then the metal, set free by the acid which held it in solution, is + precipitated and the liquid becomes opaque. + </p> + <p> + If then there is litharge in either of these glasses of wine, the acid + holds the litharge in solution. When I pour into it an alkaline solution, + the acid will be forced to set the lead free in order to combine with the + alkali. The lead, no longer held in solution, will reappear, the liquor + will become thick, and after a time the lead will be deposited at the + bottom of the glass. + </p> + <p> + If there is no lead [Footnote: The wine sold by retail dealers in Paris is + rarely free from lead, though some of it does not contain litharge, for + the counters are covered with lead and when the wine is poured into the + measures and some of it spilt upon the counter and the measures left + standing on the counter, some of the lead is always dissolved. It is + strange that so obvious and dangerous an abuse should be tolerated by the + police. But indeed well-to-do people, who rarely drink these wines, are + not likely to be poisoned by them.] nor other metal in the wine the alkali + will slowly [Footnote: The vegetable acid is very gentle in its action. If + it were a mineral acid and less diluted, the combination would not take + place without effervescence.] combine with the acid, all will remain clear + and there will be no precipitate. + </p> + <p> + Then I poured my alkaline solution first into one glass and then into the + other. The wine from our own house remained clear and unclouded, the other + at once became turbid, and an hour later the lead might be plainly seen, + precipitated at the bottom of the glass. + </p> + <p> + “This,” said I, “is a pure natural wine and fit to + drink; the other is adulterated and poisonous. You wanted to know the use + of knowing how to make ink. If you can make ink you can find out what + wines are adulterated.” + </p> + <p> + I was very well pleased with my illustration, but I found it made little + impression on my pupil. When I had time to think about it I saw I had been + a fool, for not only was it impossible for a child of twelve to follow my + explanations, but the usefulness of the experiment did not appeal to him; + he had tasted both glasses of wine and found them both good, so he + attached no meaning to the word “adulterated” which I thought + I had explained so nicely. Indeed, the other words, “unwholesome” + and “poison,” had no meaning whatever for him; he was in the + same condition as the boy who told the story of Philip and his doctor. It + is the condition of all children. + </p> + <p> + The relation of causes and effects whose connection is unknown to us, good + and ill of which we have no idea, the needs we have never felt, have no + existence for us. It is impossible to interest ourselves in them + sufficiently to make us do anything connected with them. At fifteen we + become aware of the happiness of a good man, as at thirty we become aware + of the glory of Paradise. If we had no clear idea of either we should make + no effort for their attainment; and even if we had a clear idea of them, + we should make little or no effort unless we desired them and unless we + felt we were made for them. It is easy to convince a child that what you + wish to teach him is useful, but it is useless to convince if you cannot + also persuade. Pure reason may lead us to approve or censure, but it is + feeling which leads to action, and how shall we care about that which does + not concern us? + </p> + <p> + Never show a child what he cannot see. Since mankind is almost unknown to + him, and since you cannot make a man of him, bring the man down to the + level of the child. While you are thinking what will be useful to him when + he is older, talk to him of what he knows he can use now. Moreover, as + soon as he begins to reason let there be no comparison with other + children, no rivalry, no competition, not even in running races. I would + far rather he did not learn anything than have him learn it through + jealousy or self-conceit. Year by year I shall just note the progress he + had made, I shall compare the results with those of the following year, I + shall say, “You have grown so much; that is the ditch you jumped, + the weight you carried, the distance you flung a pebble, the race you ran + without stopping to take breath, etc.; let us see what you can do now.” + </p> + <p> + In this way he is stimulated to further effort without jealousy. He wants + to excel himself as he ought to do; I see no reason why he should not + emulate his own performances. + </p> + <p> + I hate books; they only teach us to talk about things we know nothing + about. Hermes, they say, engraved the elements of science on pillars lest + a deluge should destroy them. Had he imprinted them on men’s hearts + they would have been preserved by tradition. Well-trained minds are the + pillars on which human knowledge is most deeply engraved. + </p> + <p> + Is there no way of correlating so many lessons scattered through so many + books, no way of focussing them on some common object, easy to see, + interesting to follow, and stimulating even to a child? Could we but + discover a state in which all man’s needs appear in such a way as to + appeal to the child’s mind, a state in which the ways of providing + for these needs are as easily developed, the simple and stirring portrayal + of this state should form the earliest training of the child’s + imagination. + </p> + <p> + Eager philosopher, I see your own imagination at work. Spare yourself the + trouble; this state is already known, it is described, with due respect to + you, far better than you could describe it, at least with greater truth + and simplicity. Since we must have books, there is one book which, to my + thinking, supplies the best treatise on an education according to nature. + This is the first book Emile will read; for a long time it will form his + whole library, and it will always retain an honoured place. It will be the + text to which all our talks about natural science are but the commentary. + It will serve to test our progress towards a right judgment, and it will + always be read with delight, so long as our taste is unspoilt. What is + this wonderful book? Is it Aristotle? Pliny? Buffon? No; it is Robinson + Crusoe. + </p> + <p> + Robinson Crusoe on his island, deprived of the help of his fellow-men, + without the means of carrying on the various arts, yet finding food, + preserving his life, and procuring a certain amount of comfort; this is + the thing to interest people of all ages, and it can be made attractive to + children in all sorts of ways. We shall thus make a reality of that desert + island which formerly served as an illustration. The condition, I confess, + is not that of a social being, nor is it in all probability Emile’s + own condition, but he should use it as a standard of comparison for all + other conditions. The surest way to raise him above prejudice and to base + his judgments on the true relations of things, is to put him in the place + of a solitary man, and to judge all things as they would be judged by such + a man in relation to their own utility. + </p> + <p> + This novel, stripped of irrelevant matter, begins with Robinson’s + shipwreck on his island, and ends with the coming of the ship which bears + him from it, and it will furnish Emile with material, both for work and + play, during the whole period we are considering. His head should be full + of it, he should always be busy with his castle, his goats, his + plantations. Let him learn in detail, not from books but from things, all + that is necessary in such a case. Let him think he is Robinson himself; + let him see himself clad in skins, wearing a tall cap, a great cutlass, + all the grotesque get-up of Robinson Crusoe, even to the umbrella which he + will scarcely need. He should anxiously consider what steps to take; will + this or that be wanting. He should examine his hero’s conduct; has + he omitted nothing; is there nothing he could have done better? He should + carefully note his mistakes, so as not to fall into them himself in + similar circumstances, for you may be sure he will plan out just such a + settlement for himself. This is the genuine castle in the air of this + happy age, when the child knows no other happiness but food and freedom. + </p> + <p> + What a motive will this infatuation supply in the hands of a skilful + teacher who has aroused it for the purpose of using it. The child who + wants to build a storehouse on his desert island will be more eager to + learn than the master to teach. He will want to know all sorts of useful + things and nothing else; you will need the curb as well as the spur. Make + haste, therefore, to establish him on his island while this is all he + needs to make him happy; for the day is at hand, when, if he must still + live on his island, he will not be content to live alone, when even the + companionship of Man Friday, who is almost disregarded now, will not long + suffice. + </p> + <p> + The exercise of the natural arts, which may be carried on by one man + alone, leads on to the industrial arts which call for the cooperation of + many hands. The former may be carried on by hermits, by savages, but the + others can only arise in a society, and they make society necessary. So + long as only bodily needs are recognised man is self-sufficing; with + superfluity comes the need for division and distribution of labour, for + though one man working alone can earn a man’s living, one hundred + men working together can earn the living of two hundred. As soon as some + men are idle, others must work to make up for their idleness. + </p> + <p> + Your main object should be to keep out of your scholar’s way all + idea of such social relations as he cannot understand, but when the + development of knowledge compels you to show him the mutual dependence of + mankind, instead of showing him its moral side, turn all his attention at + first towards industry and the mechanical arts which make men useful to + one another. While you take him from one workshop to another, let him try + his hand at every trade you show him, and do not let him leave it till he + has thoroughly learnt why everything is done, or at least everything that + has attracted his attention. With this aim you should take a share in his + work and set him an example. Be yourself the apprentice that he may become + a master; you may expect him to learn more in one hour’s work than + he would retain after a whole day’s explanation. + </p> + <p> + The value set by the general public on the various arts is in inverse + ratio to their real utility. They are even valued directly according to + their uselessness. This might be expected. The most useful arts are the + worst paid, for the number of workmen is regulated by the demand, and the + work which everybody requires must necessarily be paid at a rate which + puts it within the reach of the poor. On the other hand, those great + people who are called artists, not artisans, who labour only for the rich + and idle, put a fancy price on their trifles; and as the real value of + this vain labour is purely imaginary, the price itself adds to their + market value, and they are valued according to their costliness. The rich + think so much of these things, not because they are useful, but because + they are beyond the reach of the poor. Nolo habere bona, nisi quibus + populus inviderit. + </p> + <p> + What will become of your pupils if you let them acquire this foolish + prejudice, if you share it yourself? If, for instance, they see you show + more politeness in a jeweller’s shop than in a locksmith’s. + What idea will they form of the true worth of the arts and the real value + of things when they see, on the one hand, a fancy price and, on the other, + the price of real utility, and that the more a thing costs the less it is + worth? As soon as you let them get hold of these ideas, you may give up + all attempt at further education; in spite of you they will be like all + the other scholars—you have wasted fourteen years. + </p> + <p> + Emile, bent on furnishing his island, will look at things from another + point of view. Robinson would have thought more of a toolmaker’s + shop than all Saide’s trifles put together. He would have reckoned + the toolmaker a very worthy man, and Saide little more than a charlatan. + </p> + <p> + “My son will have to take the world as he finds it, he will not live + among the wise but among fools; he must therefore be acquainted with their + follies, since they must be led by this means. A real knowledge of things + may be a good thing in itself, but the knowledge of men and their opinions + is better, for in human society man is the chief tool of man, and the + wisest man is he who best knows the use of this tool. What is the good of + teaching children an imaginary system, just the opposite of the + established order of things, among which they will have to live? First + teach them wisdom, then show them the follies of mankind.” + </p> + <p> + These are the specious maxims by which fathers, who mistake them for + prudence, strive to make their children the slaves of the prejudices in + which they are educated, and the puppets of the senseless crowd, which + they hope to make subservient to their passions. How much must be known + before we attain to a knowledge of man. This is the final study of the + philosopher, and you expect to make it the first lesson of the child! + Before teaching him our sentiments, first teach him to judge of their + worth. Do you perceive folly when you mistake it for wisdom? To be wise we + must discern between good and evil. How can your child know men, when he + can neither judge of their judgments nor unravel their mistakes? It is a + misfortune to know what they think, without knowing whether their thoughts + are true or false. First teach him things as they really are, afterwards + you will teach him how they appear to us. He will then be able to make a + comparison between popular ideas and truth, and be able to rise above the + vulgar crowd; for you are unaware of the prejudices you adopt, and you do + not lead a nation when you are like it. But if you begin to teach the + opinions of other people before you teach how to judge of their worth, of + one thing you may be sure, your pupil will adopt those opinions whatever + you may do, and you will not succeed in uprooting them. I am therefore + convinced that to make a young man judge rightly, you must form his + judgment rather than teach him your own. + </p> + <p> + So far you see I have not spoken to my pupil about men; he would have too + much sense to listen to me. His relations to other people are as yet not + sufficiently apparent to him to enable him to judge others by himself. The + only person he knows is himself, and his knowledge of himself is very + imperfect. But if he forms few opinions about others, those opinions are + correct. He knows nothing of another’s place, but he knows his own + and keeps to it. I have bound him with the strong cord of necessity, + instead of social laws, which are beyond his knowledge. He is still little + more than a body; let us treat him as such. + </p> + <p> + Every substance in nature and every work of man must be judged in relation + to his own use, his own safety, his own preservation, his own comfort. + Thus he should value iron far more than gold, and glass than diamonds; in + the same way he has far more respect for a shoemaker or a mason than for a + Lempereur, a Le Blanc, or all the jewellers in Europe. In his eyes a + confectioner is a really great man, and he would give the whole academy of + sciences for the smallest pastrycook in Lombard Street. Goldsmiths, + engravers, gilders, and embroiderers, he considers lazy people, who play + at quite useless games. He does not even think much of a clockmaker. The + happy child enjoys Time without being a slave to it; he uses it, but he + does not know its value. The freedom from passion which makes every day + alike to him, makes any means of measuring time unnecessary. When I + assumed that Emile had a watch, [Footnote: When our hearts are abandoned + to the sway of passion, then it is that we need a measure of time. The + wise man’s watch is his equable temper and his peaceful heart. He is + always punctual, and he always knows the time.] just as I assumed that he + cried, it was a commonplace Emile that I chose to serve my purpose and + make myself understood. The real Emile, a child so different from the + rest, would not serve as an illustration for anything. + </p> + <p> + There is an order no less natural and even more accurate, by which the + arts are valued according to bonds of necessity which connect them; the + highest class consists of the most independent, the lowest of those most + dependent on others. This classification, which suggests important + considerations on the order of society in general, is like the preceding + one in that it is subject to the same inversion in popular estimation, so + that the use of raw material is the work of the lowest and worst paid + trades, while the oftener the material changes hands, the more the work + rises in price and in honour. I do not ask whether industry is really + greater and more deserving of reward when engaged in the delicate arts + which give the final shape to these materials, than in the labour which + first gave them to man’s use; but this I say, that in everything the + art which is most generally useful and necessary, is undoubtedly that + which most deserves esteem, and that art which requires the least help + from others, is more worthy of honour than those which are dependent on + other arts, since it is freer and more nearly independent. These are the + true laws of value in the arts; all others are arbitrary and dependent on + popular prejudice. + </p> + <p> + Agriculture is the earliest and most honourable of arts; metal work I put + next, then carpentry, and so on. This is the order in which the child will + put them, if he has not been spoilt by vulgar prejudices. What valuable + considerations Emile will derive from his Robinson in such matters. What + will he think when he sees the arts only brought to perfection by + sub-division, by the infinite multiplication of tools. He will say, + “All those people are as silly as they are ingenious; one would + think they were afraid to use their eyes and their hands, they invent so + many tools instead. To carry on one trade they become the slaves of many + others; every single workman needs a whole town. My friend and I try to + gain skill; we only make tools we can take about with us; these people, + who are so proud of their talents in Paris, would be no use at all on our + island; they would have to become apprentices.” + </p> + <p> + Reader, do not stay to watch the bodily exercises and manual skill of our + pupil, but consider the bent we are giving to his childish curiosity; + consider his common-sense, his inventive spirit, his foresight; consider + what a head he will have on his shoulders. He will want to know all about + everything he sees or does, to learn the why and the wherefore of it; from + tool to tool he will go back to the first beginning, taking nothing for + granted; he will decline to learn anything that requires previous + knowledge which he has not acquired. If he sees a spring made he will want + to know how they got the steel from the mine; if he sees the pieces of a + chest put together, he will want to know how the tree was out down; when + at work he will say of each tool, “If I had not got this, how could + I make one like it, or how could I get along without it?” + </p> + <p> + It is, however, difficult to avoid another error. When the master is very + fond of certain occupations, he is apt to assume that the child shares his + tastes; beware lest you are carried away by the interest of your work, + while the child is bored by it, but is afraid to show it. The child must + come first, and you must devote yourself entirely to him. Watch him, study + him constantly, without his knowing it; consider his feelings beforehand, + and provide against those which are undesirable, keep him occupied in such + a way that he not only feels the usefulness of the thing, but takes a + pleasure in understanding the purpose which his work will serve. + </p> + <p> + The solidarity of the arts consists in the exchange of industry, that of + commerce in the exchange of commodities, that of banks in the exchange of + money or securities. All these ideas hang together, and their foundation + has already been laid in early childhood with the help of Robert the + gardener. All we have now to do is to substitute general ideas for + particular, and to enlarge these ideas by means of numerous examples, so + as to make the child understand the game of business itself, brought home + to him by means of particular instances of natural history with regard to + the special products of each country, by particular instances of the arts + and sciences which concern navigation and the difficulties of transport, + greater or less in proportion to the distance between places, the position + of land, seas, rivers, etc. + </p> + <p> + There can be no society without exchange, no exchange without a common + standard of measurement, no common standard of measurement without + equality. Hence the first law of every society is some conventional + equality either in men or things. + </p> + <p> + Conventional equality between men, a very different thing from natural + equality, leads to the necessity for positive law, i.e., government and + kings. A child’s political knowledge should be clear and restricted; + he should know nothing of government in general, beyond what concerns the + rights of property, of which he has already some idea. + </p> + <p> + Conventional equality between things has led to the invention of money, + for money is only one term in a comparison between the values of different + sorts of things; and in this sense money is the real bond of society; but + anything may be money; in former days it was cattle; shells are used among + many tribes at the present day; Sparta used iron; Sweden, leather; while + we use gold and silver. + </p> + <p> + Metals, being easier to carry, have generally been chosen as the middle + term of every exchange, and these metals have been made into coin to save + the trouble of continual weighing and measuring, for the stamp on the coin + is merely evidence that the coin is of given weight; and the sole right of + coining money is vested in the ruler because he alone has the right to + demand the recognition of his authority by the whole nation. + </p> + <p> + The stupidest person can perceive the use of money when it is explained in + this way. It is difficult to make a direct comparison between various + things, for instance, between cloth and corn; but when we find a common + measure, in money, it is easy for the manufacturer and the farmer to + estimate the value of the goods they wish to exchange in terms of this + common measure. If a given quantity of cloth is worth a given some of + money, and a given quantity of corn is worth the same sum of money, then + the seller, receiving the corn in exchange for his cloth, makes a fair + bargain. Thus by means of money it becomes possible to compare the values + of goods of various kinds. + </p> + <p> + Be content with this, and do not touch upon the moral effects of this + institution. In everything you must show clearly the use before the abuse. + If you attempt to teach children how the sign has led to the neglect of + the thing signified, how money is the source of all the false ideas of + society, how countries rich in silver must be poor in everything else, you + will be treating these children as philosophers, and not only as + philosophers but as wise men, for you are professing to teach them what + very few philosophers have grasped. + </p> + <p> + What a wealth of interesting objects, towards which the curiosity of our + pupil may be directed without ever quitting the real and material + relations he can understand, and without permitting the formation of a + single idea beyond his grasp! The teacher’s art consists in this: To + turn the child’s attention from trivial details and to guide his + thoughts continually towards relations of importance which he will one day + need to know, that he may judge rightly of good and evil in human society. + The teacher must be able to adapt the conversation with which he amuses + his pupil to the turn already given to his mind. A problem which another + child would never heed will torment Emile half a year. + </p> + <p> + We are going to dine with wealthy people; when we get there everything is + ready for a feast, many guests, many servants, many dishes, dainty and + elegant china. There is something intoxicating in all these preparations + for pleasure and festivity when you are not used to them. I see how they + will affect my young pupil. While dinner is going on, while course follows + course, and conversation is loud around us, I whisper in his ear, “How + many hands do you suppose the things on this table passed through before + they got here?” What a crowd of ideas is called up by these few + words. In a moment the mists of excitement have rolled away. He is + thinking, considering, calculating, and anxious. The child is + philosophising, while philosophers, excited by wine or perhaps by female + society, are babbling like children. If he asks questions I decline to + answer and put him off to another day. He becomes impatient, he forgets to + eat and drink, he longs to get away from table and talk as he pleases. + What an object of curiosity, what a text for instruction. Nothing has so + far succeeded in corrupting his healthy reason; what will he think of + luxury when he finds that every quarter of the globe has been ransacked, + that some 2,000,000 men have laboured for years, that many lives have + perhaps been sacrificed, and all to furnish him with fine clothes to be + worn at midday and laid by in the wardrobe at night. + </p> + <p> + Be sure you observe what private conclusions he draws from all his + observations. If you have watched him less carefully than I suppose, his + thoughts may be tempted in another direction; he may consider himself a + person of great importance in the world, when he sees so much labour + concentrated on the preparation of his dinner. If you suspect his thoughts + will take this direction you can easily prevent it, or at any rate + promptly efface the false impression. As yet he can only appropriate + things by personal enjoyment, he can only judge of their fitness or + unfitness by their outward effects. Compare a plain rustic meal, preceded + by exercise, seasoned by hunger, freedom, and delight, with this + magnificent but tedious repast. This will suffice to make him realise that + he has got no real advantage from the splendour of the feast, that his + stomach was as well satisfied when he left the table of the peasant, as + when he left the table of the banker; from neither had he gained anything + he could really call his own. + </p> + <p> + Just fancy what a tutor might say to him on such an occasion. Consider the + two dinners and decide for yourself which gave you most pleasure, which + seemed the merriest, at which did you eat and drink most heartily, which + was the least tedious and required least change of courses? Yet note the + difference—this black bread you so enjoy is made from the peasant’s + own harvest; his wine is dark in colour and of a common kind, but + wholesome and refreshing; it was made in his own vineyard; the cloth is + made of his own hemp, spun and woven in the winter by his wife and + daughters and the maid; no hands but theirs have touched the food. His + world is bounded by the nearest mill and the next market. How far did you + enjoy all that the produce of distant lands and the service of many people + had prepared for you at the other dinner? If you did not get a better + meal, what good did this wealth do you? how much of it was made for you? + Had you been the master of the house, the tutor might say, it would have + been of still less use to you; for the anxiety of displaying your + enjoyment before the eyes of others would have robbed you of it; the pains + would be yours, the pleasure theirs. + </p> + <p> + This may be a very fine speech, but it would be thrown away upon Emile, as + he cannot understand it, and he does not accept second-hand opinions. + Speak more simply to him. After these two experiences, say to him some + day, “Where shall we have our dinner to-day? Where that mountain of + silver covered three quarters of the table and those beds of artificial + flowers on looking glass were served with the dessert, where those smart + ladies treated you as a toy and pretended you said what you did not mean; + or in that village two leagues away, with those good people who were so + pleased to see us and gave us such delicious cream?” Emile will not + hesitate; he is not vain and he is no chatterbox; he cannot endure + constraint, and he does not care for fine dishes; but he is always ready + for a run in the country and is very fond of good fruit and vegetables, + sweet cream and kindly people. [Footnote: This taste, which I assume my + pupil to have acquired, is a natural result of his education. Moreover, he + has nothing foppish or affected about him, so that the ladies take little + notice of him and he is less petted than other children; therefore he does + not care for them, and is less spoilt by their company; he is not yet of + an age to feel its charm. I have taken care not to teach him to kiss their + hands, to pay them compliments, or even to be more polite to them than to + men. It is my constant rule to ask nothing from him but what he can + understand, and there is no good reason why a child should treat one sex + differently from the other.] On our way, the thought will occur to him, + “All those people who laboured to prepare that grand feast were + either wasting their time or they have no idea how to enjoy themselves.” + </p> + <p> + My example may be right for one child and wrong for the rest. If you enter + into their way of looking at things you will know how to vary your + instances as required; the choice depends on the study of the individual + temperament, and this study in turn depends on the opportunities which + occur to show this temperament. You will not suppose that, in the three or + four years at our disposal, even the most gifted child can get an idea of + all the arts and sciences, sufficient to enable him to study them for + himself when he is older; but by bringing before him what he needs to + know, we enable him to develop his own tastes, his own talents, to take + the first step towards the object which appeals to his individuality and + to show us the road we must open up to aid the work of nature. + </p> + <p> + There is another advantage of these trains of limited but exact bits of + knowledge; he learns by their connection and interdependence how to rank + them in his own estimation and to be on his guard against those + prejudices, common to most men, which draw them towards the gifts they + themselves cultivate and away from those they have neglected. The man who + clearly sees the whole, sees where each part should be; the man who sees + one part clearly and knows it thoroughly may be a learned man, but the + former is a wise man, and you remember it is wisdom rather than knowledge + that we hope to acquire. + </p> + <p> + However that may be, my method does not depend on my examples; it depends + on the amount of a man’s powers at different ages, and the choice of + occupations adapted to those powers. I think it would be easy to find a + method which appeared to give better results, but if it were less suited + to the type, sex, and age of the scholar, I doubt whether the results + would really be as good. + </p> + <p> + At the beginning of this second period we took advantage of the fact that + our strength was more than enough for our needs, to enable us to get + outside ourselves. We have ranged the heavens and measured the earth; we + have sought out the laws of nature; we have explored the whole of our + island. Now let us return to ourselves, let us unconsciously approach our + own dwelling. We are happy indeed if we do not find it already occupied by + the dreaded foe, who is preparing to seize it. + </p> + <p> + What remains to be done when we have observed all that lies around us? We + must turn to our own use all that we can get, we must increase our comfort + by means of our curiosity. Hitherto we have provided ourselves with tools + of all kinds, not knowing which we require. Perhaps those we do not want + will be useful to others, and perhaps we may need theirs. Thus we discover + the use of exchange; but for this we must know each other’s needs, + what tools other people use, what they can offer in exchange. Given ten + men, each of them has ten different requirements. To get what he needs for + himself each must work at ten different trades; but considering our + different talents, one will do better at this trade, another at that. Each + of them, fitted for one thing, will work at all, and will be badly served. + Let us form these ten men into a society, and let each devote himself to + the trade for which he is best adapted, and let him work at it for himself + and for the rest. Each will reap the advantage of the others’ + talents, just as if they were his own; by practice each will perfect his + own talent, and thus all the ten, well provided for, will still have + something to spare for others. This is the plain foundation of all our + institutions. It is not my aim to examine its results here; I have done so + in another book (Discours sur l’inegalite). + </p> + <p> + According to this principle, any one who wanted to consider himself as an + isolated individual, self-sufficing and independent of others, could only + be utterly wretched. He could not even continue to exist, for finding the + whole earth appropriated by others while he had only himself, how could he + get the means of subsistence? When we leave the state of nature we compel + others to do the same; no one can remain in a state of nature in spite of + his fellow-creatures, and to try to remain in it when it is no longer + practicable, would really be to leave it, for self-preservation is nature’s + first law. + </p> + <p> + Thus the idea of social relations is gradually developed in the child’s + mind, before he can really be an active member of human society. Emile + sees that to get tools for his own use, other people must have theirs, and + that he can get in exchange what he needs and they possess. I easily bring + him to feel the need of such exchange and to take advantage of it. + </p> + <p> + “Sir, I must live,” said a miserable writer of lampoons to the + minister who reproved him for his infamous trade. “I do not see the + necessity,” replied the great man coldly. This answer, excellent + from the minister, would have been barbarous and untrue in any other + mouth. Every man must live; this argument, which appeals to every one with + more or less force in proportion to his humanity, strikes me as + unanswerable when applied to oneself. Since our dislike of death is the + strongest of those aversions nature has implanted in us, it follows that + everything is permissible to the man who has no other means of living. The + principles, which teach the good man to count his life a little thing and + to sacrifice it at duty’s call, are far removed from this primitive + simplicity. Happy are those nations where one can be good without effort, + and just without conscious virtue. If in this world there is any condition + so miserable that one cannot live without wrong-doing, where the citizen + is driven into evil, you should hang, not the criminal, but those who + drove him into crime. + </p> + <p> + As soon as Emile knows what life is, my first care will be to teach him to + preserve his life. Hitherto I have made no distinction of condition, rank, + station, or fortune; nor shall I distinguish between them in the future, + since man is the same in every station; the rich man’s stomach is no + bigger than the poor man’s, nor is his digestion any better; the + master’s arm is neither longer nor stronger than the slave’s; + a great man is no taller than one of the people, and indeed the natural + needs are the same to all, and the means of satisfying them should be + equally within the reach of all. Fit a man’s education to his real + self, not to what is no part of him. Do you not see that in striving to + fit him merely for one station, you are unfitting him for anything else, + so that some caprice of Fortune may make your work really harmful to him? + What could be more absurd than a nobleman in rags, who carries with him + into his poverty the prejudices of his birth? What is more despicable than + a rich man fallen into poverty, who recalls the scorn with which he + himself regarded the poor, and feels that he has sunk to the lowest depth + of degradation? The one may become a professional thief, the other a + cringing servant, with this fine saying, “I must live.” + </p> + <p> + You reckon on the present order of society, without considering that this + order is itself subject to inscrutable changes, and that you can neither + foresee nor provide against the revolution which may affect your children. + The great become small, the rich poor, the king a commoner. Does fate + strike so seldom that you can count on immunity from her blows? The crisis + is approaching, and we are on the edge of a revolution. [Footnote: In my + opinion it is impossible that the great kingdoms of Europe should last + much longer. Each of them has had its period of splendour, after which it + must inevitably decline. I have my own opinions as to the special + applications of this general statement, but this is not the place to enter + into details, and they are only too evident to everybody.] Who can answer + for your fate? What man has made, man may destroy. Nature’s + characters alone are ineffaceable, and nature makes neither the prince, + the rich man, nor the nobleman. This satrap whom you have educated for + greatness, what will become of him in his degradation? This farmer of the + taxes who can only live on gold, what will he do in poverty? This haughty + fool who cannot use his own hands, who prides himself on what is not + really his, what will he do when he is stripped of all? In that day, happy + will he be who can give up the rank which is no longer his, and be still a + man in Fate’s despite. Let men praise as they will that conquered + monarch who like a madman would be buried beneath the fragments of his + throne; I behold him with scorn; to me he is merely a crown, and when that + is gone he is nothing. But he who loses his crown and lives without it, is + more than a king; from the rank of a king, which may be held by a coward, + a villain, or madman, he rises to the rank of a man, a position few can + fill. Thus he triumphs over Fortune, he dares to look her in the face; he + depends on himself alone, and when he has nothing left to show but himself + he is not a nonentity, he is somebody. Better a thousandfold the king of + Corinth a schoolmaster at Syracuse, than a wretched Tarquin, unable to be + anything but a king, or the heir of the ruler of three kingdoms, the sport + of all who would scorn his poverty, wandering from court to court in + search of help, and finding nothing but insults, for want of knowing any + trade but one which he can no longer practise. + </p> + <p> + The man and the citizen, whoever he may be, has no property to invest in + society but himself, all his other goods belong to society in spite of + himself, and when a man is rich, either he does not enjoy his wealth, or + the public enjoys it too; in the first case he robs others as well as + himself; in the second he gives them nothing. Thus his debt to society is + still unpaid, while he only pays with his property. “But my father + was serving society while he was acquiring his wealth.” Just so; he + paid his own debt, not yours. You owe more to others than if you had been + born with nothing, since you were born under favourable conditions. It is + not fair that what one man has done for society should pay another’s + debt, for since every man owes all that he is, he can only pay his own + debt, and no father can transmit to his son any right to be of no use to + mankind. “But,” you say, “this is just what he does when + he leaves me his wealth, the reward of his labour.” The man who eats + in idleness what he has not himself earned, is a thief, and in my eyes, + the man who lives on an income paid him by the state for doing nothing, + differs little from a highwayman who lives on those who travel his way. + Outside the pale of society, the solitary, owing nothing to any man, may + live as he pleases, but in society either he lives at the cost of others, + or he owes them in labour the cost of his keep; there is no exception to + this rule. Man in society is bound to work; rich or poor, weak or strong, + every idler is a thief. + </p> + <p> + Now of all the pursuits by which a man may earn his living, the nearest to + a state of nature is manual labour; of all stations that of the artisan is + least dependent on Fortune. The artisan depends on his labour alone, he is + a free man while the ploughman is a slave; for the latter depends on his + field where the crops may be destroyed by others. An enemy, a prince, a + powerful neighbour, or a law-suit may deprive him of his field; through + this field he may be harassed in all sorts of ways. But if the artisan is + ill-treated his goods are soon packed and he takes himself off. Yet + agriculture is the earliest, the most honest of trades, and more useful + than all the rest, and therefore more honourable for those who practise + it. I do not say to Emile, “Study agriculture,” he is already + familiar with it. He is acquainted with every kind of rural labour, it was + his first occupation, and he returns to it continually. So I say to him, + “Cultivate your father’s lands, but if you lose this + inheritance, or if you have none to lose, what will you do? Learn a trade.” + </p> + <p> + “A trade for my son! My son a working man! What are you thinking of, + sir?” Madam, my thoughts are wiser than yours; you want to make him + fit for nothing but a lord, a marquis, or a prince; and some day he may be + less than nothing. I want to give him a rank which he cannot lose, a rank + which will always do him honour; I want to raise him to the status of a + man, and, whatever you may say, he will have fewer equals in that rank + than in your own. + </p> + <p> + The letter killeth, the spirit giveth life. Learning a trade matters less + than overcoming the prejudices he despises. You will never be reduced to + earning your livelihood; so much the worse for you. No matter; work for + honour, not for need: stoop to the position of a working man, to rise + above your own. To conquer Fortune and everything else, begin by + independence. To rule through public opinion, begin by ruling over it. + </p> + <p> + Remember I demand no talent, only a trade, a genuine trade, a mere + mechanical art, in which the hands work harder than the head, a trade + which does not lead to fortune but makes you independent of her. In + households far removed from all danger of want I have known fathers carry + prudence to such a point as to provide their children not only with + ordinary teaching but with knowledge by means of which they could get a + living if anything happened. These far-sighted parents thought they were + doing a great thing. It is nothing, for the resources they fancy they have + secured depend on that very fortune of which they would make their + children independent; so that unless they found themselves in + circumstances fitted for the display of their talents, they would die of + hunger as if they had none. + </p> + <p> + As soon as it is a question of influence and intrigue you may as well use + these means to keep yourself in plenty, as to acquire, in the depths of + poverty, the means of returning to your former position. If you cultivate + the arts which depend on the artist’s reputation, if you fit + yourself for posts which are only obtained by favour, how will that help + you when, rightly disgusted with the world, you scorn the steps by which + you must climb. You have studied politics and state-craft, so far so good; + but how will you use this knowledge, if you cannot gain the ear of the + ministers, the favourites, or the officials? if you have not the secret of + winning their favour, if they fail to find you a rogue to their taste? You + are an architect or a painter; well and good; but your talents must be + displayed. Do you suppose you can exhibit in the salon without further + ado? That is not the way to set about it. Lay aside the rule and the + pencil, take a cab and drive from door to door; there is the road to fame. + Now you must know that the doors of the great are guarded by porters and + flunkeys, who only understand one language, and their ears are in their + palms. If you wish to teach what you have learned, geography, mathematics, + languages, music, drawing, even to find pupils, you must have friends who + will sing your praises. Learning, remember, gains more credit than skill, + and with no trade but your own none will believe in your skill. See how + little you can depend on these fine “Resources,” and how many + other resources are required before you can use what you have got. And + what will become of you in your degradation? Misfortune will make you + worse rather than better. More than ever the sport of public opinion, how + will you rise above the prejudices on which your fate depends? How will + you despise the vices and the baseness from which you get your living? You + were dependent on wealth, now you are dependent on the wealthy; you are + still a slave and a poor man into the bargain. Poverty without freedom, + can a man sink lower than this! + </p> + <p> + But if instead of this recondite learning adapted to feed the mind, not + the body, you have recourse, at need, to your hands and your handiwork, + there is no call for deceit, your trade is ready when required. Honour and + honesty will not stand in the way of your living. You need no longer + cringe and lie to the great, nor creep and crawl before rogues, a + despicable flatterer of both, a borrower or a thief, for there is little + to choose between them when you are penniless. Other people’s + opinions are no concern of yours, you need not pay court to any one, there + is no fool to flatter, no flunkey to bribe, no woman to win over. Let + rogues conduct the affairs of state; in your lowly rank you can still be + an honest man and yet get a living. You walk into the first workshop of + your trade. “Master, I want work.” “Comrade, take your + place and work.” Before dinner-time you have earned your dinner. If + you are sober and industrious, before the week is out you will have earned + your keep for another week; you will have lived in freedom, health, truth, + industry, and righteousness. Time is not wasted when it brings these + returns. + </p> + <p> + Emile shall learn a trade. “An honest trade, at least,” you + say. What do you mean by honest? Is not every useful trade honest? I would + not make an embroiderer, a gilder, a polisher of him, like Locke’s + young gentleman. Neither would I make him a musician, an actor, or an + author.[Footnote: You are an author yourself, you will reply. Yes, for my + sins; and my ill deeds, which I think I have fully expiated, are no reason + why others should be like me. I do not write to excuse my faults, but to + prevent my readers from copying them.] With the exception of these and + others like them, let him choose his own trade, I do not mean to interfere + with his choice. I would rather have him a shoemaker than a poet, I would + rather he paved streets than painted flowers on china. “But,” + you will say, “policemen, spies, and hangmen are useful people.” + There would be no use for them if it were not for the government. But let + that pass. I was wrong. It is not enough to choose an honest trade, it + must be a trade which does not develop detestable qualities in the mind, + qualities incompatible with humanity. To return to our original + expression, “Let us choose an honest trade,” but let us + remember there can be no honesty without usefulness. + </p> + <p> + A famous writer of this century, whose books are full of great schemes and + narrow views, was under a vow, like the other priests of his communion, + not to take a wife. Finding himself more scrupulous than others with + regard to his neighbour’s wife, he decided, so they say, to employ + pretty servants, and so did his best to repair the wrong done to the race + by his rash promise. He thought it the duty of a citizen to breed children + for the state, and he made his children artisans. As soon as they were old + enough they were taught whatever trade they chose; only idle or useless + trades were excluded, such as that of the wigmaker who is never necessary, + and may any day cease to be required, so long as nature does not get tired + of providing us with hair. + </p> + <p> + This spirit shall guide our choice of trade for Emile, or rather, not our + choice but his; for the maxims he has imbibed make him despise useless + things, and he will never be content to waste his time on vain labours; + his trade must be of use to Robinson on his island. + </p> + <p> + When we review with the child the productions of art and nature, when we + stimulate his curiosity and follow its lead, we have great opportunities + of studying his tastes and inclinations, and perceiving the first spark of + genius, if he has any decided talent in any direction. You must, however, + be on your guard against the common error which mistakes the effects of + environment for the ardour of genius, or imagines there is a decided bent + towards any one of the arts, when there is nothing more than that spirit + of emulation, common to men and monkeys, which impels them instinctively + to do what they see others doing, without knowing why. The world is full + of artisans, and still fuller of artists, who have no native gift for + their calling, into which they were driven in early childhood, either + through the conventional ideas of other people, or because those about + them were deceived by an appearance of zeal, which would have led them to + take to any other art they saw practised. One hears a drum and fancies he + is a general; another sees a building and wants to be an architect. Every + one is drawn towards the trade he sees before him if he thinks it is held + in honour. + </p> + <p> + I once knew a footman who watched his master drawing and painting and took + it into his head to become a designer and artist. He seized a pencil which + he only abandoned for a paint-brush, to which he stuck for the rest of his + days. Without teaching or rules of art he began to draw everything he saw. + Three whole years were devoted to these daubs, from which nothing but his + duties could stir him, nor was he discouraged by the small progress + resulting from his very mediocre talents. I have seen him spend the whole + of a broiling summer in a little ante-room towards the south, a room where + one was suffocated merely passing through it; there he was, seated or + rather nailed all day to his chair, before a globe, drawing it again and + again and yet again, with invincible obstinacy till he had reproduced the + rounded surface to his own satisfaction. At last with his master’s + help and under the guidance of an artist he got so far as to abandon his + livery and live by his brush. Perseverance does instead of talent up to a + certain point; he got so far, but no further. This honest lad’s + perseverance and ambition are praiseworthy; he will always be respected + for his industry and steadfastness of purpose, but his paintings will + always be third-rate. Who would not have been deceived by his zeal and + taken it for real talent! There is all the difference in the world between + a liking and an aptitude. To make sure of real genius or real taste in a + child calls for more accurate observations than is generally suspected, + for the child displays his wishes not his capacity, and we judge by the + former instead of considering the latter. I wish some trustworthy person + would give us a treatise on the art of child-study. This art is well worth + studying, but neither parents nor teachers have mastered its elements. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps we are laying too much stress on the choice of a trade; as it is a + manual occupation, Emile’s choice is no great matter, and his + apprenticeship is more than half accomplished already, through the + exercises which have hitherto occupied him. What would you have him do? He + is ready for anything. He can handle the spade and hoe, he can use the + lathe, hammer, plane, or file; he is already familiar with these tools + which are common to many trades. He only needs to acquire sufficient skill + in the use of any one of them to rival the speed, the familiarity, and the + diligence of good workmen, and he will have a great advantage over them in + suppleness of body and limb, so that he can easily take any position and + can continue any kind of movements without effort. Moreover his senses are + acute and well-practised, he knows the principles of the various trades; + to work like a master of his craft he only needs experience, and + experience comes with practice. To which of these trades which are open to + us will he give sufficient time to make himself master of it? That is the + whole question. + </p> + <p> + Give a man a trade befitting his sex, to a young man a trade befitting his + age. Sedentary indoor employments, which make the body tender and + effeminate, are neither pleasing nor suitable. No lad ever wanted to be a + tailor. It takes some art to attract a man to this woman’s + work.[Footnote: There were no tailors among the ancients; men’s + clothes were made at home by the women.] The same hand cannot hold the + needle and the sword. If I were king I would only allow needlework and + dressmaking to be done by women and cripples who are obliged to work at + such trades. If eunuchs were required I think the Easterns were very + foolish to make them on purpose. Why not take those provided by nature, + that crowd of base persons without natural feeling? There would be enough + and to spare. The weak, feeble, timid man is condemned by nature to a + sedentary life, he is fit to live among women or in their fashion. Let him + adopt one of their trades if he likes; and if there must be eunuchs let + them take those men who dishonour their sex by adopting trades unworthy of + it. Their choice proclaims a blunder on the part of nature; correct it one + way or other, you will do no harm. + </p> + <p> + An unhealthy trade I forbid to my pupil, but not a difficult or dangerous + one. He will exercise himself in strength and courage; such trades are for + men not women, who claim no share in them. Are not men ashamed to poach + upon the women’s trades? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Luctantur paucae, comedunt coliphia paucae. + Vos lanam trahitis, calathisque peracta refertis + Vellera.”—Juven. Sat. II. V. 55. +</pre> + <p> + Women are not seen in shops in Italy, and to persons accustomed to the + streets of England and France nothing could look gloomier. When I saw + drapers selling ladies ribbons, pompons, net, and chenille, I thought + these delicate ornaments very absurd in the coarse hands fit to blow the + bellows and strike the anvil. I said to myself, “In this country + women should set up as steel-polishers and armourers.” Let each make + and sell the weapons of his or her own sex; knowledge is acquired through + use. + </p> + <p> + I know I have said too much for my agreeable contemporaries, but I + sometimes let myself be carried away by my argument. If any one is ashamed + to be seen wearing a leathern apron or handling a plane, I think him a + mere slave of public opinion, ready to blush for what is right when people + poke fun at it. But let us yield to parents’ prejudices so long as + they do not hurt the children. To honour trades we are not obliged to + practise every one of them, so long as we do not think them beneath us. + When the choice is ours and we are under no compulsion, why not choose the + pleasanter, more attractive and more suitable trade. Metal work is useful, + more useful, perhaps, than the rest, but unless for some special reason + Emile shall not be a blacksmith, a locksmith nor an iron-worker. I do not + want to see him a Cyclops at the forge. Neither would I have him a mason, + still less a shoemaker. All trades must be carried on, but when the choice + is ours, cleanliness should be taken into account; this is not a matter of + class prejudice, our senses are our guides. In conclusion, I do not like + those stupid trades in which the workmen mechanically perform the same + action without pause and almost without mental effort. Weaving, + stocking-knitting, stone-cutting; why employ intelligent men on such work? + it is merely one machine employed on another. + </p> + <p> + All things considered, the trade I should choose for my pupil, among the + trades he likes, is that of a carpenter. It is clean and useful; it may be + carried on at home; it gives enough exercise; it calls for skill and + industry, and while fashioning articles for everyday use, there is scope + for elegance and taste. If your pupil’s talents happened to take a + scientific turn, I should not blame you if you gave him a trade in + accordance with his tastes, for instance, he might learn to make + mathematical instruments, glasses, telescopes, etc. + </p> + <p> + When Emile learns his trade I shall learn it too. I am convinced he will + never learn anything thoroughly unless we learn it together. So we shall + both serve our apprenticeship, and we do not mean to be treated as + gentlemen, but as real apprentices who are not there for fun; why should + not we actually be apprenticed? Peter the Great was a ship’s + carpenter and drummer to his own troops; was not that prince at least your + equal in birth and merit? You understand this is addressed not to Emile + but to you—to you, whoever you may be. + </p> + <p> + Unluckily we cannot spend the whole of our time at the workshop. We are + not only ’prentice-carpenters but ’prentice-men—a trade + whose apprenticeship is longer and more exacting than the rest. What shall + we do? Shall we take a master to teach us the use of the plane and engage + him by the hour like the dancing-master? In that case we should be not + apprentices but students, and our ambition is not merely to learn + carpentry but to be carpenters. Once or twice a week I think we should + spend the whole day at our master’s; we should get up when he does, + we should be at our work before him, we should take our meals with him, + work under his orders, and after having had the honour of supping at his + table we may if we please return to sleep upon our own hard beds. This is + the way to learn several trades at once, to learn to do manual work + without neglecting our apprenticeship to life. + </p> + <p> + Let us do what is right without ostentation; let us not fall into vanity + through our efforts to resist it. To pride ourselves on our victory over + prejudice is to succumb to prejudice. It is said that in accordance with + an old custom of the Ottomans, the sultan is obliged to work with his + hands, and, as every one knows, the handiwork of a king is a masterpiece. + So he royally distributes his masterpieces among the great lords of the + Porte and the price paid is in accordance with the rank of the workman. It + is not this so-called abuse to which I object; on the contrary, it is an + advantage, and by compelling the lords to share with him the spoils of the + people it is so much the less necessary for the prince to plunder the + people himself. Despotism needs some such relaxation, and without it that + hateful rule could not last. + </p> + <p> + The real evil in such a custom is the idea it gives that poor man of his + own worth. Like King Midas he sees all things turn to gold at his touch, + but he does not see the ass’ ears growing. Let us keep Emile’s + hands from money lest he should become an ass, let him take the work but + not the wages. Never let his work be judged by any standard but that of + the work of a master. Let it be judged as work, not because it is his. If + anything is well done, I say, “That is a good piece of work,” + but do not ask who did it. If he is pleased and proud and says, “I + did it,” answer indifferently, “No matter who did it, it is + well done.” + </p> + <p> + Good mother, be on your guard against the deceptions prepared for you. If + your son knows many things, distrust his knowledge; if he is unlucky + enough to be rich and educated in Paris he is ruined. As long as there are + clever artists he will have every talent, but apart from his masters he + will have none. In Paris a rich man knows everything, it is the poor who + are ignorant. Our capital is full of amateurs, especially women, who do + their work as M. Gillaume invents his colours. Among the men I know three + striking exceptions, among the women I know no exceptions, and I doubt if + there are any. In a general way a man becomes an artist and a judge of art + as he becomes a Doctor of Laws and a magistrate. + </p> + <p> + If then it is once admitted that it is a fine thing to have a trade, your + children would soon have one without learning it. They would become + postmasters like the councillors of Zurich. Let us have no such ceremonies + for Emile; let it be the real thing not the sham. Do not say what he + knows, let him learn in silence. Let him make his masterpiece, but not be + hailed as master; let him be a workman not in name but in deed. + </p> + <p> + If I have made my meaning clear you ought to realise how bodily exercise + and manual work unconsciously arouse thought and reflexion in my pupil, + and counteract the idleness which might result from his indifference to + men’s judgments, and his freedom from passion. He must work like a + peasant and think like a philosopher, if he is not to be as idle as a + savage. The great secret of education is to use exercise of mind and body + as relaxation one to the other. + </p> + <p> + But beware of anticipating teaching which demands more maturity of mind. + Emile will not long be a workman before he discovers those social + inequalities he had not previously observed. He will want to question me + in turn on the maxims I have given him, maxims he is able to understand. + When he derives everything from me, when he is so nearly in the position + of the poor, he will want to know why I am so far removed from it. All of + a sudden he may put scathing questions to me. “You are rich, you + tell me, and I see you are. A rich man owes his work to the community like + the rest because he is a man. What are you doing for the community?” + What would a fine tutor say to that? I do not know. He would perhaps be + foolish enough to talk to the child of the care he bestows upon him. The + workshop will get me out of the difficulty. “My dear Emile that is a + very good question; I will undertake to answer for myself, when you can + answer for yourself to your own satisfaction. Meanwhile I will take care + to give what I can spare to you and to the poor, and to make a table or a + bench every week, so as not to be quite useless.” + </p> + <p> + We have come back to ourselves. Having entered into possession of himself, + our child is now ready to cease to be a child. He is more than ever + conscious of the necessity which makes him dependent on things. After + exercising his body and his senses you have exercised his mind and his + judgment. Finally we have joined together the use of his limbs and his + faculties. We have made him a worker and a thinker; we have now to make + him loving and tender-hearted, to perfect reason through feeling. But + before we enter on this new order of things, let us cast an eye over the + stage we are leaving behind us, and perceive as clearly as we can how far + we have got. + </p> + <p> + At first our pupil had merely sensations, now he has ideas; he could only + feel, now he reasons. For from the comparison of many successive or + simultaneous sensations and the judgment arrived at with regard to them, + there springs a sort of mixed or complex sensation which I call an idea. + </p> + <p> + The way in which ideas are formed gives a character to the human mind. The + mind which derives its ideas from real relations is thorough; the mind + which relies on apparent relations is superficial. He who sees relations + as they are has an exact mind; he who fails to estimate them aright has an + inaccurate mind; he who concocts imaginary relations, which have no real + existence, is a madman; he who does not perceive any relation at all is an + imbecile. Clever men are distinguished from others by their greater or + less aptitude for the comparison of ideas and the discovery of relations + between them. + </p> + <p> + Simple ideas consist merely of sensations compared one with another. + Simple sensations involve judgments, as do the complex sensations which I + call simple ideas. In the sensation the judgment is purely passive; it + affirms that I feel what I feel. In the percept or idea the judgment is + active; it connects, compares, it discriminates between relations not + perceived by the senses. That is the whole difference; but it is a great + difference. Nature never deceives us; we deceive ourselves. + </p> + <p> + I see some one giving an ice-cream to an eight-year-old child; he does not + know what it is and puts the spoon in his mouth. Struck by the cold he + cries out, “Oh, it burns!” He feels a very keen sensation, and + the heat of the fire is the keenest sensation he knows, so he thinks that + is what he feels. Yet he is mistaken; cold hurts, but it does not burn; + and these two sensations are different, for persons with more experience + do not confuse them. So it is not the sensation that is wrong, but the + judgment formed with regard to it. + </p> + <p> + It is just the same with those who see a mirror or some optical instrument + for the first time, or enter a deep cellar in the depths of winter or at + midsummer, or dip a very hot or cold hand into tepid water, or roll a + little ball between two crossed fingers. If they are content to say what + they really feel, their judgment, being purely passive, cannot go wrong; + but when they judge according to appearances, their judgment is active; it + compares and establishes by induction relations which are not really + perceived. Then these inductions may or may not be mistaken. Experience is + required to correct or prevent error. + </p> + <p> + Show your pupil the clouds at night passing between himself and the moon; + he will think the moon is moving in the opposite direction and that the + clouds are stationary. He will think this through a hasty induction, + because he generally sees small objects moving and larger ones at rest, + and the clouds seems larger than the moon, whose distance is beyond his + reckoning. When he watches the shore from a moving boat he falls into the + opposite mistake and thinks the earth is moving because he does not feel + the motion of the boat and considers it along with the sea or river as one + motionless whole, of which the shore, which appears to move, forms no + part. + </p> + <p> + The first time a child sees a stick half immersed in water he thinks he + sees a broken stick; the sensation is true and would not cease to be true + even if he knew the reason of this appearance. So if you ask him what he + sees, he replies, “A broken stick,” for he is quite sure he is + experiencing this sensation. But when deceived by his judgment he goes + further and, after saying he sees a broken stick, he affirms that it + really is broken he says what is not true. Why? Because he becomes active + and judges no longer by observation but by induction, he affirms what he + does not perceive, i.e., that the judgment he receives through one of his + senses would be confirmed by another. + </p> + <p> + Since all our errors arise in our judgment, it is clear, that had we no + need for judgment, we should not need to learn; we should never be liable + to mistakes, we should be happier in our ignorance than we can be in our + knowledge. Who can deny that a vast number of things are known to the + learned, which the unlearned will never know? Are the learned any nearer + truth? Not so, the further they go the further they get from truth, for + their pride in their judgment increases faster than their progress in + knowledge, so that for every truth they acquire they draw a hundred + mistaken conclusions. Every one knows that the learned societies of Europe + are mere schools of falsehood, and there are assuredly more mistaken + notions in the Academy of Sciences than in a whole tribe of American + Indians. + </p> + <p> + The more we know, the more mistakes we make; therefore ignorance is the + only way to escape error. Form no judgments and you will never be + mistaken. This is the teaching both of nature and reason. We come into + direct contact with very few things, and these are very readily perceived; + the rest we regard with profound indifference. A savage will not turn his + head to watch the working of the finest machinery or all the wonders of + electricity. “What does that matter to me?” is the common + saying of the ignorant; it is the fittest phrase for the wise. + </p> + <p> + Unluckily this phrase will no longer serve our turn. Everything matters to + us, as we are dependent on everything, and our curiosity naturally + increases with our needs. This is why I attribute much curiosity to the + man of science and none to the savage. The latter needs no help from + anybody; the former requires every one, and admirers most of all. + </p> + <p> + You will tell me I am going beyond nature. I think not. She chooses her + instruments and orders them, not according to fancy, but necessity. Now a + man’s needs vary with his circumstances. There is all the difference + in the world between a natural man living in a state of nature, and a + natural man living in society. Emile is no savage to be banished to the + desert, he is a savage who has to live in the town. He must know how to + get his living in a town, how to use its inhabitants, and how to live + among them, if not of them. + </p> + <p> + In the midst of so many new relations and dependent on them, he must + reason whether he wants to or no. Let us therefore teach him to reason + correctly. + </p> + <p> + The best way of learning to reason aright is that which tends to simplify + our experiences, or to enable us to dispense with them altogether without + falling into error. Hence it follows that we must learn to confirm the + experiences of each sense by itself, without recourse to any other, though + we have been in the habit of verifying the experience of one sense by that + of another. Then each of our sensations will become an idea, and this idea + will always correspond to the truth. This is the sort of knowledge I have + tried to accumulate during this third phase of man’s life. + </p> + <p> + This method of procedure demands a patience and circumspection which few + teachers possess; without them the scholar will never learn to reason. For + example, if you hasten to take the stick out of the water when the child + is deceived by its appearance, you may perhaps undeceive him, but what + have you taught him? Nothing more than he would soon have learnt for + himself. That is not the right thing to do. You have not got to teach him + truths so much as to show him how to set about discovering them for + himself. To teach him better you must not be in such a hurry to correct + his mistakes. Let us take Emile and myself as an illustration. + </p> + <p> + To begin with, any child educated in the usual way could not fail to + answer the second of my imaginary questions in the affirmative. He will + say, “That is certainly a broken stick.” I very much doubt + whether Emile will give the same reply. He sees no reason for knowing + everything or pretending to know it; he is never in a hurry to draw + conclusions. He only reasons from evidence and on this occasion he has not + got the evidence. He knows how appearances deceive us, if only through + perspective. + </p> + <p> + Moreover, he knows by experience that there is always a reason for my + slightest questions, though he may not see it at once; so he has not got + into the habit of giving silly answers; on the contrary, he is on his + guard, he considers things carefully and attentively before answering. He + never gives me an answer unless he is satisfied with it himself, and he is + hard to please. Lastly we neither of us take any pride in merely knowing a + thing, but only in avoiding mistakes. We should be more ashamed to deceive + ourselves with bad reasoning, than to find no explanation at all. There is + no phrase so appropriate to us, or so often on our lips, as, “I do + not know;” neither of us are ashamed to use it. But whether he gives + the silly answer or whether he avoids it by our convenient phrase “I + do not know,” my answer is the same. “Let us examine it.” + </p> + <p> + This stick immersed half way in the water is fixed in an upright position. + To know if it is broken, how many things must be done before we take it + out of the water or even touch it. + </p> + <p> + 1. First we walk round it, and we see that the broken part follows us. So + it is only our eye that changes it; looks do not make things move. + </p> + <p> + 2. We look straight down on that end of the stick which is above the + water, the stick is no longer bent, [Footnote: I have since found by more + exact experiment that this is not the case. Refraction acts in a circle, + and the stick appears larger at the end which is in the water, but this + makes no difference to the strength of the argument, and the conclusion is + correct.] the end near our eye exactly hides the other end. Has our eye + set the stick straight? + </p> + <p> + 3. We stir the surface of the water; we see the stick break into several + pieces, it moves in zigzags and follows the ripples of the water. Can the + motion we gave the water suffice to break, soften, or melt the stick like + this? + </p> + <p> + 4. We draw the water off, and little by little we see the stick + straightening itself as the water sinks. Is not this more than enough to + clear up the business and to discover refraction? So it is not true that + our eyes deceive us, for nothing more has been required to correct the + mistakes attributed to it. + </p> + <p> + Suppose the child were stupid enough not to perceive the result of these + experiments, then you must call touch to the help of sight. Instead of + taking the stick out of the water, leave it where it is and let the child + pass his hand along it from end to end; he will feel no angle, therefore + the stick is not broken. + </p> + <p> + You will tell me this is not mere judgment but formal reasoning. Just so; + but do not you see that as soon as the mind has got any ideas at all, + every judgment is a process of reasoning? So that as soon as we compare + one sensation with another, we are beginning to reason. The art of judging + and the art of reasoning are one and the same. + </p> + <p> + Emile will never learn dioptrics unless he learns with this stick. He will + not have dissected insects nor counted the spots on the sun; he will not + know what you mean by a microscope or a telescope. Your learned pupils + will laugh at his ignorance and rightly, I intend him to invent these + instruments before he uses them, and you will expect that to take some + time. + </p> + <p> + This is the spirit of my whole method at this stage. If the child rolls a + little ball between two crossed fingers and thinks he feels two balls, I + shall not let him look until he is convinced there is only one. + </p> + <p> + This explanation will suffice, I hope, to show plainly the progress made + by my pupil hitherto and the route followed by him. But perhaps the number + of things I have brought to his notice alarms you. I shall crush his mind + beneath this weight of knowledge. Not so, I am rather teaching him to be + ignorant of things than to know them. I am showing him the path of + science, easy indeed, but long, far-reaching and slow to follow. I am + taking him a few steps along this path, but I do not allow him to go far. + </p> + <p> + Compelled to learn for himself, he uses his own reason not that of others, + for there must be no submission to authority if you would have no + submission to convention. Most of our errors are due to others more than + ourselves. This continual exercise should develop a vigour of mind like + that acquired by the body through labour and weariness. Another advantage + is that his progress is in proportion to his strength, neither mind nor + body carries more than it can bear. When the understanding lays hold of + things before they are stored in the memory, what is drawn from that store + is his own; while we are in danger of never finding anything of our own in + a memory over-burdened with undigested knowledge. + </p> + <p> + Emile knows little, but what he knows is really his own; he has no + half-knowledge. Among the few things he knows and knows thoroughly this is + the most valuable, that there are many things he does not know now but may + know some day, many more that other men know but he will never know, and + an infinite number which nobody will ever know. He is large-minded, not + through knowledge, but through the power of acquiring it; he is + open-minded, intelligent, ready for anything, and, as Montaigne says, + capable of learning if not learned. I am content if he knows the “Wherefore” + of his actions and the “Why” of his beliefs. For once more my + object is not to supply him with exact knowledge, but the means of getting + it when required, to teach him to value it at its true worth, and to love + truth above all things. By this method progress is slow but sure, and we + never need to retrace our steps. + </p> + <p> + Emile’s knowledge is confined to nature and things. The very name of + history is unknown to him, along with metaphysics and morals. He knows the + essential relations between men and things, but nothing of the moral + relations between man and man. He has little power of generalisation, he + has no skill in abstraction. He perceives that certain qualities are + common to certain things, without reasoning about these qualities + themselves. He is acquainted with the abstract idea of space by the help + of his geometrical figures; he is acquainted with the abstract idea of + quantity by the help of his algebraical symbols. These figures and signs + are the supports on which these ideas may be said to rest, the supports on + which his senses repose. He does not attempt to know the nature of things, + but only to know things in so far as they affect himself. He only judges + what is outside himself in relation to himself, and his judgment is exact + and certain. Caprice and prejudice have no part in it. He values most the + things which are of use to himself, and as he never departs from this + standard of values, he owes nothing to prejudice. + </p> + <p> + Emile is industrious, temperate, patient, stedfast, and full of courage. + His imagination is still asleep, so he has no exaggerated ideas of danger; + the few ills he feels he knows how to endure in patience, because he has + not learnt to rebel against fate. As to death, he knows not what it means; + but accustomed as he is to submit without resistance to the law of + necessity, he will die, if die he must, without a groan and without a + struggle; that is as much as we can demand of nature, in that hour which + we all abhor. To live in freedom, and to be independent of human affairs, + is the best way to learn how to die. + </p> + <p> + In a word Emile is possessed of all that portion of virtue which concerns + himself. To acquire the social virtues he only needs a knowledge of the + relations which make those virtues necessary; he only lacks knowledge + which he is quite ready to receive. + </p> + <p> + He thinks not of others but of himself, and prefers that others should do + the same. He makes no claim upon them, and acknowledges no debt to them. + He is alone in the midst of human society, he depends on himself alone, + for he is all that a boy can be at his age. He has no errors, or at least + only such as are inevitable; he has no vices, or only those from which no + man can escape. His body is healthy, his limbs are supple, his mind is + accurate and unprejudiced, his heart is free and untroubled by passion. + Pride, the earliest and the most natural of passions, has scarcely shown + itself. Without disturbing the peace of others, he has passed his life + contented, happy, and free, so far as nature allows. Do you think that the + earlier years of a child, who has reached his fifteenth year in this + condition, have been wasted? + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + BOOK IV + </h2> + <p class="pfirst"> + <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">H</span>ow swiftly life + passes here below! The first quarter of it is gone before we know how to + use it; the last quarter finds us incapable of enjoying life. At first we + do not know how to live; and when we know how to live it is too late. In + the interval between these two useless extremes we waste three-fourths of + our time sleeping, working, sorrowing, enduring restraint and every kind + of suffering. Life is short, not so much because of the short time it + lasts, but because we are allowed scarcely any time to enjoy it. In vain + is there a long interval between the hour of death and that of birth; life + is still too short, if this interval is not well spent. + </p> + <p> + We are born, so to speak, twice over; born into existence, and born into + life; born a human being, and born a man. Those who regard woman as an + imperfect man are no doubt mistaken, but they have external resemblance on + their side. Up to the age of puberty children of both sexes have little to + distinguish them to the eye, the same face and form, the same complexion + and voice, everything is the same; girls are children and boys are + children; one name is enough for creatures so closely resembling one + another. Males whose development is arrested preserve this resemblance all + their lives; they are always big children; and women who never lose this + resemblance seem in many respects never to be more than children. + </p> + <p> + But, speaking generally, man is not meant to remain a child. He leaves + childhood behind him at the time ordained by nature; and this critical + moment, short enough in itself, has far-reaching consequences. + </p> + <p> + As the roaring of the waves precedes the tempest, so the murmur of rising + passions announces this tumultuous change; a suppressed excitement warns + us of the approaching danger. A change of temper, frequent outbreaks of + anger, a perpetual stirring of the mind, make the child almost + ungovernable. He becomes deaf to the voice he used to obey; he is a lion + in a fever; he distrusts his keeper and refuses to be controlled. + </p> + <p> + With the moral symptoms of a changing temper there are perceptible changes + in appearance. His countenance develops and takes the stamp of his + character; the soft and sparse down upon his cheeks becomes darker and + stiffer. His voice grows hoarse or rather he loses it altogether. He is + neither a child nor a man and cannot speak like either of them. His eyes, + those organs of the soul which till now were dumb, find speech and + meaning; a kindling fire illumines them, there is still a sacred innocence + in their ever brightening glance, but they have lost their first + meaningless expression; he is already aware that they can say too much; he + is beginning to learn to lower his eyes and blush, he is becoming + sensitive, though he does not know what it is that he feels; he is uneasy + without knowing why. All this may happen gradually and give you time + enough; but if his keenness becomes impatience, his eagerness madness, if + he is angry and sorry all in a moment, if he weeps without cause, if in + the presence of objects which are beginning to be a source of danger his + pulse quickens and his eyes sparkle, if he trembles when a woman’s + hand touches his, if he is troubled or timid in her presence, O Ulysses, + wise Ulysses! have a care! The passages you closed with so much pains are + open; the winds are unloosed; keep your hand upon the helm or all is lost. + </p> + <p> + This is the second birth I spoke of; then it is that man really enters + upon life; henceforth no human passion is a stranger to him. Our efforts + so far have been child’s play, now they are of the greatest + importance. This period when education is usually finished is just the + time to begin; but to explain this new plan properly, let us take up our + story where we left it. + </p> + <p> + Our passions are the chief means of self-preservation; to try to destroy + them is therefore as absurd as it is useless; this would be to overcome + nature, to reshape God’s handiwork. If God bade man annihilate the + passions he has given him, God would bid him be and not be; He would + contradict himself. He has never given such a foolish commandment, there + is nothing like it written on the heart of man, and what God will have a + man do, He does not leave to the words of another man. He speaks Himself; + His words are written in the secret heart. + </p> + <p> + Now I consider those who would prevent the birth of the passions almost as + foolish as those who would destroy them, and those who think this has been + my object hitherto are greatly mistaken. + </p> + <p> + But should we reason rightly, if from the fact that passions are natural + to man, we inferred that all the passions we feel in ourselves and behold + in others are natural? Their source, indeed, is natural; but they have + been swollen by a thousand other streams; they are a great river which is + constantly growing, one in which we can scarcely find a single drop of the + original stream. Our natural passions are few in number; they are the + means to freedom, they tend to self-preservation. All those which enslave + and destroy us have another source; nature does not bestow them on us; we + seize on them in her despite. + </p> + <p> + The origin of our passions, the root and spring of all the rest, the only + one which is born with man, which never leaves him as long as he lives, is + self-love; this passion is primitive, instinctive, it precedes all the + rest, which are in a sense only modifications of it. In this sense, if you + like, they are all natural. But most of these modifications are the result + of external influences, without which they would never occur, and such + modifications, far from being advantageous to us, are harmful. They change + the original purpose and work against its end; then it is that man finds + himself outside nature and at strife with himself. + </p> + <p> + Self-love is always good, always in accordance with the order of nature. + The preservation of our own life is specially entrusted to each one of us, + and our first care is, and must be, to watch over our own life; and how + can we continually watch over it, if we do not take the greatest interest + in it? + </p> + <p> + Self-preservation requires, therefore, that we shall love ourselves; we + must love ourselves above everything, and it follows directly from this + that we love what contributes to our preservation. Every child becomes + fond of its nurse; Romulus must have loved the she-wolf who suckled him. + At first this attachment is quite unconscious; the individual is attracted + to that which contributes to his welfare and repelled by that which is + harmful; this is merely blind instinct. What transforms this instinct into + feeling, the liking into love, the aversion into hatred, is the evident + intention of helping or hurting us. We do not become passionately attached + to objects without feeling, which only follow the direction given them; + but those from which we expect benefit or injury from their internal + disposition, from their will, those we see acting freely for or against + us, inspire us with like feelings to those they exhibit towards us. + Something does us good, we seek after it; but we love the person who does + us good; something harms us and we shrink from it, but we hate the person + who tries to hurt us. + </p> + <p> + The child’s first sentiment is self-love, his second, which is + derived from it, is love of those about him; for in his present state of + weakness he is only aware of people through the help and attention + received from them. At first his affection for his nurse and his governess + is mere habit. He seeks them because he needs them and because he is happy + when they are there; it is rather perception than kindly feeling. It takes + a long time to discover not merely that they are useful to him, but that + they desire to be useful to him, and then it is that he begins to love + them. + </p> + <p> + So a child is naturally disposed to kindly feeling because he sees that + every one about him is inclined to help him, and from this experience he + gets the habit of a kindly feeling towards his species; but with the + expansion of his relations, his needs, his dependence, active or passive, + the consciousness of his relations to others is awakened, and leads to the + sense of duties and preferences. Then the child becomes masterful, + jealous, deceitful, and vindictive. If he is not compelled to obedience, + when he does not see the usefulness of what he is told to do, he + attributes it to caprice, to an intention of tormenting him, and he + rebels. If people give in to him, as soon as anything opposes him he + regards it as rebellion, as a determination to resist him; he beats the + chair or table for disobeying him. Self-love, which concerns itself only + with ourselves, is content to satisfy our own needs; but selfishness, + which is always comparing self with others, is never satisfied and never + can be; for this feeling, which prefers ourselves to others, requires that + they should prefer us to themselves, which is impossible. Thus the tender + and gentle passions spring from self-love, while the hateful and angry + passions spring from selfishness. So it is the fewness of his needs, the + narrow limits within which he can compare himself with others, that makes + a man really good; what makes him really bad is a multiplicity of needs + and dependence on the opinions of others. It is easy to see how we can + apply this principle and guide every passion of children and men towards + good or evil. True, man cannot always live alone, and it will be hard + therefore to remain good; and this difficulty will increase of necessity + as his relations with others are extended. For this reason, above all, the + dangers of social life demand that the necessary skill and care shall be + devoted to guarding the human heart against the depravity which springs + from fresh needs. + </p> + <p> + Man’s proper study is that of his relation to his environment. So + long as he only knows that environment through his physical nature, he + should study himself in relation to things; this is the business of his + childhood; when he begins to be aware of his moral nature, he should study + himself in relation to his fellow-men; this is the business of his whole + life, and we have now reached the time when that study should be begun. + </p> + <p> + As soon as a man needs a companion he is no longer an isolated creature, + his heart is no longer alone. All his relations with his species, all the + affections of his heart, come into being along with this. His first + passion soon arouses the rest. + </p> + <p> + The direction of the instinct is uncertain. One sex is attracted by the + other; that is the impulse of nature. Choice, preferences, individual + likings, are the work of reason, prejudice, and habit; time and knowledge + are required to make us capable of love; we do not love without reasoning + or prefer without comparison. These judgments are none the less real, + although they are formed unconsciously. True love, whatever you may say, + will always be held in honour by mankind; for although its impulses lead + us astray, although it does not bar the door of the heart to certain + detestable qualities, although it even gives rise to these, yet it always + presupposes certain worthy characteristics, without which we should be + incapable of love. This choice, which is supposed to be contrary to + reason, really springs from reason. We say Love is blind because his eyes + are better than ours, and he perceives relations which we cannot discern. + All women would be alike to a man who had no idea of virtue or beauty, and + the first comer would always be the most charming. Love does not spring + from nature, far from it; it is the curb and law of her desires; it is + love that makes one sex indifferent to the other, the loved one alone + excepted. + </p> + <p> + We wish to inspire the preference we feel; love must be mutual. To be + loved we must be worthy of love; to be preferred we must be more worthy + than the rest, at least in the eyes of our beloved. Hence we begin to look + around among our fellows; we begin to compare ourselves with them, there + is emulation, rivalry, and jealousy. A heart full to overflowing loves to + make itself known; from the need of a mistress there soon springs the need + of a friend. He who feels how sweet it is to be loved, desires to be loved + by everybody; and there could be no preferences if there were not many + that fail to find satisfaction. With love and friendship there begin + dissensions, enmity, and hatred. I behold deference to other people’s + opinions enthroned among all these divers passions, and foolish mortals, + enslaved by her power, base their very existence merely on what other + people think. + </p> + <p> + Expand these ideas and you will see where we get that form of selfishness + which we call natural selfishness, and how selfishness ceases to be a + simple feeling and becomes pride in great minds, vanity in little ones, + and in both feeds continually at our neighbour’s cost. Passions of + this kind, not having any germ in the child’s heart, cannot spring + up in it of themselves; it is we who sow the seeds, and they never take + root unless by our fault. Not so with the young man; they will find an + entrance in spite of us. It is therefore time to change our methods. + </p> + <p> + Let us begin with some considerations of importance with regard to the + critical stage under discussion. The change from childhood to puberty is + not so clearly determined by nature but that it varies according to + individual temperament and racial conditions. Everybody knows the + differences which have been observed with regard to this between hot and + cold countries, and every one sees that ardent temperaments mature earlier + than others; but we may be mistaken as to the causes, and we may often + attribute to physical causes what is really due to moral: this is one of + the commonest errors in the philosophy of our times. The teaching of + nature comes slowly; man’s lessons are mostly premature. In the + former case, the senses kindle the imagination, in the latter the + imagination kindles the senses; it gives them a precocious activity which + cannot fail to enervate the individual and, in the long run, the race. It + is a more general and more trustworthy fact than that of climatic + influences, that puberty and sexual power is always more precocious among + educated and civilised races, than among the ignorant and barbarous. + [Footnote: “In towns,” says M. Buffon, “and among the + well-to-do classes, children accustomed to plentiful and nourishing food + sooner reach this state; in the country and among the poor, children are + more backward, because of their poor and scanty food.” I admit the + fact but not the explanation, for in the districts where the food of the + villagers is plentiful and good, as in the Valais and even in some of the + mountain districts of Italy, such as Friuli, the age of puberty for both + sexes is quite as much later than in the heart of the towns, where, in + order to gratify their vanity, people are often extremely parsimonious in + the matter of food, and where most people, in the words of the proverb, + have a velvet coat and an empty belly. It is astonishing to find in these + mountainous regions big lads as strong as a man with shrill voices and + smooth chins, and tall girls, well developed in other respects, without + any trace of the periodic functions of their sex. This difference is, in + my opinion, solely due to the fact that in the simplicity of their manners + the imagination remains calm and peaceful, and does not stir the blood + till much later, and thus their temperament is much less precocious.] + Children are preternaturally quick to discern immoral habits under the + cloak of decency with which they are concealed. The prim speech imposed + upon them, the lessons in good behaviour, the veil of mystery you profess + to hang before their eyes, serve but to stimulate their curiosity. It is + plain, from the way you set about it, that they are meant to learn what + you profess to conceal; and of all you teach them this is most quickly + assimilated. + </p> + <p> + Consult experience and you will find how far this foolish method hastens + the work of nature and ruins the character. This is one of the chief + causes of physical degeneration in our towns. The young people, + prematurely exhausted, remain small, puny, and misshapen, they grow old + instead of growing up, like a vine forced to bear fruit in spring, which + fades and dies before autumn. + </p> + <p> + To know how far a happy ignorance may prolong the innocence of children, + you must live among rude and simple people. It is a sight both touching + and amusing to see both sexes, left to the protection of their own hearts, + continuing the sports of childhood in the flower of youth and beauty, + showing by their very familiarity the purity of their pleasures. When at + length those delightful young people marry, they bestow on each other the + first fruits of their person, and are all the dearer therefore. Swarms of + strong and healthy children are the pledges of a union which nothing can + change, and the fruit of the virtue of their early years. + </p> + <p> + If the age at which a man becomes conscious of his sex is deferred as much + by the effects of education as by the action of nature, it follows that + this age may be hastened or retarded according to the way in which the + child is brought up; and if the body gains or loses strength in proportion + as its development is accelerated or retarded, it also follows that the + more we try to retard it the stronger and more vigorous will the young man + be. I am still speaking of purely physical consequences; you will soon see + that this is not all. + </p> + <p> + From these considerations I arrive at the solution of the question so + often discussed—Should we enlighten children at an early period as + to the objects of their curiosity, or is it better to put them off with + decent shams? I think we need do neither. In the first place, this + curiosity will not arise unless we give it a chance. We must therefore + take care not to give it an opportunity. In the next place, questions one + is not obliged to answer do not compel us to deceive those who ask them; + it is better to bid the child hold his tongue than to tell him a lie. He + will not be greatly surprised at this treatment if you have already + accustomed him to it in matters of no importance. Lastly, if you decide to + answer his questions, let it be with the greatest plainness, without + mystery or confusion, without a smile. It is much less dangerous to + satisfy a child’s curiosity than to stimulate it. + </p> + <p> + Let your answers be always grave, brief, decided, and without trace of + hesitation. I need not add that they should be true. We cannot teach + children the danger of telling lies to men without realising, on the man’s + part, the danger of telling lies to children. A single untruth on the part + of the master will destroy the results of his education. + </p> + <p> + Complete ignorance with regard to certain matters is perhaps the best + thing for children; but let them learn very early what it is impossible to + conceal from them permanently. Either their curiosity must never be + aroused, or it must be satisfied before the age when it becomes a source + of danger. Your conduct towards your pupil in this respect depends greatly + on his individual circumstances, the society in which he moves, the + position in which he may find himself, etc. Nothing must be left to + chance; and if you are not sure of keeping him in ignorance of the + difference between the sexes till he is sixteen, take care you teach him + before he is ten. + </p> + <p> + I do not like people to be too fastidious in speaking with children, nor + should they go out of their way to avoid calling a spade a spade; they are + always found out if they do. Good manners in this respect are always + perfectly simple; but an imagination soiled by vice makes the ear + over-sensitive and compels us to be constantly refining our expressions. + Plain words do not matter; it is lascivious ideas which must be avoided. + </p> + <p> + Although modesty is natural to man, it is not natural to children. Modesty + only begins with the knowledge of evil; and how should children without + this knowledge of evil have the feeling which results from it? To give + them lessons in modesty and good conduct is to teach them that there are + things shameful and wicked, and to give them a secret wish to know what + these things are. Sooner or later they will find out, and the first spark + which touches the imagination will certainly hasten the awakening of the + senses. Blushes are the sign of guilt; true innocence is ashamed of + nothing. + </p> + <p> + Children have not the same desires as men; but they are subject like them + to the same disagreeable needs which offend the senses, and by this means + they may receive the same lessons in propriety. Follow the mind of nature + which has located in the same place the organs of secret pleasures and + those of disgusting needs; she teaches us the same precautions at + different ages, sometimes by means of one idea and sometimes by another; + to the man through modesty, to the child through cleanliness. + </p> + <p> + I can only find one satisfactory way of preserving the child’s + innocence, to surround him by those who respect and love him. Without this + all our efforts to keep him in ignorance fail sooner or later; a smile, a + wink, a careless gesture tells him all we sought to hide; it is enough to + teach him to perceive that there is something we want to hide from him. + The delicate phrases and expressions employed by persons of politeness + assume a knowledge which children ought not to possess, and they are quite + out of place with them, but when we truly respect the child’s + innocence we easily find in talking to him the simple phrases which befit + him. There is a certain directness of speech which is suitable and + pleasing to innocence; this is the right tone to adopt in order to turn + the child from dangerous curiosity. By speaking simply to him about + everything you do not let him suspect there is anything left unsaid. By + connecting coarse words with the unpleasant ideas which belong to them, + you quench the first spark of imagination; you do not forbid the child to + say these words or to form these ideas; but without his knowing it you + make him unwilling to recall them. And how much confusion is spared to + those who speaking from the heart always say the right thing, and say it + as they themselves have felt it! + </p> + <p> + “Where do little children come from?” This is an embarrassing + question, which occurs very naturally to children, one which foolishly or + wisely answered may decide their health and their morals for life. The + quickest way for a mother to escape from it without deceiving her son is + to tell him to hold his tongue. That will serve its turn if he has always + been accustomed to it in matters of no importance, and if he does not + suspect some mystery from this new way of speaking. But the mother rarely + stops there. “It is the married people’s secret,” she + will say, “little boys should not be so curious.” That is all + very well so far as the mother is concerned, but she may be sure that the + little boy, piqued by her scornful manner, will not rest till he has found + out the married people’s secret, which will very soon be the case. + </p> + <p> + Let me tell you a very different answer which I heard given to the same + question, one which made all the more impression on me, coming, as it did, + from a woman, modest in speech and behaviour, but one who was able on + occasion, for the welfare of her child and for the cause of virtue, to + cast aside the false fear of blame and the silly jests of the foolish. Not + long before the child had passed a small stone which had torn the passage, + but the trouble was over and forgotten. “Mamma,” said the + eager child, “where do little children come from?” “My + child,” replied his mother without hesitation, “women pass + them with pains that sometimes cost their life.” Let fools laugh and + silly people be shocked; but let the wise inquire if it is possible to + find a wiser answer and one which would better serve its purpose. + </p> + <p> + In the first place the thought of a need of nature with which the child is + well acquainted turns his thoughts from the idea of a mysterious process. + The accompanying ideas of pain and death cover it with a veil of sadness + which deadens the imagination and suppresses curiosity; everything leads + the mind to the results, not the causes, of child-birth. This is the + information to which this answer leads. If the repugnance inspired by this + answer should permit the child to inquire further, his thoughts are turned + to the infirmities of human nature, disgusting things, images of pain. + What chance is there for any stimulation of desire in such a conversation? + And yet you see there is no departure from truth, no need to deceive the + scholar in order to teach him. + </p> + <p> + Your children read; in the course of their reading they meet with things + they would never have known without reading. Are they students, their + imagination is stimulated and quickened in the silence of the study. Do + they move in the world of society, they hear a strange jargon, they see + conduct which makes a great impression on them; they have been told so + continually that they are men that in everything men do in their presence + they at once try to find how that will suit themselves; the conduct of + others must indeed serve as their pattern when the opinions of others are + their law. Servants, dependent on them, and therefore anxious to please + them, flatter them at the expense of their morals; giggling governesses + say things to the four-year-old child which the most shameless woman would + not dare to say to them at fifteen. They soon forget what they said, but + the child has not forgotten what he heard. Loose conversation prepares the + way for licentious conduct; the child is debauched by the cunning lacquey, + and the secret of the one guarantees the secret of the other. + </p> + <p> + The child brought up in accordance with his age is alone. He knows no + attachment but that of habit, he loves his sister like his watch, and his + friend like his dog. He is unconscious of his sex and his species; men and + women are alike unknown; he does not connect their sayings and doings with + himself, he neither sees nor hears, or he pays no heed to them; he is no + more concerned with their talk than their actions; he has nothing to do + with it. This is no artificial error induced by our method, it is the + ignorance of nature. The time is at hand when that same nature will take + care to enlighten her pupil, and then only does she make him capable of + profiting by the lessons without danger. This is our principle; the + details of its rules are outside my subject; and the means I suggest with + regard to other matters will still serve to illustrate this. + </p> + <p> + Do you wish to establish law and order among the rising passions, prolong + the period of their development, so that they may have time to find their + proper place as they arise. Then they are controlled by nature herself, + not by man; your task is merely to leave it in her hands. If your pupil + were alone, you would have nothing to do; but everything about him + enflames his imagination. He is swept along on the torrent of conventional + ideas; to rescue him you must urge him in the opposite direction. + Imagination must be curbed by feeling and reason must silence the voice of + conventionality. Sensibility is the source of all the passions, + imagination determines their course. Every creature who is aware of his + relations must be disturbed by changes in these relations and when he + imagines or fancies he imagines others better adapted to his nature. It is + the errors of the imagination which transmute into vices the passions of + finite beings, of angels even, if indeed they have passions; for they must + needs know the nature of every creature to realise what relations are best + adapted to themselves. + </p> + <p> + This is the sum of human wisdom with regard to the use of the passions. + First, to be conscious of the true relations of man both in the species + and the individual; second, to control all the affections in accordance + with these relations. + </p> + <p> + But is man in a position to control his affections according to such and + such relations? No doubt he is, if he is able to fix his imagination on + this or that object, or to form this or that habit. Moreover, we are not + so much concerned with what a man can do for himself, as with what we can + do for our pupil through our choice of the circumstances in which he shall + be placed. To show the means by which he may be kept in the path of nature + is to show plainly enough how he might stray from that path. + </p> + <p> + So long as his consciousness is confined to himself there is no morality + in his actions; it is only when it begins to extend beyond himself that he + forms first the sentiments and then the ideas of good and ill, which make + him indeed a man, and an integral part of his species. To begin with we + must therefore confine our observations to this point. + </p> + <p> + These observations are difficult to make, for we must reject the examples + before our eyes, and seek out those in which the successive developments + follow the order of nature. + </p> + <p> + A child sophisticated, polished, and civilised, who is only awaiting the + power to put into practice the precocious instruction he has received, is + never mistaken with regard to the time when this power is acquired. Far + from awaiting it, he accelerates it; he stirs his blood to a premature + ferment; he knows what should be the object of his desires long before + those desires are experienced. It is not nature which stimulates him; it + is he who forces the hand of nature; she has nothing to teach him when he + becomes a man; he was a man in thought long before he was a man in + reality. + </p> + <p> + The true course of nature is slower and more gradual. Little by little the + blood grows warmer, the faculties expand, the character is formed. The + wise workman who directs the process is careful to perfect every tool + before he puts it to use; the first desires are preceded by a long period + of unrest, they are deceived by a prolonged ignorance, they know not what + they want. The blood ferments and bubbles; overflowing vitality seeks to + extend its sphere. The eye grows brighter and surveys others, we begin to + be interested in those about us, we begin to feel that we are not meant to + live alone; thus the heart is thrown open to human affection, and becomes + capable of attachment. + </p> + <p> + The first sentiment of which the well-trained youth is capable is not love + but friendship. The first work of his rising imagination is to make known + to him his fellows; the species affects him before the sex. Here is + another advantage to be gained from prolonged innocence; you may take + advantage of his dawning sensibility to sow the first seeds of humanity in + the heart of the young adolescent. This advantage is all the greater + because this is the only time in his life when such efforts may be really + successful. + </p> + <p> + I have always observed that young men, corrupted in early youth and + addicted to women and debauchery, are inhuman and cruel; their passionate + temperament makes them impatient, vindictive, and angry; their imagination + fixed on one object only, refuses all others; mercy and pity are alike + unknown to them; they would have sacrificed father, mother, the whole + world, to the least of their pleasures. A young man, on the other hand, + brought up in happy innocence, is drawn by the first stirrings of nature + to the tender and affectionate passions; his warm heart is touched by the + sufferings of his fellow-creatures; he trembles with delight when he meets + his comrade, his arms can embrace tenderly, his eyes can shed tears of + pity; he learns to be sorry for offending others through his shame at + causing annoyance. If the eager warmth of his blood makes him quick, + hasty, and passionate, a moment later you see all his natural kindness of + heart in the eagerness of his repentance; he weeps, he groans over the + wound he has given; he would atone for the blood he has shed with his own; + his anger dies away, his pride abases itself before the consciousness of + his wrong-doing. Is he the injured party, in the height of his fury an + excuse, a word, disarms him; he forgives the wrongs of others as + whole-heartedly as he repairs his own. Adolescence is not the age of + hatred or vengeance; it is the age of pity, mercy, and generosity. Yes, I + maintain, and I am not afraid of the testimony of experience, a youth of + good birth, one who has preserved his innocence up to the age of twenty, + is at that age the best, the most generous, the most loving, and the most + lovable of men. You never heard such a thing; I can well believe that + philosophers such as you, brought up among the corruption of the public + schools, are unaware of it. + </p> + <p> + Man’s weakness makes him sociable. Our common sufferings draw our + hearts to our fellow-creatures; we should have no duties to mankind if we + were not men. Every affection is a sign of insufficiency; if each of us + had no need of others, we should hardly think of associating with them. So + our frail happiness has its roots in our weakness. A really happy man is a + hermit; God only enjoys absolute happiness; but which of us has any idea + what that means? If any imperfect creature were self-sufficing, what would + he have to enjoy? To our thinking he would be wretched and alone. I do not + understand how one who has need of nothing could love anything, nor do I + understand how he who loves nothing can be happy. + </p> + <p> + Hence it follows that we are drawn towards our fellow-creatures less by + our feeling for their joys than for their sorrows; for in them we discern + more plainly a nature like our own, and a pledge of their affection for + us. If our common needs create a bond of interest our common sufferings + create a bond of affection. The sight of a happy man arouses in others + envy rather than love, we are ready to accuse him of usurping a right + which is not his, of seeking happiness for himself alone, and our + selfishness suffers an additional pang in the thought that this man has no + need of us. But who does not pity the wretch when he beholds his + sufferings? who would not deliver him from his woes if a wish could do it? + Imagination puts us more readily in the place of the miserable man than of + the happy man; we feel that the one condition touches us more nearly than + the other. Pity is sweet, because, when we put ourselves in the place of + one who suffers, we are aware, nevertheless, of the pleasure of not + suffering like him. Envy is bitter, because the sight of a happy man, far + from putting the envious in his place, inspires him with regret that he is + not there. The one seems to exempt us from the pains he suffers, the other + seems to deprive us of the good things he enjoys. + </p> + <p> + Do you desire to stimulate and nourish the first stirrings of awakening + sensibility in the heart of a young man, do you desire to incline his + disposition towards kindly deed and thought, do not cause the seeds of + pride, vanity, and envy to spring up in him through the misleading picture + of the happiness of mankind; do not show him to begin with the pomp of + courts, the pride of palaces, the delights of pageants; do not take him + into society and into brilliant assemblies; do not show him the outside of + society till you have made him capable of estimating it at its true worth. + To show him the world before he is acquainted with men, is not to train + him, but to corrupt him; not to teach, but to mislead. + </p> + <p> + By nature men are neither kings, nobles, courtiers, nor millionaires. All + men are born poor and naked, all are liable to the sorrows of life, its + disappointments, its ills, its needs, its suffering of every kind; and all + are condemned at length to die. This is what it really means to be a man, + this is what no mortal can escape. Begin then with the study of the + essentials of humanity, that which really constitutes mankind. + </p> + <p> + At sixteen the adolescent knows what it is to suffer, for he himself has + suffered; but he scarcely realises that others suffer too; to see without + feeling is not knowledge, and as I have said again and again the child who + does not picture the feelings of others knows no ills but his own; but + when his imagination is kindled by the first beginnings of growing + sensibility, he begins to perceive himself in his fellow-creatures, to be + touched by their cries, to suffer in their sufferings. It is at this time + that the sorrowful picture of suffering humanity should stir his heart + with the first touch of pity he has ever known. + </p> + <p> + If it is not easy to discover this opportunity in your scholars, whose + fault is it? You taught them so soon to play at feeling, you taught them + so early its language, that speaking continually in the same strain they + turn your lessons against yourself, and give you no chance of discovering + when they cease to lie, and begin to feel what they say. But look at + Emile; I have led him up to this age, and he has neither felt nor + pretended to feel. He has never said, “I love you dearly,” + till he knew what it was to love; he has never been taught what expression + to assume when he enters the room of his father, his mother, or his sick + tutor; he has not learnt the art of affecting a sorrow he does not feel. + He has never pretended to weep for the death of any one, for he does not + know what it is to die. There is the same insensibility in his heart as in + his manners. Indifferent, like every child, to every one but himself, he + takes no interest in any one; his only peculiarity is that he will not + pretend to take such an interest; he is less deceitful than others. + </p> + <p> + Emile having thought little about creatures of feeling will be a long time + before he knows what is meant by pain and death. Groans and cries will + begin to stir his compassion, he will turn away his eyes at the sight of + blood; the convulsions of a dying animal will cause him I know not what + anguish before he knows the source of these impulses. If he were still + stupid and barbarous he would not feel them; if he were more learned he + would recognise their source; he has compared ideas too frequently already + to be insensible, but not enough to know what he feels. + </p> + <p> + So pity is born, the first relative sentiment which touches the human + heart according to the order of nature. To become sensitive and pitiful + the child must know that he has fellow-creatures who suffer as he has + suffered, who feel the pains he has felt, and others which he can form + some idea of, being capable of feeling them himself. Indeed, how can we + let ourselves be stirred by pity unless we go beyond ourselves, and + identify ourselves with the suffering animal, by leaving, so to speak, our + own nature and taking his. We only suffer so far as we suppose he suffers; + the suffering is not ours but his. So no one becomes sensitive till his + imagination is aroused and begins to carry him outside himself. + </p> + <p> + What should we do to stimulate and nourish this growing sensibility, to + direct it, and to follow its natural bent? Should we not present to the + young man objects on which the expansive force of his heart may take + effect, objects which dilate it, which extend it to other creatures, which + take him outside himself? should we not carefully remove everything that + narrows, concentrates, and strengthens the power of the human self? that + is to say, in other words, we should arouse in him kindness, goodness, + pity, and beneficence, all the gentle and attractive passions which are + naturally pleasing to man; those passions prevent the growth of envy, + covetousness, hatred, all the repulsive and cruel passions which make our + sensibility not merely a cipher but a minus quantity, passions which are + the curse of those who feel them. + </p> + <p> + I think I can sum up the whole of the preceding reflections in two or + three maxims, definite, straightforward, and easy to understand. + </p> + <p> + FIRST MAXIM.—It is not in human nature to put ourselves in the place + of those who are happier than ourselves, but only in the place of those + who can claim our pity. + </p> + <p> + If you find exceptions to this rule, they are more apparent than real. + Thus we do not put ourselves in the place of the rich or great when we + become fond of them; even when our affection is real, we only appropriate + to ourselves a part of their welfare. Sometimes we love the rich man in + the midst of misfortunes; but so long as he prospers he has no real + friend, except the man who is not deceived by appearances, who pities + rather than envies him in spite of his prosperity. + </p> + <p> + The happiness belonging to certain states of life appeals to us; take, for + instance, the life of a shepherd in the country. The charm of seeing these + good people so happy is not poisoned by envy; we are genuinely interested + in them. Why is this? Because we feel we can descend into this state of + peace and innocence and enjoy the same happiness; it is an alternative + which only calls up pleasant thoughts, so long as the wish is as good as + the deed. It is always pleasant to examine our stores, to contemplate our + own wealth, even when we do not mean to spend it. + </p> + <p> + From this we see that to incline a young man to humanity you must not make + him admire the brilliant lot of others; you must show him life in its + sorrowful aspects and arouse his fears. Thus it becomes clear that he must + force his own way to happiness, without interfering with the happiness of + others. + </p> + <p> + SECOND MAXIM.—We never pity another’s woes unless we know we + may suffer in like manner ourselves. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Non ignara mali, miseris succurrere disco.”—Virgil. +</pre> + <p> + I know nothing go fine, so full of meaning, so touching, so true as these + words. + </p> + <p> + Why have kings no pity on their people? Because they never expect to be + ordinary men. Why are the rich so hard on the poor? Because they have no + fear of becoming poor. Why do the nobles look down upon the people? + Because a nobleman will never be one of the lower classes. Why are the + Turks generally kinder and more hospitable than ourselves? Because, under + their wholly arbitrary system of government, the rank and wealth of + individuals are always uncertain and precarious, so that they do not + regard poverty and degradation as conditions with which they have no + concern; to-morrow, any one may himself be in the same position as those + on whom he bestows alms to-day. This thought, which occurs again and again + in eastern romances, lends them a certain tenderness which is not to be + found in our pretentious and harsh morality. + </p> + <p> + So do not train your pupil to look down from the height of his glory upon + the sufferings of the unfortunate, the labours of the wretched, and do not + hope to teach him to pity them while he considers them as far removed from + himself. Make him thoroughly aware of the fact that the fate of these + unhappy persons may one day be his own, that his feet are standing on the + edge of the abyss, into which he may be plunged at any moment by a + thousand unexpected irresistible misfortunes. Teach him to put no trust in + birth, health, or riches; show him all the changes of fortune; find him + examples—there are only too many of them—in which men of + higher rank than himself have sunk below the condition of these wretched + ones. Whether by their own fault or another’s is for the present no + concern of ours; does he indeed know the meaning of the word fault? Never + interfere with the order in which he acquires knowledge, and teach him + only through the means within his reach; it needs no great learning to + perceive that all the prudence of mankind cannot make certain whether he + will be alive or dead in an hour’s time, whether before nightfall he + will not be grinding his teeth in the pangs of nephritis, whether a month + hence he will be rich or poor, whether in a year’s time he may not + be rowing an Algerian galley under the lash of the slave-driver. Above all + do not teach him this, like his catechism, in cold blood; let him see and + feel the calamities which overtake men; surprise and startle his + imagination with the perils which lurk continually about a man’s + path; let him see the pitfalls all about him, and when he hears you speak + of them, let him cling more closely to you for fear lest he should fall. + “You will make him timid and cowardly,” do you say? We shall + see; let us make him kindly to begin with, that is what matters most. + </p> + <p> + THIRD MAXIM.—The pity we feel for others is proportionate, not to + the amount of the evil, but to the feelings we attribute to the sufferers. + </p> + <p> + We only pity the wretched so far as we think they feel the need of pity. + The bodily effect of our sufferings is less than one would suppose; it is + memory that prolongs the pain, imagination which projects it into the + future, and makes us really to be pitied. This is, I think, one of the + reasons why we are more callous to the sufferings of animals than of men, + although a fellow-feeling ought to make us identify ourselves equally with + either. We scarcely pity the cart-horse in his shed, for we do not suppose + that while he is eating his hay he is thinking of the blows he has + received and the labours in store for him. Neither do we pity the sheep + grazing in the field, though we know it is about to be slaughtered, for we + believe it knows nothing of the fate in store for it. In this way we also + become callous to the fate of our fellow-men, and the rich console + themselves for the harm done by them to the poor, by the assumption that + the poor are too stupid to feel. I usually judge of the value any one puts + on the welfare of his fellow-creatures by what he seems to think of them. + We naturally think lightly of the happiness of those we despise. It need + not surprise you that politicians speak so scornfully of the people, and + philosophers profess to think mankind so wicked. + </p> + <p> + The people are mankind; those who do not belong to the people are so few + in number that they are not worth counting. Man is the same in every + station of life; if that be so, those ranks to which most men belong + deserve most honour. All distinctions of rank fade away before the eyes of + a thoughtful person; he sees the same passions, the same feelings in the + noble and the guttersnipe; there is merely a slight difference in speech, + and more or less artificiality of tone; and if there is indeed any + essential difference between them, the disadvantage is all on the side of + those who are more sophisticated. The people show themselves as they are, + and they are not attractive; but the fashionable world is compelled to + adopt a disguise; we should be horrified if we saw it as it really is. + </p> + <p> + There is, so our wiseacres tell us, the same amount of happiness and + sorrow in every station. This saying is as deadly in its effects as it is + incapable of proof; if all are equally happy why should I trouble myself + about any one? Let every one stay where he is; leave the slave to be + ill-treated, the sick man to suffer, and the wretched to perish; they have + nothing to gain by any change in their condition. You enumerate the + sorrows of the rich, and show the vanity of his empty pleasures; what + barefaced sophistry! The rich man’s sufferings do not come from his + position, but from himself alone when he abuses it. He is not to be pitied + were he indeed more miserable than the poor, for his ills are of his own + making, and he could be happy if he chose. But the sufferings of the poor + man come from external things, from the hardships fate has imposed upon + him. No amount of habit can accustom him to the bodily ills of fatigue, + exhaustion, and hunger. Neither head nor heart can serve to free him from + the sufferings of his condition. How is Epictetus the better for knowing + beforehand that his master will break his leg for him; does he do it any + the less? He has to endure not only the pain itself but the pains of + anticipation. If the people were as wise as we assume them to be stupid, + how could they be other than they are? Observe persons of this class; you + will see that, with a different way of speaking, they have as much + intelligence and more common-sense than yourself. Have respect then for + your species; remember that it consists essentially of the people, that if + all the kings and all the philosophers were removed they would scarcely be + missed, and things would go on none the worse. In a word, teach your pupil + to love all men, even those who fail to appreciate him; act in such way + that he is not a member of any class, but takes his place in all alike: + speak in his hearing of the human race with tenderness, and even with + pity, but never with scorn. You are a man; do not dishonour mankind. + </p> + <p> + It is by these ways and others like them—how different from the + beaten paths—that we must reach the heart of the young adolescent, + and stimulate in him the first impulses of nature; we must develop that + heart and open its doors to his fellow-creatures, and there must be as + little self-interest as possible mixed up with these impulses; above all, + no vanity, no emulation, no boasting, none of those sentiments which force + us to compare ourselves with others; for such comparisons are never made + without arousing some measure of hatred against those who dispute our + claim to the first place, were it only in our own estimation. Then we must + be either blind or angry, a bad man or a fool; let us try to avoid this + dilemma. Sooner or later these dangerous passions will appear, so you tell + me, in spite of us. I do not deny it. There is a time and place for + everything; I am only saying that we should not help to arouse these + passions. + </p> + <p> + This is the spirit of the method to be laid down. In this case examples + and illustrations are useless, for here we find the beginning of the + countless differences of character, and every example I gave would + possibly apply to only one case in a hundred thousand. It is at this age + that the clever teacher begins his real business, as a student and a + philosopher who knows how to probe the heart and strives to guide it + aright. While the young man has not learnt to pretend, while he does not + even know the meaning of pretence, you see by his look, his manner, his + gestures, the impression he has received from any object presented to him; + you read in his countenance every impulse of his heart; by watching his + expression you learn to protect his impulses and actually to control them. + </p> + <p> + It has been commonly observed that blood, wounds, cries and groans, the + preparations for painful operations, and everything which directs the + senses towards things connected with suffering, are usually the first to + make an impression on all men. The idea of destruction, a more complex + matter, does not have so great an effect; the thought of death affects us + later and less forcibly, for no one knows from his own experience what it + is to die; you must have seen corpses to feel the agonies of the dying. + But when once this idea is established in the mind, there is no spectacle + more dreadful in our eyes, whether because of the idea of complete + destruction which it arouses through our senses, or because we know that + this moment must come for each one of us and we feel ourselves all the + more keenly affected by a situation from which we know there is no escape. + </p> + <p> + These various impressions differ in manner and in degree, according to the + individual character of each one of us and his former habits, but they are + universal and no one is altogether free from them. There are other + impressions less universal and of a later growth, impressions most suited + to sensitive souls, such impressions as we receive from moral suffering, + inward grief, the sufferings of the mind, depression, and sadness. There + are men who can be touched by nothing but groans and tears; the suppressed + sobs of a heart labouring under sorrow would never win a sigh; the sight + of a downcast visage, a pale and gloomy countenance, eyes which can weep + no longer, would never draw a tear from them. The sufferings of the mind + are as nothing to them; they weigh them, their own mind feels nothing; + expect nothing from such persons but inflexible severity, harshness, + cruelty. They may be just and upright, but not merciful, generous, or + pitiful. They may, I say, be just, if a man can indeed be just without + being merciful. + </p> + <p> + But do not be in a hurry to judge young people by this standard, more + especially those who have been educated rightly, who have no idea of the + moral sufferings they have never had to endure; for once again they can + only pity the ills they know, and this apparent insensibility is soon + transformed into pity when they begin to feel that there are in human life + a thousand ills of which they know nothing. As for Emile, if in childhood + he was distinguished by simplicity and good sense, in his youth he will + show a warm and tender heart; for the reality of the feelings depends to a + great extent on the accuracy of the ideas. + </p> + <p> + But why call him hither? More than one reader will reproach me no doubt + for departing from my first intention and forgetting the lasting happiness + I promised my pupil. The sorrowful, the dying, such sights of pain and + woe, what happiness, what delight is this for a young heart on the + threshold of life? His gloomy tutor, who proposed to give him such a + pleasant education, only introduces him to life that he may suffer. This + is what they will say, but what care I? I promised to make him happy, not + to make him seem happy. Am I to blame if, deceived as usual by the outward + appearances, you take them for the reality? + </p> + <p> + Let us take two young men at the close of their early education, and let + them enter the world by opposite doors. The one mounts at once to Olympus, + and moves in the smartest society; he is taken to court, he is presented + in the houses of the great, of the rich, of the pretty women. I assume + that he is everywhere made much of, and I do not regard too closely the + effect of this reception on his reason; I assume it can stand it. + Pleasures fly before him, every day provides him with fresh amusements; he + flings himself into everything with an eagerness which carries you away. + You find him busy, eager, and curious; his first wonder makes a great + impression on you; you think him happy; but behold the state of his heart; + you think he is rejoicing, I think he suffers. + </p> + <p> + What does he see when first he opens his eyes? all sorts of so-called + pleasures, hitherto unknown. Most of these pleasures are only for a moment + within his reach, and seem to show themselves only to inspire regret for + their loss. Does he wander through a palace; you see by his uneasy + curiosity that he is asking why his father’s house is not like it. + Every question shows you that he is comparing himself all the time with + the owner of this grand place. And all the mortification arising from this + comparison at once revolts and stimulates his vanity. If he meets a young + man better dressed than himself, I find him secretly complaining of his + parents’ meanness. If he is better dressed than another, he suffers + because the latter is his superior in birth or in intellect, and all his + gold lace is put to shame by a plain cloth coat. Does he shine unrivalled + in some assembly, does he stand on tiptoe that they may see him better, + who is there who does not secretly desire to humble the pride and vanity + of the young fop? Everybody is in league against him; the disquieting + glances of a solemn man, the biting phrases of some satirical person, do + not fail to reach him, and if it were only one man who despised him, the + scorn of that one would poison in a moment the applause of the rest. + </p> + <p> + Let us grant him everything, let us not grudge him charm and worth; let + him be well-made, witty, and attractive; the women will run after him; but + by pursuing him before he is in love with them, they will inspire rage + rather than love; he will have successes, but neither rapture nor passion + to enjoy them. As his desires are always anticipated; they never have time + to spring up among his pleasures, so he only feels the tedium of + restraint. Even before he knows it he is disgusted and satiated with the + sex formed to be the delight of his own; if he continues its pursuit it is + only through vanity, and even should he really be devoted to women, he + will not be the only brilliant, the only attractive young man, nor will he + always find his mistresses prodigies of fidelity. + </p> + <p> + I say nothing of the vexation, the deceit, the crimes, and the remorse of + all kinds, inseparable from such a life. We know that experience of the + world disgusts us with it; I am speaking only of the drawbacks belonging + to youthful illusions. + </p> + <p> + Hitherto the young man has lived in the bosom of his family and his + friends, and has been the sole object of their care; what a change to + enter all at once into a region where he counts for so little; to find + himself plunged into another sphere, he who has been so long the centre of + his own. What insults, what humiliation, must he endure, before he loses + among strangers the ideas of his own importance which have been formed and + nourished among his own people! As a child everything gave way to him, + everybody flocked to him; as a young man he must give place to every one, + or if he preserves ever so little of his former airs, what harsh lessons + will bring him to himself! Accustomed to get everything he wants without + any difficulty, his wants are many, and he feels continual privations. He + is tempted by everything that flatters him; what others have, he must have + too; he covets everything, he envies every one, he would always be master. + He is devoured by vanity, his young heart is enflamed by unbridled + passions, jealousy and hatred among the rest; all these violent passions + burst out at once; their sting rankles in him in the busy world, they + return with him at night, he comes back dissatisfied with himself, with + others; he falls asleep among a thousand foolish schemes disturbed by a + thousand fancies, and his pride shows him even in his dreams those fancied + pleasures; he is tormented by a desire which will never be satisfied. So + much for your pupil; let us turn to mine. + </p> + <p> + If the first thing to make an impression on him is something sorrowful his + first return to himself is a feeling of pleasure. When he sees how many + ills he has escaped he thinks he is happier than he fancied. He shares the + suffering of his fellow-creatures, but he shares it of his own free will + and finds pleasure in it. He enjoys at once the pity he feels for their + woes and the joy of being exempt from them; he feels in himself that state + of vigour which projects us beyond ourselves, and bids us carry elsewhere + the superfluous activity of our well-being. To pity another’s woes + we must indeed know them, but we need not feel them. When we have + suffered, when we are in fear of suffering, we pity those who suffer; but + when we suffer ourselves, we pity none but ourselves. But if all of us, + being subject ourselves to the ills of life, only bestow upon others the + sensibility we do not actually require for ourselves, it follows that pity + must be a very pleasant feeling, since it speaks on our behalf; and, on + the other hand, a hard-hearted man is always unhappy, since the state of + his heart leaves him no superfluous sensibility to bestow on the + sufferings of others. + </p> + <p> + We are too apt to judge of happiness by appearances; we suppose it is to + be found in the most unlikely places, we seek for it where it cannot + possibly be; mirth is a very doubtful indication of its presence. A merry + man is often a wretch who is trying to deceive others and distract + himself. The men who are jovial, friendly, and contented at their club are + almost always gloomy grumblers at home, and their servants have to pay for + the amusement they give among their friends. True contentment is neither + merry nor noisy; we are jealous of so sweet a sentiment, when we enjoy it + we think about it, we delight in it for fear it should escape us. A really + happy man says little and laughs little; he hugs his happiness, so to + speak, to his heart. Noisy games, violent delight, conceal the + disappointment of satiety. But melancholy is the friend of pleasure; tears + and pity attend our sweetest enjoyment, and great joys call for tears + rather than laughter. + </p> + <p> + If at first the number and variety of our amusements seem to contribute to + our happiness, if at first the even tenor of a quiet life seems tedious, + when we look at it more closely we discover that the pleasantest habit of + mind consists in a moderate enjoyment which leaves little scope for desire + and aversion. The unrest of passion causes curiosity and fickleness; the + emptiness of noisy pleasures causes weariness. We never weary of our state + when we know none more delightful. Savages suffer less than other men from + curiosity and from tedium; everything is the same to them—themselves, + not their possessions—and they are never weary. + </p> + <p> + The man of the world almost always wears a mask. He is scarcely ever + himself and is almost a stranger to himself; he is ill at ease when he is + forced into his own company. Not what he is, but what he seems, is all he + cares for. + </p> + <p> + I cannot help picturing in the countenance of the young man I have just + spoken of an indefinable but unpleasant impertinence, smoothness, and + affectation, which is repulsive to a plain man, and in the countenance of + my own pupil a simple and interesting expression which indicates the real + contentment and the calm of his mind; an expression which inspires respect + and confidence, and seems only to await the establishment of friendly + relations to bestow his own confidence in return. It is thought that the + expression is merely the development of certain features designed by + nature. For my own part I think that over and above this development a man’s + face is shaped, all unconsciously, by the frequent and habitual influence + of certain affections of the heart. These affections are shown on the + face, there is nothing more certain; and when they become habitual, they + must surely leave lasting traces. This is why I think the expression shows + the character, and that we can sometimes read one another without seeking + mysterious explanations in powers we do not possess. + </p> + <p> + A child has only two distinct feelings, joy and sorrow; he laughs or he + cries; he knows no middle course, and he is constantly passing from one + extreme to the other. On account of these perpetual changes there is no + lasting impression on the face, and no expression; but when the child is + older and more sensitive, his feelings are keener or more permanent, and + these deeper impressions leave traces more difficult to erase; and the + habitual state of the feelings has an effect on the features which in + course of time becomes ineffaceable. Still it is not uncommon to meet with + men whose expression varies with their age. I have met with several, and I + have always found that those whom I could observe and follow had also + changed their habitual temper. This one observation thoroughly confirmed + would seem to me decisive, and it is not out of place in a treatise on + education, where it is a matter of importance, that we should learn to + judge the feelings of the heart by external signs. + </p> + <p> + I do not know whether my young man will be any the less amiable for not + having learnt to copy conventional manners and to feign sentiments which + are not his own; that does not concern me at present, I only know he will + be more affectionate; and I find it difficult to believe that he, who + cares for nobody but himself, can so far disguise his true feelings as to + please as readily as he who finds fresh happiness for himself in his + affection for others. But with regard to this feeling of happiness, I + think I have said enough already for the guidance of any sensible reader, + and to show that I have not contradicted myself. + </p> + <p> + I return to my system, and I say, when the critical age approaches, + present to young people spectacles which restrain rather than excite them; + put off their dawning imagination with objects which, far from inflaming + their senses, put a check to their activity. Remove them from great + cities, where the flaunting attire and the boldness of the women hasten + and anticipate the teaching of nature, where everything presents to their + view pleasures of which they should know nothing till they are of an age + to choose for themselves. Bring them back to their early home, where rural + simplicity allows the passions of their age to develop more slowly; or if + their taste for the arts keeps them in town, guard them by means of this + very taste from a dangerous idleness. Choose carefully their company, + their occupations, and their pleasures; show them nothing but modest and + pathetic pictures which are touching but not seductive, and nourish their + sensibility without stimulating their senses. Remember also, that the + danger of excess is not confined to any one place, and that immoderate + passions always do irreparable damage. You need not make your pupil a + sick-nurse or a Brother of Pity; you need not distress him by the + perpetual sight of pain and suffering; you need not take him from one + hospital to another, from the gallows to the prison. He must be softened, + not hardened, by the sight of human misery. When we have seen a sight it + ceases to impress us, use is second nature, what is always before our eyes + no longer appeals to the imagination, and it is only through the + imagination that we can feel the sorrows of others; this is why priests + and doctors who are always beholding death and suffering become so + hardened. Let your pupil therefore know something of the lot of man and + the woes of his fellow-creatures, but let him not see them too often. A + single thing, carefully selected and shown at the right time, will fill + him with pity and set him thinking for a month. His opinion about anything + depends not so much on what he sees, but on how it reacts on himself; and + his lasting impression of any object depends less on the object itself + than on the point of view from which he regards it. Thus by a sparing use + of examples, lessons, and pictures, you may blunt the sting of sense and + delay nature while following her own lead. + </p> + <p> + As he acquires knowledge, choose what ideas he shall attach to it; as his + passions awake, select scenes calculated to repress them. A veteran, as + distinguished for his character as for his courage, once told me that in + early youth his father, a sensible man but extremely pious, observed that + through his growing sensibility he was attracted by women, and spared no + pains to restrain him; but at last when, in spite of all his care, his son + was about to escape from his control, he decided to take him to a + hospital, and, without telling him what to expect, he introduced him into + a room where a number of wretched creatures were expiating, under a + terrible treatment, the vices which had brought them into this plight. + This hideous and revolting spectacle sickened the young man. “Miserable + libertine,” said his father vehemently, “begone; follow your + vile tastes; you will soon be only too glad to be admitted to this ward, + and a victim to the most shameful sufferings, you will compel your father + to thank God when you are dead.” + </p> + <p> + These few words, together with the striking spectacle he beheld, made an + impression on the young man which could never be effaced. Compelled by his + profession to pass his youth in garrison, he preferred to face all the + jests of his comrades rather than to share their evil ways. “I have + been a man,” he said to me, “I have had my weaknesses, but + even to the present day the sight of a harlot inspires me with horror.” + Say little to your pupil, but choose time, place, and people; then rely on + concrete examples for your teaching, and be sure it will take effect. + </p> + <p> + The way childhood is spent is no great matter; the evil which may find its + way is not irremediable, and the good which may spring up might come + later. But it is not so in those early years when a youth really begins to + live. This time is never long enough for what there is to be done, and its + importance demands unceasing attention; this is why I lay so much stress + on the art of prolonging it. One of the best rules of good farming is to + keep things back as much as possible. Let your progress also be slow and + sure; prevent the youth from becoming a man all at once. While the body is + growing the spirits destined to give vigour to the blood and strength to + the muscles are in process of formation and elaboration. If you turn them + into another channel, and permit that strength which should have gone to + the perfecting of one person to go to the making of another, both remain + in a state of weakness and the work of nature is unfinished. The workings + of the mind, in their turn, are affected by this change, and the mind, as + sickly as the body, functions languidly and feebly. Length and strength of + limb are not the same thing as courage or genius, and I grant that + strength of mind does not always accompany strength of body, when the + means of connection between the two are otherwise faulty. But however well + planned they may be, they will always work feebly if for motive power they + depend upon an exhausted, impoverished supply of blood, deprived of the + substance which gives strength and elasticity to all the springs of the + machinery. There is generally more vigour of mind to be found among men + whose early years have been preserved from precocious vice, than among + those whose evil living has begun at the earliest opportunity; and this is + no doubt the reason why nations whose morals are pure are generally + superior in sense and courage to those whose morals are bad. The latter + shine only through I know not what small and trifling qualities, which + they call wit, sagacity, cunning; but those great and noble features of + goodness and reason, by which a man is distinguished and honoured through + good deeds, virtues, really useful efforts, are scarcely to be found + except among the nations whose morals are pure. + </p> + <p> + Teachers complain that the energy of this age makes their pupils unruly; I + see that it is so, but are not they themselves to blame? When once they + have let this energy flow through the channel of the senses, do they not + know that they cannot change its course? Will the long and dreary sermons + of the pedant efface from the mind of his scholar the thoughts of pleasure + when once they have found an entrance; will they banish from his heart the + desires by which it is tormented; will they chill the heat of a passion + whose meaning the scholar realises? Will not the pupil be roused to anger + by the obstacles opposed to the only kind of happiness of which he has any + notion? And in the harsh law imposed upon him before he can understand it, + what will he see but the caprice and hatred of a man who is trying to + torment him? Is it strange that he rebels and hates you too? + </p> + <p> + I know very well that if one is easy-going one may be tolerated, and one + may keep up a show of authority. But I fail to see the use of an authority + over the pupil which is only maintained by fomenting the vices it ought to + repress; it is like attempting to soothe a fiery steed by making it leap + over a precipice. + </p> + <p> + Far from being a hindrance to education, this enthusiasm of adolescence is + its crown and coping-stone; this it is that gives you a hold on the youth’s + heart when he is no longer weaker than you. His first affections are the + reins by which you control his movements; he was free, and now I behold + him in your power. So long as he loved nothing, he was independent of + everything but himself and his own necessities; as soon as he loves, he is + dependent on his affections. Thus the first ties which unite him to his + species are already formed. When you direct his increasing sensibility in + this direction, do not expect that it will at once include all men, and + that the word “mankind” will have any meaning for him. Not so; + this sensibility will at first confine itself to those like himself, and + these will not be strangers to him, but those he knows, those whom habit + has made dear to him or necessary to him, those who are evidently thinking + and feeling as he does, those whom he perceives to be exposed to the pains + he has endured, those who enjoy the pleasures he has enjoyed; in a word, + those who are so like himself that he is the more disposed to self-love. + It is only after long training, after much consideration as to his own + feelings and the feelings he observes in others, that he will be able to + generalise his individual notions under the abstract idea of humanity, and + add to his individual affections those which may identify him with the + race. + </p> + <p> + When he becomes capable of affection, he becomes aware of the affection of + others, [Footnote: Affection may be unrequited; not so friendship. + Friendship is a bargain, a contract like any other; though a bargain more + sacred than the rest. The word “friend” has no other + correlation. Any man who is not the friend of his friend is undoubtedly a + rascal; for one can only obtain friendship by giving it, or pretending to + give it.] and he is on the lookout for the signs of that affection. Do you + not see how you will acquire a fresh hold on him? What bands have you + bound about his heart while he was yet unaware of them! What will he feel, + when he beholds himself and sees what you have done for him; when he can + compare himself with other youths, and other tutors with you! I say, + “When he sees it,” but beware lest you tell him of it; if you + tell him he will not perceive it. If you claim his obedience in return for + the care bestowed upon him, he will think you have over-reached him; he + will see that while you profess to have cared for him without reward, you + meant to saddle him with a debt and to bind him to a bargain which he + never made. In vain you will add that what you demand is for his own good; + you demand it, and you demand it in virtue of what you have done without + his consent. When a man down on his luck accepts the shilling which the + sergeant professes to give him, and finds he has enlisted without knowing + what he was about, you protest against the injustice; is it not still more + unjust to demand from your pupil the price of care which he has not even + accepted! + </p> + <p> + Ingratitude would be rarer if kindness were less often the investment of a + usurer. We love those who have done us a kindness; what a natural feeling! + Ingratitude is not to be found in the heart of man, but self-interest is + there; those who are ungrateful for benefits received are fewer than those + who do a kindness for their own ends. If you sell me your gifts, I will + haggle over the price; but if you pretend to give, in order to sell later + on at your own price, you are guilty of fraud; it is the free gift which + is beyond price. The heart is a law to itself; if you try to bind it, you + lose it; give it its liberty, and you make it your own. + </p> + <p> + When the fisherman baits his line, the fish come round him without + suspicion; but when they are caught on the hook concealed in the bait, + they feel the line tighten and they try to escape. Is the fisherman a + benefactor? Is the fish ungrateful? Do we find a man forgotten by his + benefactor, unmindful of that benefactor? On the contrary, he delights to + speak of him, he cannot think of him without emotion; if he gets a chance + of showing him, by some unexpected service, that he remembers what he did + for him, how delighted he is to satisfy his gratitude; what a pleasure it + is to earn the gratitude of his benefactor. How delightful to say, “It + is my turn now.” This is indeed the teaching of nature; a good deed + never caused ingratitude. + </p> + <p> + If therefore gratitude is a natural feeling, and you do not destroy its + effects by your blunders, be sure your pupil, as he begins to understand + the value of your care for him, will be grateful for it, provided you have + not put a price upon it; and this will give you an authority over his + heart which nothing can overthrow. But beware of losing this advantage + before it is really yours, beware of insisting on your own importance. + Boast of your services and they become intolerable; forget them and they + will not be forgotten. Until the time comes to treat him as a man let + there be no question of his duty to you, but his duty to himself. Let him + have his freedom if you would make him docile; hide yourself so that he + may seek you; raise his heart to the noble sentiment of gratitude by only + speaking of his own interest. Until he was able to understand I would not + have him told that what was done was for his good; he would only have + understood such words to mean that you were dependent on him and he would + merely have made you his servant. But now that he is beginning to feel + what love is, he also knows what a tender affection may bind a man to what + he loves; and in the zeal which keeps you busy on his account, he now sees + not the bonds of a slave, but the affection of a friend. Now there is + nothing which carries so much weight with the human heart as the voice of + friendship recognised as such, for we know that it never speaks but for + our good. We may think our friend is mistaken, but we never believe he is + deceiving us. We may reject his advice now and then, but we never scorn + it. + </p> + <p> + We have reached the moral order at last; we have just taken the second + step towards manhood. If this were the place for it, I would try to show + how the first impulses of the heart give rise to the first stirrings of + conscience, and how from the feelings of love and hatred spring the first + notions of good and evil. I would show that justice and kindness are no + mere abstract terms, no mere moral conceptions framed by the + understanding, but true affections of the heart enlightened by reason, the + natural outcome of our primitive affections; that by reason alone, unaided + by conscience, we cannot establish any natural law, and that all natural + right is a vain dream if it does not rest upon some instinctive need of + the human heart. [Footnote: The precept “Do unto others as you would + have them do unto you” has no true foundation but that of conscience + and feeling; for what valid reason is there why I, being myself, should do + what I would do if I were some one else, especially when I am morally + certain I never shall find myself in exactly the same case; and who will + answer for it that if I faithfully follow out this maxim, I shall get + others to follow it with regard to me? The wicked takes advantage both of + the uprightness of the just and of his own injustice; he will gladly have + everybody just but himself. This bargain, whatever you may say, is not + greatly to the advantage of the just. But if the enthusiasm of an + overflowing heart identifies me with my fellow-creature, if I feel, so to + speak, that I will not let him suffer lest I should suffer too, I care for + him because I care for myself, and the reason of the precept is found in + nature herself, which inspires me with the desire for my own welfare + wherever I may be. From this I conclude that it is false to say that the + precepts of natural law are based on reason only; they have a firmer and + more solid foundation. The love of others springing from self-love, is the + source of human justice. The whole of morality is summed up in the gospel + in this summary of the law.] But I do not think it is my business at + present to prepare treatises on metaphysics and morals, nor courses of + study of any kind whatsoever; it is enough if I indicate the order and + development of our feelings and our knowledge in relation to our growth. + Others will perhaps work out what I have here merely indicated. + </p> + <p> + Hitherto my Emile has thought only of himself, so his first glance at his + equals leads him to compare himself with them; and the first feeling + excited by this comparison is the desire to be first. It is here that + self-love is transformed into selfishness, and this is the starting point + of all the passions which spring from selfishness. But to determine + whether the passions by which his life will be governed shall be humane + and gentle or harsh and cruel, whether they shall be the passions of + benevolence and pity or those of envy and covetousness, we must know what + he believes his place among men to be, and what sort of obstacles he + expects to have to overcome in order to attain to the position he seeks. + </p> + <p> + To guide him in this inquiry, after we have shown him men by means of the + accidents common to the species, we must now show him them by means of + their differences. This is the time for estimating inequality natural and + civil, and for the scheme of the whole social order. + </p> + <p> + Society must be studied in the individual and the individual in society; + those who desire to treat politics and morals apart from one another will + never understand either. By confining ourselves at first to the primitive + relations, we see how men should be influenced by them and what passions + should spring from them; we see that it is in proportion to the + development of these passions that a man’s relations with others + expand or contract. It is not so much strength of arm as moderation of + spirit which makes men free and independent. The man whose wants are few + is dependent on but few people, but those who constantly confound our vain + desires with our bodily needs, those who have made these needs the basis + of human society, are continually mistaking effects for causes, and they + have only confused themselves by their own reasoning. + </p> + <p> + Since it is impossible in the state of nature that the difference between + man and man should be great enough to make one dependent on another, there + is in fact in this state of nature an actual and indestructible equality. + In the civil state there is a vain and chimerical equality of right; the + means intended for its maintenance, themselves serve to destroy it; and + the power of the community, added to the power of the strongest for the + oppression of the weak, disturbs the sort of equilibrium which nature has + established between them. [Footnote: The universal spirit of the laws of + every country is always to take the part of the strong against the weak, + and the part of him who has against him who has not; this defect is + inevitable, and there is no exception to it.] From this first + contradiction spring all the other contradictions between the real and the + apparent, which are to be found in the civil order. The many will always + be sacrificed to the few, the common weal to private interest; those + specious words—justice and subordination—will always serve as + the tools of violence and the weapons of injustice; hence it follows that + the higher classes which claim to be useful to the rest are really only + seeking their own welfare at the expense of others; from this we may judge + how much consideration is due to them according to right and justice. It + remains to be seen if the rank to which they have attained is more + favourable to their own happiness to know what opinion each one of us + should form with regard to his own lot. This is the study with which we + are now concerned; but to do it thoroughly we must begin with a knowledge + of the human heart. + </p> + <p> + If it were only a question of showing young people man in his mask, there + would be no need to point him out, and he would always be before their + eyes; but since the mask is not the man, and since they must not be led + away by its specious appearance, when you paint men for your scholar, + paint them as they are, not that he may hate them, but that he may pity + them and have no wish to be like them. In my opinion that is the most + reasonable view a man can hold with regard to his fellow-men. + </p> + <p> + With this object in view we must take the opposite way from that hitherto + followed, and instruct the youth rather through the experience of others + than through his own. If men deceive him he will hate them; but, if, while + they treat him with respect, he sees them deceiving each other, he will + pity them. “The spectacle of the world,” said Pythagoras, + “is like the Olympic games; some are buying and selling and think + only of their gains; others take an active part and strive for glory; + others, and these not the worst, are content to be lookers-on.” + </p> + <p> + I would have you so choose the company of a youth that he should think + well of those among whom he lives, and I would have you so teach him to + know the world that he should think ill of all that takes place in it. Let + him know that man is by nature good, let him feel it, let him judge his + neighbour by himself; but let him see how men are depraved and perverted + by society; let him find the source of all their vices in their + preconceived opinions; let him be disposed to respect the individual, but + to despise the multitude; let him see that all men wear almost the same + mask, but let him also know that some faces are fairer than the mask that + conceals them. + </p> + <p> + It must be admitted that this method has its drawbacks, and it is not easy + to carry it out; for if he becomes too soon engrossed in watching other + people, if you train him to mark too closely the actions of others, you + will make him spiteful and satirical, quick and decided in his judgments + of others; he will find a hateful pleasure in seeking bad motives, and + will fail to see the good even in that which is really good. He will, at + least, get used to the sight of vice, he will behold the wicked without + horror, just as we get used to seeing the wretched without pity. Soon the + perversity of mankind will be not so much a warning as an excuse; he will + say, “Man is made so,” and he will have no wish to be + different from the rest. + </p> + <p> + But if you wish to teach him theoretically to make him acquainted, not + only with the heart of man, but also with the application of the external + causes which turn our inclinations into vices; when you thus transport him + all at once from the objects of sense to the objects of reason, you employ + a system of metaphysics which he is not in a position to understand; you + fall back into the error, so carefully avoided hitherto, of giving him + lessons which are like lessons, of substituting in his mind the experience + and the authority of the master for his own experience and the development + of his own reason. + </p> + <p> + To remove these two obstacles at once, and to bring the human heart within + his reach without risk of spoiling his own, I would show him men from + afar, in other times or in other places, so that he may behold the scene + but cannot take part in it. This is the time for history; with its help he + will read the hearts of men without any lessons in philosophy; with its + help he will view them as a mere spectator, dispassionate and without + prejudice; he will view them as their judge, not as their accomplice or + their accuser. + </p> + <p> + To know men you must behold their actions. In society we hear them talk; + they show their words and hide their deeds; but in history the veil is + drawn aside, and they are judged by their deeds. Their sayings even help + us to understand them; for comparing what they say and what they do, we + see not only what they are but what they would appear; the more they + disguise themselves the more thoroughly they stand revealed. + </p> + <p> + Unluckily this study has its dangers, its drawbacks of several kinds. It + is difficult to adopt a point of view which will enable one to judge one’s + fellow-creatures fairly. It is one of the chief defects of history to + paint men’s evil deeds rather than their good ones; it is + revolutions and catastrophes that make history interesting; so long as a + nation grows and prospers quietly in the tranquillity of a peaceful + government, history says nothing; she only begins to speak of nations + when, no longer able to be self-sufficing, they interfere with their + neighbours’ business, or allow their neighbours to interfere with + their own; history only makes them famous when they are on the downward + path; all our histories begin where they ought to end. We have very + accurate accounts of declining nations; what we lack is the history of + those nations which are multiplying; they are so happy and so good that + history has nothing to tell us of them; and we see indeed in our own times + that the most successful governments are least talked of. We only hear + what is bad; the good is scarcely mentioned. Only the wicked become + famous, the good are forgotten or laughed to scorn, and thus history, like + philosophy, is for ever slandering mankind. + </p> + <p> + Moreover, it is inevitable that the facts described in history should not + give an exact picture of what really happened; they are transformed in the + brain of the historian, they are moulded by his interests and coloured by + his prejudices. Who can place the reader precisely in a position to see + the event as it really happened? Ignorance or partiality disguises + everything. What a different impression may be given merely by expanding + or contracting the circumstances of the case without altering a single + historical incident. The same object may be seen from several points of + view, and it will hardly seem the same thing, yet there has been no change + except in the eye that beholds it. Do you indeed do honour to truth when + what you tell me is a genuine fact, but you make it appear something quite + different? A tree more or less, a rock to the right or to the left, a + cloud of dust raised by the wind, how often have these decided the result + of a battle without any one knowing it? Does that prevent history from + telling you the cause of defeat or victory with as much assurance as if + she had been on the spot? But what are the facts to me, while I am + ignorant of their causes, and what lessons can I draw from an event, whose + true cause is unknown to me? The historian indeed gives me a reason, but + he invents it; and criticism itself, of which we hear so much, is only the + art of guessing, the art of choosing from among several lies, the lie that + is most like truth. + </p> + <p> + Have you ever read Cleopatra or Cassandra or any books of the kind? The + author selects some well-known event, he then adapts it to his purpose, + adorns it with details of his own invention, with people who never + existed, with imaginary portraits; thus he piles fiction on fiction to + lend a charm to his story. I see little difference between such romances + and your histories, unless it is that the novelist draws more on his own + imagination, while the historian slavishly copies what another has + imagined; I will also admit, if you please, that the novelist has some + moral purpose good or bad, about which the historian scarcely concerns + himself. + </p> + <p> + You will tell me that accuracy in history is of less interest than a true + picture of men and manners; provided the human heart is truly portrayed, + it matters little that events should be accurately recorded; for after all + you say, what does it matter to us what happened two thousand years ago? + You are right if the portraits are indeed truly given according to nature; + but if the model is to be found for the most part in the historian’s + imagination, are you not falling into the very error you intended to + avoid, and surrendering to the authority of the historian what you would + not yield to the authority of the teacher? If my pupil is merely to see + fancy pictures, I would rather draw them myself; they will, at least, be + better suited to him. + </p> + <p> + The worst historians for a youth are those who give their opinions. Facts! + Facts! and let him decide for himself; this is how he will learn to know + mankind. If he is always directed by the opinion of the author, he is only + seeing through the eyes of another person, and when those ayes are no + longer at his disposal he can see nothing. + </p> + <p> + I leave modern history on one side, not only because it has no character + and all our people are alike, but because our historians, wholly taken up + with effect, think of nothing but highly coloured portraits, which often + represent nothing. [Footnote: Take, for instance, Guicciardini, Streda, + Solis, Machiavelli, and sometimes even De Thou himself. Vertot is almost + the only one who knows how to describe without giving fancy portraits.] + The old historians generally give fewer portraits and bring more + intelligence and common-sense to their judgments; but even among them + there is plenty of scope for choice, and you must not begin with the + wisest but with the simplest. I would not put Polybius or Sallust into the + hands of a youth; Tacitus is the author of the old, young men cannot + understand him; you must learn to see in human actions the simplest + features of the heart of man before you try to sound its depths. You must + be able to read facts clearly before you begin to study maxims. Philosophy + in the form of maxims is only fit for the experienced. Youth should never + deal with the general, all its teaching should deal with individual + instances. + </p> + <p> + To my mind Thucydides is the true model of historians. He relates facts + without giving his opinion; but he omits no circumstance adapted to make + us judge for ourselves. He puts everything that he relates before his + reader; far from interposing between the facts and the readers, he + conceals himself; we seem not to read but to see. Unfortunately he speaks + of nothing but war, and in his stories we only see the least instructive + part of the world, that is to say the battles. The virtues and defects of + the Retreat of the Ten Thousand and the Commentaries of Caesar are almost + the same. The kindly Herodotus, without portraits, without maxims, yet + flowing, simple, full of details calculated to delight and interest in the + highest degree, would be perhaps the best historian if these very details + did not often degenerate into childish folly, better adapted to spoil the + taste of youth than to form it; we need discretion before we can read him. + I say nothing of Livy, his turn will come; but he is a statesman, a + rhetorician, he is everything which is unsuitable for a youth. + </p> + <p> + History in general is lacking because it only takes note of striking and + clearly marked facts which may be fixed by names, places, and dates; but + the slow evolution of these facts, which cannot be definitely noted in + this way, still remains unknown. We often find in some battle, lost or + won, the ostensible cause of a revolution which was inevitable before this + battle took place. War only makes manifest events already determined by + moral causes, which few historians can perceive. + </p> + <p> + The philosophic spirit has turned the thoughts of many of the historians + of our times in this direction; but I doubt whether truth has profited by + their labours. The rage for systems has got possession of all alike, no + one seeks to see things as they are, but only as they agree with his + system. + </p> + <p> + Add to all these considerations the fact that history shows us actions + rather than men, because she only seizes men at certain chosen times in + full dress; she only portrays the statesman when he is prepared to be + seen; she does not follow him to his home, to his study, among his family + and his friends; she only shows him in state; it is his clothes rather + than himself that she describes. + </p> + <p> + I would prefer to begin the study of the human heart with reading the + lives of individuals; for then the man hides himself in vain, the + historian follows him everywhere; he never gives him a moment’s + grace nor any corner where he can escape the piercing eye of the + spectator; and when he thinks he is concealing himself, then it is that + the writer shows him up most plainly. + </p> + <p> + “Those who write lives,” says Montaigne, “in so far as + they delight more in ideas than in events, more in that which comes from + within than in that which comes from without, these are the writers I + prefer; for this reason Plutarch is in every way the man for me.” + </p> + <p> + It is true that the genius of men in groups or nations is very different + from the character of the individual man, and that we have a very + imperfect knowledge of the human heart if we do not also examine it in + crowds; but it is none the less true that to judge of men we must study + the individual man, and that he who had a perfect knowledge of the + inclinations of each individual might foresee all their combined effects + in the body of the nation. + </p> + <p> + We must go back again to the ancients, for the reasons already stated, and + also because all the details common and familiar, but true and + characteristic, are banished by modern stylists, so that men are as much + tricked out by our modern authors in their private life as in public. + Propriety, no less strict in literature than in life, no longer permits us + to say anything in public which we might not do in public; and as we may + only show the man dressed up for his part, we never see a man in our books + any more than we do on the stage. The lives of kings may be written a + hundred times, but to no purpose; we shall never have another Suetonius. + </p> + <p> + The excellence of Plutarch consists in these very details which we are no + longer permitted to describe. With inimitable grace he paints the great + man in little things; and he is so happy in the choice of his instances + that a word, a smile, a gesture, will often suffice to indicate the nature + of his hero. With a jest Hannibal cheers his frightened soldiers, and + leads them laughing to the battle which will lay Italy at his feet; + Agesilaus riding on a stick makes me love the conqueror of the great king; + Caesar passing through a poor village and chatting with his friends + unconsciously betrays the traitor who professed that he only wished to be + Pompey’s equal. Alexander swallows a draught without a word—it + is the finest moment in his life; Aristides writes his own name on the + shell and so justifies his title; Philopoemen, his mantle laid aside, + chops firewood in the kitchen of his host. This is the true art of + portraiture. Our disposition does not show itself in our features, nor our + character in our great deeds; it is trifles that show what we really are. + What is done in public is either too commonplace or too artificial, and + our modern authors are almost too grand to tell us anything else. + </p> + <p> + M. de Turenne was undoubtedly one of the greatest men of the last century. + They have had the courage to make his life interesting by the little + details which make us know and love him; but how many details have they + felt obliged to omit which might have made us know and love him better + still? I will only quote one which I have on good authority, one which + Plutarch would never have omitted, and one which Ramsai would never have + inserted had he been acquainted with it. + </p> + <p> + On a hot summer’s day Viscount Turenne in a little white vest and + nightcap was standing at the window of his antechamber; one of his men + came up and, misled by the dress, took him for one of the kitchen lads + whom he knew. He crept up behind him and smacked him with no light hand. + The man he struck turned round hastily. The valet saw it was his master + and trembled at the sight of his face. He fell on his knees in + desperation. “Sir, I thought it was George.” “Well, even + if it was George,” exclaimed Turenne rubbing the injured part, + “you need not have struck so hard.” You do not dare to say + this, you miserable writers! Remain for ever without humanity and without + feeling; steel your hard hearts in your vile propriety, make yourselves + contemptible through your high-mightiness. But as for you, dear youth, + when you read this anecdote, when you are touched by all the kindliness + displayed even on the impulse of the moment, read also the littleness of + this great man when it was a question of his name and birth. Remember it + was this very Turenne who always professed to yield precedence to his + nephew, so that all men might see that this child was the head of a royal + house. Look on this picture and on that, love nature, despise popular + prejudice, and know the man as he was. + </p> + <p> + There are few people able to realise what an effect such reading, + carefully directed, will have upon the unspoilt mind of a youth. Weighed + down by books from our earliest childhood, accustomed to read without + thinking, what we read strikes us even less, because we already bear in + ourselves the passions and prejudices with which history and the lives of + men are filled; all that they do strikes us as only natural, for we + ourselves are unnatural and we judge others by ourselves. But imagine my + Emile, who has been carefully guarded for eighteen years with the sole + object of preserving a right judgment and a healthy heart, imagine him + when the curtain goes up casting his eyes for the first time upon the + world’s stage; or rather picture him behind the scenes watching the + actors don their costumes, and counting the cords and pulleys which + deceive with their feigned shows the eyes of the spectators. His first + surprise will soon give place to feelings of shame and scorn of his + fellow-man; he will be indignant at the sight of the whole human race + deceiving itself and stooping to this childish folly; he will grieve to + see his brothers tearing each other limb from limb for a mere dream, and + transforming themselves into wild beasts because they could not be content + to be men. + </p> + <p> + Given the natural disposition of the pupil, there is no doubt that if the + master exercises any sort of prudence or discretion in his choice of + reading, however little he may put him in the way of reflecting on the + subject-matter, this exercise will serve as a course in practical + philosophy, a philosophy better understood and more thoroughly mastered + than all the empty speculations with which the brains of lads are muddled + in our schools. After following the romantic schemes of Pyrrhus, Cineas + asks him what real good he would gain by the conquest of the world, which + he can never enjoy without such great sufferings; this only arouses in us + a passing interest as a smart saying; but Emile will think it a very wise + thought, one which had already occurred to himself, and one which he will + never forget, because there is no hostile prejudice in his mind to prevent + it sinking in. When he reads more of the life of this madman, he will find + that all his great plans resulted in his death at the hands of a woman, + and instead of admiring this pinchbeck heroism, what will he see in the + exploits of this great captain and the schemes of this great statesman but + so many steps towards that unlucky tile which was to bring life and + schemes alike to a shameful death? + </p> + <p> + All conquerors have not been killed; all usurpers have not failed in their + plans; to minds imbued with vulgar prejudices many of them will seem + happy, but he who looks below the surface and reckons men’s + happiness by the condition of their hearts will perceive their + wretchedness even in the midst of their successes; he will see them + panting after advancement and never attaining their prize, he will find + them like those inexperienced travellers among the Alps, who think that + every height they see is the last, who reach its summit only to find to + their disappointment there are loftier peaks beyond. + </p> + <p> + Augustus, when he had subdued his fellow-citizens and destroyed his + rivals, reigned for forty years over the greatest empire that ever + existed; but all this vast power could not hinder him from beating his + head against the walls, and filling his palace with his groans as he cried + to Varus to restore his slaughtered legions. If he had conquered all his + foes what good would his empty triumphs have done him, when troubles of + every kind beset his path, when his life was threatened by his dearest + friends, and when he had to mourn the disgrace or death of all near and + dear to him? The wretched man desired to rule the world and failed to rule + his own household. What was the result of this neglect? He beheld his + nephew, his adopted child, his son-in-law, perish in the flower of youth, + his grandson reduced to eat the stuffing of his mattress to prolong his + wretched existence for a few hours; his daughter and his granddaughter, + after they had covered him with infamy, died, the one of hunger and want + on a desert island, the other in prison by the hand of a common archer. He + himself, the last survivor of his unhappy house, found himself compelled + by his own wife to acknowledge a monster as his heir. Such was the fate of + the master of the world, so famous for his glory and his good fortune. I + cannot believe that any one of those who admire his glory and fortune + would accept them at the same price. + </p> + <p> + I have taken ambition as my example, but the play of every human passion + offers similar lessons to any one who will study history to make himself + wise and good at the expense of those who went before. The time is drawing + near when the teaching of the life of Anthony will appeal more forcibly to + the youth than the life of Augustus. Emile will scarcely know where he is + among the many strange sights in his new studies; but he will know + beforehand how to avoid the illusion of passions before they arise, and + seeing how in all ages they have blinded men’s eyes, he will be + forewarned of the way in which they may one day blind his own should he + abandon himself to them. [Footnote: It is always prejudice which stirs up + passion in our heart. He who only sees what really exists and only values + what he knows, rarely becomes angry. The errors of our judgment produce + the warmth of our desires.] These lessons, I know, are unsuited to him, + perhaps at need they may prove scanty and ill-timed; but remember they are + not the lessons I wished to draw from this study. To begin with, I had + quite another end in view; and indeed, if this purpose is unfulfilled, the + teacher will be to blame. + </p> + <p> + Remember that, as soon as selfishness has developed, the self in its + relations to others is always with us, and the youth never observes others + without coming back to himself and comparing himself with them. From the + way young men are taught to study history I see that they are transformed, + so to speak, into the people they behold, that you strive to make a + Cicero, a Trajan, or an Alexander of them, to discourage them when they + are themselves again, to make every one regret that he is merely himself. + There are certain advantages in this plan which I do not deny; but, so far + as Emile is concerned, should it happen at any time when he is making + these comparisons that he wishes to be any one but himself—were it + Socrates or Cato—I have failed entirely; he who begins to regard + himself as a stranger will soon forget himself altogether. + </p> + <p> + It is not philosophers who know most about men; they only view them + through the preconceived ideas of philosophy, and I know no one so + prejudiced as philosophers. A savage would judge us more sanely. The + philosopher is aware of his own vices, he is indignant at ours, and he + says to himself, “We are all bad alike;” the savage beholds us + unmoved and says, “You are mad.” He is right, for no one does + evil for evil’s sake. My pupil is that savage, with this difference: + Emile has thought more, he has compared ideas, seen our errors at close + quarters, he is more on his guard against himself, and only judges of what + he knows. + </p> + <p> + It is our own passions that excite us against the passions of others; it + is our self-interest which makes us hate the wicked; if they did us no + harm we should pity rather than hate them. We should readily forgive their + vices if we could perceive how their own heart punishes those vices. We + are aware of the offence, but we do not see the punishment; the advantages + are plain, the penalty is hidden. The man who thinks he is enjoying the + fruits of his vices is no less tormented by them than if they had not been + successful; the object is different, the anxiety is the same; in vain he + displays his good fortune and hides his heart; in spite of himself his + conduct betrays him; but to discern this, our own heart must be utterly + unlike his. + </p> + <p> + We are led astray by those passions which we share; we are disgusted by + those that militate against our own interests; and with a want of logic + due to these very passions, we blame in others what we fain would imitate. + Aversion and self-deception are inevitable when we are forced to endure at + another’s hands what we ourselves would do in his place. + </p> + <p> + What then is required for the proper study of men? A great wish to know + men, great impartiality of judgment, a heart sufficiently sensitive to + understand every human passion, and calm enough to be free from passion. + If there is any time in our life when this study is likely to be + appreciated, it is this that I have chosen for Emile; before this time men + would have been strangers to him; later on he would have been like them. + Convention, the effects of which he already perceives, has not yet made + him its slave, the passions, whose consequences he realises, have not yet + stirred his heart. He is a man; he takes an interest in his brethren; he + is a just man and he judges his peers. Now it is certain that if he judges + them rightly he will not want to change places with any one of them, for + the goal of all their anxious efforts is the result of prejudices which he + does not share, and that goal seems to him a mere dream. For his own part, + he has all he wants within his reach. How should he be dependent on any + one when he is self-sufficing and free from prejudice? Strong arms, good + health, [Footnote: I think I may fairly reckon health and strength among + the advantages he has obtained by his education, or rather among the gifts + of nature which his education has preserved for him.] moderation, few + needs, together with the means to satisfy those needs, are his. He has + been brought up in complete liberty and servitude is the greatest ill he + understands. He pities these miserable kings, the slaves of all who obey + them; he pities these false prophets fettered by their empty fame; he + pities these rich fools, martyrs to their own pomp; he pities these + ostentatious voluptuaries, who spend their life in deadly dullness that + they may seem to enjoy its pleasures. He would pity the very foe who + harmed him, for he would discern his wretchedness beneath his cloak of + spite. He would say to himself, “This man has yielded to his desire + to hurt me, and this need of his places him at my mercy.” + </p> + <p> + One step more and our goal is attained. Selfishness is a dangerous tool + though a useful one; it often wounds the hand that uses it, and it rarely + does good unmixed with evil. When Emile considers his place among men, + when he finds himself so fortunately situated, he will be tempted to give + credit to his own reason for the work of yours, and to attribute to his + own deserts what is really the result of his good fortune. He will say to + himself, “I am wise and other men are fools.” He will pity and + despise them and will congratulate himself all the more heartily; and as + he knows he is happier than they, he will think his deserts are greater. + This is the fault we have most to fear, for it is the most difficult to + eradicate. If he remained in this state of mind, he would have profited + little by all our care; and if I had to choose, I hardly know whether I + would not rather choose the illusions of prejudice than those of pride. + </p> + <p> + Great men are under no illusion with respect to their superiority; they + see it and know it, but they are none the less modest. The more they have, + the better they know what they lack. They are less vain of their + superiority over us than ashamed by the consciousness of their weakness, + and among the good things they really possess, they are too wise to pride + themselves on a gift which is none of their getting. The good man may be + proud of his virtue for it is his own, but what cause for pride has the + man of intellect? What has Racine done that he is not Pradon, and Boileau + that he is not Cotin? + </p> + <p> + The circumstances with which we are concerned are quite different. Let us + keep to the common level. I assumed that my pupil had neither surpassing + genius nor a defective understanding. I chose him of an ordinary mind to + show what education could do for man. Exceptions defy all rules. If, + therefore, as a result of my care, Emile prefers his way of living, + seeing, and feeling to that of others, he is right; but if he thinks + because of this that he is nobler and better born than they, he is wrong; + he is deceiving himself; he must be undeceived, or rather let us prevent + the mistake, lest it be too late to correct it. + </p> + <p> + Provided a man is not mad, he can be cured of any folly but vanity; there + is no cure for this but experience, if indeed there is any cure for it at + all; when it first appears we can at least prevent its further growth. But + do not on this account waste your breath on empty arguments to prove to + the youth that he is like other men and subject to the same weaknesses. + Make him feel it or he will never know it. This is another instance of an + exception to my own rules; I must voluntarily expose my pupil to every + accident which may convince him that he is no wiser than we. The adventure + with the conjurer will be repeated again and again in different ways; I + shall let flatterers take advantage of him; if rash comrades draw him into + some perilous adventure, I will let him run the risk; if he falls into the + hands of sharpers at the card-table, I will abandon him to them as their + dupe.[Footnote: Moreover our pupil will be little tempted by this snare; + he has so many amusements about him, he has never been bored in his life, + and he scarcely knows the use of money. As children have been led by these + two motives, self-interest and vanity, rogues and courtesans use the same + means to get hold of them later. When you see their greediness encouraged + by prizes and rewards, when you find their public performances at ten + years old applauded at school or college, you see too how at twenty they + will be induced to leave their purse in a gambling hell and their health + in a worse place. You may safely wager that the sharpest boy in the class + will become the greatest gambler and debauchee. Now the means which have + not been employed in childhood have not the same effect in youth. But we + must bear in mind my constant plan and take the thing at its worst. First + I try to prevent the vice; then I assume its existence in order to correct + it.] I will let them flatter him, pluck him, and rob him; and when having + sucked him dry they turn and mock him, I will even thank them to his face + for the lessons they have been good enough to give him. The only snares + from which I will guard him with my utmost care are the wiles of wanton + women. The only precaution I shall take will be to share all the dangers I + let him run, and all the insults I let him receive. I will bear everything + in silence, without a murmur or reproach, without a word to him, and be + sure that if this wise conduct is faithfully adhered to, what he sees me + endure on his account will make more impression on his heart than what he + himself suffers. + </p> + <p> + I cannot refrain at this point from drawing attention to the sham dignity + of tutors, who foolishly pretend to be wise, who discourage their pupils + by always professing to treat them as children, and by emphasising the + difference between themselves and their scholars in everything they do. + Far from damping their youthful spirits in this fashion, spare no effort + to stimulate their courage; that they may become your equals, treat them + as such already, and if they cannot rise to your level, do not scruple to + come down to theirs without being ashamed of it. Remember that your honour + is no longer in your own keeping but in your pupil’s. Share his + faults that you may correct them, bear his disgrace that you may wipe it + out; follow the example of that brave Roman who, unable to rally his + fleeing soldiers, placed himself at their head, exclaiming, “They do + not flee, they follow their captain!” Did this dishonour him? Not + so; by sacrificing his glory he increased it. The power of duty, the + beauty of virtue, compel our respect in spite of all our foolish + prejudices. If I received a blow in the course of my duties to Emile, far + from avenging it I would boast of it; and I doubt whether there is in the + whole world a man so vile as to respect me any the less on this account. + </p> + <p> + I do not intend the pupil to suppose his master to be as ignorant, or as + liable to be led astray, as he is himself. This idea is all very well for + a child who can neither see nor compare things, who thinks everything is + within his reach, and only bestows his confidence on those who know how to + come down to his level. But a youth of Emile’s age and sense is no + longer so foolish as to make this mistake, and it would not be desirable + that he should. The confidence he ought to have in his tutor is of another + kind; it should rest on the authority of reason, and on superior + knowledge, advantages which the young man is capable of appreciating while + he perceives how useful they are to himself. Long experience has convinced + him that his tutor loves him, that he is a wise and good man who desires + his happiness and knows how to procure it. He ought to know that it is to + his own advantage to listen to his advice. But if the master lets himself + be taken in like the disciple, he will lose his right to expect deference + from him, and to give him instruction. Still less should the pupil suppose + that his master is purposely letting him fall into snares or preparing + pitfalls for his inexperience. How can we avoid these two difficulties? + Choose the best and most natural means; be frank and straightforward like + himself; warn him of the dangers to which he is exposed, point them out + plainly and sensibly, without exaggeration, without temper, without + pedantic display, and above all without giving your opinions in the form + of orders, until they have become such, and until this imperious tone is + absolutely necessary. Should he still be obstinate as he often will be, + leave him free to follow his own choice, follow him, copy his example, and + that cheerfully and frankly; if possible fling yourself into things, amuse + yourself as much as he does. If the consequences become too serious, you + are at hand to prevent them; and yet when this young man has beheld your + foresight and your kindliness, will he not be at once struck by the one + and touched by the other? All his faults are but so many hands with which + he himself provides you to restrain him at need. Now under these + circumstances the great art of the master consists in controlling events + and directing his exhortations so that he may know beforehand when the + youth will give in, and when he will refuse to do so, so that all around + him he may encompass him with the lessons of experience, and yet never let + him run too great a risk. + </p> + <p> + Warn him of his faults before he commits them; do not blame him when once + they are committed; you would only stir his self-love to mutiny. We learn + nothing from a lesson we detest. I know nothing more foolish than the + phrase, “I told you so.” The best way to make him remember + what you told him is to seem to have forgotten it. Go further than this, + and when you find him ashamed of having refused to believe you, gently + smooth away the shame with kindly words. He will indeed hold you dear when + he sees how you forget yourself on his account, and how you console him + instead of reproaching him. But if you increase his annoyance by your + reproaches he will hate you, and will make it a rule never to heed you, as + if to show you that he does not agree with you as to the value of your + opinion. + </p> + <p> + The turn you give to your consolation may itself be a lesson to him, and + all the more because he does not suspect it. When you tell him, for + example, that many other people have made the same mistakes, this is not + what he was expecting; you are administering correction under the guise of + pity; for when one thinks oneself better than other people it is a very + mortifying excuse to console oneself by their example; it means that we + must realise that the most we can say is that they are no better than we. + </p> + <p> + The time of faults is the time for fables. When we blame the guilty under + the cover of a story we instruct without offending him; and he then + understands that the story is not untrue by means of the truth he finds in + its application to himself. The child who has never been deceived by + flattery understands nothing of the fable I recently examined; but the + rash youth who has just become the dupe of a flatterer perceives only too + readily that the crow was a fool. Thus he acquires a maxim from the fact, + and the experience he would soon have forgotten is engraved on his mind by + means of the fable. There is no knowledge of morals which cannot be + acquired through our own experience or that of others. When there is + danger, instead of letting him try the experiment himself, we have + recourse to history. When the risk is comparatively slight, it is just as + well that the youth should be exposed to it; then by means of the apologue + the special cases with which the young man is now acquainted are + transformed into maxims. + </p> + <p> + It is not, however, my intention that these maxims should be explained, + nor even formulated. Nothing is so foolish and unwise as the moral at the + end of most of the fables; as if the moral was not, or ought not to be so + clear in the fable itself that the reader cannot fail to perceive it. Why + then add the moral at the end, and go deprive him of the pleasure of + discovering it for himself. The art of teaching consists in making the + pupil wish to learn. But if the pupil is to wish to learn, his mind must + not remain in such a passive state with regard to what you tell him that + there is really nothing for him to do but listen to you. The master’s + vanity must always give way to the scholars; he must be able to say, I + understand, I see it, I am getting at it, I am learning something. One of + the things which makes the Pantaloon in the Italian comedies so wearisome + is the pains taken by him to explain to the audience the platitudes they + understand only too well already. We must always be intelligible, but we + need not say all there is to be said. If you talk much you will say + little, for at last no one will listen to you. What is the sense of the + four lines at the end of La Fontaine’s fable of the frog who puffed + herself up. Is he afraid we should not understand it? Does this great + painter need to write the names beneath the things he has painted? His + morals, far from generalising, restrict the lesson to some extent to the + examples given, and prevent our applying them to others. Before I put the + fables of this inimitable author into the hands of a youth, I should like + to cut out all the conclusions with which he strives to explain what he + has just said so clearly and pleasantly. If your pupil does not understand + the fable without the explanation, he will not understand it with it. + </p> + <p> + Moreover, the fables would require to be arranged in a more didactic + order, one more in agreement with the feelings and knowledge of the young + adolescent. Can you imagine anything so foolish as to follow the mere + numerical order of the book without regard to our requirements or our + opportunities. First the grasshopper, then the crow, then the frog, then + the two mules, etc. I am sick of these two mules; I remember seeing a + child who was being educated for finance; they never let him alone, but + were always insisting on the profession he was to follow; they made him + read this fable, learn it, say it, repeat it again and again without + finding in it the slightest argument against his future calling. Not only + have I never found children make any real use of the fables they learn, + but I have never found anybody who took the trouble to see that they made + such a use of them. The study claims to be instruction in morals; but the + real aim of mother and child is nothing but to set a whole party watching + the child while he recites his fables; when he is too old to recite them + and old enough to make use of them, they are altogether forgotten. Only + men, I repeat, can learn from fables, and Emile is now old enough to + begin. + </p> + <p> + I do not mean to tell you everything, so I only indicate the paths which + diverge from the right way, so that you may know how to avoid them. If you + follow the road I have marked out for you, I think your pupil will buy his + knowledge of mankind and his knowledge of himself in the cheapest market; + you will enable him to behold the tricks of fortune without envying the + lot of her favourites, and to be content with himself without thinking + himself better than others. You have begun by making him an actor that he + may learn to be one of the audience; you must continue your task, for from + the theatre things are what they seem, from the stage they seem what they + are. For the general effect we must get a distant view, for the details we + must observe more closely. But how can a young man take part in the + business of life? What right has he to be initiated into its dark secrets? + His interests are confined within the limits of his own pleasures, he has + no power over others, it is much the same as if he had no power at all. + Man is the cheapest commodity on the market, and among all our important + rights of property, the rights of the individual are always considered + last of all. + </p> + <p> + When I see the studies of young men at the period of their greatest + activity confined to purely speculative matters, while later on they are + suddenly plunged, without any sort of experience, into the world of men + and affairs, it strikes me as contrary alike to reason and to nature, and + I cease to be surprised that so few men know what to do. How strange a + choice to teach us so many useless things, while the art of doing is never + touched upon! They profess to fit us for society, and we are taught as if + each of us were to live a life of contemplation in a solitary cell, or to + discuss theories with persons whom they did not concern. You think you are + teaching your scholars how to live, and you teach them certain bodily + contortions and certain forms of words without meaning. I, too, have + taught Emile how to live; for I have taught him to enjoy his own society + and, more than that, to earn his own bread. But this is not enough. To + live in the world he must know how to get on with other people, he must + know what forces move them, he must calculate the action and re-action of + self-interest in civil society, he must estimate the results so accurately + that he will rarely fail in his undertakings, or he will at least have + tried in the best possible way. The law does not allow young people to + manage their own affairs nor to dispose of their own property; but what + would be the use of these precautions if they never gained any experience + until they were of age. They would have gained nothing by the delay, and + would have no more experience at five-and-twenty than at fifteen. No doubt + we must take precautions, so that a youth, blinded by ignorance or misled + by passion, may not hurt himself; but at any age there are opportunities + when deeds of kindness and of care for the weak may be performed under the + direction of a wise man, on behalf of the unfortunate who need help. + </p> + <p> + Mothers and nurses grow fond of children because of the care they lavish + on them; the practice of social virtues touches the very heart with the + love of humanity; by doing good we become good; and I know no surer way to + this end. Keep your pupil busy with the good deeds that are within his + power, let the cause of the poor be his own, let him help them not merely + with his money, but with his service; let him work for them, protect them, + let his person and his time be at their disposal; let him be their agent; + he will never all his life long have a more honourable office. How many of + the oppressed, who have never got a hearing, will obtain justice when he + demands it for them with that courage and firmness which the practice of + virtue inspires; when he makes his way into the presence of the rich and + great, when he goes, if need be, to the footstool of the king himself, to + plead the cause of the wretched, the cause of those who find all doors + closed to them by their poverty, those who are so afraid of being punished + for their misfortunes that they do not dare to complain? + </p> + <p> + But shall we make of Emile a knight-errant, a redresser of wrongs, a + paladin? Shall he thrust himself into public life, play the sage and the + defender of the laws before the great, before the magistrates, before the + king? Shall he lay petitions before the judges and plead in the law + courts? That I cannot say. The nature of things is not changed by terms of + mockery and scorn. He will do all that he knows to be useful and good. He + will do nothing more, and he knows that nothing is useful and good for him + which is unbefitting his age. He knows that his first duty is to himself; + that young men should distrust themselves; that they should act + circumspectly; that they should show respect to those older than + themselves, reticence and discretion in talking without cause, modesty in + things indifferent, but courage in well doing, and boldness to speak the + truth. Such were those illustrious Romans who, having been admitted into + public life, spent their days in bringing criminals to justice and in + protecting the innocent, without any motives beyond those of learning, and + of the furtherance of justice and of the protection of right conduct. + </p> + <p> + Emile is not fond of noise or quarrelling, not only among men, but among + animals. [Footnote: “But what will he do if any one seeks a quarrel + with him?” My answer is that no one will ever quarrel with him, he + will never lend himself to such a thing. But, indeed, you continue, who + can be safe from a blow, or an insult from a bully, a drunkard, a bravo, + who for the joy of killing his man begins by dishonouring him? That is + another matter. The life and honour of the citizens should not be at the + mercy of a bully, a drunkard, or a bravo, and one can no more insure + oneself against such an accident than against a falling tile. A blow + given, or a lie in the teeth, if he submit to them, have social + consequences which no wisdom can prevent and no tribunal can avenge. The + weakness of the laws, therefore, so far restores a man’s + independence; he is the sole magistrate and judge between the offender and + himself, the sole interpreter and administrator of natural law. Justice is + his due, and he alone can obtain it, and in such a case there is no + government on earth so foolish as to punish him for so doing. I do not say + he must fight; that is absurd; I say justice is his due, and he alone can + dispense it. If I were king, I promise you that in my kingdom no one would + ever strike a man or call him a liar, and yet I would do without all those + useless laws against duels; the means are simple and require no law + courts. However that may be, Emile knows what is due to himself in such a + case, and the example due from him to the safety of men of honour. The + strongest of men cannot prevent insult, but he can take good care that his + adversary has no opportunity to boast of that insult.] He will never set + two dogs to fight, he will never set a dog to chase a cat. This peaceful + spirit is one of the results of his education, which has never stimulated + self-love or a high opinion of himself, and so has not encouraged him to + seek his pleasure in domination and in the sufferings of others. The sight + of suffering makes him suffer too; this is a natural feeling. It is one of + the after effects of vanity that hardens a young man and makes him take a + delight in seeing the torments of a living and feeling creature; it makes + him consider himself beyond the reach of similar sufferings through his + superior wisdom or virtue. He who is beyond the reach of vanity cannot + fall into the vice which results from vanity. So Emile loves peace. He is + delighted at the sight of happiness, and if he can help to bring it about, + this is an additional reason for sharing it. I do not assume that when he + sees the unhappy he will merely feel for them that barren and cruel pity + which is content to pity the ills it can heal. His kindness is active and + teaches him much he would have learnt far more slowly, or he would never + have learnt at all, if his heart had been harder. If he finds his comrades + at strife, he tries to reconcile them; if he sees the afflicted, he + inquires as to the cause of their sufferings; if he meets two men who hate + each other, he wants to know the reason of their enmity; if he finds one + who is down-trodden groaning under the oppression of the rich and + powerful, he tries to discover by what means he can counteract this + oppression, and in the interest he takes with regard to all these unhappy + persons, the means of removing their sufferings are never out of his + sight. What use shall we make of this disposition so that it may re-act in + a way suited to his age? Let us direct his efforts and his knowledge, and + use his zeal to increase them. + </p> + <p> + I am never weary of repeating: let all the lessons of young people take + the form of doing rather than talking; let them learn nothing from books + which they can learn from experience. How absurd to attempt to give them + practice in speaking when they have nothing to say, to expect to make them + feel, at their school desks, the vigour of the language of passion and all + the force of the arts of persuasion when they have nothing and nobody to + persuade! All the rules of rhetoric are mere waste of words to those who + do not know how to use them for their own purposes. How does it concern a + schoolboy to know how Hannibal encouraged his soldiers to cross the Alps? + If instead of these grand speeches you showed him how to induce his + prefect to give him a holiday, you may be sure he would pay more attention + to your rules. + </p> + <p> + If I wanted to teach rhetoric to a youth whose passions were as yet + undeveloped, I would draw his attention continually to things that would + stir his passions, and I would discuss with him how he should talk to + people so as to get them to regard his wishes favourably. But Emile is not + in a condition so favourable to the art of oratory. Concerned mainly with + his physical well-being, he has less need of others than they of him; and + having nothing to ask of others on his own account, what he wants to + persuade them to do does not affect him sufficiently to awake any very + strong feeling. From this it follows that his language will be on the + whole simple and literal. He usually speaks to the point and only to make + himself understood. He is not sententious, for he has not learnt to + generalise; he does not speak in figures, for he is rarely impassioned. + </p> + <p> + Yet this is not because he is altogether cold and phlegmatic, neither his + age, his character, nor his tastes permit of this. In the fire of + adolescence the life-giving spirits, retained in the blood and distilled + again and again, inspire his young heart with a warmth which glows in his + eye, a warmth which is felt in his words and perceived in his actions. The + lofty feeling with which he is inspired gives him strength and nobility; + imbued with tender love for mankind his words betray the thoughts of his + heart; I know not how it is, but there is more charm in his open-hearted + generosity than in the artificial eloquence of others; or rather this + eloquence of his is the only true eloquence, for he has only to show what + he feels to make others share his feelings. + </p> + <p> + The more I think of it the more convinced I am that by thus translating + our kindly impulses into action, by drawing from our good or ill success + conclusions as to their cause, we shall find that there is little useful + knowledge that cannot be imparted to a youth; and that together with such + true learning as may be got at college he will learn a science of more + importance than all the rest together, the application of what he has + learned to the purposes of life. Taking such an interest in his + fellow-creatures, it is impossible that he should fail to learn very + quickly how to note and weigh their actions, their tastes, their + pleasures, and to estimate generally at their true value what may increase + or diminish the happiness of men; he should do this better than those who + care for nobody and never do anything for any one. The feelings of those + who are always occupied with their own concerns are too keenly affected + for them to judge wisely of things. They consider everything as it affects + themselves, they form their ideas of good and ill solely on their own + experience, their minds are filled with all sorts of absurd prejudices, + and anything which affects their own advantage ever so little, seems an + upheaval of the universe. + </p> + <p> + Extend self-love to others and it is transformed into virtue, a virtue + which has its root in the heart of every one of us. The less the object of + our care is directly dependent on ourselves, the less we have to fear from + the illusion of self-interest; the more general this interest becomes, the + juster it is; and the love of the human race is nothing but the love of + justice within us. If therefore we desire Emile to be a lover of truth, if + we desire that he should indeed perceive it, let us keep him far from + self-interest in all his business. The more care he bestows upon the + happiness of others the wiser and better he is, and the fewer mistakes he + will make between good and evil; but never allow him any blind preference + founded merely on personal predilection or unfair prejudice. Why should he + harm one person to serve another? What does it matter to him who has the + greater share of happiness, providing he promotes the happiness of all? + Apart from self-interest this care for the general well-being is the first + concern of the wise man, for each of us forms part of the human race and + not part of any individual member of that race. + </p> + <p> + To prevent pity degenerating into weakness we must generalise it and + extend it to mankind. Then we only yield to it when it is in accordance + with justice, since justice is of all the virtues that which contributes + most to the common good. Reason and self-love compel us to love mankind + even more than our neighbour, and to pity the wicked is to be very cruel + to other men. + </p> + <p> + Moreover, you must bear in mind that all these means employed to project + my pupil beyond himself have also a distinct relation to himself; since + they not only cause him inward delight, but I am also endeavouring to + instruct him, while I am making him kindly disposed towards others. + </p> + <p> + First I showed the means employed, now I will show the result. What wide + prospects do I perceive unfolding themselves before his mind! What noble + feelings stifle the lesser passions in his heart! What clearness of + judgment, what accuracy in reasoning, do I see developing from the + inclinations we have cultivated, from the experience which concentrates + the desires of a great heart within the narrow bounds of possibility, so + that a man superior to others can come down to their level if he cannot + raise them to his own! True principles of justice, true types of beauty, + all moral relations between man and man, all ideas of order, these are + engraved on his understanding; he sees the right place for everything and + the causes which drive it from that place; he sees what may do good, and + what hinders it. Without having felt the passions of mankind, he knows the + illusions they produce and their mode of action. + </p> + <p> + I proceed along the path which the force of circumstances compels me to + tread, but I do not insist that my readers shall follow me. Long ago they + have made up their minds that I am wandering in the land of chimeras, + while for my part I think they are dwelling in the country of prejudice. + When I wander so far from popular beliefs I do not cease to bear them in + mind; I examine them, I consider them, not that I may follow them or shun + them, but that I may weigh them in the balance of reason. Whenever reason + compels me to abandon these popular beliefs, I know by experience that my + readers will not follow my example; I know that they will persist in + refusing to go beyond what they can see, and that they will take the youth + I am describing for the creation of my fanciful imagination, merely + because he is unlike the youths with whom they compare him; they forget + that he must needs be different, because he has been brought up in a + totally different fashion; he has been influenced by wholly different + feelings, instructed in a wholly different manner, so that it would be far + stranger if he were like your pupils than if he were what I have supposed. + He is a man of nature’s making, not man’s. No wonder men find + him strange. + </p> + <p> + When I began this work I took for granted nothing but what could be + observed as readily by others as by myself; for our starting-point, the + birth of man, is the same for all; but the further we go, while I am + seeking to cultivate nature and you are seeking to deprave it, the further + apart we find ourselves. At six years old my pupil was not so very unlike + yours, whom you had not yet had time to disfigure; now there is nothing in + common between them; and when they reach the age of manhood, which is now + approaching, they will show themselves utterly different from each other, + unless all my pains have been thrown away. There may not be so very great + a difference in the amount of knowledge they possess, but there is all the + difference in the world in the kind of knowledge. You are amazed to find + that the one has noble sentiments of which the others have not the + smallest germ, but remember that the latter are already philosophers and + theologians while Emile does not even know what is meant by a philosopher + and has scarcely heard the name of God. + </p> + <p> + But if you come and tell me, “There are no such young men, young + people are not made that way; they have this passion or that, they do this + or that,” it is as if you denied that a pear tree could ever be a + tall tree because the pear trees in our gardens are all dwarfs. + </p> + <p> + I beg these critics who are so ready with their blame to consider that I + am as well acquainted as they are with everything they say, that I have + probably given more thought to it, and that, as I have no private end to + serve in getting them to agree with me, I have a right to demand that they + should at least take time to find out where I am mistaken. Let them + thoroughly examine the nature of man, let them follow the earliest growth + of the heart in any given circumstances, so as to see what a difference + education may make in the individual; then let them compare my method of + education with the results I ascribe to it; and let them tell me where my + reasoning is unsound, and I shall have no answer to give them. + </p> + <p> + It is this that makes me speak so strongly, and as I think with good + excuse: I have not pledged myself to any system, I depend as little as + possible on arguments, and I trust to what I myself have observed. I do + not base my ideas on what I have imagined, but on what I have seen. It is + true that I have not confined my observations within the walls of any one + town, nor to a single class of people; but having compared men of every + class and every nation which I have been able to observe in the course of + a life spent in this pursuit, I have discarded as artificial what belonged + to one nation and not to another, to one rank and not to another; and I + have regarded as proper to mankind what was common to all, at any age, in + any station, and in any nation whatsoever. + </p> + <p> + Now if in accordance with this method you follow from infancy the course + of a youth who has not been shaped to any special mould, one who depends + as little as possible on authority and the opinions of others, which will + he most resemble, my pupil or yours? It seems to me that this is the + question you must answer if you would know if I am mistaken. + </p> + <p> + It is not easy for a man to begin to think; but when once he has begun he + will never leave off. Once a thinker, always a thinker, and the + understanding once practised in reflection will never rest. You may + therefore think that I do too much or too little; that the human mind is + not by nature so quick to unfold; and that after having given it + opportunities it has not got, I keep it too long confined within a circle + of ideas which it ought to have outgrown. + </p> + <p> + But remember, in the first place, that when I want to train a natural man, + I do not want to make him a savage and to send him back to the woods, but + that living in the whirl of social life it is enough that he should not + let himself be carried away by the passions and prejudices of men; let him + see with his eyes and feel with his heart, let him own no sway but that of + reason. Under these conditions it is plain that many things will strike + him; the oft-recurring feelings which affect him, the different ways of + satisfying his real needs, must give him many ideas he would not otherwise + have acquired or would only have acquired much later. The natural progress + of the mind is quickened but not reversed. The same man who would remain + stupid in the forests should become wise and reasonable in towns, if he + were merely a spectator in them. Nothing is better fitted to make one wise + than the sight of follies we do not share, and even if we share them, we + still learn, provided we are not the dupe of our follies and provided we + do not bring to them the same mistakes as the others. + </p> + <p> + Consider also that while our faculties are confined to the things of + sense, we offer scarcely any hold to the abstractions of philosophy or to + purely intellectual ideas. To attain to these we require either to free + ourselves from the body to which we are so strongly bound, or to proceed + step by step in a slow and gradual course, or else to leap across the + intervening space with a gigantic bound of which no child is capable, one + for which grown men even require many steps hewn on purpose for them; but + I find it very difficult to see how you propose to construct such steps. + </p> + <p> + The Incomprehensible embraces all, he gives its motion to the earth, and + shapes the system of all creatures, but our eyes cannot see him nor can + our hands search him out, he evades the efforts of our senses; we behold + the work, but the workman is hidden from our eyes. It is no small matter + to know that he exists, and when we have got so far, and when we ask. What + is he? Where is he? our mind is overwhelmed, we lose ourselves, we know + not what to think. + </p> + <p> + Locke would have us begin with the study of spirits and go on to that of + bodies. This is the method of superstition, prejudice, and error; it is + not the method of nature, nor even that of well-ordered reason; it is to + learn to see by shutting our eyes. We must have studied bodies long enough + before we can form any true idea of spirits, or even suspect that there + are such beings. The contrary practice merely puts materialism on a firmer + footing. + </p> + <p> + Since our senses are the first instruments to our learning, corporeal and + sensible bodies are the only bodies we directly apprehend. The word + “spirit” has no meaning for any one who has not philosophised. + To the unlearned and to the child a spirit is merely a body. Do they not + fancy that spirits groan, speak, fight, and make noises? Now you must own + that spirits with arms and voices are very like bodies. This is why every + nation on the face of the earth, not even excepting the Jews, have made to + themselves idols. We, ourselves, with our words, Spirit, Trinity, Persons, + are for the most part quite anthropomorphic. I admit that we are taught + that God is everywhere; but we also believe that there is air everywhere, + at least in our atmosphere; and the word Spirit meant originally nothing + more than breath and wind. Once you teach people to say what they do not + understand, it is easy enough to get them to say anything you like. + </p> + <p> + The perception of our action upon other bodies must have first induced us + to suppose that their action upon us was effected in like manner. Thus man + began by thinking that all things whose action affected him were alive. He + did not recognise the limits of their powers, and he therefore supposed + that they were boundless; as soon as he had supplied them with bodies they + became his gods. In the earliest times men went in terror of everything + and everything in nature seemed alive. The idea of matter was developed as + slowly as that of spirit, for the former is itself an abstraction. + </p> + <p> + Thus the universe was peopled with gods like themselves. The stars, the + winds and the mountains, rivers, trees, and towns, their very dwellings, + each had its soul, its god, its life. The teraphim of Laban, the manitos + of savages, the fetishes of the negroes, every work of nature and of man, + were the first gods of mortals; polytheism was their first religion and + idolatry their earliest form of worship. The idea of one God was beyond + their grasp, till little by little they formed general ideas, and they + rose to the idea of a first cause and gave meaning to the word “substance,” + which is at bottom the greatest of abstractions. So every child who + believes in God is of necessity an idolater or at least he regards the + Deity as a man, and when once the imagination has perceived God, it is + very seldom that the understanding conceives him. Locke’s order + leads us into this same mistake. + </p> + <p> + Having arrived, I know not how, at the idea of substance, it is clear that + to allow of a single substance it must be assumed that this substance is + endowed with incompatible and mutually exclusive properties, such as + thought and size, one of which is by its nature divisible and the other + wholly incapable of division. Moreover it is assumed that thought or, if + you prefer it, feeling is a primitive quality inseparable from the + substance to which it belongs, that its relation to the substance is like + the relation between substance and size. Hence it is inferred that beings + who lose one of these attributes lose the substance to which it belongs, + and that death is, therefore, but a separation of substances, and that + those beings in whom the two attributes are found are composed of the two + substances to which those two qualities belong. + </p> + <p> + But consider what a gulf there still is between the idea of two substances + and that of the divine nature, between the incomprehensible idea of the + influence of our soul upon our body and the idea of the influence of God + upon every living creature. The ideas of creation, destruction, ubiquity, + eternity, almighty power, those of the divine attributes—these are + all ideas so confused and obscure that few men succeed in grasping them; + yet there is nothing obscure about them to the common people, because they + do not understand them in the least; how then should they present + themselves in full force, that is to say in all their obscurity, to the + young mind which is still occupied with the first working of the senses, + and fails to realise anything but what it handles? In vain do the abysses + of the Infinite open around us, a child does not know the meaning of fear; + his weak eyes cannot gauge their depths. To children everything is + infinite, they cannot assign limits to anything; not that their measure is + so large, but because their understanding is so small. I have even noticed + that they place the infinite rather below than above the dimensions known + to them. They judge a distance to be immense rather by their feet than by + their eyes; infinity is bounded for them, not so much by what they can + see, but how far they can go. If you talk to them of the power of God, + they will think he is nearly as strong as their father. As their own + knowledge is in everything the standard by which they judge of what is + possible, they always picture what is described to them as rather smaller + than what they know. Such are the natural reasonings of an ignorant and + feeble mind. Ajax was afraid to measure his strength against Achilles, yet + he challenged Jupiter to combat, for he knew Achilles and did not know + Jupiter. A Swiss peasant thought himself the richest man alive; when they + tried to explain to him what a king was, he asked with pride, “Has + the king got a hundred cows on the high pastures?” + </p> + <p> + I am aware that many of my readers will be surprised to find me tracing + the course of my scholar through his early years without speaking to him + of religion. At fifteen he will not even know that he has a soul, at + eighteen even he may not be ready to learn about it. For if he learns + about it too soon, there is the risk of his never really knowing anything + about it. + </p> + <p> + If I had to depict the most heart-breaking stupidity, I would paint a + pedant teaching children the catechism; if I wanted to drive a child crazy + I would set him to explain what he learned in his catechism. You will + reply that as most of the Christian doctrines are mysteries, you must + wait, not merely till the child is a man, but till the man is dead, before + the human mind will understand those doctrines. To that I reply, that + there are mysteries which the heart of man can neither conceive nor + believe, and I see no use in teaching them to children, unless you want to + make liars of them. Moreover, I assert that to admit that there are + mysteries, you must at least realise that they are incomprehensible, and + children are not even capable of this conception! At an age when + everything is mysterious, there are no mysteries properly so-called. + </p> + <p> + “We must believe in God if we would be saved.” This doctrine + wrongly understood is the root of bloodthirsty intolerance and the cause + of all the futile teaching which strikes a deadly blow at human reason by + training it to cheat itself with mere words. No doubt there is not a + moment to be lost if we would deserve eternal salvation; but if the + repetition of certain words suffices to obtain it, I do not see why we + should not people heaven with starlings and magpies as well as with + children. + </p> + <p> + The obligation of faith assumes the possibility of belief. The philosopher + who does not believe is wrong, for he misuses the reason he has + cultivated, and he is able to understand the truths he rejects. But the + child who professes the Christian faith—what does he believe? Just + what he understands; and he understands so little of what he is made to + repeat that if you tell him to say just the opposite he will be quite + ready to do it. The faith of children and the faith of many men is a + matter of geography. Will they be rewarded for having been born in Rome + rather than in Mecca? One is told that Mahomet is the prophet of God and + he says, “Mahomet is the prophet of God.” The other is told + that Mahomet is a rogue and he says, “Mahomet is a rogue.” + Either of them would have said just the opposite had he stood in the other’s + shoes. When they are so much alike to begin with, can the one be consigned + to Paradise and the other to Hell? When a child says he believes in God, + it is not God he believes in, but Peter or James who told him that there + is something called God, and he believes it after the fashion of Euripides— + </p> + <p> + “O Jupiter, of whom I know nothing but thy name.” + </p> + <p> + [Footnote: Plutarch. It is thus that the tragedy of Menalippus originally + began, but the clamour of the Athenians compelled Euripides to change + these opening lines.] + </p> + <p> + We hold that no child who dies before the age of reason will be deprived + of everlasting happiness; the Catholics believe the same of all children + who have been baptised, even though they have never heard of God. There + are, therefore, circumstances in which one can be saved without belief in + God, and these circumstances occur in the case of children or madmen when + the human mind is incapable of the operations necessary to perceive the + Godhead. The only difference I see between you and me is that you profess + that children of seven years old are able to do this and I do not think + them ready for it at fifteen. Whether I am right or wrong depends, not on + an article of the creed, but on a simple observation in natural history. + </p> + <p> + From the same principle it is plain that any man having reached old age + without faith in God will not, therefore, be deprived of God’s + presence in another life if his blindness was not wilful; and I maintain + that it is not always wilful. You admit that it is so in the case of + lunatics deprived by disease of their spiritual faculties, but not of + their manhood, and therefore still entitled to the goodness of their + Creator. Why then should we not admit it in the case of those brought up + from infancy in seclusion, those who have led the life of a savage and are + without the knowledge that comes from intercourse with other men. + [Footnote: For the natural condition of the human mind and its slow + development, cf. the first part of the Discours sur Inegalite.] For it is + clearly impossible that such a savage could ever raise his thoughts to the + knowledge of the true God. Reason tells that man should only be punished + for his wilful faults, and that invincible ignorance can never be imputed + to him as a crime. Hence it follows that in the sight of the Eternal + Justice every man who would believe if he had the necessary knowledge is + counted a believer, and that there will be no unbelievers to be punished + except those who have closed their hearts against the truth. + </p> + <p> + Let us beware of proclaiming the truth to those who cannot as yet + comprehend it, for to do so is to try to inculcate error. It would be + better to have no idea at all of the Divinity than to have mean, + grotesque, harmful, and unworthy ideas; to fail to perceive the Divine is + a lesser evil than to insult it. The worthy Plutarch says, “I would + rather men said, ‘There is no such person as Plutarch,’ than + that they should say, ‘Plutarch is unjust, envious, jealous, and + such a tyrant that he demands more than can be performed.’” + </p> + <p> + The chief harm which results from the monstrous ideas of God which are + instilled into the minds of children is that they last all their life + long, and as men they understand no more of God than they did as children. + In Switzerland I once saw a good and pious mother who was so convinced of + the truth of this maxim that she refused to teach her son religion when he + was a little child for fear lest he should be satisfied with this crude + teaching and neglect a better teaching when he reached the age of reason. + This child never heard the name of God pronounced except with reverence + and devotion, and as soon as he attempted to say the word he was told to + hold his tongue, as if the subject were too sublime and great for him. + This reticence aroused his curiosity and his self-love; he looked forward + to the time when he would know this mystery so carefully hidden from him. + The less they spoke of God to him, the less he was himself permitted to + speak of God, the more he thought about Him; this child beheld God + everywhere. What I should most dread as the result of this unwise + affectation of mystery is this: by over-stimulating the youth’s + imagination you may turn his head, and make him at the best a fanatic + rather than a believer. + </p> + <p> + But we need fear nothing of the sort for Emile, who always declines to pay + attention to what is beyond his reach, and listens with profound + indifference to things he does not understand. There are so many things of + which he is accustomed to say, “That is no concern of mine,” + that one more or less makes little difference to him; and when he does + begin to perplex himself with these great matters, it is because the + natural growth of his knowledge is turning his thoughts that way. + </p> + <p> + We have seen the road by which the cultivated human mind approaches these + mysteries, and I am ready to admit that it would not attain to them + naturally, even in the bosom of society, till a much later age. But as + there are in this same society inevitable causes which hasten the + development of the passions, if we did not also hasten the development of + the knowledge which controls these passions we should indeed depart from + the path of nature and disturb her equilibrium. When we can no longer + restrain a precocious development in one direction we must promote a + corresponding development in another direction, so that the order of + nature may not be inverted, and so that things should progress together, + not separately, so that the man, complete at every moment of his life, may + never find himself at one stage in one of his faculties and at another + stage in another faculty. + </p> + <p> + What a difficulty do I see before me! A difficulty all the greater because + it depends less on actual facts than on the cowardice of those who dare + not look the difficulty in the face. Let us at least venture to state our + problem. A child should always be brought up in his father’s + religion; he is always given plain proofs that this religion, whatever it + may be, is the only true religion, that all others are ridiculous and + absurd. The force of the argument depends entirely on the country in which + it is put forward. Let a Turk, who thinks Christianity so absurd at + Constantinople, come to Paris and see what they think of Mahomet. It is in + matters of religion more than in anything else that prejudice is + triumphant. But when we who profess to shake off its yoke entirely, we who + refuse to yield any homage to authority, decline to teach Emile anything + which he could not learn for himself in any country, what religion shall + we give him, to what sect shall this child of nature belong? The answer + strikes me as quite easy. We will not attach him to any sect, but we will + give him the means to choose for himself according to the right use of his + own reason. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Incedo per ignes + Suppositos cineri doloso.—Horace, lib. ii. ode I. +</pre> + <p> + No matter! Thus far zeal and prudence have taken the place of caution. I + hope that these guardians will not fail me now. Reader, do not fear lest I + should take precautions unworthy of a lover of truth; I shall never forget + my motto, but I distrust my own judgment all too easily. Instead of + telling you what I think myself, I will tell you the thoughts of one whose + opinions carry more weight than mine. I guarantee the truth of the facts I + am about to relate; they actually happened to the author whose writings I + am about to transcribe; it is for you to judge whether we can draw from + them any considerations bearing on the matter in hand. I do not offer you + my own idea or another’s as your rule; I merely present them for + your examination. + </p> + <p> + Thirty years ago there was a young man in an Italian town; he was an exile + from his native land and found himself reduced to the depths of poverty. + He had been born a Calvinist, but the consequences of his own folly had + made him a fugitive in a strange land; he had no money and he changed his + religion for a morsel of bread. There was a hostel for proselytes in that + town to which he gained admission. The study of controversy inspired + doubts he had never felt before, and he made acquaintance with evil + hitherto unsuspected by him; he heard strange doctrines and he met with + morals still stranger to him; he beheld this evil conduct and nearly fell + a victim to it. He longed to escape, but he was locked up; he complained, + but his complaints were unheeded; at the mercy of his tyrants, he found + himself treated as a criminal because he would not share their crimes. The + anger kindled in a young and untried heart by the first experience of + violence and injustice may be realised by those who have themselves + experienced it. Tears of anger flowed from his eyes, he was wild with + rage; he prayed to heaven and to man, and his prayers were unheard; he + spoke to every one and no one listened to him. He saw no one but the + vilest servants under the control of the wretch who insulted him, or + accomplices in the same crime who laughed at his resistance and encouraged + him to follow their example. He would have been ruined had not a worthy + priest visited the hostel on some matter of business. He found an + opportunity of consulting him secretly. The priest was poor and in need of + help himself, but the victim had more need of his assistance, and he did + not hesitate to help him to escape at the risk of making a dangerous + enemy. + </p> + <p> + Having escaped from vice to return to poverty, the young man struggled + vainly against fate: for a moment he thought he had gained the victory. At + the first gleam of good fortune his woes and his protector were alike + forgotten. He was soon punished for this ingratitude; all his hopes + vanished; youth indeed was on his side, but his romantic ideas spoiled + everything. He had neither talent nor skill to make his way easily, he + could neither be commonplace nor wicked, he expected so much that he got + nothing. When he had sunk to his former poverty, when he was without food + or shelter and ready to die of hunger, he remembered his benefactor. + </p> + <p> + He went back to him, found him, and was kindly welcomed; the sight of him + reminded the priest of a good deed he had done; such a memory always + rejoices the heart. This man was by nature humane and pitiful; he felt the + sufferings of others through his own, and his heart had not been hardened + by prosperity; in a word, the lessons of wisdom and an enlightened virtue + had reinforced his natural kindness of heart. He welcomed the young man, + found him a lodging, and recommended him; he shared with him his living + which was barely enough for two. He did more, he instructed him, consoled + him, and taught him the difficult art of bearing adversity in patience. + You prejudiced people, would you have expected to find all this in a + priest and in Italy? + </p> + <p> + This worthy priest was a poor Savoyard clergyman who had offended his + bishop by some youthful fault; he had crossed the Alps to find a position + which he could not obtain in his own country. He lacked neither wit nor + learning, and with his interesting countenance he had met with patrons who + found him a place in the household of one of the ministers, as tutor to + his son. He preferred poverty to dependence, and he did not know how to + get on with the great. He did not stay long with this minister, and when + he departed he took with him his good opinion; and as he lived a good life + and gained the hearts of everybody, he was glad to be forgiven by his + bishop and to obtain from him a small parish among the mountains, where he + might pass the rest of his life. This was the limit of his ambition. + </p> + <p> + He was attracted by the young fugitive and he questioned him closely. He + saw that ill-fortune had already seared his heart, that scorn and disgrace + had overthrown his courage, and that his pride, transformed into + bitterness and spite, led him to see nothing in the harshness and + injustice of men but their evil disposition and the vanity of all virtue. + He had seen that religion was but a mask for selfishness, and its holy + services but a screen for hypocrisy; he had found in the subtleties of + empty disputations heaven and hell awarded as prizes for mere words; he + had seen the sublime and primitive idea of Divinity disfigured by the vain + fancies of men; and when, as he thought, faith in God required him to + renounce the reason God himself had given him, he held in equal scorn our + foolish imaginings and the object with which they are concerned. With no + knowledge of things as they are, without any idea of their origins, he was + immersed in his stubborn ignorance and utterly despised those who thought + they knew more than himself. + </p> + <p> + The neglect of all religion soon leads to the neglect of a man’s + duties. The heart of this young libertine was already far on this road. + Yet his was not a bad nature, though incredulity and misery were gradually + stifling his natural disposition and dragging him down to ruin; they were + leading him into the conduct of a rascal and the morals of an atheist. + </p> + <p> + The almost inevitable evil was not actually consummated. The young man was + not ignorant, his education had not been neglected. He was at that happy + age when the pulse beats strongly and the heart is warm, but is not yet + enslaved by the madness of the senses. His heart had not lost its + elasticity. A native modesty, a timid disposition restrained him, and + prolonged for him that period during which you watch your pupil so + carefully. The hateful example of brutal depravity, of vice without any + charm, had not merely failed to quicken his imagination, it had deadened + it. For a long time disgust rather than virtue preserved his innocence, + which would only succumb to more seductive charms. + </p> + <p> + The priest saw the danger and the way of escape. He was not discouraged by + difficulties, he took a pleasure in his task; he determined to complete it + and to restore to virtue the victim he had snatched from vice. He set + about it cautiously; the beauty of the motive gave him courage and + inspired him with means worthy of his zeal. Whatever might be the result, + his pains would not be wasted. We are always successful when our sole aim + is to do good. + </p> + <p> + He began to win the confidence of the proselyte by not asking any price + for his kindness, by not intruding himself upon him, by not preaching at + him, by always coming down to his level, and treating him as an equal. It + was, so I think, a touching sight to see a serious person becoming the + comrade of a young scamp, and virtue putting up with the speech of licence + in order to triumph over it more completely. When the young fool came to + him with his silly confidences and opened his heart to him, the priest + listened and set him at his ease; without giving his approval to what was + bad, he took an interest in everything; no tactless reproof checked his + chatter or closed his heart; the pleasure which he thought was given by + his conversation increased his pleasure in telling everything; thus he + made his general confession without knowing he was confessing anything. + </p> + <p> + After he had made a thorough study of his feelings and disposition, the + priest saw plainly that, although he was not ignorant for his age, he had + forgotten everything that he most needed to know, and that the disgrace + which fortune had brought upon him had stifled in him all real sense of + good and evil. There is a stage of degradation which robs the soul of its + life; and the inner voice cannot be heard by one whose whole mind is bent + on getting food. To protect the unlucky youth from the moral death which + threatened him, he began to revive his self-love and his good opinion of + himself. He showed him a happier future in the right use of his talents; + he revived the generous warmth of his heart by stories of the noble deeds + of others; by rousing his admiration for the doers of these deeds he + revived his desire to do like deeds himself. To draw him gradually from + his idle and wandering life, he made him copy out extracts from + well-chosen books; he pretended to want these extracts, and so nourished + in him the noble feeling of gratitude. He taught him indirectly through + these books, and thus he made him sufficiently regain his good opinion of + himself so that he would no longer think himself good for nothing, and + would not make himself despicable in his own eyes. + </p> + <p> + A trifling incident will show how this kindly man tried, unknown to him, + to raise the heart of his disciple out of its degradation, without seeming + to think of teaching. The priest was so well known for his uprightness and + his discretion, that many people preferred to entrust their alms to him, + rather than to the wealthy clergy of the town. One day some one had given + him some money to distribute among the poor, and the young man was mean + enough to ask for some of it on the score of poverty. “No,” + said he, “we are brothers, you belong to me and I must not touch the + money entrusted to me.” Then he gave him the sum he had asked for + out of his own pocket. Lessons of this sort seldom fail to make an + impression on the heart of young people who are not wholly corrupt. + </p> + <p> + I am weary of speaking in the third person, and the precaution is + unnecessary; for you are well aware, my dear friend, that I myself was + this unhappy fugitive; I think I am so far removed from the disorders of + my youth that I may venture to confess them, and the hand which rescued me + well deserves that I should at least do honour to its goodness at the cost + of some slight shame. + </p> + <p> + What struck me most was to see in the private life of my worthy master, + virtue without hypocrisy, humanity without weakness, speech always plain + and straightforward, and conduct in accordance with this speech. I never + saw him trouble himself whether those whom he assisted went to vespers or + confession, whether they fasted at the appointed seasons and went without + meat; nor did he impose upon them any other like conditions, without which + you might die of hunger before you could hope for any help from the + devout. + </p> + <p> + Far from displaying before him the zeal of a new convert, I was encouraged + by these observations and I made no secret of my way of thinking, nor did + he seem to be shocked by it. Sometimes I would say to myself, he overlooks + my indifference to the religion I have adopted because he sees I am + equally indifferent to the religion in which I was brought up; he knows + that my scorn for religion is not confined to one sect. But what could I + think when I sometimes heard him give his approval to doctrines contrary + to those of the Roman Catholic Church, and apparently having but a poor + opinion of its ceremonies. I should have thought him a Protestant in + disguise if I had not beheld him so faithful to those very customs which + he seemed to value so lightly; but I knew he fulfilled his priestly duties + as carefully in private as in public, and I knew not what to think of + these apparent contradictions. Except for the fault which had formerly + brought about his disgrace, a fault which he had only partially overcome, + his life was exemplary, his conduct beyond reproach, his conversation + honest and discreet. While I lived on very friendly terms with him, I + learnt day by day to respect him more; and when he had completely won my + heart by such great kindness, I awaited with eager curiosity the time when + I should learn what was the principle on which the uniformity of this + strange life was based. + </p> + <p> + This opportunity was a long time coming. Before taking his disciple into + his confidence, he tried to get the seeds of reason and kindness which he + had sown in my heart to germinate. The most difficult fault to overcome in + me was a certain haughty misanthropy, a certain bitterness against the + rich and successful, as if their wealth and happiness had been gained at + my own expense, and as if their supposed happiness had been unjustly taken + from my own. The foolish vanity of youth, which kicks against the pricks + of humiliation, made me only too much inclined to this angry temper; and + the self-respect, which my mentor strove to revive, led to pride, which + made men still more vile in my eyes, and only added scorn to my hatred. + </p> + <p> + Without directly attacking this pride, he prevented it from developing + into hardness of heart; and without depriving me of my self-esteem, he + made me less scornful of my neighbours. By continually drawing my + attention from the empty show, and directing it to the genuine sufferings + concealed by it, he taught me to deplore the faults of my fellows and feel + for their sufferings, to pity rather than envy them. Touched with + compassion towards human weaknesses through the profound conviction of his + own failings, he viewed all men as the victims of their own vices and + those of others; he beheld the poor groaning under the tyranny of the + rich, and the rich under the tyranny of their own prejudices. “Believe + me,” said he, “our illusions, far from concealing our woes, + only increase them by giving value to what is in itself valueless, in + making us aware of all sorts of fancied privations which we should not + otherwise feel. Peace of heart consists in despising everything that might + disturb that peace; the man who clings most closely to life is the man who + can least enjoy it; and the man who most eagerly desires happiness is + always most miserable.” + </p> + <p> + “What gloomy ideas!” I exclaimed bitterly. “If we must + deny ourselves everything, we might as well never have been born; and if + we must despise even happiness itself who can be happy?” “I + am,” replied the priest one day, in a tone which made a great + impression on me. “You happy! So little favoured by fortune, so + poor, an exile and persecuted, you are happy! How have you contrived to be + happy?” “My child,” he answered, “I will gladly + tell you.” + </p> + <p> + Thereupon he explained that, having heard my confessions, he would confess + to me. “I will open my whole heart to yours,” he said, + embracing me. “You will see me, if not as I am, at least as I seem + to myself. When you have heard my whole confession of faith, when you + really know the condition of my heart, you will know why I think myself + happy, and if you think as I do, you will know how to be happy too. But + these explanations are not the affair of a moment, it will take time to + show you all my ideas about the lot of man and the true value of life; let + us choose a fitting time and a place where we may continue this + conversation without interruption.” + </p> + <p> + I showed him how eager I was to hear him. The meeting was fixed for the + very next morning. It was summer time; we rose at daybreak. He took me out + of the town on to a high hill above the river Po, whose course we beheld + as it flowed between its fertile banks; in the distance the landscape was + crowned by the vast chain of the Alps; the beams of the rising sun already + touched the plains and cast across the fields long shadows of trees, + hillocks, and houses, and enriched with a thousand gleams of light the + fairest picture which the human eye can see. You would have thought that + nature was displaying all her splendour before our eyes to furnish a text + for our conversation. After contemplating this scene for a space in + silence, the man of peace spoke to me. + </p> + <h3> + THE CREED OF A SAVOYARD PRIEST + </h3> + <p> + My child, do not look to me for learned speeches or profound arguments. I + am no great philosopher, nor do I desire to be one. I have, however, a + certain amount of common-sense and a constant devotion to truth. I have no + wish to argue with you nor even to convince you; it is enough for me to + show you, in all simplicity of heart, what I really think. Consult your + own heart while I speak; that is all I ask. If I am mistaken, I am + honestly mistaken, and therefore my error will not be counted to me as a + crime; if you, too, are honestly mistaken, there is no great harm done. If + I am right, we are both endowed with reason, we have both the same motive + for listening to the voice of reason. Why should not you think as I do? + </p> + <p> + By birth I was a peasant and poor; to till the ground was my portion; but + my parents thought it a finer thing that I should learn to get my living + as a priest and they found means to send me to college. I am quite sure + that neither my parents nor I had any idea of seeking after what was good, + useful, or true; we only sought what was wanted to get me ordained. I + learned what was taught me, I said what I was told to say, I promised all + that was required, and I became a priest. But I soon discovered that when + I promised not to be a man, I had promised more than I could perform. + </p> + <p> + Conscience, they tell us, is the creature of prejudice, but I know from + experience that conscience persists in following the order of nature in + spite of all the laws of man. In vain is this or that forbidden; remorse + makes her voice heard but feebly when what we do is permitted by + well-ordered nature, and still more when we are doing her bidding. My good + youth, nature has not yet appealed to your senses; may you long remain in + this happy state when her voice is the voice of innocence. Remember that + to anticipate her teaching is to offend more deeply against her than to + resist her teaching; you must first learn to resist, that you may know + when to yield without wrong-doing. + </p> + <p> + From my youth up I had reverenced the married state as the first and most + sacred institution of nature. Having renounced the right to marry, I was + resolved not to profane the sanctity of marriage; for in spite of my + education and reading I had always led a simple and regular life, and my + mind had preserved the innocence of its natural instincts; these instincts + had not been obscured by worldly wisdom, while my poverty kept me remote + from the temptations dictated by the sophistry of vice. + </p> + <p> + This very resolution proved my ruin. My respect for marriage led to the + discovery of my misconduct. The scandal must be expiated; I was arrested, + suspended, and dismissed; I was the victim of my scruples rather than of + my incontinence, and I had reason to believe, from the reproaches which + accompanied my disgrace, that one can often escape punishment by being + guilty of a worse fault. + </p> + <p> + A thoughtful mind soon learns from such experiences. I found my former + ideas of justice, honesty, and every duty of man overturned by these + painful events, and day by day I was losing my hold on one or another of + the opinions I had accepted. What was left was not enough to form a body + of ideas which could stand alone, and I felt that the evidence on which my + principles rested was being weakened; at last I knew not what to think, + and I came to the same conclusion as yourself, but with this difference: + My lack of faith was the slow growth of manhood, attained with great + difficulty, and all the harder to uproot. + </p> + <p> + I was in that state of doubt and uncertainty which Descartes considers + essential to the search for truth. It is a state which cannot continue, it + is disquieting and painful; only vicious tendencies and an idle heart can + keep us in that state. My heart was not so corrupt as to delight in it, + and there is nothing which so maintains the habit of thinking as being + better pleased with oneself than with one’s lot. + </p> + <p> + I pondered, therefore, on the sad fate of mortals, adrift upon this sea of + human opinions, without compass or rudder, and abandoned to their stormy + passions with no guide but an inexperienced pilot who does not know whence + he comes or whither he is going. I said to myself, “I love truth, I + seek her, and cannot find her. Show me truth and I will hold her fast; why + does she hide her face from the eager heart that would fain worship her?” + </p> + <p> + Although I have often experienced worse sufferings, I have never led a + life so uniformly distressing as this period of unrest and anxiety, when I + wandered incessantly from one doubt to another, gaining nothing from my + prolonged meditations but uncertainty, darkness, and contradiction with + regard to the source of my being and the rule of my duties. + </p> + <p> + I cannot understand how any one can be a sceptic sincerely and on + principle. Either such philosophers do not exist or they are the most + miserable of men. Doubt with regard to what we ought to know is a + condition too violent for the human mind; it cannot long be endured; in + spite of itself the mind decides one way or another, and it prefers to be + deceived rather than to believe nothing. + </p> + <p> + My perplexity was increased by the fact that I had been brought up in a + church which decides everything and permits no doubts, so that having + rejected one article of faith I was forced to reject the rest; as I could + not accept absurd decisions, I was deprived of those which were not + absurd. When I was told to believe everything, I could believe nothing, + and I knew not where to stop. + </p> + <p> + I consulted the philosophers, I searched their books and examined their + various theories; I found them all alike proud, assertive, dogmatic, + professing, even in their so-called scepticism, to know everything, + proving nothing, scoffing at each other. This last trait, which was common + to all of them, struck me as the only point in which they were right. + Braggarts in attack, they are weaklings in defence. Weigh their arguments, + they are all destructive; count their voices, every one speaks for + himself; they are only agreed in arguing with each other. I could find no + way out of my uncertainty by listening to them. + </p> + <p> + I suppose this prodigious diversity of opinion is caused, in the first + place, by the weakness of the human intellect; and, in the second, by + pride. We have no means of measuring this vast machine, we are unable to + calculate its workings; we know neither its guiding principles nor its + final purpose; we do not know ourselves, we know neither our nature nor + the spirit that moves us; we scarcely know whether man is one or many; we + are surrounded by impenetrable mysteries. These mysteries are beyond the + region of sense, we think we can penetrate them by the light of reason, + but we fall back on our imagination. Through this imagined world each + forces a way for himself which he holds to be right; none can tell whether + his path will lead him to the goal. Yet we long to know and understand it + all. The one thing we do not know is the limit of the knowable. We prefer + to trust to chance and to believe what is not true, rather than to own + that not one of us can see what really is. A fragment of some vast whole + whose bounds are beyond our gaze, a fragment abandoned by its Creator to + our foolish quarrels, we are vain enough to want to determine the nature + of that whole and our own relations with regard to it. + </p> + <p> + If the philosophers were in a position to declare the truth, which of them + would care to do so? Every one of them knows that his own system rests on + no surer foundations than the rest, but he maintains it because it is his + own. There is not one of them who, if he chanced to discover the + difference between truth and falsehood, would not prefer his own lie to + the truth which another had discovered. Where is the philosopher who would + not deceive the whole world for his own glory? If he can rise above the + crowd, if he can excel his rivals, what more does he want? Among believers + he is an atheist; among atheists he would be a believer. + </p> + <p> + The first thing I learned from these considerations was to restrict my + inquiries to what directly concerned myself, to rest in profound ignorance + of everything else, and not even to trouble myself to doubt anything + beyond what I required to know. + </p> + <p> + I also realised that the philosophers, far from ridding me of my vain + doubts, only multiplied the doubts that tormented me and failed to remove + any one of them. So I chose another guide and said, “Let me follow + the Inner Light; it will not lead me so far astray as others have done, or + if it does it will be my own fault, and I shall not go so far wrong if I + follow my own illusions as if I trusted to their deceits.” + </p> + <p> + I then went over in my mind the various opinions which I had held in the + course of my life, and I saw that although no one of them was plain enough + to gain immediate belief, some were more probable than others, and my + inward consent was given or withheld in proportion to this improbability. + Having discovered this, I made an unprejudiced comparison of all these + different ideas, and I perceived that the first and most general of them + was also the simplest and the most reasonable, and that it would have been + accepted by every one if only it had been last instead of first. Imagine + all your philosophers, ancient and modern, having exhausted their strange + systems of force, chance, fate, necessity, atoms, a living world, animated + matter, and every variety of materialism. Then comes the illustrious + Clarke who gives light to the world and proclaims the Being of beings and + the Giver of things. What universal admiration, what unanimous applause + would have greeted this new system—a system so great, so + illuminating, and so simple. Other systems are full of absurdities; this + system seems to me to contain fewer things which are beyond the + understanding of the human mind. I said to myself, “Every system has + its insoluble problems, for the finite mind of man is too small to deal + with them; these difficulties are therefore no final arguments, against + any system. But what a difference there is between the direct evidence on + which these systems are based! Should we not prefer that theory which + alone explains all the facts, when it is no more difficult than the rest?” + </p> + <p> + Bearing thus within my heart the love of truth as my only philosophy, and + as my only method a clear and simple rule which dispensed with the need + for vain and subtle arguments, I returned with the help of this rule to + the examination of such knowledge as concerned myself; I was resolved to + admit as self-evident all that I could not honestly refuse to believe, and + to admit as true all that seemed to follow directly from this; all the + rest I determined to leave undecided, neither accepting nor rejecting it, + nor yet troubling myself to clear up difficulties which did not lead to + any practical ends. + </p> + <p> + But who am I? What right have I to decide? What is it that determines my + judgments? If they are inevitable, if they are the results of the + impressions I receive, I am wasting my strength in such inquiries; they + would be made or not without any interference of mine. I must therefore + first turn my eyes upon myself to acquaint myself with the instrument I + desire to use, and to discover how far it is reliable. + </p> + <p> + I exist, and I have senses through which I receive impressions. This is + the first truth that strikes me and I am forced to accept it. Have I any + independent knowledge of my existence, or am I only aware of it through my + sensations? This is my first difficulty, and so far I cannot solve it. For + I continually experience sensations, either directly or indirectly through + memory, so how can I know if the feeling of self is something beyond these + sensations or if it can exist independently of them? + </p> + <p> + My sensations take place in myself, for they make me aware of my own + existence; but their cause is outside me, for they affect me whether I + have any reason for them or not, and they are produced or destroyed + independently of me. So I clearly perceive that my sensation, which is + within me, and its cause or its object, which is outside me, are different + things. + </p> + <p> + Thus, not only do I exist, but other entities exist also, that is to say, + the objects of my sensations; and even if these objects are merely ideas, + still these ideas are not me. + </p> + <p> + But everything outside myself, everything which acts upon my senses, I + call matter, and all the particles of matter which I suppose to be united + into separate entities I call bodies. Thus all the disputes of the + idealists and the realists have no meaning for me; their distinctions + between the appearance and the reality of bodies are wholly fanciful. + </p> + <p> + I am now as convinced of the existence of the universe as of my own. I + next consider the objects of my sensations, and I find that I have the + power of comparing them, so I perceive that I am endowed with an active + force of which I was not previously aware. + </p> + <p> + To perceive is to feel; to compare is to judge; to judge and to feel are + not the same. Through sensation objects present themselves to me + separately and singly as they are in nature; by comparing them I rearrange + them, I shift them so to speak, I place one upon another to decide whether + they are alike or different, or more generally to find out their + relations. To my mind, the distinctive faculty of an active or intelligent + being is the power of understanding this word “is.” I seek in + vain in the merely sensitive entity that intelligent force which compares + and judges; I can find no trace of it in its nature. This passive entity + will be aware of each object separately, it will even be aware of the + whole formed by the two together, but having no power to place them side + by side it can never compare them, it can never form a judgment with + regard to them. + </p> + <p> + To see two things at once is not to see their relations nor to judge of + their differences; to perceive several objects, one beyond the other, is + not to relate them. I may have at the same moment an idea of a big stick + and a little stick without comparing them, without judging that one is + less than the other, just as I can see my whole hand without counting my + fingers. [Footnote: M. de le Cordamines’ narratives tell of a people + who only know how to count up to three. Yet the men of this nation, having + hands, have often seen their fingers without learning to count up to + five.] These comparative ideas, ‘greater’, ‘smaller’, + together with number ideas of ‘one’, two’, etc. are + certainly not sensations, although my mind only produces them when my + sensations occur. + </p> + <p> + We are told that a sensitive being distinguishes sensations from each + other by the inherent differences in the sensations; this requires + explanation. When the sensations are different, the sensitive being + distinguishes them by their differences; when they are alike, he + distinguishes them because he is aware of them one beyond the other. + Otherwise, how could he distinguish between two equal objects + simultaneously experienced? He would necessarily confound the two objects + and take them for one object, especially under a system which professed + that the representative sensations of space have no extension. + </p> + <p> + When we become aware of the two sensations to be compared, their + impression is made, each object is perceived, both are perceived, but for + all that their relation is not perceived. If the judgment of this relation + were merely a sensation, and came to me solely from the object itself, my + judgments would never be mistaken, for it is never untrue that I feel what + I feel. + </p> + <p> + Why then am I mistaken as to the relation between these two sticks, + especially when they are not parallel? Why, for example, do I say the + small stick is a third of the large, when it is only a quarter? Why is the + picture, which is the sensation, unlike its model which is the object? It + is because I am active when I judge, because the operation of comparison + is at fault; because my understanding, which judges of relations, mingles + its errors with the truth of sensations, which only reveal to me things. + </p> + <p> + Add to this a consideration which will, I feel sure, appeal to you when + you have thought about it: it is this—If we were purely passive in + the use of our senses, there would be no communication between them; it + would be impossible to know that the body we are touching and the thing we + are looking at is the same. Either we should never perceive anything + outside ourselves, or there would be for us five substances perceptible by + the senses, whose identity we should have no means of perceiving. + </p> + <p> + This power of my mind which brings my sensations together and compares + them may be called by any name; let it be called attention, meditation, + reflection, or what you will; it is still true that it is in me and not in + things, that it is I alone who produce it, though I only produce it when I + receive an impression from things. Though I am compelled to feel or not to + feel, I am free to examine more or less what I feel. + </p> + <p> + Being now, so to speak, sure of myself, I begin to look at things outside + myself, and I behold myself with a sort of shudder flung at random into + this vast universe, plunged as it were into the vast number of entities, + knowing nothing of what they are in themselves or in relation to me. I + study them, I observe them; and the first object which suggests itself for + comparison with them is myself. + </p> + <p> + All that I perceive through the senses is matter, and I deduce all the + essential properties of matter from the sensible qualities which make me + perceive it, qualities which are inseparable from it. I see it sometimes + in motion, sometimes at rest, [Footnote: This repose is, if you prefer it, + merely relative; but as we perceive more or less of motion, we may plainly + conceive one of two extremes, which is rest; and we conceive it so clearly + that we are even disposed to take for absolute rest what is only relative. + But it is not true that motion is of the essence of matter, if matter may + be conceived of as at rest.] hence I infer that neither motion nor rest is + essential to it, but motion, being an action, is the result of a cause of + which rest is only the absence. When, therefore, there is nothing acting + upon matter it does not move, and for the very reason that rest and motion + are indifferent to it, its natural state is a state of rest. + </p> + <p> + I perceive two sorts of motions of bodies, acquired motion and spontaneous + or voluntary motion. In the first the cause is external to the body moved, + in the second it is within. I shall not conclude from that that the + motion, say of a watch, is spontaneous, for if no external cause operated + upon the spring it would run down and the watch would cease to go. For the + same reason I should not admit that the movements of fluids are + spontaneous, neither should I attribute spontaneous motion to fire which + causes their fluidity. [Footnote: Chemists regard phlogiston or the + element of fire as diffused, motionless, and stagnant in the compounds of + which it forms part, until external forces set it free, collect it and set + it in motion, and change it into fire.] + </p> + <p> + You ask me if the movements of animals are spontaneous; my answer is, + “I cannot tell,” but analogy points that way. You ask me + again, how do I know that there are spontaneous movements? I tell you, + “I know it because I feel them.” I want to move my arm and I + move it without any other immediate cause of the movement but my own will. + In vain would any one try to argue me out of this feeling, it is stronger + than any proofs; you might as well try to convince me that I do not exist. + </p> + <p> + If there were no spontaneity in men’s actions, nor in anything that + happens on this earth, it would be all the more difficult to imagine a + first cause for all motion. For my own part, I feel myself so thoroughly + convinced that the natural state of matter is a state of rest, and that it + has no power of action in itself, that when I see a body in motion I at + once assume that it is either a living body or that this motion has been + imparted to it. My mind declines to accept in any way the idea of + inorganic matter moving of its own accord, or giving rise to any action. + </p> + <p> + Yet this visible universe consists of matter, matter diffused and dead, + [Footnote: I have tried hard to grasp the idea of a living molecule, but + in vain. The idea of matter feeling without any senses seems to me + unintelligible and self-contradictory. To accept or reject this idea one + must first understand it, and I confess that so far I have not succeeded.] + matter which has none of the cohesion, the organisation, the common + feeling of the parts of a living body, for it is certain that we who are + parts have no consciousness of the whole. This same universe is in motion, + and in its movements, ordered, uniform, and subject to fixed laws, it has + none of that freedom which appears in the spontaneous movements of men and + animals. So the world is not some huge animal which moves of its own + accord; its movements are therefore due to some external cause, a cause + which I cannot perceive, but the inner voice makes this cause so apparent + to me that I cannot watch the course of the sun without imagining a force + which drives it, and when the earth revolves I think I see the hand that + sets it in motion. + </p> + <p> + If I must accept general laws whose essential relation to matter is + unperceived by me, how much further have I got? These laws, not being real + things, not being substances, have therefore some other basis unknown to + me. Experiment and observation have acquainted us with the laws of motion; + these laws determine the results without showing their causes; they are + quite inadequate to explain the system of the world and the course of the + universe. With the help of dice Descartes made heaven and earth; but he + could not set his dice in motion, nor start the action of his centrifugal + force without the help of rotation. Newton discovered the law of + gravitation; but gravitation alone would soon reduce the universe to a + motionless mass; he was compelled to add a projectile force to account for + the elliptical course of the celestial bodies; let Newton show us the hand + that launched the planets in the tangent of their orbits. + </p> + <p> + The first causes of motion are not to be found in matter; matter receives + and transmits motion, but does not produce it. The more I observe the + action and reaction of the forces of nature playing on one another, the + more I see that we must always go back from one effect to another, till we + arrive at a first cause in some will; for to assume an infinite succession + of causes is to assume that there is no first cause. In a word, no motion + which is not caused by another motion can take place, except by a + spontaneous, voluntary action; inanimate bodies have no action but motion, + and there is no real action without will. This is my first principle. I + believe, therefore, that there is a will which sets the universe in motion + and gives life to nature. This is my first dogma, or the first article of + my creed. + </p> + <p> + How does a will produce a physical and corporeal action? I cannot tell, + but I perceive that it does so in myself; I will to do something and I do + it; I will to move my body and it moves, but if an inanimate body, when at + rest, should begin to move itself, the thing is incomprehensible and + without precedent. The will is known to me in its action, not in its + nature. I know this will as a cause of motion, but to conceive of matter + as producing motion is clearly to conceive of an effect without a cause, + which is not to conceive at all. + </p> + <p> + It is no more possible for me to conceive how my will moves my body than + to conceive how my sensations affect my mind. I do not even know why one + of these mysteries has seemed less inexplicable than the other. For my own + part, whether I am active or passive, the means of union of the two + substances seem to me absolutely incomprehensible. It is very strange that + people make this very incomprehensibility a step towards the compounding + of the two substances, as if operations so different in kind were more + easily explained in one case than in two. + </p> + <p> + The doctrine I have just laid down is indeed obscure; but at least it + suggests a meaning and there is nothing in it repugnant to reason or + experience; can we say as much of materialism? Is it not plain that if + motion is essential to matter it would be inseparable from it, it would + always be present in it in the same degree, always present in every + particle of matter, always the same in each particle of matter, it would + not be capable of transmission, it could neither increase nor diminish, + nor could we ever conceive of matter at rest. When you tell me that motion + is not essential to matter but necessary to it, you try to cheat me with + words which would be easier to refute if there was a little more sense in + them. For either the motion of matter arises from the matter itself and is + therefore essential to it; or it arises from an external cause and is not + necessary to the matter, because the motive cause acts upon it; we have + got back to our original difficulty. + </p> + <p> + The chief source of human error is to be found in general and abstract + ideas; the jargon of metaphysics has never led to the discovery of any + single truth, and it has filled philosophy with absurdities of which we + are ashamed as soon as we strip them of their long words. Tell me, my + friend, when they talk to you of a blind force diffused throughout nature, + do they present any real idea to your mind? They think they are saying + something by these vague expressions—universal force, essential + motion—but they are saying nothing at all. The idea of motion is + nothing more than the idea of transference from place to place; there is + no motion without direction; for no individual can move all ways at once. + In what direction then does matter move of necessity? Has the whole body + of matter a uniform motion, or has each atom its own motion? According to + the first idea the whole universe must form a solid and indivisible mass; + according to the second it can only form a diffused and incoherent fluid, + which would make the union of any two atoms impossible. What direction + shall be taken by this motion common to all matter? Shall it be in a + straight line, in a circle, or from above downwards, to the right or to + the left? If each molecule has its own direction, what are the causes of + all these directions and all these differences? If every molecule or atom + only revolved on its own axis, nothing would ever leave its place and + there would be no transmitted motion, and even then this circular movement + would require to follow some direction. To set matter in motion by an + abstraction is to utter words without meaning, and to attribute to matter + a given direction is to assume a determining cause. The more examples I + take, the more causes I have to explain, without ever finding a common + agent which controls them. Far from being able to picture to myself an + entire absence of order in the fortuitous concurrence of elements, I + cannot even imagine such a strife, and the chaos of the universe is less + conceivable to me than its harmony. I can understand that the mechanism of + the universe may not be intelligible to the human mind, but when a man + sets to work to explain it, he must say what men can understand. + </p> + <p> + If matter in motion points me to a will, matter in motion according to + fixed laws points me to an intelligence; that is the second article of my + creed. To act, to compare, to choose, are the operations of an active, + thinking being; so this being exists. Where do you find him existing, you + will say? Not merely in the revolving heavens, nor in the sun which gives + us light, not in myself alone, but in the sheep that grazes, the bird that + flies, the stone that falls, and the leaf blown by the wind. + </p> + <p> + I judge of the order of the world, although I know nothing of its purpose, + for to judge of this order it is enough for me to compare the parts one + with another, to study their co-operation, their relations, and to observe + their united action. I know not why the universe exists, but I see + continually how it is changed; I never fail to perceive the close + connection by which the entities of which it consists lend their aid one + to another. I am like a man who sees the works of a watch for the first + time; he is never weary of admiring the mechanism, though he does not know + the use of the instrument and has never seen its face. I do not know what + this is for, says he, but I see that each part of it is fitted to the + rest, I admire the workman in the details of his work, and I am quite + certain that all these wheels only work together in this fashion for some + common end which I cannot perceive. + </p> + <p> + Let us compare the special ends, the means, the ordered relations of every + kind, then let us listen to the inner voice of feeling; what healthy mind + can reject its evidence? Unless the eyes are blinded by prejudices, can + they fail to see that the visible order of the universe proclaims a + supreme intelligence? What sophisms must be brought together before we + fail to understand the harmony of existence and the wonderful co-operation + of every part for the maintenance of the rest? Say what you will of + combinations and probabilities; what do you gain by reducing me to silence + if you cannot gain my consent? And how can you rob me of the spontaneous + feeling which, in spite of myself, continually gives you the lie? If + organised bodies had come together fortuitously in all sorts of ways + before assuming settled forms, if stomachs are made without mouths, feet + without heads, hands without arms, imperfect organs of every kind which + died because they could not preserve their life, why do none of these + imperfect attempts now meet our eyes; why has nature at length prescribed + laws to herself which she did not at first recognise? I must not be + surprised if that which is possible should happen, and if the + improbability of the event is compensated for by the number of the + attempts. I grant this; yet if any one told me that printed characters + scattered broadcast had produced the Aeneid all complete, I would not + condescend to take a single step to verify this falsehood. You will tell + me I am forgetting the multitude of attempts. But how many such attempts + must I assume to bring the combination within the bounds of probability? + For my own part the only possible assumption is that the chances are + infinity to one that the product is not the work of chance. In addition to + this, chance combinations yield nothing but products of the same nature as + the elements combined, so that life and organisation will not be produced + by a flow of atoms, and a chemist when making his compounds will never + give them thought and feeling in his crucible. [Footnote: Could one + believe, if one had not seen it, that human absurdity could go so far? + Amatus Lusitanus asserts that he saw a little man an inch long enclosed in + a glass, which Julius Camillus, like a second Prometheus, had made by + alchemy. Paracelsis (De natura rerum) teaches the method of making these + tiny men, and he maintains that the pygmies, fauns, satyrs, and nymphs + have been made by chemistry. Indeed I cannot see that there is anything + more to be done, to establish the possibility of these facts, unless it is + to assert that organic matter resists the heat of fire and that its + molecules can preserve their life in the hottest furnace.] + </p> + <p> + I was surprised and almost shocked when I read Neuwentit. How could this + man desire to make a book out of the wonders of nature, wonders which show + the wisdom of the author of nature? His book would have been as large as + the world itself before he had exhausted his subject, and as soon as we + attempt to give details, that greatest wonder of all, the concord and + harmony of the whole, escapes us. The mere generation of living organic + bodies is the despair of the human mind; the insurmountable barrier raised + by nature between the various species, so that they should not mix with + one another, is the clearest proof of her intention. She is not content to + have established order, she has taken adequate measures to prevent the + disturbance of that order. + </p> + <p> + There is not a being in the universe which may not be regarded as in some + respects the common centre of all, around which they are grouped, so that + they are all reciprocally end and means in relation to each other. The + mind is confused and lost amid these innumerable relations, not one of + which is itself confused or lost in the crowd. What absurd assumptions are + required to deduce all this harmony from the blind mechanism of matter set + in motion by chance! In vain do those who deny the unity of intention + manifested in the relations of all the parts of this great whole, in vain + do they conceal their nonsense under abstractions, co-ordinations, general + principles, symbolic expressions; whatever they do I find it impossible to + conceive of a system of entities so firmly ordered unless I believe in an + intelligence that orders them. It is not in my power to believe that + passive and dead matter can have brought forth living and feeling beings, + that blind chance has brought forth intelligent beings, that that which + does not think has brought forth thinking beings. + </p> + <p> + I believe, therefore, that the world is governed by a wise and powerful + will; I see it or rather I feel it, and it is a great thing to know this. + But has this same world always existed, or has it been created? Is there + one source of all things? Are there two or many? What is their nature? I + know not; and what concern is it of mine? When these things become of + importance to me I will try to learn them; till then I abjure these idle + speculations, which may trouble my peace, but cannot affect my conduct nor + be comprehended by my reason. + </p> + <p> + Recollect that I am not preaching my own opinion but explaining it. + Whether matter is eternal or created, whether its origin is passive or + not, it is still certain that the whole is one, and that it proclaims a + single intelligence; for I see nothing that is not part of the same + ordered system, nothing which does not co-operate to the same end, namely, + the conservation of all within the established order. This being who wills + and can perform his will, this being active through his own power, this + being, whoever he may be, who moves the universe and orders all things, is + what I call God. To this name I add the ideas of intelligence, power, + will, which I have brought together, and that of kindness which is their + necessary consequence; but for all this I know no more of the being to + which I ascribe them. He hides himself alike from my senses and my + understanding; the more I think of him, the more perplexed I am; I know + full well that he exists, and that he exists of himself alone; I know that + my existence depends on his, and that everything I know depends upon him + also. I see God everywhere in his works; I feel him within myself; I + behold him all around me; but if I try to ponder him himself, if I try to + find out where he is, what he is, what is his substance, he escapes me and + my troubled spirit finds nothing. + </p> + <p> + Convinced of my unfitness, I shall never argue about the nature of God + unless I am driven to it by the feeling of his relations with myself. Such + reasonings are always rash; a wise man should venture on them with + trembling, he should be certain that he can never sound their abysses; for + the most insolent attitude towards God is not to abstain from thinking of + him, but to think evil of him. + </p> + <p> + After the discovery of such of his attributes as enable me to conceive of + his existence, I return to myself, and I try to discover what is my place + in the order of things which he governs, and I can myself examine. At + once, and beyond possibility of doubt, I discover my species; for by my + own will and the instruments I can control to carry out my will, I have + more power to act upon all bodies about me, either to make use of or to + avoid their action at my pleasure, than any of them has power to act upon + me against my will by mere physical impulsion; and through my intelligence + I am the only one who can examine all the rest. What being here below, + except man, can observe others, measure, calculate, forecast their + motions, their effects, and unite, so to speak, the feeling of a common + existence with that of his individual existence? What is there so absurd + in the thought that all things are made for me, when I alone can relate + all things to myself? + </p> + <p> + It is true, therefore, that man is lord of the earth on which he dwells; + for not only does he tame all the beasts, not only does he control its + elements through his industry; but he alone knows how to control it; by + contemplation he takes possession of the stars which he cannot approach. + Show me any other creature on earth who can make a fire and who can behold + with admiration the sun. What! can I observe and know all creatures and + their relations; can I feel what is meant by order, beauty, and virtue; + can I consider the universe and raise myself towards the hand that guides + it; can I love good and perform it; and should I then liken myself to the + beasts? Wretched soul, it is your gloomy philosophy which makes you like + the beasts; or rather in vain do you seek to degrade yourself; your genius + belies your principles, your kindly heart belies your doctrines, and even + the abuse of your powers proves their excellence in your own despite. + </p> + <p> + For myself, I am not pledged to the support of any system. I am a plain + and honest man, one who is not carried away by party spirit, one who has + no ambition to be head of a sect; I am content with the place where God + has set me; I see nothing, next to God himself, which is better than my + species; and if I had to choose my place in the order of creation, what + more could I choose than to be a man! + </p> + <p> + I am not puffed up by this thought, I am deeply moved by it; for this + state was no choice of mine, it was not due to the deserts of a creature + who as yet did not exist. Can I behold myself thus distinguished without + congratulating myself on this post of honour, without blessing the hand + which bestowed it? The first return to self has given birth to a feeling + of gratitude and thankfulness to the author of my species, and this + feeling calls forth my first homage to the beneficent Godhead. I worship + his Almighty power and my heart acknowledges his mercies. Is it not a + natural consequence of our self-love to honour our protector and to love + our benefactor? + </p> + <p> + But when, in my desire to discover my own place within my species, I + consider its different ranks and the men who fill them, where am I now? + What a sight meets my eyes! Where is now the order I perceived? Nature + showed me a scene of harmony and proportion; the human race shows me + nothing but confusion and disorder. The elements agree together; men are + in a state of chaos. The beasts are happy; their king alone is wretched. O + Wisdom, where are thy laws? O Providence, is this thy rule over the world? + Merciful God, where is thy Power? I behold the earth, and there is evil + upon it. + </p> + <p> + Would you believe it, dear friend, from these gloomy thoughts and apparent + contradictions, there was shaped in my mind the sublime idea of the soul, + which all my seeking had hitherto failed to discover? While I meditated + upon man’s nature, I seemed to discover two distinct principles in + it; one of them raised him to the study of the eternal truths, to the love + of justice, and of true morality, to the regions of the world of thought, + which the wise delight to contemplate; the other led him downwards to + himself, made him the slave of his senses, of the passions which are their + instruments, and thus opposed everything suggested to him by the former + principle. When I felt myself carried away, distracted by these + conflicting motives, I said, No; man is not one; I will and I will not; I + feel myself at once a slave and a free man; I perceive what is right, I + love it, and I do what is wrong; I am active when I listen to the voice of + reason; I am passive when I am carried away by my passions; and when I + yield, my worst suffering is the knowledge that I might have resisted. + </p> + <p> + Young man, hear me with confidence. I will always be honest with you. If + conscience is the creature of prejudice, I am certainly wrong, and there + is no such thing as a proof of morality; but if to put oneself first is an + inclination natural to man, and if the first sentiment of justice is + moreover inborn in the human heart, let those who say man is a simple + creature remove these contradictions and I will grant that there is but + one substance. + </p> + <p> + You will note that by this term ‘substance’ I understand + generally the being endowed with some primitive quality, apart from all + special and secondary modifications. If then all the primitive qualities + which are known to us can be united in one and the same being, we should + only acknowledge one substance; but if there are qualities which are + mutually exclusive, there are as many different substances as there are + such exclusions. You will think this over; for my own part, whatever Locke + may say, it is enough for me to recognise matter as having merely + extension and divisibility to convince myself that it cannot think, and if + a philosopher tells me that trees feel and rocks think [Footnote: It seems + to me that modern philosophy, far from saying that rocks think, has + discovered that men do not think. It perceives nothing more in nature than + sensitive beings; and the only difference it finds between a man and a + stone is that a man is a sensitive being which experiences sensations, and + a stone is a sensitive being which does not experience sensations. But if + it is true that all matter feels, where shall I find the sensitive unit, + the individual ego? Shall it be in each molecule of matter or in bodies as + aggregates of molecules? Shall I place this unity in fluids and solids + alike, in compounds and in elements? You tell me nature consists of + individuals. But what are these individuals? Is that stone an individual + or an aggregate of individuals? Is it a single sensitive being, or are + there as many beings in it as there are grains of sand? If every + elementary atom is a sensitive being, how shall I conceive of that + intimate communication by which one feels within the other, so that their + two egos are blended in one? Attraction may be a law of nature whose + mystery is unknown to us; but at least we conceive that there is nothing + in attraction acting in proportion to mass which is contrary to extension + and divisibility. Can you conceive of sensation in the same way? The + sensitive parts have extension, but the sensitive being is one and + indivisible; he cannot be cut in two, he is a whole or he is nothing; + therefore the sensitive being is not a material body. I know not how our + materialists understand it, but it seems to me that the same difficulties + which have led them to reject thought, should have made them also reject + feeling; and I see no reason why, when the first step has been taken, they + should not take the second too; what more would it cost them? Since they + are certain they do not think, why do they dare to affirm that they feel?] + in vain will he perplex me with his cunning arguments; I merely regard him + as a dishonest sophist, who prefers to say that stones have feeling rather + than that men have souls. + </p> + <p> + Suppose a deaf man denies the existence of sounds because he has never + heard them. I put before his eyes a stringed instrument and cause it to + sound in unison by means of another instrument concealed from him; the + deaf man sees the chord vibrate. I tell him, “The sound makes it do + that.” “Not at all,” says he, “the string itself + is the cause of the vibration; to vibrate in that way is a quality common + to all bodies.” “Then show me this vibration in other bodies,” + I answer, “or at least show me its cause in this string.” + “I cannot,” replies the deaf man; “but because I do not + understand how that string vibrates why should I try to explain it by + means of your sounds, of which I have not the least idea? It is explaining + one obscure fact by means of a cause still more obscure. Make me perceive + your sounds; or I say there are no such things.” + </p> + <p> + The more I consider thought and the nature of the human mind, the more + likeness I find between the arguments of the materialists and those of the + deaf man. Indeed, they are deaf to the inner voice which cries aloud to + them, in a tone which can hardly be mistaken. A machine does not think, + there is neither movement nor form which can produce reflection; something + within thee tries to break the bands which confine it; space is not thy + measure, the whole universe does not suffice to contain thee; thy + sentiments, thy desires, thy anxiety, thy pride itself, have another + origin than this small body in which thou art imprisoned. + </p> + <p> + No material creature is in itself active, and I am active. In vain do you + argue this point with me; I feel it, and it is this feeling which speaks + to me more forcibly than the reason which disputes it. I have a body which + is acted upon by other bodies, and it acts in turn upon them; there is no + doubt about this reciprocal action; but my will is independent of my + senses; I consent or I resist; I yield or I win the victory, and I know + very well in myself when I have done what I wanted and when I have merely + given way to my passions. I have always the power to will, but not always + the strength to do what I will. When I yield to temptation I surrender + myself to the action of external objects. When I blame myself for this + weakness, I listen to my own will alone; I am a slave in my vices, a free + man in my remorse; the feeling of freedom is never effaced in me but when + I myself do wrong, and when I at length prevent the voice of the soul from + protesting against the authority of the body. + </p> + <p> + I am only aware of will through the consciousness of my own will, and + intelligence is no better known to me. When you ask me what is the cause + which determines my will, it is my turn to ask what cause determines my + judgment; for it is plain that these two causes are but one; and if you + understand clearly that man is active in his judgments, that his + intelligence is only the power to compare and judge, you will see that his + freedom is only a similar power or one derived from this; he chooses + between good and evil as he judges between truth and falsehood; if his + judgment is at fault, he chooses amiss. What then is the cause that + determines his will? It is his judgment. And what is the cause that + determines his judgment? It is his intelligence, his power of judging; the + determining cause is in himself. Beyond that, I understand nothing. + </p> + <p> + No doubt I am not free not to desire my own welfare, I am not free to + desire my own hurt; but my freedom consists in this very thing, that I can + will what is for my own good, or what I esteem as such, without any + external compulsion. Does it follow that I am not my own master because I + cannot be other than myself? + </p> + <p> + The motive power of all action is in the will of a free creature; we can + go no farther. It is not the word freedom that is meaningless, but the + word necessity. To suppose some action which is not the effect of an + active motive power is indeed to suppose effects without cause, to reason + in a vicious circle. Either there is no original impulse, or every + original impulse has no antecedent cause, and there is no will properly + so-called without freedom. Man is therefore free to act, and as such he is + animated by an immaterial substance; that is the third article of my + creed. From these three you will easily deduce the rest, so that I need + not enumerate them. + </p> + <p> + If man is at once active and free, he acts of his own accord; what he does + freely is no part of the system marked out by Providence and it cannot be + imputed to Providence. Providence does not will the evil that man does + when he misuses the freedom given to him; neither does Providence prevent + him doing it, either because the wrong done by so feeble a creature is as + nothing in its eyes, or because it could not prevent it without doing a + greater wrong and degrading his nature. Providence has made him free that + he may choose the good and refuse the evil. It has made him capable of + this choice if he uses rightly the faculties bestowed upon him, but it has + so strictly limited his powers that the misuse of his freedom cannot + disturb the general order. The evil that man does reacts upon himself + without affecting the system of the world, without preventing the + preservation of the human species in spite of itself. To complain that God + does not prevent us from doing wrong is to complain because he has made + man of so excellent a nature, that he has endowed his actions with that + morality by which they are ennobled, that he has made virtue man’s + birthright. Supreme happiness consists in self-content; that we may gain + this self-content we are placed upon this earth and endowed with freedom, + we are tempted by our passions and restrained by conscience. What more + could divine power itself have done on our behalf? Could it have made our + nature a contradiction, and have given the prize of well-doing to one who + was incapable of evil? To prevent a man from wickedness, should Providence + have restricted him to instinct and made him a fool? Not so, O God of my + soul, I will never reproach thee that thou hast created me in thine own + image, that I may be free and good and happy like my Maker! + </p> + <p> + It is the abuse of our powers that makes us unhappy and wicked. Our cares, + our sorrows, our sufferings are of our own making. Moral ills are + undoubtedly the work of man, and physical ills would be nothing but for + our vices which have made us liable to them. Has not nature made us feel + our needs as a means to our preservation! Is not bodily suffering a sign + that the machine is out of order and needs attention? Death.... Do not the + wicked poison their own life and ours? Who would wish to live for ever? + Death is the cure for the evils you bring upon yourself; nature would not + have you suffer perpetually. How few sufferings are felt by man living in + a state of primitive simplicity! His life is almost entirely free from + suffering and from passion; he neither fears nor feels death; if he feels + it, his sufferings make him desire it; henceforth it is no evil in his + eyes. If we were but content to be ourselves we should have no cause to + complain of our lot; but in the search for an imaginary good we find a + thousand real ills. He who cannot bear a little pain must expect to suffer + greatly. If a man injures his constitution by dissipation, you try to cure + him with medicine; the ill he fears is added to the ill he feels; the + thought of death makes it horrible and hastens its approach; the more we + seek to escape from it, the more we are aware of it; and we go through + life in the fear of death, blaming nature for the evils we have inflicted + on ourselves by our neglect of her laws. + </p> + <p> + O Man! seek no further for the author of evil; thou art he. There is no + evil but the evil you do or the evil you suffer, and both come from + yourself. Evil in general can only spring from disorder, and in the order + of the world I find a never failing system. Evil in particular cases + exists only in the mind of those who experience it; and this feeling is + not the gift of nature, but the work of man himself. Pain has little power + over those who, having thought little, look neither before nor after. Take + away our fatal progress, take away our faults and our vices, take away man’s + handiwork, and all is well. + </p> + <p> + Where all is well, there is no such thing as injustice. Justice and + goodness are inseparable; now goodness is the necessary result of + boundless power and of that self-love which is innate in all sentient + beings. The omnipotent projects himself, so to speak, into the being of + his creatures. Creation and preservation are the everlasting work of + power; it does not act on that which has no existence; God is not the God + of the dead; he could not harm and destroy without injury to himself. The + omnipotent can only will what is good. [Footnote: The ancients were right + when they called the supreme God Optimus Maximus, but it would have been + better to say Maximus Optimus, for his goodness springs from his power, he + is good because he is great.] Therefore he who is supremely good, because + he is supremely powerful, must also be supremely just, otherwise he would + contradict himself; for that love of order which creates order we call + goodness and that love of order which preserves order we call justice. + </p> + <p> + Men say God owes nothing to his creatures. I think he owes them all he + promised when he gave them their being. Now to give them the idea of + something good and to make them feel the need of it, is to promise it to + them. The more closely I study myself, the more carefully I consider, the + more plainly do I read these words, “Be just and you will be happy.” + It is not so, however, in the present condition of things, the wicked + prospers and the oppression of the righteous continues. Observe how angry + we are when this expectation is disappointed. Conscience revolts and + murmurs against her Creator; she exclaims with cries and groans, “Thou + hast deceived me.” + </p> + <p> + “I have deceived thee, rash soul! Who told thee this? Is thy soul + destroyed? Hast thou ceased to exist? O Brutus! O my son! let there be no + stain upon the close of thy noble life; do not abandon thy hope and thy + glory with thy corpse upon the plains of Philippi. Why dost thou say, + ‘Virtue is naught,’ when thou art about to enjoy the reward of + virtue? Thou art about to die! Nay, thou shalt live, and thus my promise + is fulfilled.” + </p> + <p> + One might judge from the complaints of impatient men that God owes them + the reward before they have deserved it, that he is bound to pay for + virtue in advance. Oh! let us first be good and then we shall be happy. + Let us not claim the prize before we have won it, nor demand our wages + before we have finished our work. “It is not in the lists that we + crown the victors in the sacred games,” says Plutarch, “it is + when they have finished their course.” + </p> + <p> + If the soul is immaterial, it may survive the body; and if it so survives, + Providence is justified. Had I no other proof of the immaterial nature of + the soul, the triumph of the wicked and the oppression of the righteous in + this world would be enough to convince me. I should seek to resolve so + appalling a discord in the universal harmony. I should say to myself, + “All is not over with life, everything finds its place at death.” + I should still have to answer the question, “What becomes of man + when all we know of him through our senses has vanished?” This + question no longer presents any difficulty to me when I admit the two + substances. It is easy to understand that what is imperceptible to those + senses escapes me, during my bodily life, when I perceive through my + senses only. When the union of soul and body is destroyed, I think one may + be dissolved and the other may be preserved. Why should the destruction of + the one imply the destruction of the other? On the contrary, so unlike in + their nature, they were during their union in a highly unstable condition, + and when this union comes to an end they both return to their natural + state; the active vital substance regains all the force which it expended + to set in motion the passive dead substance. Alas! my vices make me only + too well aware that man is but half alive during this life; the life of + the soul only begins with the death of the body. + </p> + <p> + But what is that life? Is the soul of man in its nature immortal? I know + not. My finite understanding cannot hold the infinite; what is called + eternity eludes my grasp. What can I assert or deny, how can I reason with + regard to what I cannot conceive? I believe that the soul survives the + body for the maintenance of order; who knows if this is enough to make it + eternal? However, I know that the body is worn out and destroyed by the + division of its parts, but I cannot conceive a similar destruction of the + conscious nature, and as I cannot imagine how it can die, I presume that + it does not die. As this assumption is consoling and in itself not + unreasonable, why should I fear to accept it? + </p> + <p> + I am aware of my soul; it is known to me in feeling and in thought; I know + what it is without knowing its essence; I cannot reason about ideas which + are unknown to me. What I do know is this, that my personal identity + depends upon memory, and that to be indeed the same self I must remember + that I have existed. Now after death I could not recall what I was when + alive unless I also remembered what I felt and therefore what I did; and I + have no doubt that this remembrance will one day form the happiness of the + good and the torment of the bad. In this world our inner consciousness is + absorbed by the crowd of eager passions which cheat remorse. The + humiliation and disgrace involved in the practice of virtue do not permit + us to realise its charm. But when, freed from the illusions of the bodily + senses, we behold with joy the supreme Being and the eternal truths which + flow from him; when all the powers of our soul are alive to the beauty of + order and we are wholly occupied in comparing what we have done with what + we ought to have done, then it is that the voice of conscience will regain + its strength and sway; then it is that the pure delight which springs from + self-content, and the sharp regret for our own degradation of that self, + will decide by means of overpowering feeling what shall be the fate which + each has prepared for himself. My good friend, do not ask me whether there + are other sources of happiness or suffering; I cannot tell; that which my + fancy pictures is enough to console me in this life and to bid me look for + a life to come. I do not say the good will be rewarded, for what greater + good can a truly good being expect than to exist in accordance with his + nature? But I do assert that the good will be happy, because their maker, + the author of all justice, who has made them capable of feeling, has not + made them that they may suffer; moreover, they have not abused their + freedom upon earth and they have not changed their fate through any fault + of their own; yet they have suffered in this life and it will be made up + to them in the life to come. This feeling relies not so much on man’s + deserts as on the idea of good which seems to me inseparable from the + divine essence. I only assume that the laws of order are constant and that + God is true to himself. + </p> + <p> + Do not ask me whether the torments of the wicked will endure for ever, + whether the goodness of their creator can condemn them to the eternal + suffering; again, I cannot tell, and I have no empty curiosity for the + investigation of useless problems. How does the fate of the wicked concern + me? I take little interest in it. All the same I find it hard to believe + that they will be condemned to everlasting torments. If the supreme + justice calls for vengeance, it claims it in this life. The nations of the + world with their errors are its ministers. Justice uses self-inflicted + ills to punish the crimes which have deserved them. It is in your own + insatiable souls, devoured by envy, greed, and ambition, it is in the + midst of your false prosperity, that the avenging passions find the due + reward of your crimes. What need to seek a hell in the future life? It is + here in the breast of the wicked. + </p> + <p> + When our fleeting needs are over, and our mad desires are at rest, there + should also be an end of our passions and our crimes. Can pure spirits be + capable of any perversity? Having need of nothing, why should they be + wicked? If they are free from our gross senses, if their happiness + consists in the contemplation of other beings, they can only desire what + is good; and he who ceases to be bad can never be miserable. This is what + I am inclined to think though I have not been at the pains to come to any + decision. O God, merciful and good, whatever thy decrees may be I adore + them; if thou shouldst commit the wicked to everlasting punishment, I + abandon my feeble reason to thy justice; but if the remorse of these + wretched beings should in the course of time be extinguished, if their + sufferings should come to an end, and if the same peace shall one day be + the lot of all mankind, I give thanks to thee for this. Is not the wicked + my brother? How often have I been tempted to be like him? Let him be + delivered from his misery and freed from the spirit of hatred that + accompanied it; let him be as happy as I myself; his happiness, far from + arousing my jealousy, will only increase my own. + </p> + <p> + Thus it is that, in the contemplation of God in his works, and in the + study of such of his attributes as it concerned me to know, I have slowly + grasped and developed the idea, at first partial and imperfect, which I + have formed of this Infinite Being. But if this idea has become nobler and + greater it is also more suited to the human reason. As I approach in + spirit the eternal light, I am confused and dazzled by its glory, and + compelled to abandon all the earthly notions which helped me to picture it + to myself. God is no longer corporeal and sensible; the supreme mind which + rules the world is no longer the world itself; in vain do I strive to + grasp his inconceivable essence. When I think that it is he that gives + life and movement to the living and moving substance which controls all + living bodies; when I hear it said that my soul is spiritual and that God + is a spirit, I revolt against this abasement of the divine essence; as if + God and my soul were of one and the same nature! As if God were not the + one and only absolute being, the only really active, feeling, thinking, + willing being, from whom we derive our thought, feeling, motion, will, our + freedom and our very existence! We are free because he wills our freedom, + and his inexplicable substance is to our souls what our souls are to our + bodies. I know not whether he has created matter, body, soul, the world + itself. The idea of creation confounds me and eludes my grasp; so far as I + can conceive of it I believe it; but I know that he has formed the + universe and all that is, that he has made and ordered all things. No + doubt God is eternal; but can my mind grasp the idea of eternity? Why + should I cheat myself with meaningless words? This is what I do + understand; before things were—God was; he will be when they are no + more, and if all things come to an end he will still endure. That a being + beyond my comprehension should give life to other beings, this is merely + difficult and beyond my understanding; but that Being and Nothing should + be convertible terms, this is indeed a palpable contradiction, an evident + absurdity. + </p> + <p> + God is intelligent, but how? Man is intelligent when he reasons, but the + Supreme Intelligence does not need to reason; there is neither premise nor + conclusion for him, there is not even a proposition. The Supreme + Intelligence is wholly intuitive, it sees what is and what shall be; all + truths are one for it, as all places are but one point and all time but + one moment. Man’s power makes use of means, the divine power is + self-active. God can because he wills; his will is his power. God is good; + this is certain; but man finds his happiness in the welfare of his kind. + God’s happiness consists in the love of order; for it is through + order that he maintains what is, and unites each part in the whole. God is + just; of this I am sure, it is a consequence of his goodness; man’s + injustice is not God’s work, but his own; that moral justice which + seems to the philosophers a presumption against Providence, is to me a + proof of its existence. But man’s justice consists in giving to each + his due; God’s justice consists in demanding from each of us an + account of that which he has given us. + </p> + <p> + If I have succeeded in discerning these attributes of which I have no + absolute idea, it is in the form of unavoidable deductions, and by the + right use of my reason; but I affirm them without understanding them, and + at bottom that is no affirmation at all. In vain do I say, God is thus, I + feel it, I experience it, none the more do I understand how God can be + thus. + </p> + <p> + In a word: the more I strive to envisage his infinite essence the less do + I comprehend it; but it is, and that is enough for me; the less I + understand, the more I adore. I abase myself, saying, “Being of + beings, I am because thou art; to fix my thoughts on thee is to ascend to + the source of my being. The best use I can make of my reason is to resign + it before thee; my mind delights, my weakness rejoices, to feel myself + overwhelmed by thy greatness.” + </p> + <p> + Having thus deduced from the perception of objects of sense and from my + inner consciousness, which leads me to judge of causes by my native + reason, the principal truths which I require to know, I must now seek such + principles of conduct as I can draw from them, and such rules as I must + lay down for my guidance in the fulfilment of my destiny in this world, + according to the purpose of my Maker. Still following the same method, I + do not derive these rules from the principles of the higher philosophy, I + find them in the depths of my heart, traced by nature in characters which + nothing can efface. I need only consult myself with regard to what I wish + to do; what I feel to be right is right, what I feel to be wrong is wrong; + conscience is the best casuist; and it is only when we haggle with + conscience that we have recourse to the subtleties of argument. Our first + duty is towards ourself; yet how often does the voice of others tell us + that in seeking our good at the expense of others we are doing ill? We + think we are following the guidance of nature, and we are resisting it; we + listen to what she says to our senses, and we neglect what she says to our + heart; the active being obeys, the passive commands. Conscience is the + voice of the soul, the passions are the voice of the body. It is strange + that these voices often contradict each other? And then to which should we + give heed? Too often does reason deceive us; we have only too good a right + to doubt her; but conscience never deceives us; she is the true guide of + man; it is to the soul what instinct is to the body, [Footnote: Modern + philosophy, which only admits what it can understand, is careful not to + admit this obscure power called instinct which seems to guide the animals + to some end without any acquired experience. Instinct, according to some + of our wise philosophers, is only a secret habit of reflection, acquired + by reflection; and from the way in which they explain this development one + ought to suppose that children reflect more than grown-up people: a + paradox strange enough to be worth examining. Without entering upon this + discussion I must ask what name I shall give to the eagerness with which + my dog makes war on the moles he does not eat, or to the patience with + which he sometimes watches them for hours and the skill with which he + seizes them, throws them to a distance from their earth as soon as they + emerge, and then kills them and leaves them. Yet no one has trained him to + this sport, nor even told him there were such things as moles. Again, I + ask, and this is a more important question, why, when I threatened this + same dog for the first time, why did he throw himself on the ground with + his paws folded, in such a suppliant attitude .....calculated to touch me, + a position which he would have maintained if, without being touched by it, + I had continued to beat him in that position? What! Had my dog, little + more than a puppy, acquired moral ideas? Did he know the meaning of mercy + and generosity? By what acquired knowledge did he seek to appease my wrath + by yielding to my discretion? Every dog in the world does almost the same + thing in similar circumstances, and I am asserting nothing but what any + one can verify for himself. Will the philosophers, who so scornfully + reject instinct, kindly explain this fact by the mere play of sensations + and experience which they assume we have acquired? Let them give an + account of it which will satisfy any sensible man; in that case I have + nothing further to urge, and I will say no more of instinct.] he who obeys + his conscience is following nature and he need not fear that he will go + astray. This is a matter of great importance, continued my benefactor, + seeing that I was about to interrupt him; let me stop awhile to explain it + more fully. + </p> + <p> + The morality of our actions consists entirely in the judgments we + ourselves form with regard to them. If good is good, it must be good in + the depth of our heart as well as in our actions; and the first reward of + justice is the consciousness that we are acting justly. If moral goodness + is in accordance with our nature, man can only be healthy in mind and body + when he is good. If it is not so, and if man is by nature evil, he cannot + cease to be evil without corrupting his nature, and goodness in him is a + crime against nature. If he is made to do harm to his fellow-creatures, as + the wolf is made to devour his prey, a humane man would be as depraved a + creature as a pitiful wolf; and virtue alone would cause remorse. + </p> + <p> + My young friend, let us look within, let us set aside all personal + prejudices and see whither our inclinations lead us. Do we take more + pleasure in the sight of the sufferings of others or their joys? Is it + pleasanter to do a kind action or an unkind action, and which leaves the + more delightful memory behind it? Why do you enjoy the theatre? Do you + delight in the crimes you behold? Do you weep over the punishment which + overtakes the criminal? They say we are indifferent to everything but + self-interest; yet we find our consolation in our sufferings in the charms + of friendship and humanity, and even in our pleasures we should be too + lonely and miserable if we had no one to share them with us. If there is + no such thing as morality in man’s heart, what is the source of his + rapturous admiration of noble deeds, his passionate devotion to great men? + What connection is there between self-interest and this enthusiasm for + virtue? Why should I choose to be Cato dying by his own hand, rather than + Caesar in his triumphs? Take from our hearts this love of what is noble + and you rob us of the joy of life. The mean-spirited man in whom these + delicious feelings have been stifled among vile passions, who by thinking + of no one but himself comes at last to love no one but himself, this man + feels no raptures, his cold heart no longer throbs with joy, and his eyes + no longer fill with the sweet tears of sympathy, he delights in nothing; + the wretch has neither life nor feeling, he is already dead. + </p> + <p> + There are many bad men in this world, but there are few of these dead + souls, alive only to self-interest, and insensible to all that is right + and good. We only delight in injustice so long as it is to our own + advantage; in every other case we wish the innocent to be protected. If we + see some act of violence or injustice in town or country, our hearts are + at once stirred to their depths by an instinctive anger and wrath, which + bids us go to the help of the oppressed; but we are restrained by a + stronger duty, and the law deprives us of our right to protect the + innocent. On the other hand, if some deed of mercy or generosity meets our + eye, what reverence and love does it inspire! Do we not say to ourselves, + “I should like to have done that myself”? What does it matter + to us that two thousand years ago a man was just or unjust? and yet we + take the same interest in ancient history as if it happened yesterday. + What are the crimes of Cataline to me? I shall not be his victim. Why then + have I the same horror of his crimes as if he were living now? We do not + hate the wicked merely because of the harm they do to ourselves, but + because they are wicked. Not only do we wish to be happy ourselves, we + wish others to be happy too, and if this happiness does not interfere with + our own happiness, it increases it. In conclusion, whether we will or not, + we pity the unfortunate; when we see their suffering we suffer too. Even + the most depraved are not wholly without this instinct, and it often leads + them to self-contradiction. The highwayman who robs the traveller, clothes + the nakedness of the poor; the fiercest murderer supports a fainting man. + </p> + <p> + Men speak of the voice of remorse, the secret punishment of hidden crimes, + by which such are often brought to light. Alas! who does not know its + unwelcome voice? We speak from experience, and we would gladly stifle this + imperious feeling which causes us such agony. Let us obey the call of + nature; we shall see that her yoke is easy and that when we give heed to + her voice we find a joy in the answer of a good conscience. The wicked + fears and flees from her; he delights to escape from himself; his anxious + eyes look around him for some object of diversion; without bitter satire + and rude mockery he would always be sorrowful; the scornful laugh is his + one pleasure. Not so the just man, who finds his peace within himself; + there is joy not malice in his laughter, a joy which springs from his own + heart; he is as cheerful alone as in company, his satisfaction does not + depend on those who approach him; it includes them. + </p> + <p> + Cast your eyes over every nation of the world; peruse every volume of its + history; in the midst of all these strange and cruel forms of worship, + among this amazing variety of manners and customs, you will everywhere + find the same ideas of right and justice; everywhere the same principles + of morality, the same ideas of good and evil. The old paganism gave birth + to abominable gods who would have been punished as scoundrels here below, + gods who merely offered, as a picture of supreme happiness, crimes to be + committed and lust to be gratified. But in vain did vice descend from the + abode of the gods armed with their sacred authority; the moral instinct + refused to admit it into the heart of man. While the debaucheries of + Jupiter were celebrated, the continence of Xenocrates was revered; the + chaste Lucrece adored the shameless Venus; the bold Roman offered + sacrifices to Fear; he invoked the god who mutilated his father, and he + died without a murmur at the hand of his own father. The most unworthy + gods were worshipped by the noblest men. The sacred voice of nature was + stronger than the voice of the gods, and won reverence upon earth; it + seemed to relegate guilt and the guilty alike to heaven. + </p> + <p> + There is therefore at the bottom of our hearts an innate principle of + justice and virtue, by which, in spite of our maxims, we judge our own + actions or those of others to be good or evil; and it is this principle + that I call conscience. + </p> + <p> + But at this word I hear the murmurs of all the wise men so-called. + Childish errors, prejudices of our upbringing, they exclaim in concert! + There is nothing in the human mind but what it has gained by experience; + and we judge everything solely by means of the ideas we have acquired. + They go further; they even venture to reject the clear and universal + agreement of all peoples, and to set against this striking unanimity in + the judgment of mankind, they seek out some obscure exception known to + themselves alone; as if the whole trend of nature were rendered null by + the depravity of a single nation, and as if the existence of monstrosities + made an end of species. But to what purpose does the sceptic Montaigne + strive himself to unearth in some obscure corner of the world a custom + which is contrary to the ideas of justice? To what purpose does he credit + the most untrustworthy travellers, while he refuses to believe the + greatest writers? A few strange and doubtful customs, based on local + causes, unknown to us; shall these destroy a general inference based on + the agreement of all the nations of the earth, differing from each other + in all else, but agreed in this? O Montaigne, you pride yourself on your + truth and honesty; be sincere and truthful, if a philosopher can be so, + and tell me if there is any country upon earth where it is a crime to keep + one’s plighted word, to be merciful, helpful, and generous, where + the good man is scorned, and the traitor is held in honour. + </p> + <p> + Self-interest, so they say, induces each of us to agree for the common + good. But how is it that the good man consents to this to his own hurt? + Does a man go to death from self-interest? No doubt each man acts for his + own good, but if there is no such thing as moral good to be taken into + consideration, self-interest will only enable you to account for the deeds + of the wicked; possibly you will not attempt to do more. A philosophy + which could find no place for good deeds would be too detestable; you + would find yourself compelled either to find some mean purpose, some + wicked motive, or to abuse Socrates and slander Regulus. If such doctrines + ever took root among us, the voice of nature, together with the voice of + reason, would constantly protest against them, till no adherent of such + teaching could plead an honest excuse for his partisanship. + </p> + <p> + It is no part of my scheme to enter at present into metaphysical + discussions which neither you nor I can understand, discussions which + really lead nowhere. I have told you already that I do not wish to + philosophise with you, but to help you to consult your own heart. If all + the philosophers in the world should prove that I am wrong, and you feel + that I am right, that is all I ask. + </p> + <p> + For this purpose it is enough to lead you to distinguish between our + acquired ideas and our natural feelings; for feeling precedes knowledge; + and since we do not learn to seek what is good for us and avoid what is + bad for us, but get this desire from nature, in the same way the love of + good and the hatred of evil are as natural to us as our self-love. The + decrees of conscience are not judgments but feelings. Although all our + ideas come from without, the feelings by which they are weighed are within + us, and it is by these feelings alone that we perceive fitness or + unfitness of things in relation to ourselves, which leads us to seek or + shun these things. + </p> + <p> + To exist is to feel; our feeling is undoubtedly earlier than our + intelligence, and we had feelings before we had ideas.[Footnote: In some + respects ideas are feelings and feelings are ideas. Both terms are + appropriate to any perception with which we are concerned, appropriate + both to the object of that perception and to ourselves who are affected by + it; it is merely the order in which we are affected which decides the + appropriate term. When we are chiefly concerned with the object and only + think of ourselves as it were by reflection, that is an idea; when, on the + other hand, the impression received excites our chief attention and we + only think in the second place of the object which caused it, it is a + feeling.] Whatever may be the cause of our being, it has provided for our + preservation by giving us feelings suited to our nature; and no one can + deny that these at least are innate. These feelings, so far as the + individual is concerned, are self-love, fear, pain, the dread of death, + the desire for comfort. Again, if, as it is impossible to doubt, man is by + nature sociable, or at least fitted to become sociable, he can only be so + by means of other innate feelings, relative to his kind; for if only + physical well-being were considered, men would certainly be scattered + rather than brought together. But the motive power of conscience is + derived from the moral system formed through this twofold relation to + himself and to his fellow-men. To know good is not to love it; this + knowledge is not innate in man; but as soon as his reason leads him to + perceive it, his conscience impels him to love it; it is this feeling + which is innate. + </p> + <p> + So I do not think, my young friend, that it is impossible to explain the + immediate force of conscience as a result of our own nature, independent + of reason itself. And even should it be impossible, it is unnecessary; for + those who deny this principle, admitted and received by everybody else in + the world, do not prove that there is no such thing; they are content to + affirm, and when we affirm its existence we have quite as good grounds as + they, while we have moreover the witness within us, the voice of + conscience, which speaks on its own behalf. If the first beams of judgment + dazzle us and confuse the objects we behold, let us wait till our feeble + sight grows clear and strong, and in the light of reason we shall soon + behold these very objects as nature has already showed them to us. Or + rather let us be simpler and less pretentious; let us be content with the + first feelings we experience in ourselves, since science always brings us + back to these, unless it has led us astray. + </p> + <p> + Conscience! Conscience! Divine instinct, immortal voice from heaven; sure + guide for a creature ignorant and finite indeed, yet intelligent and free; + infallible judge of good and evil, making man like to God! In thee + consists the excellence of man’s nature and the morality of his + actions; apart from thee, I find nothing in myself to raise me above the + beasts—nothing but the sad privilege of wandering from one error to + another, by the help of an unbridled understanding and a reason which + knows no principle. + </p> + <p> + Thank heaven we have now got rid of all that alarming show of philosophy; + we may be men without being scholars; now that we need not spend our life + in the study of morality, we have found a less costly and surer guide + through this vast labyrinth of human thought. But it is not enough to be + aware that there is such a guide; we must know her and follow her. If she + speaks to all hearts, how is it that so few give heed to her voice? She + speaks to us in the language of nature, and everything leads us to forget + that tongue. Conscience is timid, she loves peace and retirement; she is + startled by noise and numbers; the prejudices from which she is said to + arise are her worst enemies. She flees before them or she is silent; their + noisy voices drown her words, so that she cannot get a hearing; fanaticism + dares to counterfeit her voice and to inspire crimes in her name. She is + discouraged by ill-treatment; she no longer speaks to us, no longer + answers to our call; when she has been scorned so long, it is as hard to + recall her as it was to banish her. + </p> + <p> + How often in the course of my inquiries have I grown weary of my own + coldness of heart! How often have grief and weariness poured their poison + into my first meditations and made them hateful to me! My barren heart + yielded nothing but a feeble zeal and a lukewarm love of truth. I said to + myself: Why should I strive to find what does not exist? Moral good is a + dream, the pleasures of sense are the only real good. When once we have + lost the taste for the pleasures of the soul, how hard it is to recover + it! How much more difficult to acquire it if we have never possessed it! + If there were any man so wretched as never to have done anything all his + life long which he could remember with pleasure, and which would make him + glad to have lived, that man would be incapable of self-knowledge, and for + want of knowledge of goodness, of which his nature is capable, he would be + constrained to remain in his wickedness and would be for ever miserable. + But do you think there is any one man upon earth so depraved that he has + never yielded to the temptation of well-doing? This temptation is so + natural, so pleasant, that it is impossible always to resist it; and the + thought of the pleasure it has once afforded is enough to recall it + constantly to our memory. Unluckily it is hard at first to find + satisfaction for it; we have any number of reasons for refusing to follow + the inclinations of our heart; prudence, so called, restricts the heart + within the limits of the self; a thousand efforts are needed to break + these bonds. The joy of well-doing is the prize of having done well, and + we must deserve the prize before we win it. There is nothing sweeter than + virtue; but we do not know this till we have tried it. Like Proteus in the + fable, she first assumes a thousand terrible shapes when we would embrace + her, and only shows her true self to those who refuse to let her go. + </p> + <p> + Ever at strife between my natural feelings, which spoke of the common + weal, and my reason, which spoke of self, I should have drifted through + life in perpetual uncertainty, hating evil, loving good, and always at war + with myself, if my heart had not received further light, if that truth + which determined my opinions had not also settled my conduct, and set me + at peace with myself. Reason alone is not a sufficient foundation for + virtue; what solid ground can be found? Virtue we are told is love of + order. But can this love prevail over my love for my own well-being, and + ought it so to prevail? Let them give me clear and sufficient reason for + this preference. Their so-called principle is in truth a mere playing with + words; for I also say that vice is love of order, differently understood. + Wherever there is feeling and intelligence, there is some sort of moral + order. The difference is this: the good man orders his life with regard to + all men; the wicked orders it for self alone. The latter centres all + things round himself; the other measures his radius and remains on the + circumference. Thus his place depends on the common centre, which is God, + and on all the concentric circles which are His creatures. If there is no + God, the wicked is right and the good man is nothing but a fool. + </p> + <p> + My child! May you one day feel what a burden is removed when, having + fathomed the vanity of human thoughts and tasted the bitterness of + passion, you find at length near at hand the path of wisdom, the prize of + this life’s labours, the source of that happiness which you + despaired of. Every duty of natural law, which man’s injustice had + almost effaced from my heart, is engraven there, for the second time in + the name of that eternal justice which lays these duties upon me and + beholds my fulfilment of them. I feel myself merely the instrument of the + Omnipotent, who wills what is good, who performs it, who will bring about + my own good through the co-operation of my will with his own, and by the + right use of my liberty. I acquiesce in the order he establishes, certain + that one day I shall enjoy that order and find my happiness in it; for + what sweeter joy is there than this, to feel oneself a part of a system + where all is good? A prey to pain, I bear it in patience, remembering that + it will soon be over, and that it results from a body which is not mine. + If I do a good deed in secret, I know that it is seen, and my conduct in + this life is a pledge of the life to come. When I suffer injustice, I say + to myself, the Almighty who does all things well will reward me: my bodily + needs, my poverty, make the idea of death less intolerable. There will be + all the fewer bonds to be broken when my hour comes. + </p> + <p> + Why is my soul subjected to my senses, and imprisoned in this body by + which it is enslaved and thwarted? I know not; have I entered into the + counsels of the Almighty? But I may, without rashness, venture on a modest + conjecture. I say to myself: If man’s soul had remained in a state + of freedom and innocence, what merit would there have been in loving and + obeying the order he found established, an order which it would not have + been to his advantage to disturb? He would be happy, no doubt, but his + happiness would not attain to the highest point, the pride of virtue, and + the witness of a good conscience within him; he would be but as the angels + are, and no doubt the good man will be more than they. Bound to a mortal + body, by bonds as strange as they are powerful, his care for the + preservation of this body tempts the soul to think only of self, and gives + it an interest opposed to the general order of things, which it is still + capable of knowing and loving; then it is that the right use of his + freedom becomes at once the merit and the reward; then it is that it + prepares for itself unending happiness, by resisting its earthly passions + and following its original direction. + </p> + <p> + If even in the lowly position in which we are placed during our present + life our first impulses are always good, if all our vices are of our own + making, why should we complain that they are our masters? Why should we + blame the Creator for the ills we have ourselves created, and the enemies + we ourselves have armed against us? Oh, let us leave man unspoilt; he will + always find it easy to be good and he will always be happy without + remorse. The guilty, who assert that they are driven to crime, are liars + as well as evil-doers; how is it that they fail to perceive that the + weakness they bewail is of their own making; that their earliest depravity + was the result of their own will; that by dint of wishing to yield to + temptations, they at length yield to them whether they will or no and make + them irresistible? No doubt they can no longer avoid being weak and + wicked, but they need not have become weak and wicked. Oh, how easy would + it be to preserve control of ourselves and of our passions, even in this + life, if with habits still unformed, with a mind beginning to expand, we + were able to keep to such things as we ought to know, in order to value + rightly what is unknown; if we really wished to learn, not that we might + shine before the eyes of others, but that we might be wise and good in + accordance with our nature, that we might be happy in the performance of + our duty. This study seems tedious and painful to us, for we do not + attempt it till we are already corrupted by vice and enslaved by our + passions. Our judgments and our standards of worth are determined before + we have the knowledge of good and evil; and then we measure all things by + this false standard, and give nothing its true worth. + </p> + <p> + There is an age when the heart is still free, but eager, unquiet, greedy + of a happiness which is still unknown, a happiness which it seeks in + curiosity and doubt; deceived by the senses it settles at length upon the + empty show of happiness and thinks it has found it where it is not. In my + own case these illusions endured for a long time. Alas! too late did I + become aware of them, and I have not succeeded in overcoming them + altogether; they will last as long as this mortal body from which they + arise. If they lead me astray, I am at least no longer deceived by them; I + know them for what they are, and even when I give way to them, I despise + myself; far from regarding them as the goal of my happiness, I behold in + them an obstacle to it. I long for the time when, freed from the fetters + of the body, I shall be myself, at one with myself, no longer torn in two, + when I myself shall suffice for my own happiness. Meanwhile I am happy + even in this life, for I make small account of all its evils, in which I + regard myself as having little or no part, while all the real good that I + can get out of this life depends on myself alone. + </p> + <p> + To raise myself so far as may be even now to this state of happiness, + strength, and freedom, I exercise myself in lofty contemplation. I + consider the order of the universe, not to explain it by any futile + system, but to revere it without ceasing, to adore the wise Author who + reveals himself in it. I hold intercourse with him; I immerse all my + powers in his divine essence; I am overwhelmed by his kindness, I bless + him and his gifts, but I do not pray to him. What should I ask of him—to + change the order of nature, to work miracles on my behalf? Should I, who + am bound to love above all things the order which he has established in + his wisdom and maintained by his providence, should I desire the + disturbance of that order on my own account? No, that rash prayer would + deserve to be punished rather than to be granted. Neither do I ask of him + the power to do right; why should I ask what he has given me already? Has + he not given me conscience that I may love the right, reason that I may + perceive it, and freedom that I may choose it? If I do evil, I have no + excuse; I do it of my own free will; to ask him to change my will is to + ask him to do what he asks of me; it is to want him to do the work while I + get the wages; to be dissatisfied with my lot is to wish to be no longer a + man, to wish to be other than what I am, to wish for disorder and evil. + Thou source of justice and truth, merciful and gracious God, in thee do I + trust, and the desire of my heart is—Thy will be done. When I unite + my will with thine, I do what thou doest; I have a share in thy goodness; + I believe that I enjoy beforehand the supreme happiness which is the + reward of goodness. + </p> + <p> + In my well-founded self-distrust the only thing that I ask of God, or + rather expect from his justice, is to correct my error if I go astray, if + that error is dangerous to me. To be honest I need not think myself + infallible; my opinions, which seem to me true, may be so many lies; for + what man is there who does not cling to his own beliefs; and how many men + are agreed in everything? The illusion which deceives me may indeed have + its source in myself, but it is God alone who can remove it. I have done + all I can to attain to truth; but its source is beyond my reach; is it my + fault if my strength fails me and I can go no further; it is for Truth to + draw near to me. + </p> + <p> + The good priest had spoken with passion; he and I were overcome with + emotion. It seemed to me as if I were listening to the divine Orpheus when + he sang the earliest hymns and taught men the worship of the gods. I saw + any number of objections which might be raised; yet I raised none, for I + perceived that they were more perplexing than serious, and that my + inclination took his part. When he spoke to me according to his + conscience, my own seemed to confirm what he said. + </p> + <p> + “The novelty of the sentiments you have made known to me,” + said I, “strikes me all the more because of what you confess you do + not know, than because of what you say you believe. They seem to be very + like that theism or natural religion, which Christians profess to confound + with atheism or irreligion which is their exact opposite. But in the + present state of my faith I should have to ascend rather than descend to + accept your views, and I find it difficult to remain just where you are + unless I were as wise as you. That I may be at least as honest, I want + time to take counsel with myself. By your own showing, the inner voice + must be my guide, and you have yourself told me that when it has long been + silenced it cannot be recalled in a moment. I take what you have said to + heart, and I must consider it. If after I have thought things out, I am as + convinced as you are, you will be my final teacher, and I will be your + disciple till death. Continue your teaching however; you have only told me + half what I must know. Speak to me of revelation, of the Scriptures, of + those difficult doctrines among which I have strayed ever since I was a + child, incapable either of understanding or believing them, unable to + adopt or reject them.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, my child,” said he, embracing me, “I will tell you + all I think; I will not open my heart to you by halves; but the desire you + express was necessary before I could cast aside all reserve. So far I have + told you nothing but what I thought would be of service to you, nothing + but what I was quite convinced of. The inquiry which remains to be made is + very difficult. It seems to me full of perplexity, mystery, and darkness; + I bring to it only doubt and distrust. I make up my mind with trembling, + and I tell you my doubts rather than my convictions. If your own opinions + were more settled I should hesitate to show you mine; but in your present + condition, to think like me would be gain. [Footnote: I think the worthy + clergyman might say this at the present time to the general public.] + Moreover, give to my words only the authority of reason; I know not + whether I am mistaken. It is difficult in discussion to avoid assuming + sometimes a dogmatic tone; but remember in this respect that all my + assertions are but reasons to doubt me. Seek truth for yourself, for my + own part I only promise you sincerity. + </p> + <p> + “In my exposition you find nothing but natural religion; strange + that we should need more! How shall I become aware of this need? What + guilt can be mine so long as I serve God according to the knowledge he has + given to my mind, and the feelings he has put into my heart? What purity + of morals, what dogma useful to man and worthy of its author, can I derive + from a positive doctrine which cannot be derived without the aid of this + doctrine by the right use of my faculties? Show me what you can add to the + duties of the natural law, for the glory of God, for the good of mankind, + and for my own welfare; and what virtue you will get from the new form of + religion which does not result from mine. The grandest ideas of the Divine + nature come to us from reason only. Behold the spectacle of nature; listen + to the inner voice. Has not God spoken it all to our eyes, to our + conscience, to our reason? What more can man tell us? Their revelations do + but degrade God, by investing him with passions like our own. Far from + throwing light upon the ideas of the Supreme Being, special doctrines seem + to me to confuse these ideas; far from ennobling them, they degrade them; + to the inconceivable mysteries which surround the Almighty, they add + absurd contradictions, they make man proud, intolerant, and cruel; instead + of bringing peace upon earth, they bring fire and sword. I ask myself what + is the use of it all, and I find no answer. I see nothing but the crimes + of men and the misery of mankind. + </p> + <p> + “They tell me a revelation was required to teach men how God would + be served; as a proof of this they point to the many strange rites which + men have instituted, and they do not perceive that this very diversity + springs from the fanciful nature of the revelations. As soon as the + nations took to making God speak, every one made him speak in his own + fashion, and made him say what he himself wanted. Had they listened only + to what God says in the heart of man, there would have been but one + religion upon earth. + </p> + <p> + “One form of worship was required; just so, but was this a matter of + such importance as to require all the power of the Godhead to establish + it? Do not let us confuse the outward forms of religion with religion + itself. The service God requires is of the heart; and when the heart is + sincere that is ever the same. It is a strange sort of conceit which + fancies that God takes such an interest in the shape of the priest’s + vestments, the form of words he utters, the gestures he makes before the + altar and all his genuflections. Oh, my friend, stand upright, you will + still be too near the earth. God desires to be worshipped in spirit and in + truth; this duty belongs to every religion, every country, every + individual. As to the form of worship, if order demands uniformity, that + is only a matter of discipline and needs no revelation. + </p> + <p> + “These thoughts did not come to me to begin with. Carried away by + the prejudices of my education, and by that dangerous vanity which always + strives to lift man out of his proper sphere, when I could not raise my + feeble thoughts up to the great Being, I tried to bring him down to my own + level. I tried to reduce the distance he has placed between his nature and + mine. I desired more immediate relations, more individual instruction; not + content to make God in the image of man that I might be favoured above my + fellows, I desired supernatural knowledge; I required a special form of + worship; I wanted God to tell me what he had not told others, or what + others had not understood like myself. + </p> + <p> + “Considering the point I had now reached as the common centre from + which all believers set out on the quest for a more enlightened form of + religion, I merely found in natural religion the elements of all religion. + I beheld the multitude of diverse sects which hold sway upon earth, each + of which accuses the other of falsehood and error; which of these, I + asked, is the right? Every one replied, My own;’ every one said, + ‘I alone and those who agree with me think rightly, all the others + are mistaken.’ And how do you know that your sect is in the right? + Because God said so. And how do you know God said so? [Footnote: “All + men,” said a wise and good priest, “maintain that they hold + and believe their religion (and all use the same jargon), not of man, nor + of any creature, but of God. But to speak truly, without pretence or + flattery, none of them do so; whatever they may say, religions are taught + by human hands and means; take, for example, the way in which religions + have been received by the world, the way in which they are still received + every day by individuals; the nation, the country, the locality gives the + religion; we belong to the religion of the place where we are born and + brought up; we are baptised or circumcised, we are Christians, Jews, + Mohametans before we know that we are men; we do not pick and choose our + religion for see how ill the life and conduct agree with the religion, see + for what slight and human causes men go against the teaching of their + religion.”—Charron, De la Sagesse.—It seems clear that + the honest creed of the holy theologian of Condom would not have differed + greatly from that of the Savoyard priest.] And who told you that God said + it? My pastor, who knows all about it. My pastor tells me what to believe + and I believe it; he assures me that any one who says anything else is + mistaken, and I give not heed to them. + </p> + <p> + “What! thought I, is not truth one; can that which is true for me be + false for you? If those who follow the right path and those who go astray + have the same method, what merit or what blame can be assigned to one more + than to the other? Their choice is the result of chance; it is unjust to + hold them responsible for it, to reward or punish them for being born in + one country or another. To dare to say that God judges us in this manner + is an outrage on his justice. + </p> + <p> + “Either all religions are good and pleasing to God, or if there is + one which he prescribes for men, if they will be punished for despising + it, he will have distinguished it by plain and certain signs by which it + can be known as the only true religion; these signs are alike in every + time and place, equally plain to all men, great or small, learned or + unlearned, Europeans, Indians, Africans, savages. If there were but one + religion upon earth, and if all beyond its pale were condemned to eternal + punishment, and if there were in any corner of the world one single honest + man who was not convinced by this evidence, the God of that religion would + be the most unjust and cruel of tyrants. + </p> + <p> + “Let us therefore seek honestly after truth; let us yield nothing to + the claims of birth, to the authority of parents and pastors, but let us + summon to the bar of conscience and of reason all that they have taught us + from our childhood. In vain do they exclaim, Submit your reason;’ a + deceiver might say as much; I must have reasons for submitting my reason. + </p> + <p> + “All the theology I can get for myself by observation of the + universe and by the use of my faculties is contained in what I have + already told you. To know more one must have recourse to strange means. + These means cannot be the authority of men, for every man is of the same + species as myself, and all that a man knows by nature I am capable of + knowing, and another may be deceived as much as I; when I believe what he + says, it is not because he says it but because he proves its truth. The + witness of man is therefore nothing more than the witness of my own + reason, and it adds nothing to the natural means which God has given me + for the knowledge of truth. + </p> + <p> + “Apostle of truth, what have you to tell me of which I am not the + sole judge? God himself has spoken; give heed to his revelation. That is + another matter. God has spoken, these are indeed words which demand + attention. To whom has he spoken? He has spoken to men. Why then have I + heard nothing? He has instructed others to make known his words to you. I + understand; it is men who come and tell me what God has said. I would + rather have heard the words of God himself; it would have been as easy for + him and I should have been secure from fraud. He protects you from fraud + by showing that his envoys come from him. How does he show this? By + miracles. Where are these miracles? In the books. And who wrote the books? + Men. And who saw the miracles? The men who bear witness to them. What! + Nothing but human testimony! Nothing but men who tell me what others told + them! How many men between God and me! Let us see, however, let us + examine, compare, and verify. Oh! if God had but deigned to free me from + all this labour, I would have served him with all my heart. + </p> + <p> + “Consider, my friend, the terrible controversy in which I am now + engaged; what vast learning is required to go back to the remotest + antiquity, to examine, weigh, confront prophecies, revelations, facts, all + the monuments of faith set forth throughout the world, to assign their + date, place, authorship, and occasion. What exactness of critical judgment + is needed to distinguish genuine documents from forgeries, to compare + objections with their answers, translations with their originals; to + decide as to the impartiality of witnesses, their common-sense, their + knowledge; to make sure that nothing has been omitted, nothing added, + nothing transposed, altered, or falsified; to point out any remaining + contradictions, to determine what weight should be given to the silence of + our adversaries with regard to the charges brought against them; how far + were they aware of those charges; did they think them sufficiently serious + to require an answer; were books sufficiently well known for our books to + reach them; have we been honest enough to allow their books to circulate + among ourselves and to leave their strongest objections unaltered? + </p> + <p> + “When the authenticity of all these documents is accepted, we must + now pass to the evidence of their authors’ mission; we must know the + laws of chance, and probability, to decide which prophecy cannot be + fulfilled without a miracle; we must know the spirit of the original + languages, to distinguish between prophecy and figures of speech; we must + know what facts are in accordance with nature and what facts are not, so + that we may say how far a clever man may deceive the eyes of the simple + and may even astonish the learned; we must discover what are the + characteristics of a prodigy and how its authenticity may be established, + not only so far as to gain credence, but so that doubt may be deserving of + punishment; we must compare the evidence for true and false miracles, and + find sure tests to distinguish between them; lastly we must say why God + chose as a witness to his words means which themselves require so much + evidence on their behalf, as if he were playing with human credulity, and + avoiding of set purpose the true means of persuasion. + </p> + <p> + “Assuming that the divine majesty condescends so far as to make a + man the channel of his sacred will, is it reasonable, is it fair, to + demand that the whole of mankind should obey the voice of this minister + without making him known as such? Is it just to give him as his sole + credentials certain private signs, performed in the presence of a few + obscure persons, signs which everybody else can only know by hearsay? If + one were to believe all the miracles that the uneducated and credulous + profess to have seen in every country upon earth, every sect would be in + the right; there would be more miracles than ordinary events; and it would + be the greatest miracle if there were no miracles wherever there were + persecuted fanatics. The unchangeable order of nature is the chief witness + to the wise hand that guides it; if there were many exceptions, I should + hardly know what to think; for my own part I have too great a faith in God + to believe in so many miracles which are so little worthy of him. + </p> + <p> + “Let a man come and say to us: Mortals, I proclaim to you the will + of the Most Highest; accept my words as those of him who has sent me; I + bid the sun to change his course, the stars to range themselves in a fresh + order, the high places to become smooth, the floods to rise up, the earth + to change her face. By these miracles who will not recognise the master of + nature? She does not obey impostors, their miracles are wrought in holes + and corners, in deserts, within closed doors, where they find easy dupes + among a small company of spectators already disposed to believe them. Who + will venture to tell me how many eye-witnesses are required to make a + miracle credible! What use are your miracles, performed if proof of your + doctrine, if they themselves require so much proof! You might as well have + let them alone. + </p> + <p> + “There still remains the most important inquiry of all with regard + to the doctrine proclaimed; for since those who tell us God works miracles + in this world, profess that the devil sometimes imitates them, when we + have found the best attested miracles we have got very little further; and + since the magicians of Pharaoh dared in the presence of Moses to + counterfeit the very signs he wrought at God’s command, why should + they not, behind his back, claim a like authority? So when we have proved + our doctrine by means of miracles, we must prove our miracles by means of + doctrine, [Footnote: This is expressly stated in many passages of + Scripture, among others in Deuteronomy xiii., where it is said that when a + prophet preaching strange gods confirms his words by means of miracles and + what he foretells comes to pass, far from giving heed to him, this prophet + must be put to death. If then the heathen put the apostles to death when + they preached a strange god and confirmed their words by miracles which + came to pass I cannot see what grounds we have for complaint which they + could not at once turn against us. Now, what should be done in such a + case? There is only one course; to return to argument and let the miracles + alone. It would have been better not to have had recourse to them at all. + That is plain common-sense which can only be obscured by great subtlety of + distinction. Subtleties in Christianity! So Jesus Christ was mistaken when + he promised the kingdom of heaven to the simple, he was mistaken when he + began his finest discourse with the praise of the poor in spirit, if so + much wit is needed to understand his teaching and to get others to believe + in him. When you have convinced me that submission is my duty, all will be + well; but to convince me of this, come down to my level; adapt your + arguments to a lowly mind, or I shall not recognise you as a true disciple + of your master, and it is not his doctrine that you are teaching me.] for + fear lest we should take the devil’s doings for the handiwork of + God. What think you of this dilemma? + </p> + <p> + “This doctrine, if it comes from God, should bear the sacred stamp + of the godhead; not only should it illumine the troubled thoughts which + reason imprints on our minds, but it should also offer us a form of + worship, a morality, and rules of conduct in accordance with the + attributes by means of which we alone conceive of God’s essence. If + then it teaches us what is absurd and unreasonable, if it inspires us with + feelings of aversion for our fellows and terror for ourselves, if it + paints us a God, angry, jealous, revengeful, partial, hating men, a God of + war and battles, ever ready to strike and to destroy, ever speaking of + punishment and torment, boasting even of the punishment of the innocent, + my heart would not be drawn towards this terrible God, I would take good + care not to quit the realm of natural religion to embrace such a religion + as that; for you see plainly I must choose between them. Your God is not + ours. He who begins by selecting a chosen people, and proscribing the rest + of mankind, is not our common father; he who consigns to eternal + punishment the greater part of his creatures, is not the merciful and + gracious God revealed to me by my reason. + </p> + <p> + “Reason tells me that dogmas should be plain, clear, and striking in + their simplicity. If there is something lacking in natural religion, it is + with respect to the obscurity in which it leaves the great truths it + teaches; revelation should teach us these truths in a way which the mind + of man can understand; it should bring them within his reach, make him + comprehend them, so that he may believe them. Faith is confirmed and + strengthened by understanding; the best religion is of necessity the + simplest. He who hides beneath mysteries and contradictions the religion + that he preaches to me, teaches me at the same time to distrust that + religion. The God whom I adore is not the God of darkness, he has not + given me understanding in order to forbid me to use it; to tell me to + submit my reason is to insult the giver of reason. The minister of truth + does not tyrannise over my reason, he enlightens it. + </p> + <p> + “We have set aside all human authority, and without it I do not see + how any man can convince another by preaching a doctrine contrary to + reason. Let them fight it out, and let us see what they have to say with + that harshness of speech which is common to both. + </p> + <p> + “INSPIRATION: Reason tells you that the whole is greater than the + part; but I tell you, in God’s name, that the part is greater than + the whole. + </p> + <p> + “REASON: And who are you to dare to tell me that God contradicts + himself? And which shall I choose to believe. God who teaches me, through + my reason, the eternal truth, or you who, in his name, proclaim an + absurdity? + </p> + <p> + “INSPIRATION: Believe me, for my teaching is more positive; and I + will prove to you beyond all manner of doubt that he has sent me. + </p> + <p> + “REASON: What! you will convince me that God has sent you to bear + witness against himself? What sort of proofs will you adduce to convince + me that God speaks more surely by your mouth than through the + understanding he has given me? + </p> + <p> + “INSPIRATION: The understanding he has given you! Petty, conceited + creature! As if you were the first impious person who had been led astray + through his reason corrupted by sin. + </p> + <p> + “REASON: Man of God, you would not be the first scoundrel who + asserts his arrogance as a proof of his mission. + </p> + <p> + “INSPIRATION: What! do even philosophers call names? + </p> + <p> + “REASON: Sometimes, when the saints set them the example. + </p> + <p> + “INSPIRATION: Oh, but I have a right to do it, for I am speaking on + God’s behalf. + </p> + <p> + “REASON: You would do well to show your credentials before you make + use of your privileges. + </p> + <p> + “INSPIRATION: My credentials are authentic, earth and heaven will + bear witness on my behalf. Follow my arguments carefully, if you please. + </p> + <p> + “REASON: Your arguments! You forget what you are saying. When you + teach me that my reason misleads me, do you not refute what it might have + said on your behalf? He who denies the right of reason, must convince me + without recourse to her aid. For suppose you have convinced me by reason, + how am I to know that it is not my reason, corrupted by sin, which makes + me accept what you say? besides, what proof, what demonstration, can you + advance, more self-evident than the axiom it is to destroy? It is more + credible that a good syllogism is a lie, than that the part is greater + than the whole. + </p> + <p> + “INSPIRATION: What a difference! There is no answer to my evidence; + it is of a supernatural kind. + </p> + <p> + “REASON: Supernatural! What do you mean by the word? I do not + understand it. + </p> + <p> + “INSPIRATION: I mean changes in the order of nature, prophecies, + signs, and wonders of every kind. + </p> + <p> + “REASON: Signs and wonders! I have never seen anything of the kind. + </p> + <p> + “INSPIRATION: Others have seen them for you. Clouds of witnesses—the + witness of whole nations.... + </p> + <p> + “REASON: Is the witness of nations supernatural? + </p> + <p> + “INSPIRATION: No; but when it is unanimous, it is incontestable. + </p> + <p> + “REASON: There is nothing so incontestable as the principles of + reason, and one cannot accept an absurdity on human evidence. Once more, + let us see your supernatural evidence, for the consent of mankind is not + supernatural. + </p> + <p> + “INSPIRATION: Oh, hardened heart, grace does not speak to you. + </p> + <p> + “REASON: That is not my fault; for by your own showing, one must + have already received grace before one is able to ask for it. Begin by + speaking to me in its stead. + </p> + <p> + “INSPIRATION: But that is just what I am doing, and you will not + listen. But what do you say to prophecy? + </p> + <p> + “REASON: In the first place, I say I have no more heard a prophet + than I have seen a miracle. In the next, I say that no prophet could claim + authority over me. + </p> + <p> + “INSPIRATION: Follower of the devil! Why should not the words of the + prophets have authority over you? + </p> + <p> + “REASON: Because three things are required, three things which will + never happen: firstly, I must have heard the prophecy; secondly, I must + have seen its fulfilment; and thirdly, it must be clearly proved that the + fulfilment of the prophecy could not by any possibility have been a mere + coincidence; for even if it was as precise, as plain, and clear as an + axiom of geometry, since the clearness of a chance prediction does not + make its fulfilment impossible, this fulfilment when it does take place + does not, strictly speaking, prove what was foretold. + </p> + <p> + “See what your so-called supernatural proofs, your miracles, your + prophecies come to: believe all this upon the word of another. Submit to + the authority of men the authority of God which speaks to my reason. If + the eternal truths which my mind conceives of could suffer any shock, + there would be no sort of certainty for me; and far from being sure that + you speak to me on God’s behalf, I should not even be sure that + there is a God. + </p> + <p> + “My child, here are difficulties enough, but these are not all. + Among so many religions, mutually excluding and proscribing each other, + one only is true, if indeed any one of them is true. To recognise the true + religion we must inquire into, not one, but all; and in any question + whatsoever we have no right to condemn unheard. [Footnote: On the other + hand, Plutarch relates that the Stoics maintained, among other strange + paradoxes, that it was no use hearing both sides; for, said they, the + first either proves his point or he does not prove it; if he has proved + it, there is an end of it, and the other should be condemned: if he has + not proved it, he himself is in the wrong and judgment should be given + against him. I consider the method of those who accept an exclusive + revelation very much like that of these Stoics. When each of them claims + to be the sole guardian of truth, we must hear them all before we can + choose between them without injustice.] The objections must be compared + with the evidence; we must know what accusation each brings against the + other, and what answers they receive. The plainer any feeling appears to + us, the more we must try to discover why so many other people refuse to + accept it. We should be simple, indeed, if we thought it enough to hear + the doctors on our own side, in order to acquaint ourselves with the + arguments of the other. Where can you find theologians who pride + themselves on their honesty? Where are those who, to refute the arguments + of their opponents, do not begin by making out that they are of little + importance? A man may make a good show among his own friends, and be very + proud of his arguments, who would cut a very poor figure with those same + arguments among those who are on the other side. Would you find out for + yourself from books? What learning you will need! What languages you must + learn; what libraries you must ransack; what an amount of reading must be + got through! Who will guide me in such a choice? It will be hard to find + the best books on the opposite side in any one country, and all the harder + to find those on all sides; when found they would be easily answered. The + absent are always in the wrong, and bad arguments boldly asserted easily + efface good arguments put forward with scorn. Besides books are often very + misleading, and scarcely express the opinions of their authors. If you + think you can judge the Catholic faith from the writings of Bossuet, you + will find yourself greatly mistaken when you have lived among us. You will + see that the doctrines with which Protestants are answered are quite + different from those of the pulpit. To judge a religion rightly, you must + not study it in the books of its partisans, you must learn it in their + lives; this is quite another matter. Each religion has its own traditions, + meaning, customs, prejudices, which form the spirit of its creed, and must + be taken in connection with it. + </p> + <p> + “How many great nations neither print books of their own nor read + ours! How shall they judge of our opinions, or we of theirs? We laugh at + them, they despise us; and if our travellers turn them into ridicule, they + need only travel among us to pay us back in our own coin. Are there not, + in every country, men of common-sense, honesty, and good faith, lovers of + truth, who only seek to know what truth is that they may profess it? Yet + every one finds truth in his own religion, and thinks the religion of + other nations absurd; so all these foreign religions are not so absurd as + they seem to us, or else the reason we find for our own proves nothing. + </p> + <p> + “We have three principal forms of religion in Europe. One accepts + one revelation, another two, and another three. Each hates the others, + showers curses on them, accuses them of blindness, obstinacy, hardness of + heart, and falsehood. What fair-minded man will dare to decide between + them without first carefully weighing their evidence, without listening + attentively to their arguments? That which accepts only one revelation is + the oldest and seems the best established; that which accepts three is the + newest and seems the most consistent; that which accepts two revelations + and rejects the third may perhaps be the best, but prejudice is certainly + against it; its inconsistency is glaring. + </p> + <p> + “In all three revelations the sacred books are written in languages + unknown to the people who believe in them. The Jews no longer understand + Hebrew, the Christians understand neither Hebrew nor Greek; the Turks and + Persians do not understand Arabic, and the Arabs of our time do not speak + the language of Mahomet. Is not it a very foolish way of teaching, to + teach people in an unknown tongue? These books are translated, you say. + What an answer! How am I to know that the translations are correct, or how + am I to make sure that such a thing as a correct translation is possible? + If God has gone so far as to speak to men, why should he require an + interpreter? + </p> + <p> + “I can never believe that every man is obliged to know what is + contained in books, and that he who is out of reach of these books, and of + those who understand them, will be punished for an ignorance which is no + fault of his. Books upon books! What madness! As all Europe is full of + books, Europeans regard them as necessary, forgetting that they are + unknown throughout three-quarters of the globe. Were not all these books + written by men? Why then should a man need them to teach him his duty, and + how did he learn his duty before these books were in existence? Either he + must have learnt his duties for himself, or his ignorance must have been + excused. + </p> + <p> + “Our Catholics talk loudly of the authority of the Church; but what + is the use of it all, if they also need just as great an array of proofs + to establish that authority as the other seeks to establish their + doctrine? The Church decides that the Church has a right to decide. What a + well-founded authority! Go beyond it, and you are back again in our + discussions. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know many Christians who have taken the trouble to inquire + what the Jews allege against them? If any one knows anything at all about + it, it is from the writings of Christians. What a way of ascertaining the + arguments of our adversaries! But what is to be done? If any one dared to + publish in our day books which were openly in favour of the Jewish + religion, we should punish the author, publisher, and bookseller. This + regulation is a sure and certain plan for always being in the right. It is + easy to refute those who dare not venture to speak. + </p> + <p> + “Those among us who have the opportunity of talking with Jews are + little better off. These unhappy people feel that they are in our power; + the tyranny they have suffered makes them timid; they know that Christian + charity thinks nothing of injustice and cruelty; will they dare to run the + risk of an outcry against blasphemy? Our greed inspires us with zeal, and + they are so rich that they must be in the wrong. The more learned, the + more enlightened they are, the more cautious. You may convert some poor + wretch whom you have paid to slander his religion; you get some wretched + old-clothes-man to speak, and he says what you want; you may triumph over + their ignorance and cowardice, while all the time their men of learning + are laughing at your stupidity. But do you think you would get off so + easily in any place where they knew they were safe! At the Sorbonne it is + plain that the Messianic prophecies refer to Jesus Christ. Among the + rabbis of Amsterdam it is just as clear that they have nothing to do with + him. I do not think I have ever heard the arguments of the Jews as to why + they should not have a free state, schools and universities, where they + can speak and argue without danger. Then alone can we know what they have + to say. + </p> + <p> + “At Constantinople the Turks state their arguments, but we dare not + give ours; then it is our turn to cringe. Can we blame the Turks if they + require us to show the same respect for Mahomet, in whom we do not + believe, as we demand from the Jews with regard to Jesus Christ in whom + they do not believe? Are we right? On what grounds of justice can we + answer this question? + </p> + <p> + “Two-thirds of mankind are neither Jews, Mahometans, nor Christians; + and how many millions of men have never heard the name of Moses, Jesus + Christ, or Mahomet? They deny it; they maintain that our missionaries go + everywhere. That is easily said. But do they go into the heart of Africa, + still undiscovered, where as yet no European has ever ventured? Do they go + to Eastern Tartary to follow on horseback the wandering tribes, whom no + stranger approaches, who not only know nothing of the pope, but have + scarcely heard tell of the Grand Lama! Do they penetrate into the vast + continents of America, where there are still whole nations unaware that + the people of another world have set foot on their shores? Do they go to + Japan, where their intrigues have led to their perpetual banishment, where + their predecessors are only known to the rising generation as skilful + plotters who came with feigned zeal to take possession in secret of the + empire? Do they reach the harems of the Asiatic princes to preach the + gospel to those thousands of poor slaves? What have the women of those + countries done that no missionary may preach the faith to them? Will they + all go to hell because of their seclusion? + </p> + <p> + “If it were true that the gospel is preached throughout the world, + what advantage would there be? The day before the first missionary set + foot in any country, no doubt somebody died who could not hear him. Now + tell me what we shall do with him? If there were a single soul in the + whole world, to whom Jesus Christ had never been preached, this objection + would be as strong for that man as for a quarter of the human race. + </p> + <p> + “If the ministers of the gospel have made themselves heard among + far-off nations, what have they told them which might reasonably be + accepted on their word, without further and more exact verification? You + preach to me God, born and dying, two thousand years ago, at the other end + of the world, in some small town I know not where; and you tell me that + all who have not believed this mystery are damned. These are strange + things to be believed so quickly on the authority of an unknown person. + Why did your God make these things happen so far off, if he would compel + me to know about them? Is it a crime to be unaware of what is happening + half a world away? Could I guess that in another hemisphere there was a + Hebrew nation and a town called Jerusalem? You might as well expect me to + know what was happening in the moon. You say you have come to teach me; + but why did you not come and teach my father, or why do you consign that + good old man to damnation because he knew nothing of all this? Must he be + punished everlastingly for your laziness, he who was so kind and helpful, + he who sought only for truth? Be honest; put yourself in my place; see if + I ought to believe, on your word alone, all these incredible things which + you have told me, and reconcile all this injustice with the just God you + proclaim to me. At least allow me to go and see this distant land where + such wonders, unheard of in my own country, took place; let me go and see + why the inhabitants of Jerusalem put their God to death as a robber. You + tell me they did not know he was God. What then shall I do, I who have + only heard of him from you? You say they have been punished, dispersed, + oppressed, enslaved; that none of them dare approach that town. Indeed + they richly deserved it; but what do its present inhabitants say of their + crime in slaying their God! They deny him; they too refuse to recognise + God as God. They are no better than the children of the original + inhabitants. + </p> + <p> + “What! In the very town where God was put to death, neither the + former nor the latter inhabitants knew him, and you expect that I should + know him, I who was born two thousand years after his time, and two + thousand leagues away? Do you not see that before I can believe this book + which you call sacred, but which I do not in the least understand, I must + know from others than yourself when and by whom it was written, how it has + been preserved, how it came into your possession, what they say about it + in those lands where it is rejected, and what are their reasons for + rejecting it, though they know as well as you what you are telling me? You + perceive I must go to Europe, Asia, Palestine, to examine these things for + myself; it would be madness to listen to you before that. + </p> + <p> + “Not only does this seem reasonable to me, but I maintain that it is + what every wise man ought to say in similar circumstances; that he ought + to banish to a great distance the missionary who wants to instruct and + baptise him all of a sudden before the evidence is verified. Now I + maintain that there is no revelation against which these or similar + objections cannot be made, and with more force than against Christianity. + Hence it follows that if there is but one true religion and if every man + is bound to follow it under pain of damnation, he must spend his whole + life in studying, testing, comparing all these religions, in travelling + through the countries in which they are established. No man is free from a + man’s first duty; no one has a right to depend on another’s + judgment. The artisan who earns his bread by his daily toil, the ploughboy + who cannot read, the delicate and timid maiden, the invalid who can + scarcely leave his bed, all without exception must study, consider, argue, + travel over the whole world; there will be no more fixed and settled + nations; the whole earth will swarm with pilgrims on their way, at great + cost of time and trouble, to verify, compare, and examine for themselves + the various religions to be found. Then farewell to the trades, the arts, + the sciences of mankind, farewell to all peaceful occupations; there can + be no study but that of religion, even the strongest, the most + industrious, the most intelligent, the oldest, will hardly be able in his + last years to know where he is; and it will be a wonder if he manages to + find out what religion he ought to live by, before the hour of his death. + </p> + <p> + “Hard pressed by these arguments, some prefer to make God unjust and + to punish the innocent for the sins of their fathers, rather than to + renounce their barbarous dogmas. Others get out of the difficulty by + kindly sending an angel to instruct all those who in invincible ignorance + have lived a righteous life. A good idea, that angel! Not content to be + the slaves of their own inventions they expect God to make use of them + also! + </p> + <p> + “Behold, my son, the absurdities to which pride and intolerance + bring us, when everybody wants others to think as he does, and everybody + fancies that he has an exclusive claim upon the rest of mankind. I call to + witness the God of Peace whom I adore, and whom I proclaim to you, that my + inquiries were honestly made; but when I discovered that they were and + always would be unsuccessful, and that I was embarked upon a boundless + ocean, I turned back, and restricted my faith within the limits of my + primitive ideas. I could never convince myself that God would require such + learning of me under pain of hell. So I closed all my books. There is one + book which is open to every one—the book of nature. In this good and + great volume I learn to serve and adore its Author. There is no excuse for + not reading this book, for it speaks to all in a language they can + understand. Suppose I had been born in a desert island, suppose I had + never seen any man but myself, suppose I had never heard what took place + in olden days in a remote corner of the world; yet if I use my reason, if + I cultivate it, if I employ rightly the innate faculties which God bestows + upon me, I shall learn by myself to know and love him, to love his works, + to will what he wills, and to fulfil all my duties upon earth, that I may + do his pleasure. What more can all human learning teach me? + </p> + <p> + “With regard to revelation, if I were a more accomplished disputant, + or a more learned person, perhaps I should feel its truth, its usefulness + for those who are happy enough to perceive it; but if I find evidence for + it which I cannot combat, I also find objections against it which I cannot + overcome. There are so many weighty reasons for and against that I do not + know what to decide, so that I neither accept nor reject it. I only reject + all obligation to be convinced of its truth; for this so-called obligation + is incompatible with God’s justice, and far from removing objections + in this way it would multiply them, and would make them insurmountable for + the greater part of mankind. In this respect I maintain an attitude of + reverent doubt. I do not presume to think myself infallible; other men may + have been able to make up their minds though the matter seems doubtful to + myself; I am speaking for myself, not for them; I neither blame them nor + follow in their steps; their judgment may be superior to mine, but it is + no fault of mine that my judgment does not agree with it. + </p> + <p> + “I own also that the holiness of the gospel speaks to my heart, and + that this is an argument which I should be sorry to refute. Consider the + books of the philosophers with all their outward show; how petty they are + in comparison! Can a book at once so grand and so simple be the work of + men? Is it possible that he whose history is contained in this book is no + more than man? Is the tone of this book, the tone of the enthusiast or the + ambitious sectary? What gentleness and purity in his actions, what a + touching grace in his teaching, how lofty are his sayings, how profoundly + wise are his sermons, how ready, how discriminating, and how just are his + answers! What man, what sage, can live, suffer, and die without weakness + or ostentation? When Plato describes his imaginary good man, overwhelmed + with the disgrace of crime, and deserving of all the rewards of virtue, + every feature of the portrait is that of Christ; the resemblance is so + striking that it has been noticed by all the Fathers, and there can be no + doubt about it. What prejudices and blindness must there be before we dare + to compare the son of Sophronisca with the son of Mary. How far apart they + are! Socrates dies a painless death, he is not put to open shame, and he + plays his part easily to the last; and if this easy death had not done + honour to his life, we might have doubted whether Socrates, with all his + intellect, was more than a mere sophist. He invented morality, so they + say; others before him had practised it; he only said what they had done, + and made use of their example in his teaching. Aristides was just before + Socrates defined justice; Leonidas died for his country before Socrates + declared that patriotism was a virtue; Sparta was sober before Socrates + extolled sobriety; there were plenty of virtuous men in Greece before he + defined virtue. But among the men of his own time where did Jesus find + that pure and lofty morality of which he is both the teacher and pattern? + [Footnote: Cf. in the Sermon on the Mount the parallel he himself draws + between the teaching of Moses and his own.—Matt. v.] The voice of + loftiest wisdom arose among the fiercest fanaticism, the simplicity of the + most heroic virtues did honour to the most degraded of nations. One could + wish no easier death than that of Socrates, calmly discussing philosophy + with his friends; one could fear nothing worse than that of Jesus, dying + in torment, among the insults, the mockery, the curses of the whole + nation. In the midst of these terrible sufferings, Jesus prays for his + cruel murderers. Yes, if the life and death of Socrates are those of a + philosopher, the life and death of Christ are those of a God. Shall we say + that the gospel story is the work of the imagination? My friend, such + things are not imagined; and the doings of Socrates, which no one doubts, + are less well attested than those of Jesus Christ. At best, you only put + the difficulty from you; it would be still more incredible that several + persons should have agreed together to invent such a book, than that there + was one man who supplied its subject matter. The tone and morality of this + story are not those of any Jewish authors, and the gospel indeed contains + characters so great, so striking, so entirely inimitable, that their + invention would be more astonishing than their hero. With all this the + same gospel is full of incredible things, things repugnant to reason, + things which no natural man can understand or accept. What can you do + among so many contradictions? You can be modest and wary, my child; + respect in silence what you can neither reject nor understand, and humble + yourself in the sight of the Divine Being who alone knows the truth. + </p> + <p> + “This is the unwilling scepticism in which I rest; but this + scepticism is in no way painful to me, for it does not extend to matters + of practice, and I am well assured as to the principles underlying all my + duties. I serve God in the simplicity of my heart; I only seek to know + what affects my conduct. As to those dogmas which have no effect upon + action or morality, dogmas about which so many men torment themselves, I + give no heed to them. I regard all individual religions as so many + wholesome institutions which prescribe a uniform method by which each + country may do honour to God in public worship; institutions which may + each have its reason in the country, the government, the genius of the + people, or in other local causes which make one preferable to another in a + given time or place. I think them all good alike, when God is served in a + fitting manner. True worship is of the heart. God rejects no homage, + however offered, provided it is sincere. Called to the service of the + Church in my own religion, I fulfil as scrupulously as I can all the + duties prescribed to me, and my conscience would reproach me if I were + knowingly wanting with regard to any point. You are aware that after being + suspended for a long time, I have, through the influence of M. Mellarede, + obtained permission to resume my priestly duties, as a means of + livelihood. I used to say Mass with the levity that comes from long + experience even of the most serious matters when they are too familiar to + us; with my new principles I now celebrate it with more reverence; I dwell + upon the majesty of the Supreme Being, his presence, the insufficiency of + the human mind, which so little realises what concerns its Creator. When I + consider how I present before him the prayers of all the people in a form + laid down for me, I carry out the whole ritual exactly; I give heed to + what I say, I am careful not to omit the least word, the least ceremony; + when the moment of the consecration approaches, I collect my powers, that + I may do all things as required by the Church and by the greatness of this + sacrament; I strive to annihilate my own reason before the Supreme Mind; I + say to myself, Who art thou to measure infinite power? I reverently + pronounce the sacramental words, and I give to their effect all the faith + I can bestow. Whatever may be this mystery which passes understanding, I + am not afraid that at the day of judgment I shall be punished for having + profaned it in my heart.” + </p> + <p> + Honoured with the sacred ministry, though in its lowest ranks, I will + never do or say anything which may make me unworthy to fulfil these + sublime duties. I will always preach virtue and exhort men to well-doing; + and so far as I can I will set them a good example. It will be my business + to make religion attractive; it will be my business to strengthen their + faith in those doctrines which are really useful, those which every man + must believe; but, please God, I shall never teach them to hate their + neighbour, to say to other men, You will be damned; to say, No salvation + outside the Church. [Footnote: The duty of following and loving the + religion of our country does not go so far as to require us to accept + doctrines contrary to good morals, such as intolerance. This horrible + doctrine sets men in arms against their fellow-men, and makes them all + enemies of mankind. The distinction between civil toleration and + theological toleration is vain and childish. These two kinds of toleration + are inseparable, and we cannot accept one without the other. Even the + angels could not live at peace with men whom they regarded as the enemies + of God.] If I were in a more conspicuous position, this reticence might + get me into trouble; but I am too obscure to have much to fear, and I + could hardly sink lower than I am. Come what may, I will never blaspheme + the justice of God, nor lie against the Holy Ghost. + </p> + <p> + “I have long desired to have a parish of my own; it is still my + ambition, but I no longer hope to attain it. My dear friend, I think there + is nothing so delightful as to be a parish priest. A good clergyman is a + minister of mercy, as a good magistrate is a minister of justice. A + clergyman is never called upon to do evil; if he cannot always do good + himself, it is never out of place for him to beg for others, and he often + gets what he asks if he knows how to gain respect. Oh! if I should ever + have some poor mountain parish where I might minister to kindly folk, I + should be happy indeed; for it seems to me that I should make my + parishioners happy. I should not bring them riches, but I should share + their poverty; I should remove from them the scorn and opprobrium which + are harder to bear than poverty. I should make them love peace and + equality, which often remove poverty, and always make it tolerable. When + they saw that I was in no way better off than themselves, and that yet I + was content with my lot, they would learn to put up with their fate and to + be content like me. In my sermons I would lay more stress on the spirit of + the gospel than on the spirit of the church; its teaching is simple, its + morality sublime; there is little in it about the practices of religion, + but much about works of charity. Before I teach them what they ought to + do, I would try to practise it myself, that they might see that at least I + think what I say. If there were Protestants in the neighbourhood or in my + parish, I would make no difference between them and my own congregation so + far as concerns Christian charity; I would get them to love one another, + to consider themselves brethren, to respect all religions, and each to + live peaceably in his own religion. To ask any one to abandon the religion + in which he was born is, I consider, to ask him to do wrong, and therefore + to do wrong oneself. While we await further knowledge, let us respect + public order; in every country let us respect the laws, let us not disturb + the form of worship prescribed by law; let us not lead its citizens into + disobedience; for we have no certain knowledge that it is good for them to + abandon their own opinions for others, and on the other hand we are quite + certain that it is a bad thing to disobey the law. + </p> + <p> + “My young friend, I have now repeated to you my creed as God reads + it in my heart; you are the first to whom I have told it; perhaps you will + be the last. As long as there is any true faith left among men, we must + not trouble quiet souls, nor scare the faith of the ignorant with problems + they cannot solve, with difficulties which cause them uneasiness, but do + not give them any guidance. But when once everything is shaken, the trunk + must be preserved at the cost of the branches. Consciences, restless, + uncertain, and almost quenched like yours, require to be strengthened and + aroused; to set the feet again upon the foundation of eternal truth, we + must remove the trembling supports on which they think they rest. + </p> + <p> + “You are at that critical age when the mind is open to conviction, + when the heart receives its form and character, when we decide our own + fate for life, either for good or evil. At a later date, the material has + hardened and fresh impressions leave no trace. Young man, take the stamp + of truth upon your heart which is not yet hardened, if I were more certain + of myself, I should have adopted a more decided and dogmatic tone; but I + am a man ignorant and liable to error; what could I do? I have opened my + heart fully to you; and I have told what I myself hold for certain and + sure; I have told you my doubts as doubts, my opinions as opinions; I have + given you my reasons both for faith and doubt. It is now your turn to + judge; you have asked for time; that is a wise precaution and it makes me + think well of you. Begin by bringing your conscience into that state in + which it desires to see clearly; be honest with yourself. Take to yourself + such of my opinions as convince you, reject the rest. You are not yet so + depraved by vice as to run the risk of choosing amiss. I would offer to + argue with you, but as soon as men dispute they lose their temper; pride + and obstinacy come in, and there is an end of honesty. My friend, never + argue; for by arguing we gain no light for ourselves or for others. So far + as I myself am concerned, I have only made up my mind after many years of + meditation; here I rest, my conscience is at peace, my heart is satisfied. + If I wanted to begin afresh the examination of my feelings, I should not + bring to the task a purer love of truth; and my mind, which is already + less active, would be less able to perceive the truth. Here I shall rest, + lest the love of contemplation, developing step by step into an idle + passion, should make me lukewarm in the performance of my duties, lest I + should fall into my former scepticism without strength to struggle out of + it. More than half my life is spent; I have barely time to make good use + of what is left, to blot out my faults by my virtues. If I am mistaken, it + is against my will. He who reads my inmost heart knows that I have no love + for my blindness. As my own knowledge is powerless to free me from this + blindness, my only way out of it is by a good life; and if God from the + very stones can raise up children to Abraham, every man has a right to + hope that he may be taught the truth, if he makes himself worthy of it. + </p> + <p> + “If my reflections lead you to think as I do, if you share my + feelings, if we have the same creed, I give you this advice: Do not + continue to expose your life to the temptations of poverty and despair, + nor waste it in degradation and at the mercy of strangers; no longer eat + the shameful bread of charity. Return to your own country, go back to the + religion of your fathers, and follow it in sincerity of heart, and never + forsake it; it is very simple and very holy; I think there is no other + religion upon earth whose morality is purer, no other more satisfying to + the reason. Do not trouble about the cost of the journey, that will be + provided for you. Neither do you fear the false shame of a humiliating + return; we should blush to commit a fault, not to repair it. You are still + at an age when all is forgiven, but when we cannot go on sinning with + impunity. If you desire to listen to your conscience, a thousand empty + objections will disappear at her voice. You will feel that, in our present + state of uncertainty, it is an inexcusable presumption to profess any + faith but that we were born into, while it is treachery not to practise + honestly the faith we profess. If we go astray, we deprive ourselves of a + great excuse before the tribunal of the sovereign judge. Will he not + pardon the errors in which we were brought up, rather than those of our + own choosing? + </p> + <p> + “My son, keep your soul in such a state that you always desire that + there should be a God and you will never doubt it. Moreover, whatever + decision you come to, remember that the real duties of religion are + independent of human institutions; that a righteous heart is the true + temple of the Godhead; that in every land, in every sect, to love God + above all things and to love our neighbour as ourself is the whole law; + remember there is no religion which absolves us from our moral duties; + that these alone are really essential, that the service of the heart is + the first of these duties, and that without faith there is no such thing + as true virtue. + </p> + <p> + “Shun those who, under the pretence of explaining nature, sow + destructive doctrines in the heart of men, those whose apparent scepticism + is a hundredfold more self-assertive and dogmatic than the firm tone of + their opponents. Under the arrogant claim, that they alone are + enlightened, true, honest, they subject us imperiously to their + far-reaching decisions, and profess to give us, as the true principles of + all things, the unintelligible systems framed by their imagination. + Moreover, they overthrow, destroy, and trample under foot all that men + reverence; they rob the afflicted of their last consolation in their + misery; they deprive the rich and powerful of the sole bridle of their + passions; they tear from the very depths of man’s heart all remorse + for crime, and all hope of virtue; and they boast, moreover, that they are + the benefactors of the human race. Truth, they say, can never do a man + harm. I think so too, and to my mind that is strong evidence that what + they teach is not true. [Footnote: The rival parties attack each other + with so many sophistries that it would be a rash and overwhelming + enterprise to attempt to deal with all of them; it is difficult enough to + note some of them as they occur. One of the commonest errors among the + partisans of philosophy is to contrast a nation of good philosophers with + a nation of bad Christians; as if it were easier to make a nation of good + philosophers than a nation of good Christians. I know not whether in + individual cases it is easier to discover one rather than the other; but I + am quite certain that, as far as nations are concerned, we must assume + that there will be those who misuse their philosophy without religion, + just as our people misuse their religion without philosophy, and that + seems to put quite a different face upon the matter.]—Bayle has + proved very satisfactorily that fanaticism is more harmful than atheism, + and that cannot be denied; but what he has not taken the trouble to say, + though it is none the less true, is this: Fanaticism, though cruel and + bloodthirsty, is still a great and powerful passion, which stirs the heart + of man, teaching him to despise death, and giving him an enormous motive + power, which only needs to be guided rightly to produce the noblest + virtues; while irreligion, and the argumentative philosophic spirit + generally, on the other hand, assaults the life and enfeebles it, degrades + the soul, concentrates all the passions in the basest self-interest, in + the meanness of the human self; thus it saps unnoticed the very + foundations of all society, for what is common to all these private + interests is so small that it will never outweigh their opposing + interests.—If atheism does not lead to bloodshed, it is less from + love of peace than from indifference to what is good; as if it mattered + little what happened to others, provided the sage remained undisturbed in + his study. His principles do not kill men, but they prevent their birth, + by destroying the morals by which they were multiplied, by detaching them + from their fellows, by reducing all their affections to a secret + selfishness, as fatal to population as to virtue. The indifference of the + philosopher is like the peace in a despotic state; it is the repose of + death; war itself is not more destructive.—Thus fanaticism though + its immediate results are more fatal than those of what is now called the + philosophic mind, is much less fatal in its after effects. Moreover, it is + an easy matter to exhibit fine maxims in books; but the real question is—Are + they really in accordance with your teaching, are they the necessary + consequences of it? and this has not been clearly proved so far. It + remains to be seen whether philosophy, safely enthroned, could control + successfully man’s petty vanity, his self-interest, his ambition, + all the lesser passions of mankind, and whether it would practise that + sweet humanity which it boasts of, pen in hand.—In theory, there is + no good which philosophy can bring about which is not equally secured by + religion, while religion secures much that philosophy cannot secure.—In + practice, it is another matter; but still we must put it to the proof. No + man follows his religion in all things, even if his religion is true; most + people have hardly any religion, and they do not in the least follow what + they have; that is still more true; but still there are some people who + have a religion and follow it, at least to some extent; and beyond doubt + religious motives do prevent them from wrong-doing, and win from them + virtues, praiseworthy actions, which would not have existed but for these + motives.—A monk denies that money was entrusted to him; what of + that? It only proves that the man who entrusted the money to him was a + fool. If Pascal had done the same, that would have proved that Pascal was + a hypocrite. But a monk! Are those who make a trade of religion religious + people? All the crimes committed by the clergy, as by other men, do not + prove that religion is useless, but that very few people are religious.—Most + certainly our modern governments owe to Christianity their more stable + authority, their less frequent revolutions; it has made those governments + less bloodthirsty; this can be shown by comparing them with the + governments of former times. Apart from fanaticism, the best known + religion has given greater gentleness to Christian conduct. This change is + not the result of learning; for wherever learning has been most + illustrious humanity has been no more respected on that account; the + cruelties of the Athenians, the Egyptians, the Roman emperors, the Chinese + bear witness to this. What works of mercy spring from the gospel! How many + acts of restitution, reparation, confession does the gospel lead to among + Catholics! Among ourselves, as the times of communion draw near, do they + not lead us to reconciliation and to alms-giving? Did not the Hebrew + Jubilee make the grasping less greedy, did it not prevent much poverty? + The brotherhood of the Law made the nation one; no beggar was found among + them. Neither are there beggars among the Turks, where there are countless + pious institutions; from motives of religion they even show hospitality to + the foes of their religion.—“The Mahometans say, according to + Chardin, that after the interrogation which will follow the general + resurrection, all bodies will traverse a bridge called Poul-Serrho, which + is thrown across the eternal fires, a bridge which may be called the third + and last test of the great Judgment, because it is there that the good and + bad will be separated, etc.—“The Persians, continues Chardin, + make a great point of this bridge; and when any one suffers a wrong which + he can never hope to wipe out by any means or at any time, he finds his + last consolation in these words: ‘By the living God, you will pay me + double at the last day; you will never get across the Poul-Serrho if you + do not first do me justice; I will hold the hem of your garment, I will + cling about your knees.’ I have seen many eminent men, of every + profession, who for fear lest this hue and cry should be raised against + them as they cross that fearful bridge, beg pardon of those who complained + against them; it has happened to me myself on many occasions. Men of rank, + who had compelled me by their importunity to do what I did not wish to do, + have come to me when they thought my anger had had time to cool, and have + said to me; I pray you “Halal becon antchisra,” that is, + “Make this matter lawful and right.” Some of them have even + sent gifts and done me service, so that I might forgive them and say I did + it willingly; the cause of this is nothing else but this belief that they + will not be able to get across the bridge of hell until they have paid the + uttermost farthing to the oppressed.”—Must I think that the + idea of this bridge where so many iniquities are made good is of no avail? + If the Persians were deprived of this idea, if they were persuaded that + there was no Poul-Serrho, nor anything of the kind, where the oppressed + were avenged of their tyrants after death, is it not clear that they would + be very much at their ease, and they would be freed from the care of + appeasing the wretched? But it is false to say that this doctrine is + hurtful; yet it would not be true.—O Philosopher, your moral laws + are all very fine; but kindly show me their sanction. Cease to shirk the + question, and tell me plainly what you would put in the place of + Poul-Serrho. + </p> + <p> + “My good youth, be honest and humble; learn how to be ignorant, then + you will never deceive yourself or others. If ever your talents are so far + cultivated as to enable you to speak to other men, always speak according + to your conscience, without caring for their applause. The abuse of + knowledge causes incredulity. The learned always despise the opinions of + the crowd; each of them must have his own opinion. A haughty philosophy + leads to atheism just as blind devotion leads to fanaticism. Avoid these + extremes; keep steadfastly to the path of truth, or what seems to you + truth, in simplicity of heart, and never let yourself be turned aside by + pride or weakness. Dare to confess God before the philosophers; dare to + preach humanity to the intolerant. It may be you will stand alone, but you + will bear within you a witness which will make the witness of men of no + account with you. Let them love or hate, let them read your writings or + despise them; no matter. Speak the truth and do the right; the one thing + that really matters is to do one’s duty in this world; and when we + forget ourselves we are really working for ourselves. My child, + self-interest misleads us; the hope of the just is the only sure guide.” + </p> + <p> + I have transcribed this document not as a rule for the sentiments we + should adopt in matters of religion, but as an example of the way in which + we may reason with our pupil without forsaking the method I have tried to + establish. So long as we yield nothing to human authority, nor to the + prejudices of our native land, the light of reason alone, in a state of + nature, can lead us no further than to natural religion; and this is as + far as I should go with Emile. If he must have any other religion, I have + no right to be his guide; he must choose for himself. + </p> + <p> + We are working in agreement with nature, and while she is shaping the + physical man, we are striving to shape his moral being, but we do not make + the same progress. The body is already strong and vigorous, the soul is + still frail and delicate, and whatever can be done by human art, the body + is always ahead of the mind. Hitherto all our care has been devoted to + restrain the one and stimulate the other, so that the man might be as far + as possible at one with himself. By developing his individuality, we have + kept his growing susceptibilities in check; we have controlled it by + cultivating his reason. Objects of thought moderate the influence of + objects of sense. By going back to the causes of things, we have withdrawn + him from the sway of the senses; it is an easy thing to raise him from the + study of nature to the search for the author of nature. + </p> + <p> + When we have reached this point, what a fresh hold we have got over our + pupil; what fresh ways of speaking to his heart! Then alone does he find a + real motive for being good, for doing right when he is far from every + human eye, and when he is not driven to it by law. To be just in his own + eyes and in the sight of God, to do his duty, even at the cost of life + itself, and to bear in his heart virtue, not only for the love of order + which we all subordinate to the love of self, but for the love of the + Author of his being, a love which mingles with that self-love, so that he + may at length enjoy the lasting happiness which the peace of a good + conscience and the contemplation of that supreme being promise him in + another life, after he has used this life aright. Go beyond this, and I + see nothing but injustice, hypocrisy, and falsehood among men; private + interest, which in competition necessarily prevails over everything else, + teaches all things to adorn vice with the outward show of virtue. Let all + men do what is good for me at the cost of what is good for themselves; let + everything depend on me alone; let the whole human race perish, if needs + be, in suffering and want, to spare me a moment’s pain or hunger. + Yes, I shall always maintain that whoso says in his heart, “There is + no God,” while he takes the name of God upon his lips, is either a + liar or a madman. + </p> + <p> + Reader, it is all in vain; I perceive that you and I shall never see Emile + with the same eyes; you will always fancy him like your own young people, + hasty, impetuous, flighty, wandering from fete to fete, from amusement to + amusement, never able to settle to anything. You smile when I expect to + make a thinker, a philosopher, a young theologian, of an ardent, lively, + eager, and fiery young man, at the most impulsive period of youth. This + dreamer, you say, is always in pursuit of his fancy; when he gives us a + pupil of his own making, he does not merely form him, he creates him, he + makes him up out of his own head; and while he thinks he is treading in + the steps of nature, he is getting further and further from her. As for + me, when I compare my pupil with yours, I can scarcely find anything in + common between them. So differently brought up, it is almost a miracle if + they are alike in any respect. As his childhood was passed in the freedom + they assume in youth, in his youth he begins to bear the yoke they bore as + children; this yoke becomes hateful to them, they are sick of it, and they + see in it nothing but their masters’ tyranny; when they escape from + childhood, they think they must shake off all control, they make up for + the prolonged restraint imposed upon them, as a prisoner, freed from his + fetters, moves and stretches and shakes his limbs. [Footnote: There is no + one who looks down upon childhood with such lofty scorn as those who are + barely grown-up; just as there is no country where rank is more strictly + regarded than that where there is little real inequality; everybody is + afraid of being confounded with his inferiors.] Emile, however, is proud + to be a man, and to submit to the yoke of his growing reason; his body, + already well grown, no longer needs so much action, and begins to control + itself, while his half-fledged mind tries its wings on every occasion. + Thus the age of reason becomes for the one the age of licence; for the + other, the age of reasoning. + </p> + <p> + Would you know which of the two is nearer to the order of nature! Consider + the differences between those who are more or less removed from a state of + nature. Observe young villagers and see if they are as undisciplined as + your scholars. The Sieur de Beau says that savages in childhood are always + active, and ever busy with sports that keep the body in motion; but + scarcely do they reach adolescence than they become quiet and dreamy; they + no longer devote themselves to games of skill or chance. Emile, who has + been brought up in full freedom like young peasants and savages, should + behave like them and change as he grows up. The whole difference is in + this, that instead of merely being active in sport or for food, he has, in + the course of his sports, learned to think. Having reached this stage, and + by this road, he is quite ready to enter upon the next stage to which I + introduce him; the subjects I suggest for his consideration rouse his + curiosity, because they are fine in themselves, because they are quite new + to him, and because he is able to understand them. Your young people, on + the other hand, are weary and overdone with your stupid lessons, your long + sermons, and your tedious catechisms; why should they not refuse to devote + their minds to what has made them sad, to the burdensome precepts which + have been continually piled upon them, to the thought of the Author of + their being, who has been represented as the enemy of their pleasures? All + this has only inspired in them aversion, disgust, and weariness; + constraint has set them against it; why then should they devote themselves + to it when they are beginning to choose for themselves? They require + novelty, you must not repeat what they learned as children. Just so with + my own pupil, when he is a man I speak to him as a man, and only tell him + what is new to him; it is just because they are tedious to your pupils + that he will find them to his taste. + </p> + <p> + This is how I doubly gain time for him by retarding nature to the + advantage of reason. But have I indeed retarded the progress of nature? + No, I have only prevented the imagination from hastening it; I have + employed another sort of teaching to counterbalance the precocious + instruction which the young man receives from other sources. When he is + carried away by the flood of existing customs and I draw him in the + opposite direction by means of other customs, this is not to remove him + from his place, but to keep him in it. + </p> + <p> + Nature’s due time comes at length, as come it must. Since man must + die, he must reproduce himself, so that the species may endure and the + order of the world continue. When by the signs I have spoken of you + perceive that the critical moment is at hand, at once abandon for ever + your former tone. He is still your disciple, but not your scholar. He is a + man and your friend; henceforth you must treat him as such. + </p> + <p> + What! Must I abdicate my authority when most I need it? Must I abandon the + adult to himself just when he least knows how to control himself, when he + may fall into the gravest errors! Must I renounce my rights when it + matters most that I should use them on his behalf? Who bids you renounce + them; he is only just becoming conscious of them. Hitherto all you have + gained has been won by force or guile; authority, the law of duty, were + unknown to him, you had to constrain or deceive him to gain his obedience. + But see what fresh chains you have bound about his heart. Reason, + friendship, affection, gratitude, a thousand bonds of affection, speak to + him in a voice he cannot fail to hear. His ears are not yet dulled by + vice, he is still sensitive only to the passions of nature. Self-love, the + first of these, delivers him into your hands; habit confirms this. If a + passing transport tears him from you, regret restores him to you without + delay; the sentiment which attaches him to you is the only lasting + sentiment, all the rest are fleeting and self-effacing. Do not let him + become corrupt, and he will always be docile; he will not begin to rebel + till he is already perverted. + </p> + <p> + I grant you, indeed, that if you directly oppose his growing desires and + foolishly treat as crimes the fresh needs which are beginning to make + themselves felt in him, he will not listen to you for long; but as soon as + you abandon my method I cannot be answerable for the consequences. + Remember that you are nature’s minister; you will never be her foe. + </p> + <p> + But what shall we decide to do? You see no alternative but either to + favour his inclinations or to resist them; to tyrannise or to wink at his + misconduct; and both of these may lead to such dangerous results that one + must indeed hesitate between them. + </p> + <p> + The first way out of the difficulty is a very early marriage; this is + undoubtedly the safest and most natural plan. I doubt, however, whether it + is the best or the most useful. I will give my reasons later; meanwhile I + admit that young men should marry when they reach a marriageable age. But + this age comes too soon; we have made them precocious; marriage should be + postponed to maturity. + </p> + <p> + If it were merely a case of listening to their wishes and following their + lead it would be an easy matter; but there are so many contradictions + between the rights of nature and the laws of society that to conciliate + them we must continually contradict ourselves. Much art is required to + prevent man in society from being altogether artificial. + </p> + <p> + For the reasons just stated, I consider that by the means I have indicated + and others like them the young man’s desires may be kept in + ignorance and his senses pure up to the age of twenty. This is so true + that among the Germans a young man who lost his virginity before that age + was considered dishonoured; and the writers justly attribute the vigour of + constitution and the number of children among the Germans to the + continence of these nations during youth. + </p> + <p> + This period may be prolonged still further, and a few centuries ago + nothing was more common even in France. Among other well-known examples, + Montaigne’s father, a man no less scrupulously truthful than strong + and healthy, swore that his was a virgin marriage at three and thirty, and + he had served for a long time in the Italian wars. We may see in the + writings of his son what strength and spirit were shown by the father when + he was over sixty. Certainly the contrary opinion depends rather on our + own morals and our own prejudices than on the experience of the race as a + whole. + </p> + <p> + I may, therefore, leave on one side the experience of our young people; it + proves nothing for those who have been educated in another fashion. + Considering that nature has fixed no exact limits which cannot be advanced + or postponed, I think I may, without going beyond the law of nature, + assume that under my care Emil has so far remained in his first innocence, + but I see that this happy period is drawing to a close. Surrounded by + ever-increasing perils, he will escape me at the first opportunity in + spite of all my efforts, and this opportunity will not long be delayed; he + will follow the blind instinct of his senses; the chances are a thousand + to one on his ruin. I have considered the morals of mankind too profoundly + not to be aware of the irrevocable influence of this first moment on all + the rest of his life. If I dissimulate and pretend to see nothing, he will + take advantage of my weakness; if he thinks he can deceive me, he will + despise me, and I become an accomplice in his destruction. If I try to + recall him, the time is past, he no longer heeds me, he finds me tiresome, + hateful, intolerable; it will not be long before he is rid of me. There is + therefore only one reasonable course open to me; I must make him + accountable for his own actions, I must at least preserve him from being + taken unawares, and I must show him plainly the dangers which beset his + path. I have restrained him so far through his ignorance; henceforward his + restraint must be his own knowledge. + </p> + <p> + This new teaching is of great importance, and we will take up our story + where we left it. This is the time to present my accounts, to show him how + his time and mine have been spent, to make known to him what he is and + what I am; what I have done, and what he has done; what we owe to each + other; all his moral relations, all the undertakings to which he is + pledged, all those to which others have pledged themselves in respect to + him; the stage he has reached in the development of his faculties, the + road that remains to be travelled, the difficulties he will meet, and the + way to overcome them; how I can still help him and how he must + henceforward help himself; in a word, the critical time which he has + reached, the new dangers round about him, and all the valid reasons which + should induce him to keep a close watch upon himself before giving heed to + his growing desires. + </p> + <p> + Remember that to guide a grown man you must reverse all that you did to + guide the child. Do not hesitate to speak to him of those dangerous + mysteries which you have so carefully concealed from him hitherto. Since + he must become aware of them, let him not learn them from another, nor + from himself, but from you alone; since he must henceforth fight against + them, let him know his enemy, that he may not be taken unawares. + </p> + <p> + Young people who are found to be aware of these matters, without our + knowing how they obtained their knowledge, have not obtained it with + impunity. This unwise teaching, which can have no honourable object, + stains the imagination of those who receive it if it does nothing worse, + and it inclines them to the vices of their instructors. This is not all; + servants, by this means, ingratiate themselves with a child, gain his + confidence, make him regard his tutor as a gloomy and tiresome person; and + one of the favourite subjects of their secret colloquies is to slander + him. When the pupil has got so far, the master may abandon his task; he + can do no good. + </p> + <p> + But why does the child choose special confidants? Because of the tyranny + of those who control him. Why should he hide himself from them if he were + not driven to it? Why should he complain if he had nothing to complain of? + Naturally those who control him are his first confidants; you can see from + his eagerness to tell them what he thinks that he feels he has only half + thought till he has told his thoughts to them. You may be sure that when + the child knows you will neither preach nor scold, he will always tell you + everything, and that no one will dare to tell him anything he must conceal + from you, for they will know very well that he will tell you everything. + </p> + <p> + What makes me most confident in my method is this: when I follow it out as + closely as possible, I find no situation in the life of my scholar which + does not leave me some pleasing memory of him. Even when he is carried + away by his ardent temperament or when he revolts against the hand that + guides him, when he struggles and is on the point of escaping from me, I + still find his first simplicity in his agitation and his anger; his heart + as pure as his body, he has no more knowledge of pretence than of vice; + reproach and scorn have not made a coward of him; base fears have never + taught him the art of concealment. He has all the indiscretion of + innocence; he is absolutely out-spoken; he does not even know the use of + deceit. Every impulse of his heart is betrayed either by word or look, and + I often know what he is feeling before he is aware of it himself. + </p> + <p> + So long as his heart is thus freely opened to me, so long as he delights + to tell me what he feels, I have nothing to fear; the danger is not yet at + hand; but if he becomes more timid, more reserved, if I perceive in his + conversation the first signs of confusion and shame, his instincts are + beginning to develop, he is beginning to connect the idea of evil with + these instincts, there is not a moment to lose, and if I do not hasten to + instruct him, he will learn in spite of me. + </p> + <p> + Some of my readers, even of those who agree with me, will think that it is + only a question of a conversation with the young man at any time. Oh, this + is not the way to control the human heart. What we say has no meaning + unless the opportunity has been carefully chosen. Before we sow we must + till the ground; the seed of virtue is hard to grow; and a long period of + preparation is required before it will take root. One reason why sermons + have so little effect is that they are offered to everybody alike, without + discrimination or choice. How can any one imagine that the same sermon + could be suitable for so many hearers, with their different dispositions, + so unlike in mind, temper, age, sex, station, and opinion. Perhaps there + are not two among those to whom what is addressed to all is really + suitable; and all our affections are so transitory that perhaps there are + not even two occasions in the life of any man when the same speech would + have the same effect on him. Judge for yourself whether the time when the + eager senses disturb the understanding and tyrannise over the will, is the + time to listen to the solemn lessons of wisdom. Therefore never reason + with young men, even when they have reached the age of reason, unless you + have first prepared the way. Most lectures miss their mark more through + the master’s fault than the disciple’s. The pedant and the + teacher say much the same; but the former says it at random, and the + latter only when he is sure of its effect. + </p> + <p> + As a somnambulist, wandering in his sleep, walks along the edge of a + precipice, over which he would fall if he were awake, so my Emile, in the + sleep of ignorance, escapes the perils which he does not see; were I to + wake him with a start, he might fall. Let us first try to withdraw him + from the edge of the precipice, and then we will awake him to show him it + from a distance. + </p> + <p> + Reading, solitude, idleness, a soft and sedentary life, intercourse with + women and young people, these are perilous paths for a young man, and + these lead him constantly into danger. I divert his senses by other + objects of sense; I trace another course for his spirits by which I + distract them from the course they would have taken; it is by bodily + exercise and hard work that I check the activity of the imagination, which + was leading him astray. When the arms are hard at work, the imagination is + quiet; when the body is very weary, the passions are not easily inflamed. + The quickest and easiest precaution is to remove him from immediate + danger. At once I take him away from towns, away from things which might + lead him into temptation. But that is not enough; in what desert, in what + wilds, shall he escape from the thoughts which pursue him? It is not + enough to remove dangerous objects; if I fail to remove the memory of + them, if I fail to find a way to detach him from everything, if I fail to + distract him from himself, I might as well have left him where he was. + </p> + <p> + Emile has learned a trade, but we do not have recourse to it; he is fond + of farming and understands it, but farming is not enough; the occupations + he is acquainted with degenerate into routine; when he is engaged in them + he is not really occupied; he is thinking of other things; head and hand + are at work on different subjects. He must have some fresh occupation + which has the interest of novelty—an occupation which keeps him + busy, diligent, and hard at work, an occupation which he may become + passionately fond of, one to which he will devote himself entirely. Now + the only one which seems to possess all these characteristics is the + chase. If hunting is ever an innocent pleasure, if it is ever worthy of a + man, now is the time to betake ourselves to it. Emile is well-fitted to + succeed in it. He is strong, skilful, patient, unwearied. He is sure to + take a fancy to this sport; he will bring to it all the ardour of youth; + in it he will lose, at least for a time, the dangerous inclinations which + spring from softness. The chase hardens the heart a well as the body; we + get used to the sight of blood and cruelty. Diana is represented as the + enemy of love; and the allegory is true to life; the languors of love are + born of soft repose, and tender feelings are stifled by violent exercise. + In the woods and fields, the lover and the sportsman are so diversely + affected that they receive very different impressions. The fresh shade, + the arbours, the pleasant resting-places of the one, to the other are but + feeding grounds, or places where the quarry will hide or turn to bay. + Where the lover hears the flute and the nightingale, the hunter hears the + horn and the hounds; one pictures to himself the nymphs and dryads, the + other sees the horses, the huntsman, and the pack. Take a country walk + with one or other of these men; their different conversation will soon + show you that they behold the earth with other eyes, and that the + direction of their thoughts is as different as their favourite pursuit. + </p> + <p> + I understand how these tastes may be combined, and that at last men find + time for both. But the passions of youth cannot be divided in this way. + Give the youth a single occupation which he loves, and the rest will soon + be forgotten. Varied desires come with varied knowledge, and the first + pleasures we know are the only ones we desire for long enough. I would not + have the whole of Emile’s youth spent in killing creatures, and I do + not even profess to justify this cruel passion; it is enough for me that + it serves to delay a more dangerous passion, so that he may listen to me + calmly when I speak of it, and give me time to describe it without + stimulating it. + </p> + <p> + There are moments in human life which can never be forgotten. Such is the + time when Emile receives the instruction of which I have spoken; its + influence should endure all his life through. Let us try to engrave it on + his memory so that it may never fade away. It is one of the faults of our + age to rely too much on cold reason, as if men were all mind. By + neglecting the language of expression we have lost the most forcible mode + of speech. The spoken word is always weak, and we speak to the heart + rather through the eyes than the ears. In our attempt to appeal to reason + only, we have reduced our precepts to words, we have not embodied them in + deed. Mere reason is not active; occasionally she restrains, more rarely + she stimulates, but she never does any great thing. Small minds have a + mania for reasoning. Strong souls speak a very different language, and it + is by this language that men are persuaded and driven to action. + </p> + <p> + I observe that in modern times men only get a hold over others by force or + self-interest, while the ancients did more by persuasion, by the + affections of the heart; because they did not neglect the language; of + symbolic expression. All agreements were drawn up solemnly, so that they + might be more inviolable; before the reign of force, the gods were the + judges of mankind; in their presence, individuals made their treaties and + alliances, and pledged themselves to perform their promises; the face of + the earth was the book in which the archives were preserved. The leaves of + this book were rocks, trees, piles of stones, made sacred by these + transactions, and regarded with reverence by barbarous men; and these + pages were always open before their eyes. The well of the oath, the well + of the living and seeing one; the ancient oak of Mamre, the stones of + witness, such were the simple but stately monuments of the sanctity of + contracts; none dared to lay a sacrilegious hand on these monuments, and + man’s faith was more secure under the warrant of these dumb + witnesses than it is to-day upon all the rigour of the law. + </p> + <p> + In government the people were over-awed by the pomp and splendour of royal + power. The symbols of greatness, a throne, a sceptre, a purple robe, a + crown, a fillet, these were sacred in their sight. These symbols, and the + respect which they inspired, led them to reverence the venerable man whom + they beheld adorned with them; without soldiers and without threats, he + spoke and was obeyed. [Footnote: The Roman Catholic clergy have very + wisely retained these symbols, and certain republics, such as Venice, have + followed their example. Thus the Venetian government, despite the fallen + condition of the state, still enjoys, under the trappings of its former + greatness, all the affection, all the reverence of the people; and next to + the pope in his triple crown, there is perhaps no king, no potentate, no + person in the world so much respected as the Doge of Venice; he has no + power, no authority, but he is rendered sacred by his pomp, and he wears + beneath his ducal coronet a woman’s flowing locks. That ceremony of + the Bucentaurius, which stirs the laughter of fools, stirs the Venetian + populace to shed its life-blood for the maintenance of this tyrannical + government.] In our own day men profess to do away with these symbols. + What are the consequences of this contempt? The kingly majesty makes no + impression on all hearts, kings can only gain obedience by the help of + troops, and the respect of their subjects is based only on the fear of + punishment. Kings are spared the trouble of wearing their crowns, and our + nobles escape from the outward signs of their station, but they must have + a hundred thousand men at their command if their orders are to be obeyed. + Though this may seem a finer thing, it is easy to see that in the long run + they will gain nothing. + </p> + <p> + It is amazing what the ancients accomplished with the aid of eloquence; + but this eloquence did not merely consist in fine speeches carefully + prepared; and it was most effective when the orator said least. The most + startling speeches were expressed not in words but in signs; they were not + uttered but shown. A thing beheld by the eyes kindles the imagination, + stirs the curiosity, and keeps the mind on the alert for what we are about + to say, and often enough the thing tells the whole story. Thrasybulus and + Tarquin cutting off the heads of the poppies, Alexander placing his seal + on the lips of his favourite, Diogenes marching before Zeno, do not these + speak more plainly than if they had uttered long orations? What flow of + words could have expressed the ideas as clearly? Darius, in the course of + the Scythian war, received from the king of the Scythians a bird, a frog, + a mouse, and five arrows. The ambassador deposited this gift and retired + without a word. In our days he would have been taken for a madman. This + terrible speech was understood, and Darius withdrew to his own country + with what speed he could. Substitute a letter for these symbols and the + more threatening it was the less terror it would inspire; it would have + been merely a piece of bluff, to which Darius would have paid no + attention. + </p> + <p> + What heed the Romans gave to the language of signs! Different ages and + different ranks had their appropriate garments, toga, tunic, patrician + robes, fringes and borders, seats of honour, lictors, rods and axes, + crowns of gold, crowns of leaves, crowns of flowers, ovations, triumphs, + everything had its pomp, its observances, its ceremonial, and all these + spoke to the heart of the citizens. The state regarded it as a matter of + importance that the populace should assemble in one place rather than + another, that they should or should not behold the Capitol, that they + should or should not turn towards the Senate, that this day or that should + be chosen for their deliberations. The accused wore a special dress, so + did the candidates for election; warriors did not boast of their exploits, + they showed their scars. I can fancy one of our orators at the death of + Caesar exhausting all the commonplaces of rhetoric to give a pathetic + description of his wounds, his blood, his dead body; Anthony was an + orator, but he said none of this; he showed the murdered Caesar. What + rhetoric was this! + </p> + <p> + But this digression, like many others, is drawing me unawares away from my + subject; and my digressions are too frequent to be borne with patience. I + therefore return to the point. + </p> + <p> + Do not reason coldly with youth. Clothe your reason with a body, if you + would make it felt. Let the mind speak the language of the heart, that it + may be understood. I say again our opinions, not our actions, may be + influenced by cold argument; they set us thinking, not doing; they show us + what we ought to think, not what we ought to do. If this is true of men, + it is all the truer of young people who are still enwrapped in their + senses and cannot think otherwise than they imagine. + </p> + <p> + Even after the preparations of which I have spoken, I shall take good care + not to go all of a sudden to Emile’s room and preach a long and + heavy sermon on the subject in which he is to be instructed. I shall begin + by rousing his imagination; I shall choose the time, place, and + surroundings most favourable to the impression I wish to make; I shall, so + to speak, summon all nature as witness to our conversations; I shall call + upon the eternal God, the Creator of nature, to bear witness to the truth + of what I say. He shall judge between Emile and myself; I will make the + rocks, the woods, the mountains round about us, the monuments of his + promises and mine; eyes, voice, and gesture shall show the enthusiasm I + desire to inspire. Then I will speak and he will listen, and his emotion + will be stirred by my own. The more impressed I am by the sanctity of my + duties, the more sacred he will regard his own. I will enforce the voice + of reason with images and figures, I will not give him long-winded + speeches or cold precepts, but my overflowing feelings will break their + bounds; my reason shall be grave and serious, but my heart cannot speak + too warmly. Then when I have shown him all that I have done for him, I + will show him how he is made for me; he will see in my tender affection + the cause of all my care. How greatly shall I surprise and disturb him + when I change my tone. Instead of shrivelling up his soul by always + talking of his own interests, I shall henceforth speak of my own; he will + be more deeply touched by this. I will kindle in his young heart all the + sentiments of affection, generosity, and gratitude which I have already + called into being, and it will indeed be sweet to watch their growth. I + will press him to my bosom, and weep over him in my emotion; I will say to + him: “You are my wealth, my child, my handiwork; my happiness is + bound up in yours; if you frustrate my hopes, you rob me of twenty years + of my life, and you bring my grey hairs with sorrow to the grave.” + This is the way to gain a hearing and to impress what is said upon the + heart and memory of the young man. + </p> + <p> + Hitherto I have tried to give examples of the way in which a tutor should + instruct his pupil in cases of difficulty. I have tried to do so in this + instance; but after many attempts I have abandoned the task, convinced + that the French language is too artificial to permit in print the + plainness of speech required for the first lessons in certain subjects. + </p> + <p> + They say French is more chaste than other languages; for my own part I + think it more obscene; for it seems to me that the purity of a language + does not consist in avoiding coarse expressions but in having none. + Indeed, if we are to avoid them, they must be in our thoughts, and there + is no language in which it is so difficult to speak with purity on every + subject than French. The reader is always quicker to detect than the + author to avoid a gross meaning, and he is shocked and startled by + everything. How can what is heard by impure ears avoid coarseness? On the + other hand, a nation whose morals are pure has fit terms for everything, + and these terms are always right because they are rightly used. One could + not imagine more modest language than that of the Bible, just because of + its plainness of speech. The same things translated into French would + become immodest. What I ought to say to Emile will sound pure and + honourable to him; but to make the same impression in print would demand a + like purity of heart in the reader. + </p> + <p> + I should even think that reflections on true purity of speech and the sham + delicacy of vice might find a useful place in the conversations as to + morality to which this subject brings us; for when he learns the language + of plain-spoken goodness, he must also learn the language of decency, and + he must know why the two are so different. However this may be, I maintain + that if instead of the empty precepts which are prematurely dinned into + the ears of children, only to be scoffed at when the time comes when they + might prove useful, if instead of this we bide our time, if we prepare the + way for a hearing, if we then show him the laws of nature in all their + truth, if we show him the sanction of these laws in the physical and moral + evils which overtake those who neglect them, if while we speak to him of + this great mystery of generation, we join to the idea of the pleasure + which the Author of nature has given to this act the idea of the exclusive + affection which makes it delightful, the idea of the duties of + faithfulness and modesty which surround it, and redouble its charm while + fulfilling its purpose; if we paint to him marriage, not only as the + sweetest form of society, but also as the most sacred and inviolable of + contracts, if we tell him plainly all the reasons which lead men to + respect this sacred bond, and to pour hatred and curses upon him who dares + to dishonour it; if we give him a true and terrible picture of the horrors + of debauch, of its stupid brutality, of the downward road by which a first + act of misconduct leads from bad to worse, and at last drags the sinner to + his ruin; if, I say, we give him proofs that on a desire for chastity + depends health, strength, courage, virtue, love itself, and all that is + truly good for man—I maintain that this chastity will be so dear and + so desirable in his eyes, that his mind will be ready to receive our + teaching as to the way to preserve it; for so long as we are chaste we + respect chastity; it is only when we have lost this virtue that we scorn + it. + </p> + <p> + It is not true that the inclination to evil is beyond our control, and + that we cannot overcome it until we have acquired the habit of yielding to + it. Aurelius Victor says that many men were mad enough to purchase a night + with Cleopatra at the price of their life, and this is not incredible in + the madness of passion. But let us suppose the maddest of men, the man who + has his senses least under control; let him see the preparations for his + death, let him realise that he will certainly die in torment a quarter of + an hour later; not only would that man, from that time forward, become + able to resist temptation, he would even find it easy to do so; the + terrible picture with which they are associated will soon distract his + attention from these temptations, and when they are continually put aside + they will cease to recur. The sole cause of our weakness is the feebleness + of our will, and we have always strength to perform what we strongly + desire. “Volenti nihil difficile!” Oh! if only we hated vice + as much as we love life, we should abstain as easily from a pleasant sin + as from a deadly poison in a delicious dish. + </p> + <p> + How is it that you fail to perceive that if all the lessons given to a + young man on this subject have no effect, it is because they are not + adapted to his age, and that at every age reason must be presented in a + shape which will win his affection? Speak seriously to him if required, + but let what you say to him always have a charm which will compel him to + listen. Do not coldly oppose his wishes; do not stifle his imagination, + but direct it lest it should bring forth monsters. Speak to him of love, + of women, of pleasure; let him find in your conversation a charm which + delights his youthful heart; spare no pains to make yourself his + confidant; under this name alone will you really be his master. Then you + need not fear he will find your conversation tedious; he will make you + talk more than you desire. + </p> + <p> + If I have managed to take all the requisite precautions in accordance with + these maxims, and have said the right things to Emile at the age he has + now reached, I am quite convinced that he will come of his own accord to + the point to which I would lead him, and will eagerly confide himself to + my care. When he sees the dangers by which he is surrounded, he will say + to me with all the warmth of youth, “Oh, my friend, my protector, my + master! resume the authority you desire to lay aside at the very time when + I most need it; hitherto my weakness has given you this power. I now place + it in your hands of my own free-will, and it will be all the more sacred + in my eyes. Protect me from all the foes which are attacking me, and above + all from the traitors within the citadel; watch over your work, that it + may still be worthy of you. I mean to obey your laws, I shall ever do so, + that is my steadfast purpose; if I ever disobey you, it will be against my + will; make me free by guarding me against the passions which do me + violence; do not let me become their slave; compel me to be my own master + and to obey, not my senses, but my reason.” + </p> + <p> + When you have led your pupil so far (and it will be your own fault if you + fail to do so), beware of taking him too readily at his word, lest your + rule should seem too strict to him, and lest he should think he has a + right to escape from it, by accusing you of taking him by surprise. This + is the time for reserve and seriousness; and this attitude will have all + the more effect upon him seeing that it is the first time you have adopted + it towards him. + </p> + <p> + You will say to him therefore: “Young man, you readily make promises + which are hard to keep; you must understand what they mean before you have + a right to make them; you do not know how your fellows are drawn by their + passions into the whirlpool of vice masquerading as pleasure. You are + honourable, I know; you will never break your word, but how often will you + repent of having given it? How often will you curse your friend, when, in + order to guard you from the ills which threaten you, he finds himself + compelled to do violence to your heart. Like Ulysses who, hearing the song + of the Sirens, cried aloud to his rowers to unbind him, you will break + your chains at the call of pleasure; you will importune me with your + lamentations, you will reproach me as a tyrant when I have your welfare + most at heart; when I am trying to make you happy, I shall incur your + hatred. Oh, Emile, I can never bear to be hateful in your eyes; this is + too heavy a price to pay even for your happiness. My dear young man, do + you not see that when you undertake to obey me, you compel me to promise + to be your guide, to forget myself in my devotion to you, to refuse to + listen to your murmurs and complaints, to wage unceasing war against your + wishes and my own. Before we either of us undertake such a task, let us + count our resources; take your time, give me time to consider, and be sure + that the slower we are to promise, the more faithfully will our promises + be kept.” + </p> + <p> + You may be sure that the more difficulty he finds in getting your promise, + the easier you will find it to carry it out. The young man must learn that + he is promising a great deal, and that you are promising still more. When + the time is come, when he has, so to say, signed the contract, then change + your tone, and make your rule as gentle as you said it would be severe. + Say to him, “My young friend, it is experience that you lack; but I + have taken care that you do not lack reason. You are ready to see the + motives of my conduct in every respect; to do this you need only wait till + you are free from excitement. Always obey me first, and then ask the + reasons for my commands; I am always ready to give my reasons so soon as + you are ready to listen to them, and I shall never be afraid to make you + the judge between us. You promise to follow my teaching, and I promise + only to use your obedience to make you the happiest of men. For proof of + this I have the life you have lived hitherto. Show me any one of your age + who has led as happy a life as yours, and I promise you nothing more.” + </p> + <p> + When my authority is firmly established, my first care will be to avoid + the necessity of using it. I shall spare no pains to become more and more + firmly established in his confidence, to make myself the confidant of his + heart and the arbiter of his pleasures. Far from combating his youthful + tastes, I shall consult them that I may be their master; I will look at + things from his point of view that I may be his guide; I will not seek a + remote distant good at the cost of his present happiness. I would always + have him happy always if that may be. + </p> + <p> + Those who desire to guide young people rightly and to preserve them from + the snares of sense give them a disgust for love, and would willingly make + the very thought of it a crime, as if love were for the old. All these + mistaken lessons have no effect; the heart gives the lie to them. The + young man, guided by a surer instinct, laughs to himself over the gloomy + maxims which he pretends to accept, and only awaits the chance of + disregarding them. All that is contrary to nature. By following the + opposite course I reach the same end more safely. I am not afraid to + encourage in him the tender feeling for which he is so eager, I shall + paint it as the supreme joy of life, as indeed it is; when I picture it to + him, I desire that he shall give himself up to it; by making him feel the + charm which the union of hearts adds to the delights of sense, I shall + inspire him with a disgust for debauchery; I shall make him a lover and a + good man. + </p> + <p> + How narrow-minded to see nothing in the rising desires of a young heart + but obstacles to the teaching of reason. In my eyes, these are the right + means to make him obedient to that very teaching. Only through passion can + we gain the mastery over passions; their tyranny must be controlled by + their legitimate power, and nature herself must furnish us with the means + to control her. + </p> + <p> + Emile is not made to live alone, he is a member of society, and must + fulfil his duties as such. He is made to live among his fellow-men and he + must get to know them. He knows mankind in general; he has still to learn + to know individual men. He knows what goes on in the world; he has now to + learn how men live in the world. It is time to show him the front of that + vast stage, of which he already knows the hidden workings. It will not + arouse in him the foolish admiration of a giddy youth, but the + discrimination of an exact and upright spirit. He may no doubt be deceived + by his passions; who is there who yields to his passions without being led + astray by them? At least he will not be deceived by the passions of other + people. If he sees them, he will regard them with the eye of the wise, and + will neither be led away by their example nor seduced by their prejudices. + </p> + <p> + As there is a fitting age for the study of the sciences, so there is a + fitting age for the study of the ways of the world. Those who learn these + too soon, follow them throughout life, without choice or consideration, + and although they follow them fairly well they never really know what they + are about. But he who studies the ways of the world and sees the reason + for them, follows them with more insight, and therefore more exactly and + gracefully. Give me a child of twelve who knows nothing at all; at fifteen + I will restore him to you knowing as much as those who have been under + instruction from infancy; with this difference, that your scholars only + know things by heart, while mine knows how to use his knowledge. In the + same way plunge a young man of twenty into society; under good guidance, + in a year’s time, he will be more charming and more truly polite + than one brought up in society from childhood. For the former is able to + perceive the reasons for all the proceedings relating to age, position, + and sex, on which the customs of society depend, and can reduce them to + general principles, and apply them to unforeseen emergencies; while the + latter, who is guided solely by habit, is at a loss when habit fails him. + </p> + <p> + Young French ladies are all brought up in convents till they are married. + Do they seem to find any difficulty in acquiring the ways which are so new + to them, and is it possible to accuse the ladies of Paris of awkward and + embarrassed manners or of ignorance of the ways of society, because they + have not acquired them in infancy! This is the prejudice of men of the + world, who know nothing of more importance than this trifling science, and + wrongly imagine that you cannot begin to acquire it too soon. + </p> + <p> + On the other hand, it is quite true that we must not wait too long. Any + one who has spent the whole of his youth far from the great world is all + his life long awkward, constrained, out of place; his manners will be + heavy and clumsy, no amount of practice will get rid of this, and he will + only make himself more ridiculous by trying to do so. There is a time for + every kind of teaching and we ought to recognise it, and each has its own + dangers to be avoided. At this age there are more dangers than at any + other; but I do not expose my pupil to them without safeguards. + </p> + <p> + When my method succeeds completely in attaining one object, and when in + avoiding one difficulty it also provides against another, I then consider + that it is a good method, and that I am on the right track. This seems to + be the case with regard to the expedient suggested by me in the present + case. If I desire to be stern and cold towards my pupil, I shall lose his + confidence, and he will soon conceal himself from me. If I wish to be easy + and complaisant, to shut my eyes, what good does it do him to be under my + care? I only give my authority to his excesses, and relieve his conscience + at the expense of my own. If I introduce him into society with no object + but to teach him, he will learn more than I want. If I keep him apart from + society, what will he have learnt from me? Everything perhaps, except the + one art absolutely necessary to a civilised man, the art of living among + his fellow-men. If I try to attend to this at a distance, it will be of no + avail; he is only concerned with the present. If I am content to supply + him with amusement, he will acquire habits of luxury and will learn + nothing. + </p> + <p> + We will have none of this. My plan provides for everything. Your heart, I + say to the young man, requires a companion; let us go in search of a + fitting one; perhaps we shall not easily find such a one, true worth is + always rare, but we will be in no hurry, nor will we be easily + discouraged. No doubt there is such a one, and we shall find her at last, + or at least we shall find some one like her. With an end so attractive to + himself, I introduce him into society. What more need I say? Have I not + achieved my purpose? + </p> + <p> + By describing to him his future mistress, you may imagine whether I shall + gain a hearing, whether I shall succeed in making the qualities he ought + to love pleasing and dear to him, whether I shall sway his feelings to + seek or shun what is good or bad for him. I shall be the stupidest of men + if I fail to make him in love with he knows not whom. No matter that the + person I describe is imaginary, it is enough to disgust him with those who + might have attracted him; it is enough if it is continually suggesting + comparisons which make him prefer his fancy to the real people he sees; + and is not love itself a fancy, a falsehood, an illusion? We are far more + in love with our own fancy than with the object of it. If we saw the + object of our affections as it is, there would be no such thing as love. + When we cease to love, the person we used to love remains unchanged, but + we no longer see with the same eyes; the magic veil is drawn aside, and + love disappears. But when I supply the object of imagination, I have + control over comparisons, and I am able easily to prevent illusion with + regard to realities. + </p> + <p> + For all that I would not mislead a young man by describing a model of + perfection which could never exist; but I would so choose the faults of + his mistress that they will suit him, that he will be pleased by them, and + they may serve to correct his own. Neither would I lie to him and affirm + that there really is such a person; let him delight in the portrait, he + will soon desire to find the original. From desire to belief the + transition is easy; it is a matter of a little skilful description, which + under more perceptible features will give to this imaginary object an air + of greater reality. I would go so far as to give her a name; I would say, + smiling. Let us call your future mistress Sophy; Sophy is a name of good + omen; if it is not the name of the lady of your choice at least she will + be worthy of the name; we may honour her with it meanwhile. If after all + these details, without affirming or denying, we excuse ourselves from + giving an answer, his suspicions will become certainty; he will think that + his destined bride is purposely concealed from him, and that he will see + her in good time. If once he has arrived at this conclusion and if the + characteristics to be shown to him have been well chosen, the rest is + easy; there will be little risk in exposing him to the world; protect him + from his senses, and his heart is safe. + </p> + <p> + But whether or no he personifies the model I have contrived to make so + attractive to him, this model, if well done, will attach him none the less + to everything that resembles itself, and will give him as great a distaste + for all that is unlike it as if Sophy really existed. What a means to + preserve his heart from the dangers to which his appearance would expose + him, to repress his senses by means of his imagination, to rescue him from + the hands of those women who profess to educate young men, and make them + pay so dear for their teaching, and only teach a young man manners by + making him utterly shameless. Sophy is so modest? What would she think of + their advances! Sophy is so simple! How would she like their airs? They + are too far from his thoughts and his observations to be dangerous. + </p> + <p> + Every one who deals with the control of children follows the same + prejudices and the same maxima, for their observation is at fault, and + their reflection still more so. A young man is led astray in the first + place neither by temperament nor by the senses, but by popular opinion. If + we were concerned with boys brought up in boarding schools or girls in + convents, I would show that this applies even to them; for the first + lessons they learn from each other, the only lessons that bear fruit, are + those of vice; and it is not nature that corrupts them but example. But + let us leave the boarders in schools and convents to their bad morals; + there is no cure for them. I am dealing only with home training. Take a + young man carefully educated in his father’s country house, and + examine him when he reaches Paris and makes his entrance into society; you + will find him thinking clearly about honest matters, and you will find his + will as wholesome as his reason. You will find scorn of vice and disgust + for debauchery; his face will betray his innocent horror at the very + mention of a prostitute. I maintain that no young man could make up his + mind to enter the gloomy abodes of these unfortunates by himself, if + indeed he were aware of their purpose and felt their necessity. + </p> + <p> + See the same young man six months later, you will not know him; from his + bold conversation, his fashionable maxims, his easy air, you would take + him for another man, if his jests over his former simplicity and his shame + when any one recalls it did not show that it is he indeed and that he is + ashamed of himself. How greatly has he changed in so short a time! What + has brought about so sudden and complete a change? His physical + development? Would not that have taken place in his father’s house, + and certainly he would not have acquired these maxims and this tone at + home? The first charms of sense? On the contrary; those who are beginning + to abandon themselves to these pleasures are timid and anxious, they shun + the light and noise. The first pleasures are always mysterious, modesty + gives them their savour, and modesty conceals them; the first mistress + does not make a man bold but timid. Wholly absorbed in a situation so + novel to him, the young man retires into himself to enjoy it, and trembles + for fear it should escape him. If he is noisy he knows neither passion nor + love; however he may boast, he has not enjoyed. + </p> + <p> + These changes are merely the result of changed ideas. His heart is the + same, but his opinions have altered. His feelings, which change more + slowly, will at length yield to his opinions and it is then that he is + indeed corrupted. He has scarcely made his entrance into society before he + receives a second education quite unlike the first, which teaches him to + despise what he esteemed, and esteem what he despised; he learns to + consider the teaching of his parents and masters as the jargon of pedants, + and the duties they have instilled into him as a childish morality, to be + scorned now that he is grown up. He thinks he is bound in honour to change + his conduct; he becomes forward without desire, and he talks foolishly + from false shame. He rails against morality before he has any taste for + vice, and prides himself on debauchery without knowing how to set about + it. I shall never forget the confession of a young officer in the Swiss + Guards, who was utterly sick of the noisy pleasures of his comrades, but + dared not refuse to take part in them lest he should be laughed at. + “I am getting used to it,” he said, “as I am getting + used to taking snuff; the taste will come with practice; it will not do to + be a child for ever.” + </p> + <p> + So a young man when he enters society must be preserved from vanity rather + than from sensibility; he succumbs rather to the tastes of others than to + his own, and self-love is responsible for more libertines than love. + </p> + <p> + This being granted, I ask you. Is there any one on earth better armed than + my pupil against all that may attack his morals, his sentiments, his + principles; is there any one more able to resist the flood? What seduction + is there against which he is not forearmed? If his desires attract him + towards women, he fails to find what he seeks, and his heart, already + occupied, holds him back. If he is disturbed and urged onward by his + senses, where will he find satisfaction? His horror of adultery and + debauch keeps him at a distance from prostitutes and married women, and + the disorders of youth may always be traced to one or other of these. A + maiden may be a coquette, but she will not be shameless, she will not + fling herself at the head of a young man who may marry her if he believes + in her virtue; besides she is always under supervision. Emile, too, will + not be left entirely to himself; both of them will be under the + guardianship of fear and shame, the constant companions of a first + passion; they will not proceed at once to misconduct, and they will not + have time to come to it gradually without hindrance. If he behaves + otherwise, he must have taken lessons from his comrades, he must have + learned from them to despise his self-control, and to imitate their + boldness. But there is no one in the whole world so little given to + imitation as Emile. What man is there who is so little influenced by + mockery as one who has no prejudices himself and yields nothing to the + prejudices of others. I have laboured twenty years to arm him against + mockery; they will not make him their dupe in a day; for in his eyes + ridicule is the argument of fools, and nothing makes one less susceptible + to raillery than to be beyond the influence of prejudice. Instead of jests + he must have arguments, and while he is in this frame of mind, I am not + afraid that he will be carried away by young fools; conscience and truth + are on my side. If prejudice is to enter into the matter at all, an + affection of twenty years’ standing counts for something; no one + will ever convince him that I have wearied him with vain lessons; and in a + heart so upright and so sensitive the voice of a tried and trusted friend + will soon efface the shouts of twenty libertines. As it is therefore + merely a question of showing him that he is deceived, that while they + pretend to treat him as a man they are really treating him as a child, I + shall choose to be always simple but serious and plain in my arguments, so + that he may feel that I do indeed treat him as a man. I will say to him, + You will see that your welfare, in which my own is bound up, compels me to + speak; I can do nothing else. But why do these young men want to persuade + you? Because they desire to seduce you; they do not care for you, they + take no real interest in you; their only motive is a secret spite because + they see you are better than they; they want to drag you down to their own + level, and they only reproach you with submitting to control that they may + themselves control you. Do you think you have anything to gain by this? + Are they so much wiser than I, is the affection of a day stronger than + mine? To give any weight to their jests they must give weight to their + authority; and by what experience do they support their maxima above ours? + They have only followed the example of other giddy youths, as they would + have you follow theirs. To escape from the so-called prejudices of their + fathers, they yield to those of their comrades. I cannot see that they are + any the better off; but I see that they lose two things of value—the + affection of their parents, whose advice is that of tenderness and truth, + and the wisdom of experience which teaches us to judge by what we know; + for their fathers have once been young, but the young men have never been + fathers. + </p> + <p> + But you think they are at least sincere in their foolish precepts. Not so, + dear Emile; they deceive themselves in order to deceive you; they are not + in agreement with themselves; their heart continually revolts, and their + very words often contradict themselves. This man who mocks at everything + good would be in despair if his wife held the same views. Another extends + his indifference to good morals even to his future wife, or he sinks to + such depths of infamy as to be indifferent to his wife’s conduct; + but go a step further; speak to him of his mother; is he willing to be + treated as the child of an adulteress and the son of a woman of bad + character, is he ready to assume the name of a family, to steal the + patrimony of the true heir, in a word will he bear being treated as a + bastard? Which of them will permit his daughter to be dishonoured as he + dishonours the daughter of another? There is not one of them who would not + kill you if you adopted in your conduct towards him all the principles he + tries to teach you. Thus they prove their inconsistency, and we know they + do not believe what they say. Here are reasons, dear Emile; weigh their + arguments if they have any, and compare them with mine. If I wished to + have recourse like them to scorn and mockery, you would see that they lend + themselves to ridicule as much or more than myself. But I am not afraid of + serious inquiry. The triumph of mockers is soon over; truth endures, and + their foolish laughter dies away. + </p> + <p> + You do not think that Emile, at twenty, can possibly be docile. How + differently we think! I cannot understand how he could be docile at ten, + for what hold have I on him at that age? It took me fifteen years of + careful preparation to secure that hold. I was not educating him, but + preparing him for education. He is now sufficiently educated to be docile; + he recognises the voice of friendship and he knows how to obey reason. It + is true I allow him a show of freedom, but he was never more completely + under control, because he obeys of his own free will. So long as I could + not get the mastery over his will, I retained my control over his person; + I never left him for a moment. Now I sometimes leave him to himself + because I control him continually. When I leave him I embrace him and I + say with confidence: Emile, I trust you to my friend, I leave you to his + honour; he will answer for you. + </p> + <p> + To corrupt healthy affections which have not been previously depraved, to + efface principles which are directly derived from our own reasoning, is + not the work of a moment. If any change takes place during my absence, + that absence will not be long, he will never be able to conceal himself + from me, so that I shall perceive the danger before any harm comes of it, + and I shall be in time to provide a remedy. As we do not become depraved + all at once, neither do we learn to deceive all at once; and if ever there + was a man unskilled in the art of deception it is Emile, who has never had + any occasion for deceit. + </p> + <p> + By means of these precautions and others like them, I expect to guard him + so completely against strange sights and vulgar precepts that I would + rather see him in the worst company in Paris than alone in his room or in + a park left to all the restlessness of his age. Whatever we may do, a + young man’s worst enemy is himself, and this is an enemy we cannot + avoid. Yet this is an enemy of our own making, for, as I have said again + and again, it is the imagination which stirs the senses. Desire is not a + physical need; it is not true that it is a need at all. If no lascivious + object had met our eye, if no unclean thought had entered our mind, this + so-called need might never have made itself felt, and we should have + remained chaste, without temptation, effort, or merit. We do not know how + the blood of youth is stirred by certain situations and certain sights, + while the youth himself does not understand the cause of his uneasiness-an + uneasiness difficult to subdue and certain to recur. For my own part, the + more I consider this serious crisis and its causes, immediate and remote, + the more convinced I am that a solitary brought up in some desert, apart + from books, teaching, and women, would die a virgin, however long he + lived. + </p> + <p> + But we are not concerned with a savage of this sort. When we educate a man + among his fellow-men and for social life, we cannot, and indeed we ought + not to, bring him up in this wholesome ignorance, and half knowledge is + worse than none. The memory of things we have observed, the ideas we have + acquired, follow us into retirement and people it, against our will, with + images more seductive than the things themselves, and these make solitude + as fatal to those who bring such ideas with them as it is wholesome for + those who have never left it. + </p> + <p> + Therefore, watch carefully over the young man; he can protect himself from + all other foes, but it is for you to protect him against himself. Never + leave him night or day, or at least share his room; never let him go to + bed till he is sleepy, and let him rise as soon as he wakes. Distrust + instinct as soon as you cease to rely altogether upon it. Instinct was + good while he acted under its guidance only; now that he is in the midst + of human institutions, instinct is not to be trusted; it must not be + destroyed, it must be controlled, which is perhaps a more difficult + matter. It would be a dangerous matter if instinct taught your pupil to + abuse his senses; if once he acquires this dangerous habit he is ruined. + From that time forward, body and soul will be enervated; he will carry to + the grave the sad effects of this habit, the most fatal habit which a + young man can acquire. If you cannot attain to the mastery of your + passions, dear Emile, I pity you; but I shall not hesitate for a moment, I + will not permit the purposes of nature to be evaded. If you must be a + slave, I prefer to surrender you to a tyrant from whom I may deliver you; + whatever happens, I can free you more easily from the slavery of women + than from yourself. + </p> + <p> + Up to the age of twenty, the body is still growing and requires all its + strength; till that age continence is the law of nature, and this law is + rarely violated without injury to the constitution. After twenty, + continence is a moral duty; it is an important duty, for it teaches us to + control ourselves, to be masters of our own appetites. But moral duties + have their modifications, their exceptions, their rules. When human + weakness makes an alternative inevitable, of two evils choose the least; + in any case it is better to commit a misdeed than to contract a vicious + habit. + </p> + <p> + Remember, I am not talking of my pupil now, but of yours. His passions, to + which you have given way, are your master; yield to them openly and + without concealing his victory. If you are able to show him it in its true + light, he will be ashamed rather than proud of it, and you will secure the + right to guide him in his wanderings, at least so as to avoid precipices. + The disciple must do nothing, not even evil, without the knowledge and + consent of his master; it is a hundredfold better that the tutor should + approve of a misdeed than that he should deceive himself or be deceived by + his pupil, and the wrong should be done without his knowledge. He who + thinks he must shut his eyes to one thing, must soon shut them altogether; + the first abuse which is permitted leads to others, and this chain of + consequences only ends in the complete overthrow of all order and contempt + for every law. + </p> + <p> + There is another mistake which I have already dealt with, a mistake + continually made by narrow-minded persons; they constantly affect the + dignity of a master, and wish to be regarded by their disciples as + perfect. This method is just the contrary of what should be done. How is + it that they fail to perceive that when they try to strengthen their + authority they are really destroying it; that to gain a hearing one must + put oneself in the place of our hearers, and that to speak to the human + heart, one must be a man. All these perfect people neither touch nor + persuade; people always say, “It is easy for them to fight against + passions they do not feel.” Show your pupil your own weaknesses if + you want to cure his; let him see in you struggles like his own; let him + learn by your example to master himself and let him not say like other + young men, “These old people, who are vexed because they are no + longer young, want to treat all young people as if they were old; and they + make a crime of our passions because their own passions are dead.” + </p> + <p> + Montaigne tells us that he once asked Seigneur de Langey how often, in his + negotiations with Germany, he had got drunk in his king’s service. I + would willingly ask the tutor of a certain young man how often he has + entered a house of ill-fame for his pupil’s sake. How often? I am + wrong. If the first time has not cured the young libertine of all desire + to go there again, if he does not return penitent and ashamed, if he does + not shed torrents of tears upon your bosom, leave him on the spot; either + he is a monster or you are a fool; you will never do him any good. But let + us have done with these last expedients, which are as distressing as they + are dangerous; our kind of education has no need of them. + </p> + <p> + What precautions we must take with a young man of good birth before + exposing him to the scandalous manners of our age! These precautions are + painful but necessary; negligence in this matter is the ruin of all our + young men; degeneracy is the result of youthful excesses, and it is these + excesses which make men what they are. Old and base in their vices, their + hearts are shrivelled, because their worn-out bodies were corrupted at an + early age; they have scarcely strength to stir. The subtlety of their + thoughts betrays a mind lacking in substance; they are incapable of any + great or noble feeling, they have neither simplicity nor vigour; + altogether abject and meanly wicked, they are merely frivolous, deceitful, + and false; they have not even courage enough to be distinguished + criminals. Such are the despicable men produced by early debauchery; if + there were but one among them who knew how to be sober and temperate, to + guard his heart, his body, his morals from the contagion of bad example, + at the age of thirty he would crush all these insects, and would become + their master with far less trouble than it cost him to become master of + himself. + </p> + <p> + However little Emile owes to birth and fortune, he might be this man if he + chose; but he despises such people too much to condescend to make them his + slaves. Let us now watch him in their midst, as he enters into society, + not to claim the first place, but to acquaint himself with it and to seek + a helpmeet worthy of himself. + </p> + <p> + Whatever his rank or birth, whatever the society into which he is + introduced, his entrance into that society will be simple and unaffected; + God grant he may not be unlucky enough to shine in society; the qualities + which make a good impression at the first glance are not his, he neither + possesses them, nor desires to possess them. He cares too little for the + opinions of other people to value their prejudices, and he is indifferent + whether people esteem him or not until they know him. His address is + neither shy nor conceited, but natural and sincere, he knows nothing of + constraint or concealment, and he is just the same among a group of people + as he is when he is alone. Will this make him rude, scornful, and careless + of others? On the contrary; if he were not heedless of others when he + lived alone, why should he be heedless of them now that he is living among + them? He does not prefer them to himself in his manners, because he does + not prefer them to himself in his heart, but neither does he show them an + indifference which he is far from feeling; if he is unacquainted with the + forms of politeness, he is not unacquainted with the attentions dictated + by humanity. He cannot bear to see any one suffer; he will not give up his + place to another from mere external politeness, but he will willingly + yield it to him out of kindness if he sees that he is being neglected and + that this neglect hurts him; for it will be less disagreeable to Emile to + remain standing of his own accord than to see another compelled to stand. + </p> + <p> + Although Emile has no very high opinion of people in general, he does not + show any scorn of them, because he pities them and is sorry for them. As + he cannot give them a taste for what is truly good, he leaves them the + imaginary good with which they are satisfied, lest by robbing them of this + he should leave them worse off than before. So he neither argues nor + contradicts; neither does he flatter nor agree; he states his opinion + without arguing with others, because he loves liberty above all things, + and freedom is one of the fairest gifts of liberty. + </p> + <p> + He says little, for he is not anxious to attract attention; for the same + reason he only says what is to the point; who could induce him to speak + otherwise? Emile is too well informed to be a chatter-box. A great flow of + words comes either from a pretentious spirit, of which I shall speak + presently, or from the value laid upon trifles which we foolishly think to + be as important in the eyes of others as in our own. He who knows enough + of things to value them at their true worth never says too much; for he + can also judge of the attention bestowed on him and the interest aroused + by what he says. People who know little are usually great talkers, while + men who know much say little. It is plain that an ignorant person thinks + everything he does know important, and he tells it to everybody. But a + well-educated man is not so ready to display his learning; he would have + too much to say, and he sees that there is much more to be said, so he + holds his peace. + </p> + <p> + Far from disregarding the ways of other people, Emile conforms to them + readily enough; not that he may appear to know all about them, nor yet to + affect the airs of a man of fashion, but on the contrary for fear lest he + should attract attention, and in order to pass unnoticed; he is most at + his ease when no one pays any attention to him. + </p> + <p> + Although when he makes his entrance into society he knows nothing of its + customs, this does not make him shy or timid; if he keeps in the + background, it is not because he is embarrassed, but because, if you want + to see, you must not be seen; for he scarcely troubles himself at all + about what people think of him, and he is not the least afraid of + ridicule. Hence he is always quiet and self-possessed and is not troubled + with shyness. All he has to do is done as well as he knows how to do it, + whether people are looking at him or not; and as he is always on the alert + to observe other people, he acquires their ways with an ease impossible to + the slaves of other people’s opinions. We might say that he acquires + the ways of society just because he cares so little about them. + </p> + <p> + But do not make any mistake as to his bearing; it is not to be compared + with that of your young dandies. It is self-possessed, not conceited; his + manners are easy, not haughty; an insolent look is the mark of a slave, + there is nothing affected in independence. I never saw a man of lofty soul + who showed it in his bearing; this affectation is more suited to vile and + frivolous souls, who have no other means of asserting themselves. I read + somewhere that a foreigner appeared one day in the presence of the famous + Marcel, who asked him what country he came from. “I am an + Englishman,” replied the stranger. “You are an Englishman!” + replied the dancer, “You come from that island where the citizens + have a share in the government, and form part of the sovereign power? + [Footnote: As if there were citizens who were not part of the city and had + not, as such, a share in sovereign power! But the French, who have thought + fit to usurp the honourable name of citizen which was formerly the right + of the members of the Gallic cities, have degraded the idea till it has no + longer any sort of meaning. A man who recently wrote a number of silly + criticisms on the “Nouvelle Heloise” added to his signature + the title “Citizen of Paimboeuf,” and he thought it a capital + joke.] No, sir, that modest bearing, that timid glance, that hesitating + manner, proclaim only a slave adorned with the title of an elector.” + </p> + <p> + I cannot say whether this saying shows much knowledge of the true relation + between a man’s character and his appearance. I have not the honour + of being a dancing master, and I should have thought just the opposite. I + should have said, “This Englishman is no courtier; I never heard + that courtiers have a timid bearing and a hesitating manner. A man whose + appearance is timid in the presence of a dancer might not be timid in the + House of Commons.” Surely this M. Marcel must take his + fellow-countrymen for so many Romans. + </p> + <p> + He who loves desires to be loved, Emile loves his fellows and desires to + please them. Even more does he wish to please the women; his age, his + character, the object he has in view, all increase this desire. I say his + character, for this has a great effect; men of good character are those + who really adore women. They have not the mocking jargon of gallantry like + the rest, but their eagerness is more genuinely tender, because it comes + from the heart. In the presence of a young woman, I could pick out a young + man of character and self-control from among a hundred thousand + libertines. Consider what Emile must be, with all the eagerness of early + youth and so many reasons for resistance! For in the presence of women I + think he will sometimes be shy and timid; but this shyness will certainly + not be displeasing, and the least foolish of them will only too often find + a way to enjoy it and augment it. Moreover, his eagerness will take a + different shape according to those he has to do with. He will be more + modest and respectful to married women, more eager and tender towards + young girls. He never loses sight of his purpose, and it is always those + who most recall it to him who receive the greater share of his attentions. + </p> + <p> + No one could be more attentive to every consideration based upon the laws + of nature, and even on the laws of good society; but the former are always + preferred before the latter, and Emile will show more respect to an + elderly person in private life than to a young magistrate of his own age. + As he is generally one of the youngest in the company, he will always be + one of the most modest, not from the vanity which apes humility, but from + a natural feeling founded upon reason. He will not have the effrontery of + the young fop, who speaks louder than the wise and interrupts the old in + order to amuse the company. He will never give any cause for the reply + given to Louis XV by an old gentleman who was asked whether he preferred + this century or the last: “Sire, I spent my youth in reverence + towards the old; I find myself compelled to spend my old age in reverence + towards the young.” + </p> + <p> + His heart is tender and sensitive, but he cares nothing for the weight of + popular opinion, though he loves to give pleasure to others; so he will + care little to be thought a person of importance. Hence he will be + affectionate rather than polite, he will never be pompous or affected, and + he will be always more touched by a caress than by much praise. For the + same reasons he will never be careless of his manners or his clothes; + perhaps he will be rather particular about his dress, not that he may show + himself a man of taste, but to make his appearance more pleasing; he will + never require a gilt frame, and he will never spoil his style by a display + of wealth. + </p> + <p> + All this demands, as you see, no stock of precepts from me; it is all the + result of his early education. People make a great mystery of the ways of + society, as if, at the age when these ways are acquired, we did not take + to them quite naturally, and as if the first laws of politeness were not + to be found in a kindly heart. True politeness consists in showing our + goodwill towards men; it shows its presence without any difficulty; those + only who lack this goodwill are compelled to reduce the outward signs of + it to an art. + </p> + <p> + “The worst effect of artificial politeness is that it teaches us how + to dispense with the virtues it imitates. If our education teaches us + kindness and humanity, we shall be polite, or we shall have no need of + politeness. + </p> + <p> + “If we have not those qualities which display themselves gracefully + we shall have those which proclaim the honest man and the citizen; we + shall have no need for falsehood. + </p> + <p> + “Instead of seeking to please by artificiality, it will suffice that + we are kindly; instead of flattering the weaknesses of others by + falsehood, it will suffice to tolerate them. + </p> + <p> + “Those with whom we have to do will neither be puffed up nor + corrupted by such intercourse; they will only be grateful and will be + informed by it.” [Footnote: Considerations sur les moeurs de ce + siecle, par M. Duclos.] + </p> + <p> + It seems to me that if any education is calculated to produce the sort of + politeness required by M. Duclos in this passage, it is the education I + have already described. + </p> + <p> + Yet I admit that with such different teaching Emile will not be just like + everybody else, and heaven preserve him from such a fate! But where he is + unlike other people, he will neither cause annoyance nor will he be + absurd; the difference will be perceptible but not unpleasant. Emile will + be, if you like, an agreeable foreigner. At first his peculiarities will + be excused with the phrase, “He will learn.” After a time + people will get used to his ways, and seeing that he does not change they + will still make excuses for him and say, “He is made that way.” + </p> + <p> + He will not be feted as a charming man, but every one will like him + without knowing why; no one will praise his intellect, but every one will + be ready to make him the judge between men of intellect; his own + intelligence will be clear and limited, his mind will be accurate, and his + judgment sane. As he never runs after new ideas, he cannot pride himself + on his wit. I have convinced him that all wholesome ideas, ideas which are + really useful to mankind, were among the earliest known, that in all times + they have formed the true bonds of society, and that there is nothing left + for ambitious minds but to seek distinction for themselves by means of + ideas which are injurious and fatal to mankind. This way of winning + admiration scarcely appeals to him; he knows how he ought to seek his own + happiness in life, and how he can contribute to the happiness of others. + The sphere of his knowledge is restricted to what is profitable. His path + is narrow and clearly defined; as he has no temptation to leave it, he is + lost in the crowd; he will neither distinguish himself nor will he lose + his way. Emile is a man of common sense and he has no desire to be + anything more; you may try in vain to insult him by applying this phrase + to him; he will always consider it a title of honour. + </p> + <p> + Although from his wish to please he is no longer wholly indifferent to the + opinion of others, he only considers that opinion so far as he himself is + directly concerned, without troubling himself about arbitrary values, + which are subject to no law but that of fashion or conventionality. He + will have pride enough to wish to do well in everything that he + undertakes, and even to wish to do it better than others; he will want to + be the swiftest runner, the strongest wrestler, the cleverest workman, the + readiest in games of skill; but he will not seek advantages which are not + in themselves clear gain, but need to be supported by the opinion of + others, such as to be thought wittier than another, a better speaker, more + learned, etc.; still less will he trouble himself with those which have + nothing to do with the man himself, such as higher birth, a greater + reputation for wealth, credit, or public estimation, or the impression + created by a showy exterior. + </p> + <p> + As he loves his fellows because they are like himself, he will prefer him + who is most like himself, because he will feel that he is good; and as he + will judge of this resemblance by similarity of taste in morals, in all + that belongs to a good character, he will be delighted to win approval. He + will not say to himself in so many words, “I am delighted to gain + approval,” but “I am delighted because they say I have done + right; I am delighted because the men who honour me are worthy of honour; + while they judge so wisely, it is a fine thing to win their respect.” + </p> + <p> + As he studies men in their conduct in society, just as he formerly studied + them through their passions in history, he will often have occasion to + consider what it is that pleases or offends the human heart. He is now + busy with the philosophy of the principles of taste, and this is the most + suitable subject for his present study. + </p> + <p> + The further we seek our definitions of taste, the further we go astray; + taste is merely the power of judging what is pleasing or displeasing to + most people. Go beyond this, and you cannot say what taste is. It does not + follow that the men of taste are in the majority; for though the majority + judges wisely with regard to each individual thing, there are few men who + follow the judgment of the majority in everything; and though the most + general agreement in taste constitutes good taste, there are few men of + good taste just as there are few beautiful people, although beauty + consists in the sum of the most usual features. + </p> + <p> + It must be observed that we are not here concerned with what we like + because it is serviceable, or hate because it is harmful to us. Taste + deals only with things that are indifferent to us, or which affect at most + our amusements, not those which relate to our needs; taste is not required + to judge of these, appetite only is sufficient. It is this which makes + mere decisions of taste so difficult and as it seems so arbitrary; for + beyond the instinct they follow there appears to be no reason whatever for + them. We must also make a distinction between the laws of good taste in + morals and its laws in physical matters. In the latter the laws of taste + appear to be absolutely inexplicable. But it must be observed that there + is a moral element in everything which involves imitation.[Footnote: This + is demonstrated in an “Essay on the Origin of Languages” which + will be found in my collected works.] This is the explanation of beauties + which seem to be physical, but are not so in reality. I may add that taste + has local rules which make it dependent in many respects on the country we + are in, its manners, government, institutions; it has other rules which + depend upon age, sex, and character, and it is in this sense that we must + not dispute over matters of taste. + </p> + <p> + Taste is natural to men; but all do not possess it in the same degree, it + is not developed to the same extent in every one; and in every one it is + liable to be modified by a variety of causes. Such taste as we may possess + depends on our native sensibility; its cultivation and its form depend + upon the society in which we have lived. In the first place we must live + in societies of many different kinds, so as to compare much. In the next + place, there must be societies for amusement and idleness, for in business + relations, interest, not pleasure, is our rule. Lastly, there must be + societies in which people are fairly equal, where the tyranny of public + opinion may be moderate, where pleasure rather than vanity is queen; where + this is not so, fashion stifles taste, and we seek what gives distinction + rather than delight. + </p> + <p> + In the latter case it is no longer true that good taste is the taste of + the majority. Why is this? Because the purpose is different. Then the + crowd has no longer any opinion of its own, it only follows the judgment + of those who are supposed to know more about it; its approval is bestowed + not on what is good, but on what they have already approved. At any time + let every man have his own opinion, and what is most pleasing in itself + will always secure most votes. + </p> + <p> + Every beauty that is to be found in the works of man is imitated. All the + true models of taste are to be found in nature. The further we get from + the master, the worse are our pictures. Then it is that we find our models + in what we ourselves like, and the beauty of fancy, subject to caprice and + to authority, is nothing but what is pleasing to our leaders. + </p> + <p> + Those leaders are the artists, the wealthy, and the great, and they + themselves follow the lead of self-interest or pride. Some to display + their wealth, others to profit by it, they seek eagerly for new ways of + spending it. This is how luxury acquires its power and makes us love what + is rare and costly; this so-called beauty consists, not in following + nature, but in disobeying her. Hence luxury and bad taste are inseparable. + Wherever taste is lavish, it is bad. + </p> + <p> + Taste, good or bad, takes its shape especially in the intercourse between + the two sexes; the cultivation of taste is a necessary consequence of this + form of society. But when enjoyment is easily obtained, and the desire to + please becomes lukewarm, taste must degenerate; and this is, in my + opinion, one of the best reasons why good taste implies good morals. + </p> + <p> + Consult the women’s opinions in bodily matters, in all that concerns + the senses; consult the men in matters of morality and all that concerns + the understanding. When women are what they ought to be, they will keep to + what they can understand, and their judgment will be right; but since they + have set themselves up as judges of literature, since they have begun to + criticise books and to make them with might and main, they are altogether + astray. Authors who take the advice of blue-stockings will always be + ill-advised; gallants who consult them about their clothes will always be + absurdly dressed. I shall presently have an opportunity of speaking of the + real talents of the female sex, the way to cultivate these talents, and + the matters in regard to which their decisions should receive attention. + </p> + <p> + These are the elementary considerations which I shall lay down as + principles when I discuss with Emile this matter which is by no means + indifferent to him in his present inquiries. And to whom should it be a + matter of indifference? To know what people may find pleasant or + unpleasant is not only necessary to any one who requires their help, it is + still more necessary to any one who would help them; you must please them + if you would do them service; and the art of writing is no idle pursuit if + it is used to make men hear the truth. + </p> + <p> + If in order to cultivate my pupil’s taste, I were compelled to + choose between a country where this form of culture has not yet arisen and + those in which it has already degenerated, I would progress backwards; I + would begin his survey with the latter and end with the former. My reason + for this choice is, that taste becomes corrupted through excessive + delicacy, which makes it sensitive to things which most men do not + perceive; this delicacy leads to a spirit of discussion, for the more + subtle is our discrimination of things the more things there are for us. + This subtlety increases the delicacy and decreases the uniformity of our + touch. So there are as many tastes as there are people. In disputes as to + our preferences, philosophy and knowledge are enlarged, and thus we learn + to think. It is only men accustomed to plenty of society who are capable + of very delicate observations, for these observations do not occur to us + till the last, and people who are unused to all sorts of society exhaust + their attention in the consideration of the more conspicuous features. + There is perhaps no civilised place upon earth where the common taste is + so bad as in Paris. Yet it is in this capital that good taste is + cultivated, and it seems that few books make any impression in Europe + whose authors have not studied in Paris. Those who think it is enough to + read our books are mistaken; there is more to be learnt from the + conversation of authors than from their books; and it is not from the + authors that we learn most. It is the spirit of social life which develops + a thinking mind, and carries the eye as far as it can reach. If you have a + spark of genius, go and spend a year in Paris; you will soon be all that + you are capable of becoming, or you will never be good for anything at + all. + </p> + <p> + One may learn to think in places where bad taste rules supreme; but we + must not think like those whose taste is bad, and it is very difficult to + avoid this if we spend much time among them. We must use their efforts to + perfect the machinery of judgment, but we must be careful not to make the + same use of it. I shall take care not to polish Emile’s judgment so + far as to transform it, and when he has acquired discernment enough to + feel and compare the varied tastes of men, I shall lead him to fix his own + taste upon simpler matters. + </p> + <p> + I will go still further in order to keep his taste pure and wholesome. In + the tumult of dissipation I shall find opportunities for useful + conversation with him; and while these conversations are always about + things in which he takes a delight, I shall take care to make them as + amusing as they are instructive. Now is the time to read pleasant books; + now is the time to teach him to analyse speech and to appreciate all the + beauties of eloquence and diction. It is a small matter to learn + languages, they are less useful than people think; but the study of + languages leads us on to that of grammar in general. We must learn Latin + if we would have a thorough knowledge of French; these two languages must + be studied and compared if we would understand the rules of the art of + speaking. + </p> + <p> + There is, moreover, a certain simplicity of taste which goes straight to + the heart; and this is only to be found in the classics. In oratory, + poetry, and every kind of literature, Emile will find the classical + authors as he found them in history, full of matter and sober in their + judgment. The authors of our own time, on the contrary, say little and + talk much. To take their judgment as our constant law is not the way to + form our own judgment. These differences of taste make themselves felt in + all that is left of classical times and even on their tombs. Our monuments + are covered with praises, theirs recorded facts. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Sta, viator; heroem calcas.” + </pre> + <p> + If I had found this epitaph on an ancient monument, I should at once have + guessed it was modern; for there is nothing so common among us as heroes, + but among the ancients they were rare. Instead of saying a man was a hero, + they would have said what he had done to gain that name. With the epitaph + of this hero compare that of the effeminate Sardanapalus— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Tarsus and Anchiales I built in a day, and now I am dead.” + </pre> + <p> + Which do you think says most? Our inflated monumental style is only fit to + trumpet forth the praises of pygmies. The ancients showed men as they + were, and it was plain that they were men indeed. Xenophon did honour to + the memory of some warriors who were slain by treason during the retreat + of the Ten Thousand. “They died,” said he, “without + stain in war and in love.” That is all, but think how full was the + heart of the author of this short and simple elegy. Woe to him who fails + to perceive its charm. The following words were engraved on a tomb at + Thermopylae— + </p> + <p> + “Go, Traveller, tell Sparta that here we fell in obedience to her + laws.” + </p> + <p> + It is pretty clear that this was not the work of the Academy of + Inscriptions. + </p> + <p> + If I am not mistaken, the attention of my pupil, who sets so small value + upon words, will be directed in the first place to these differences, and + they will affect his choice in his reading. He will be carried away by the + manly eloquence of Demosthenes, and will say, “This is an orator;” + but when he reads Cicero, he will say, “This is a lawyer.” + </p> + <p> + Speaking generally Emile will have more taste for the books of the + ancients than for our own, just because they were the first, and therefore + the ancients are nearer to nature and their genius is more distinct. + Whatever La Motte and the Abbe Terrasson may say, there is no real advance + in human reason, for what we gain in one direction we lose in another; for + all minds start from the same point, and as the time spent in learning + what others have thought is so much time lost in learning to think for + ourselves, we have more acquired knowledge and less vigour of mind. Our + minds like our arms are accustomed to use tools for everything, and to do + nothing for themselves. Fontenelle used to say that all these disputes as + to the ancients and the moderns came to this—Were the trees in + former times taller than they are now. If agriculture had changed, it + would be worth our while to ask this question. + </p> + <p> + After I have led Emile to the sources of pure literature, I will also show + him the channels into the reservoirs of modern compilers; journals, + translations, dictionaries, he shall cast a glance at them all, and then + leave them for ever. To amuse him he shall hear the chatter of the + academies; I will draw his attention to the fast that every member of them + is worth more by himself than he is as a member of the society; he will + then draw his own conclusions as to the utility of these fine + institutions. + </p> + <p> + I take him to the theatre to study taste, not morals; for in the theatre + above all taste is revealed to those who can think. Lay aside precepts and + morality, I should say; this is not the place to study them. The stage is + not made for truth; its object is to flatter and amuse: there is no place + where one can learn so completely the art of pleasing and of interesting + the human heart. The study of plays leads to the study of poetry; both + have the same end in view. If he has the least glimmering of taste for + poetry, how eagerly will he study the languages of the poets, Greek, + Latin, and Italian! These studies will afford him unlimited amusement and + will be none the less valuable; they will be a delight to him at an age + and in circumstances when the heart finds so great a charm in every kind + of beauty which affects it. Picture to yourself on the one hand Emile, on + the other some young rascal from college, reading the fourth book of the + Aeneid, or Tibollus, or the Banquet of Plato: what a difference between + them! What stirs the heart of Emile to its depths, makes not the least + impression on the other! Oh, good youth, stay, make a pause in your + reading, you are too deeply moved; I would have you find pleasure in the + language of love, but I would not have you carried away by it; be a wise + man, but be a good man too. If you are only one of these, you are nothing. + After this let him win fame or not in dead languages, in literature, in + poetry, I care little. He will be none the worse if he knows nothing of + them, and his education is not concerned with these mere words. + </p> + <p> + My main object in teaching him to feel and love beauty of every kind is to + fix his affections and his taste on these, to prevent the corruption of + his natural appetites, lest he should have to seek some day in the midst + of his wealth for the means of happiness which should be found close at + hand. I have said elsewhere that taste is only the art of being a + connoisseur in matters of little importance, and this is quite true; but + since the charm of life depends on a tissue of these matters of little + importance, such efforts are no small thing; through their means we learn + how to fill our life with the good things within our reach, with as much + truth as they may hold for us. I do not refer to the morally good which + depends on a good disposition of the heart, but only to that which depends + on the body, on real delight, apart from the prejudices of public opinion. + </p> + <p> + The better to unfold my idea, allow me for a moment to leave Emile, whose + pure and wholesome heart cannot be taken as a rule for others, and to seek + in my own memory for an illustration better suited to the reader and more + in accordance with his own manners. + </p> + <p> + There are professions which seem to change a man’s nature, to + recast, either for better or worse, the men who adopt them. A coward + becomes a brave man in the regiment of Navarre. It is not only in the army + that esprit de corps is acquired, and its effects are not always for good. + I have thought again and again with terror that if I had the misfortune to + fill a certain post I am thinking of in a certain country, before + to-morrow I should certainly be a tyrant, an extortioner, a destroyer of + the people, harmful to my king, and a professed enemy of mankind, a foe to + justice and every kind of virtue. + </p> + <p> + In the same way, if I were rich, I should have done all that is required + to gain riches; I should therefore be insolent and degraded, sensitive and + feeling only on my own behalf, harsh and pitiless to all besides, a + scornful spectator of the sufferings of the lower classes; for that is + what I should call the poor, to make people forget that I was once poor + myself. Lastly I should make my fortune a means to my own pleasures with + which I should be wholly occupied; and so far I should be just like other + people. + </p> + <p> + But in one respect I should be very unlike them; I should be sensual and + voluptuous rather than proud and vain, and I should give myself up to the + luxury of comfort rather than to that of ostentation. I should even be + somewhat ashamed to make too great a show of my wealth, and if I + overwhelmed the envious with my pomp I should always fancy I heard him + saying, “Here is a rascal who is greatly afraid lest we should take + him for anything but what he is.” + </p> + <p> + In the vast profusion of good things upon this earth I should seek what I + like best, and what I can best appropriate to myself. + </p> + <p> + To this end, the first use I should make of my wealth would be to purchase + leisure and freedom, to which I would add health, if it were to be + purchased; but health can only be bought by temperance, and as there is no + real pleasure without health, I should be temperate from sensual motives. + </p> + <p> + I should also keep as close as possible to nature, to gratify the senses + given me by nature, being quite convinced that, the greater her share in + my pleasures, the more real I shall find them. In the choice of models for + imitation I shall always choose nature as my pattern; in my appetites I + will give her the preference; in my tastes she shall always be consulted; + in my food I will always choose what most owes its charm to her, and what + has passed through the fewest possible hands on its way to table. I will + be on my guard against fraudulent shams; I will go out to meet pleasure. + No cook shall grow rich on my gross and foolish greediness; he shall not + poison me with fish which cost its weight in gold, my table shall not be + decked with fetid splendour or putrid flesh from far-off lands. I will + take any amount of trouble to gratify my sensibility, since this trouble + has a pleasure of its own, a pleasure more than we expect. If I wished to + taste a food from the ends of the earth, I would go, like Apicius, in + search of it, rather than send for it; for the daintiest dishes always + lack a charm which cannot be brought along with them, a flavour which no + cook can give them—the air of the country where they are produced. + </p> + <p> + For the same reason I would not follow the example of those who are never + well off where they are, but are always setting the seasons at nought, and + confusing countries and their seasons; those who seek winter in summer and + summer in winter, and go to Italy to be cold and to the north to be warm, + do not consider that when they think they are escaping from the severity + of the seasons, they are going to meet that severity in places where + people are not prepared for it. I shall stay in one place, or I shall + adopt just the opposite course; I should like to get all possible + enjoyment out of one season to discover what is peculiar to any given + country. I would have a variety of pleasures, and habits quite unlike one + another, but each according to nature; I would spend the summer at Naples + and the winter in St. Petersburg; sometimes I would breathe the soft + zephyr lying in the cool grottoes of Tarentum, and again I would enjoy the + illuminations of an ice palace, breathless and wearied with the pleasures + of the dance. + </p> + <p> + In the service of my table and the adornment of my dwelling I would + imitate in the simplest ornaments the variety of the seasons, and draw + from each its charm without anticipating its successor. There is no taste + but only difficulty to be found in thus disturbing the order of nature; to + snatch from her unwilling gifts, which she yields regretfully, with her + curse upon them; gifts which have neither strength nor flavour, which can + neither nourish the body nor tickle the palate. Nothing is more insipid + than forced fruits. A wealthy man in Paris, with all his stoves and + hot-houses, only succeeds in getting all the year round poor fruit and + poor vegetables for his table at a very high price. If I had cherries in + frost, and golden melons in the depths of winter, what pleasure should I + find in them when my palate did not need moisture or refreshment. Would + the heavy chestnut be very pleasant in the heat of the dog-days; should I + prefer to have it hot from the stove, rather than the gooseberry, the + strawberry, the refreshing fruits which the earth takes care to provide + for me. A mantelpiece covered in January with forced vegetation, with pale + and scentless flowers, is not winter adorned, but spring robbed of its + beauty; we deprive ourselves of the pleasure of seeking the first violet + in the woods, of noting the earliest buds, and exclaiming in a rapture of + delight, “Mortals, you are not forsaken, nature is living still.” + </p> + <p> + To be well served I would have few servants; this has been said before, + but it is worth saying again. A tradesman gets more real service from his + one man than a duke from the ten gentlemen round about him. It has often + struck me when I am sitting at table with my glass beside me that I can + drink whenever I please; whereas, if I were dining in state, twenty men + would have to call for “Wine” before I could quench my thirst. + You may be sure that whatever is done for you by other people is ill done. + I would not send to the shops, I would go myself; I would go so that my + servants should not make their own terms with the shopkeepers, and to get + a better choice and cheaper prices; I would go for the sake of pleasant + exercise and to get a glimpse of what was going on out of doors; this is + amusing and sometimes instructive; lastly I would go for the sake of the + walk; there is always something in that. A sedentary life is the source of + tedium; when we walk a good deal we are never dull. A porter and footmen + are poor interpreters, I should never wish to have such people between the + world and myself, nor would I travel with all the fuss of a coach, as if I + were afraid people would speak to me. Shanks’ mare is always ready; + if she is tired or ill, her owner is the first to know it; he need not be + afraid of being kept at home while his coachman is on the spree; on the + road he will not have to submit to all sorts of delays, nor will he be + consumed with impatience, nor compelled to stay in one place a moment + longer than he chooses. Lastly, since no one serves us so well as we serve + ourselves, had we the power of Alexander and the wealth of Croesus we + should accept no services from others, except those we cannot perform for + ourselves. + </p> + <p> + I would not live in a palace; for even in a palace I should only occupy + one room; every room which is common property belongs to nobody, and the + rooms of each of my servants would be as strange to me as my neighbour’s. + The Orientals, although very voluptuous, are lodged in plain and simply + furnished dwellings. They consider life as a journey, and their house as + an inn. This reason scarcely appeals to us rich people who propose to live + for ever; but I should find another reason which would have the same + effect. It would seem to me that if I settled myself in one place in the + midst of such splendour, I should banish myself from every other place, + and imprison myself, so to speak, in my palace. The world is a palace fair + enough for any one; and is not everything at the disposal of the rich man + when he seeks enjoyment? “Ubi bene, ibi patria,” that is his + motto; his home is anywhere where money will carry him, his country is + anywhere where there is room for his strong-box, as Philip considered as + his own any place where a mule laden with silver could enter. [Footnote: A + stranger, splendidly clad, was asked in Athens what country he belonged + to. “I am one of the rich,” was his answer; and a very good + answer in my opinion.] Why then should we shut ourselves up within walls + and gates as if we never meant to leave them? If pestilence, war, or + rebellion drive me from one place, I go to another, and I find my hotel + there before me. Why should I build a mansion for myself when the world is + already at my disposal? Why should I be in such a hurry to live, to bring + from afar delights which I can find on the spot? It is impossible to make + a pleasant life for oneself when one is always at war with oneself. Thus + Empedocles reproached the men of Agrigentum with heaping up pleasures as + if they had but one day to live, and building as if they would live for + ever. + </p> + <p> + And what use have I for so large a dwelling, as I have so few people to + live in it, and still fewer goods to fill it? My furniture would be as + simple as my tastes; I would have neither picture-gallery nor library, + especially if I was fond of reading and knew something about pictures. I + should then know that such collections are never complete, and that the + lack of that which is wanting causes more annoyance than if one had + nothing at all. In this respect abundance is the cause of want, as every + collector knows to his cost. If you are an expert, do not make a + collection; if you know how to use your cabinets, you will not have any to + show. + </p> + <p> + Gambling is no sport for the rich, it is the resource of those who have + nothing to do; I shall be so busy with my pleasures that I shall have no + time to waste. I am poor and lonely and I never play, unless it is a game + of chess now and then, and that is more than enough. If I were rich I + would play even less, and for very low stakes, so that I should not be + disappointed myself, nor see the disappointment of others. The wealthy man + has no motive for play, and the love of play will not degenerate into the + passion for gambling unless the disposition is evil. The rich man is + always more keenly aware of his losses than his gains, and as in games + where the stakes are not high the winnings are generally exhausted in the + long run, he will usually lose more than he gains, so that if we reason + rightly we shall scarcely take a great fancy to games where the odds are + against us. He who flatters his vanity so far as to believe that Fortune + favours him can seek her favour in more exciting ways; and her favours are + just as clearly shown when the stakes are low as when they are high. The + taste for play, the result of greed and dullness, only lays hold of empty + hearts and heads; and I think I should have enough feeling and knowledge + to dispense with its help. Thinkers are seldom gamblers; gambling + interrupts the habit of thought and turns it towards barren combinations; + thus one good result, perhaps the only good result of the taste for + science, is that it deadens to some extent this vulgar passion; people + will prefer to try to discover the uses of play rather than to devote + themselves to it. I should argue with the gamblers against gambling, and I + should find more delight in scoffing at their losses than in winning their + money. + </p> + <p> + I should be the same in private life as in my social intercourse. I should + wish my fortune to bring comfort in its train, and never to make people + conscious of inequalities of wealth. Showy dress is inconvenient in many + ways. To preserve as much freedom as possible among other men, I should + like to be dressed in such a way that I should not seem out of place among + all classes, and should not attract attention in any; so that without + affectation or change I might mingle with the crowd at the inn or with the + nobility at the Palais Royal. In this way I should be more than ever my + own master, and should be free to enjoy the pleasures of all sorts and + conditions of men. There are women, so they say, whose doors are closed to + embroidered cuffs, women who will only receive guests who wear lace + ruffles; I should spend my days elsewhere; though if these women were + young and pretty I might sometimes put on lace ruffles to spend an evening + or so in their company. + </p> + <p> + Mutual affection, similarity of tastes, suitability of character; these + are the only bonds between my companions and myself; among them I would be + a man, not a person of wealth; the charm of their society should never be + embittered by self-seeking. If my wealth had not robbed me of all + humanity, I would scatter my benefits and my services broadcast, but I + should want companions about me, not courtiers, friends, not proteges; I + should wish my friends to regard me as their host, not their patron. + Independence and equality would leave to my relations with my friends the + sincerity of goodwill; while duty and self-seeking would have no place + among us, and we should know no law but that of pleasure and friendship. + </p> + <p> + Neither a friend nor a mistress can be bought. Women may be got for money, + but that road will never lead to love. Love is not only not for sale; + money strikes it dead. If a man pays, were he indeed the most lovable of + men, the mere fact of payment would prevent any lasting affection. He will + soon be paying for some one else, or rather some one else will get his + money; and in this double connection based on self-seeking and debauchery, + without love, honour, or true pleasure, the woman is grasping, faithless, + and unhappy, and she is treated by the wretch to whom she gives her money + as she treats the fool who gives his money to her; she has no love for + either. It would be sweet to lie generous towards one we love, if that did + not make a bargain of love. I know only one way of gratifying this desire + with the woman one loves without embittering love; it is to bestow our all + upon her and to live at her expense. It remains to be seen whether there + is any woman with regard to whom such conduct would not be unwise. + </p> + <p> + He who said, “Lais is mine, but I am not hers,” was talking + nonsense. Possession which is not mutual is nothing at all; at most it is + the possession of the sex not of the individual. But where there is no + morality in love, why make such ado about the rest? Nothing is so easy to + find. A muleteer is in this respect as near to happiness as a millionaire. + </p> + <p> + Oh, if we could thus trace out the unreasonableness of vice, how often + should we find that, when it has attained its object, it discovers it is + not what it seemed! Why is there this cruel haste to corrupt innocence, to + make, a victim of a young creature whom we ought to protect, one who is + dragged by this first false step into a gulf of misery from which only + death can release her? Brutality, vanity, folly, error, and nothing more. + This pleasure itself is unnatural; it rests on popular opinion, and + popular opinion at its worst, since it depends on scorn of self. He who + knows he is the basest of men fears comparison with others, and would be + the first that he may be less hateful. See if those who are most greedy in + pursuit of such fancied pleasures are ever attractive young men—men + worthy of pleasing, men who might have some excuse if they were hard to + please. Not so; any one with good looks, merit, and feeling has little + fear of his mistress’ experience; with well-placed confidence he + says to her, “You know what pleasure is, what is that to me? my + heart assures me that this is not so.” + </p> + <p> + But an aged satyr, worn out with debauchery, with no charm, no + consideration, no thought for any but himself, with no shred of honour, + incapable and unworthy of finding favour in the eyes of any woman who + knows anything of men deserving of love, expects to make up for all this + with an innocent girl by trading on her inexperience and stirring her + emotions for the first time. His last hope is to find favour as a novelty; + no doubt this is the secret motive of this desire; but he is mistaken, the + horror he excites is just as natural as the desires he wishes to arouse. + He is also mistaken in his foolish attempt; that very nature takes care to + assert her rights; every girl who sells herself is no longer a maid; she + has given herself to the man of her choice, and she is making the very + comparison he dreads. The pleasure purchased is imaginary, but none the + less hateful. + </p> + <p> + For my own part, however riches may change me, there is one matter in + which I shall never change. If I have neither morals nor virtue, I shall + not be wholly without taste, without sense, without delicacy; and this + will prevent me from spending my fortune in the pursuit of empty dreams, + from wasting my money and my strength in teaching children to betray me + and mock at me. If I were young, I would seek the pleasures of youth; and + as I would have them at their best I would not seek them in the guise of a + rich man. If I were at my present age, it would be another matter; I would + wisely confine myself to the pleasures of my age; I would form tastes + which I could enjoy, and I would stifle those which could only cause + suffering. I would not go and offer my grey beard to the scornful jests of + young girls; I could never bear to sicken them with my disgusting + caresses, to furnish them at my expense with the most absurd stories, to + imagine them describing the vile pleasures of the old ape, so as to avenge + themselves for what they had endured. But if habits unresisted had changed + my former desires into needs, I would perhaps satisfy those needs, but + with shame and blushes. I would distinguish between passion and necessity, + I would find a suitable mistress and would keep to her. I would not make a + business of my weakness, and above all I would only have one person aware + of it. Life has other pleasures when these fail us; by hastening in vain + after those that fly us, we deprive ourselves of those that remain. Let + our tastes change with our years, let us no more meddle with age than with + the seasons. We should be ourselves at all times, instead of struggling + against nature; such vain attempts exhaust our strength and prevent the + right use of life. + </p> + <p> + The lower classes are seldom dull, their life is full of activity; if + there is little variety in their amusements they do not recur frequently; + many days of labour teach them to enjoy their rare holidays. Short + intervals of leisure between long periods of labour give a spice to the + pleasures of their station. The chief curse of the rich is dullness; in + the midst of costly amusements, among so many men striving to give them + pleasure, they are devoured and slain by dullness; their life is spent in + fleeing from it and in being overtaken by it; they are overwhelmed by the + intolerable burden; women more especially, who do not know how to work or + play, are a prey to tedium under the name of the vapours; with them it + takes the shape of a dreadful disease, which robs them of their reason and + even of their life. For my own part I know no more terrible fate than that + of a pretty woman in Paris, unless it is that of the pretty manikin who + devotes himself to her, who becomes idle and effeminate like her, and so + deprives himself twice over of his manhood, while he prides himself on his + successes and for their sake endures the longest and dullest days which + human being ever put up with. + </p> + <p> + Proprieties, fashions, customs which depend on luxury and breeding, + confine the course of life within the limits of the most miserable + uniformity. The pleasure we desire to display to others is a pleasure + lost; we neither enjoy it ourselves, nor do others enjoy it. [Footnote: + Two ladies of fashion, who wished to seem to be enjoying themselves + greatly, decided never to go to bed before five o’clock in the + morning. In the depths of winter their servants spent the night in the + street waiting for them, and with great difficulty kept themselves from + freezing. One night, or rather one morning, some one entered the room + where these merry people spent their hours without knowing how time + passed. He found them quite alone; each of them was asleep in her + arm-chair.] Ridicule, which public opinion dreads more than anything, is + ever at hand to tyrannise, and punish. It is only ceremony that makes us + ridiculous; if we can vary our place and our pleasures, to-day’s + impressions can efface those of yesterday; in the mind of men they are as + if they had never been; but we enjoy ourselves for we throw ourselves into + every hour and everything. My only set rule would be this: wherever I was + I would pay no heed to anything else. I would take each day as it came, as + if there were neither yesterday nor to-morrow. As I should be a man of the + people, with the populace, I should be a countryman in the fields; and if + I spoke of farming, the peasant should not laugh at my expense. I would + not go and build a town in the country nor erect the Tuileries at the door + of my lodgings. On some pleasant shady hill-side I would have a little + cottage, a white house with green shutters, and though a thatched roof is + the best all the year round, I would be grand enough to have, not those + gloomy slates, but tiles, because they look brighter and more cheerful + than thatch, and the houses in my own country are always roofed with them, + and so they would recall to me something of the happy days of my youth. + For my courtyard I would have a poultry-yard, and for my stables a cowshed + for the sake of the milk which I love. My garden should be a + kitchen-garden, and my park an orchard, like the one described further on. + The fruit would be free to those who walked in the orchard, my gardener + should neither count it nor gather it; I would not, with greedy show, + display before your eyes superb espaliers which one scarcely dare touch. + But this small extravagance would not be costly, for I would choose my + abode in some remote province where silver is scarce and food plentiful, + where plenty and poverty have their seat. + </p> + <p> + There I would gather round me a company, select rather than numerous, a + band of friends who know what pleasure is, and how to enjoy it, women who + can leave their arm-chairs and betake themselves to outdoor sports, women + who can exchange the shuttle or the cards for the fishing line or the + bird-trap, the gleaner’s rake or grape-gatherer’s basket. + There all the pretensions of the town will be forgotten, and we shall be + villagers in a village; we shall find all sorts of different sports and we + shall hardly know how to choose the morrow’s occupation. Exercise + and an active life will improve our digestion and modify our tastes. Every + meal will be a feast, where plenty will be more pleasing than any + delicacies. There are no such cooks in the world as mirth, rural pursuits, + and merry games; and the finest made dishes are quite ridiculous in the + eyes of people who have been on foot since early dawn. Our meals will be + served without regard to order or elegance; we shall make our dining-room + anywhere, in the garden, on a boat, beneath a tree; sometimes at a + distance from the house on the banks of a running stream, on the fresh + green grass, among the clumps of willow and hazel; a long procession of + guests will carry the material for the feast with laughter and singing; + the turf will be our chairs and table, the banks of the stream our + side-board, and our dessert is hanging on the trees; the dishes will be + served in any order, appetite needs no ceremony; each one of us, openly + putting himself first, would gladly see every one else do the same; from + this warm-hearted and temperate familiarity there would arise, without + coarseness, pretence, or constraint, a laughing conflict a hundredfold + more delightful than politeness, and more likely to cement our friendship. + No tedious flunkeys to listen to our words, to whisper criticisms on our + behaviour, to count every mouthful with greedy eyes, to amuse themselves + by keeping us waiting for our wine, to complain of the length of our + dinner. We will be our own servants, in order to be our own masters. Time + will fly unheeded, our meal will be an interval of rest during the heat of + the day. If some peasant comes our way, returning from his work with his + tools over his shoulder, I will cheer his heart with kindly words, and a + glass or two of good wine, which will help him to bear his poverty more + cheerfully; and I too shall have the joy of feeling my heart stirred + within me, and I should say to myself—I too am a man. + </p> + <p> + If the inhabitants of the district assembled for some rustic feast, I and + my friends would be there among the first; if there were marriages, more + blessed than those of towns, celebrated near my home, every one would know + how I love to see people happy, and I should be invited. I would take + these good folks some gift as simple as themselves, a gift which would be + my share of the feast; and in exchange I should obtain gifts beyond price, + gifts so little known among my equals, the gifts of freedom and true + pleasure. I should sup gaily at the head of their long table; I should + join in the chorus of some rustic song and I should dance in the barn more + merrily than at a ball in the Opera House. + </p> + <p> + “This is all very well so far,” you will say, “but what + about the shooting! One must have some sport in the country.” Just + so; I only wanted a farm, but I was wrong. I assume I am rich, I must keep + my pleasures to myself, I must be free to kill something; this is quite + another matter. I must have estates, woods, keepers, rents, seignorial + rights, particularly incense and holy water. + </p> + <p> + Well and good. But I shall have neighbours about my estate who are jealous + of their rights and anxious to encroach on those of others; our keepers + will quarrel, and possibly their masters will quarrel too; this means + altercations, disputes, ill-will, or law-suits at the least; this in + itself is not very pleasant. My tenants will not enjoy finding my hares at + work upon their corn, or my wild boars among their beans. As they dare not + kill the enemy, every one of them will try to drive him from their fields; + when the day has been spent in cultivating the ground, they will be + compelled to sit up at night to watch it; they will have watch-dogs, + drums, horns, and bells; my sleep will be disturbed by their racket. Do + what I will, I cannot help thinking of the misery of these poor people, + and I cannot help blaming myself for it. If I had the honour of being a + prince, this would make little impression on me; but as I am a self-made + man who has only just come into his property, I am still rather vulgar at + heart. + </p> + <p> + That is not all; abundance of game attracts trespassers; I shall soon have + poachers to punish; I shall require prisons, gaolers, guards, and galleys; + all this strikes me as cruel. The wives of those miserable creatures will + besiege my door and disturb me with their crying; they must either be + driven away or roughly handled. The poor people who are not poachers, + whose harvest has been destroyed by my game, will come next with their + complaints. Some people will be put to death for killing the game, the + rest will be punished for having spared it; what a choice of evils! On + every side I shall find nothing but misery and hear nothing but groans. So + far as I can see this must greatly disturb the pleasure of slaying at one’s + ease heaps of partridges and hares which are tame enough to run about one’s + feet. + </p> + <p> + If you would have pleasure without pain let there be no monopoly; the more + you leave it free to everybody, the purer will be your own enjoyment. + Therefore I should not do what I have just described, but without change + of tastes I would follow those which seem likely to cause me least pain. I + would fix my rustic abode in a district where game is not preserved, and + where I can have my sport without hindrance. Game will be less plentiful, + but there will be more skill in finding it, and more pleasure in securing + it. I remember the start of delight with which my father watched the rise + of his first partridge and the rapture with which he found the hare he had + sought all day long. Yes, I declare, that alone with his dog, carrying his + own gun, cartridges, and game bag together with his hare, he came home at + nightfall, worn out with fatigue and torn to pieces by brambles, but + better pleased with his day’s sport than all your ordinary + sportsmen, who on a good horse, with twenty guns ready for them, merely + take one gun after another, and shoot and kill everything that comes their + way, without skill, without glory, and almost without exercise. The + pleasure is none the less, and the difficulties are removed; there is no + estate to be preserved, no poacher to be punished, and no wretches to be + tormented; here are solid grounds for preference. Whatever you do, you + cannot torment men for ever without experiencing some amount of + discomfort; and sooner or later the muttered curses of the people will + spoil the flavour of your game. + </p> + <p> + Again, monopoly destroys pleasure. Real pleasures are those which we share + with the crowd; we lose what we try to keep to ourselves alone. If the + walls I build round my park transform it into a gloomy prison, I have only + deprived myself, at great expense, of the pleasure of a walk; I must now + seek that pleasure at a distance. The demon of property spoils everything + he lays hands upon. A rich man wants to be master everywhere, and he is + never happy where he is; he is continually driven to flee from himself. I + shall therefore continue to do in my prosperity what I did in my poverty. + Henceforward, richer in the wealth of others than I ever shall be in my + own wealth, I will take possession of everything in my neighbourhood that + takes my fancy; no conqueror is so determined as I; I even usurp the + rights of princes; I take possession of every open place that pleases me, + I give them names; this is my park, chat is my terrace, and I am their + owner; henceforward I wander among them at will; I often return to + maintain my proprietary rights; I make what use I choose of the ground to + walk upon, and you will never convince me that the nominal owner of the + property which I have appropriated gets better value out of the money it + yields him than I do out of his land. No matter if I am interrupted by + hedges and ditches, I take my park on my back, and I carry it elsewhere; + there will be space enough for it near at hand, and I may plunder my + neighbours long enough before I outstay my welcome. + </p> + <p> + This is an attempt to show what is meant by good taste in the choice of + pleasant occupations for our leisure hours; this is the spirit of + enjoyment; all else is illusion, fancy, and foolish pride. He who disobeys + these rules, however rich he may be, will devour his gold on a dung-hill, + and will never know what it is to live. + </p> + <p> + You will say, no doubt, that such amusements lie within the reach of all, + that we need not be rich to enjoy them. That is the very point I was + coming to. Pleasure is ours when we want it; it is only social prejudice + which makes everything hard to obtain, and drives pleasure before us. To + be happy is a hundredfold easier than it seems. If he really desires to + enjoy himself the man of taste has no need of riches; all he wants is to + be free and to be his own master. With health and daily bread we are rich + enough, if we will but get rid of our prejudices; this is the “Golden + Mean” of Horace. You folks with your strong-boxes may find some + other use for your wealth, for it cannot buy you pleasure. Emile knows + this as well as I, but his heart is purer and more healthy, so he will + feel it more strongly, and all that he has beheld in society will only + serve to confirm him in this opinion. + </p> + <p> + While our time is thus employed, we are ever on the look-out for Sophy, + and we have not yet found her. It was not desirable that she should be + found too easily, and I have taken care to look for her where I knew we + should not find her. + </p> + <p> + The time is come; we must now seek her in earnest, lest Emile should + mistake some one else for Sophy, and only discover his error when it is + too late. Then farewell Paris, far-famed Paris, with all your noise and + smoke and dirt, where the women have ceased to believe in honour and the + men in virtue. We are in search of love, happiness, innocence; the further + we go from Paris the better. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + BOOK V + </h2> + <p class="pfirst"> + <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">W</span>e have reached the + last act of youth’s drama; we are approaching its closing scene. + </p> + <p> + It is not good that man should be alone. Emile is now a man, and we must + give him his promised helpmeet. That helpmeet is Sophy. Where is her + dwelling-place, where shall she be found? We must know beforehand what she + is, and then we can decide where to look for her. And when she is found, + our task is not ended. “Since our young gentleman,” says + Locke, “is about to marry, it is time to leave him with his + mistress.” And with these words he ends his book. As I have not the + honour of educating “A young gentleman,” I shall take care not + to follow his example. + </p> + <h3> + SOPHY, OR WOMAN + </h3> + <p> + Sophy should be as truly a woman as Emile is a man, i.e., she must possess + all those characters of her sex which are required to enable her to play + her part in the physical and moral order. Let us inquire to begin with in + what respects her sex differs from our own. + </p> + <p> + But for her sex, a woman is a man; she has the same organs, the same + needs, the same faculties. The machine is the same in its construction; + its parts, its working, and its appearance are similar. Regard it as you + will the difference is only in degree. + </p> + <p> + Yet where sex is concerned man and woman are unlike; each is the + complement of the other; the difficulty in comparing them lies in our + inability to decide, in either case, what is a matter of sex, and what is + not. General differences present themselves to the comparative anatomist + and even to the superficial observer; they seem not to be a matter of sex; + yet they are really sex differences, though the connection eludes our + observation. How far such differences may extend we cannot tell; all we + know for certain is that where man and woman are alike we have to do with + the characteristics of the species; where they are unlike, we have to do + with the characteristics of sex. Considered from these two standpoints, we + find so many instances of likeness and unlikeness that it is perhaps one + of the greatest of marvels how nature has contrived to make two beings so + like and yet so different. + </p> + <p> + These resemblances and differences must have an influence on the moral + nature; this inference is obvious, and it is confirmed by experience; it + shows the vanity of the disputes as to the superiority or the equality of + the sexes; as if each sex, pursuing the path marked out for it by nature, + were not more perfect in that very divergence than if it more closely + resembled the other. A perfect man and a perfect woman should no more be + alike in mind than in face, and perfection admits of neither less nor + more. + </p> + <p> + In the union of the sexes each alike contributes to the common end, but in + different ways. From this diversity springs the first difference which may + be observed between man and woman in their moral relations. The man should + be strong and active; the woman should be weak and passive; the one must + have both the power and the will; it is enough that the other should offer + little resistance. + </p> + <p> + When this principle is admitted, it follows that woman is specially made + for man’s delight. If man in his turn ought to be pleasing in her + eyes, the necessity is less urgent, his virtue is in his strength, he + pleases because he is strong. I grant you this is not the law of love, but + it is the law of nature, which is older than love itself. + </p> + <p> + If woman is made to please and to be in subjection to man, she ought to + make herself pleasing in his eyes and not provoke him to anger; her + strength is in her charms, by their means she should compel him to + discover and use his strength. The surest way of arousing this strength is + to make it necessary by resistance. Thus pride comes to the help of desire + and each exults in the other’s victory. This is the origin of attack + and defence, of the boldness of one sex and the timidity of the other, and + even of the shame and modesty with which nature has armed the weak for the + conquest of the strong. + </p> + <p> + Who can possibly suppose that nature has prescribed the same advances to + the one sex as to the other, or that the first to feel desire should be + the first to show it? What strange depravity of judgment! The consequences + of the act being so different for the two sexes, is it natural that they + should enter upon it with equal boldness? How can any one fail to see that + when the share of each is so unequal, if the one were not controlled by + modesty as the other is controlled by nature, the result would be the + destruction of both, and the human race would perish through the very + means ordained for its continuance? + </p> + <p> + Women so easily stir a man’s senses and fan the ashes of a dying + passion, that if philosophy ever succeeded in introducing this custom into + any unlucky country, especially if it were a warm country where more women + are born than men, the men, tyrannised over by the women, would at last + become their victims, and would be dragged to their death without the + least chance of escape. + </p> + <p> + Female animals are without this sense of shame, but what of that? Are + their desires as boundless as those of women, which are curbed by this + shame? The desires of the animals are the result of necessity, and when + the need is satisfied, the desire ceases; they no longer make a feint of + repulsing the male, they do it in earnest. Their seasons of complaisance + are short and soon over. Impulse and restraint are alike the work of + nature. But what would take the place of this negative instinct in women + if you rob them of their modesty? + </p> + <p> + The Most High has deigned to do honour to mankind; he has endowed man with + boundless passions, together with a law to guide them, so that man may be + alike free and self-controlled; though swayed by these passions man is + endowed with reason by which to control them. Woman is also endowed with + boundless passions; God has given her modesty to restrain them. Moreover, + he has given to both a present reward for the right use of their powers, + in the delight which springs from that right use of them, i.e., the taste + for right conduct established as the law of our behaviour. To my mind this + is far higher than the instinct of the beasts. + </p> + <p> + Whether the woman shares the man’s passion or not, whether she is + willing or unwilling to satisfy it, she always repulses him and defends + herself, though not always with the same vigour, and therefore not always + with the same success. If the siege is to be successful, the besieged must + permit or direct the attack. How skilfully can she stimulate the efforts + of the aggressor. The freest and most delightful of activities does not + permit of any real violence; reason and nature are alike against it; + nature, in that she has given the weaker party strength enough to resist + if she chooses; reason, in that actual violence is not only most brutal in + itself, but it defeats its own ends, not only because the man thus + declares war against his companion and thus gives her a right to defend + her person and her liberty even at the cost of the enemy’s life, but + also because the woman alone is the judge of her condition, and a child + would have no father if any man might usurp a father’s rights. + </p> + <p> + Thus the different constitution of the two sexes leads us to a third + conclusion, that the stronger party seems to be master, but is as a matter + of fact dependent on the weaker, and that, not by any foolish custom of + gallantry, nor yet by the magnanimity of the protector, but by an + inexorable law of nature. For nature has endowed woman with a power of + stimulating man’s passions in excess of man’s power of + satisfying those passions, and has thus made him dependent on her + goodwill, and compelled him in his turn to endeavour to please her, so + that she may be willing to yield to his superior strength. Is it weakness + which yields to force, or is it voluntary self-surrender? This uncertainty + constitutes the chief charm of the man’s victory, and the woman is + usually cunning enough to leave him in doubt. In this respect the woman’s + mind exactly resembles her body; far from being ashamed of her weakness, + she is proud of it; her soft muscles offer no resistance, she professes + that she cannot lift the lightest weight; she would be ashamed to be + strong. And why? Not only to gain an appearance of refinement; she is too + clever for that; she is providing herself beforehand with excuses, with + the right to be weak if she chooses. + </p> + <p> + The experience we have gained through our vices has considerably modified + the views held in older times; we rarely hear of violence for which there + is so little occasion that it would hardly be credited. Yet such stories + are common enough among the Jews and ancient Greeks; for such views belong + to the simplicity of nature, and have only been uprooted by our + profligacy. If fewer deeds of violence are quoted in our days, it is not + that men are more temperate, but because they are less credulous, and a + complaint which would have been believed among a simple people would only + excite laughter among ourselves; therefore silence is the better course. + There is a law in Deuteronomy, under which the outraged maiden was + punished, along with her assailant, if the crime were committed in a town; + but if in the country or in a lonely place, the latter alone was punished. + “For,” says the law, “the maiden cried for help, and + there was none to hear.” From this merciful interpretation of the + law, girls learnt not to let themselves be surprised in lonely places. + </p> + <p> + This change in public opinion has had a perceptible effect on our morals. + It has produced our modern gallantry. Men have found that their pleasures + depend, more than they expected, on the goodwill of the fair sex, and have + secured this goodwill by attentions which have had their reward. + </p> + <p> + See how we find ourselves led unconsciously from the physical to the moral + constitution, how from the grosser union of the sexes spring the sweet + laws of love. Woman reigns, not by the will of man, but by the decrees of + nature herself; she had the power long before she showed it. That same + Hercules who proposed to violate all the fifty daughters of Thespis was + compelled to spin at the feet of Omphale, and Samson, the strong man, was + less strong than Delilah. This power cannot be taken from woman; it is + hers by right; she would have lost it long ago, were it possible. + </p> + <p> + The consequences of sex are wholly unlike for man and woman. The male is + only a male now and again, the female is always a female, or at least all + her youth; everything reminds her of her sex; the performance of her + functions requires a special constitution. She needs care during pregnancy + and freedom from work when her child is born; she must have a quiet, easy + life while she nurses her children; their education calls for patience and + gentleness, for a zeal and love which nothing can dismay; she forms a bond + between father and child, she alone can win the father’s love for + his children and convince him that they are indeed his own. What loving + care is required to preserve a united family! And there should be no + question of virtue in all this, it must be a labour of love, without which + the human race would be doomed to extinction. + </p> + <p> + The mutual duties of the two sexes are not, and cannot be, equally binding + on both. Women do wrong to complain of the inequality of man-made laws; + this inequality is not of man’s making, or at any rate it is not the + result of mere prejudice, but of reason. She to whom nature has entrusted + the care of the children must hold herself responsible for them to their + father. No doubt every breach of faith is wrong, and every faithless + husband, who robs his wife of the sole reward of the stern duties of her + sex, is cruel and unjust; but the faithless wife is worse; she destroys + the family and breaks the bonds of nature; when she gives her husband + children who are not his own, she is false both to him and them, her crime + is not infidelity but treason. To my mind, it is the source of dissension + and of crime of every kind. Can any position be more wretched than that of + the unhappy father who, when he clasps his child to his breast, is haunted + by the suspicion that this is the child of another, the badge of his own + dishonour, a thief who is robbing his own children of their inheritance. + Under such circumstances the family is little more than a group of secret + enemies, armed against each other by a guilty woman, who compels them to + pretend to love one another. + </p> + <p> + Thus it is not enough that a wife should be faithful; her husband, along + with his friends and neighbours, must believe in her fidelity; she must be + modest, devoted, retiring; she should have the witness not only of a good + conscience, but of a good reputation. In a word, if a father must love his + children, he must be able to respect their mother. For these reasons it is + not enough that the woman should be chaste, she must preserve her + reputation and her good name. From these principles there arises not only + a moral difference between the sexes, but also a fresh motive for duty and + propriety, which prescribes to women in particular the most scrupulous + attention to their conduct, their manners, their behaviour. Vague + assertions as to the equality of the sexes and the similarity of their + duties are only empty words; they are no answer to my argument. + </p> + <p> + It is a poor sort of logic to quote isolated exceptions against laws so + firmly established. Women, you say, are not always bearing children. + Granted; yet that is their proper business. Because there are a hundred or + so of large towns in the world where women live licentiously and have few + children, will you maintain that it is their business to have few + children? And what would become of your towns if the remote country + districts, with their simpler and purer women, did not make up for the + barrenness of your fine ladies? There are plenty of country places where + women with only four or five children are reckoned unfruitful. In + conclusion, although here and there a woman may have few children, what + difference does it make? [Footnote: Without this the race would + necessarily diminish; all things considered, for its preservation each + woman ought to have about four children, for about half the children born + die before they can become parents, and two must survive to replace the + father and mother. See whether the towns will supply them?] Is it any the + less a woman’s business to be a mother? And to not the general laws + of nature and morality make provision for this state of things? + </p> + <p> + Even if there were these long intervals, which you assume, between the + periods of pregnancy, can a woman suddenly change her way of life without + danger? Can she be a nursing mother to-day and a soldier to-morrow? Will + she change her tastes and her feelings as a chameleon changes his colour? + Will she pass at once from the privacy of household duties and indoor + occupations to the buffeting of the winds, the toils, the labours, the + perils of war? Will she be now timid, [Footnote: Women’s timidity is + yet another instinct of nature against the double risk she runs during + pregnancy.] now brave, now fragile, now robust? If the young men of Paris + find a soldier’s life too hard for them, how would a woman put up + with it, a woman who has hardly ventured out of doors without a parasol + and who has scarcely put a foot to the ground? Will she make a good + soldier at an age when even men are retiring from this arduous business? + </p> + <p> + There are countries, I grant you, where women bear and rear children with + little or no difficulty, but in those lands the men go half-naked in all + weathers, they strike down the wild beasts, they carry a canoe as easily + as a knapsack, they pursue the chase for 700 or 800 leagues, they sleep in + the open on the bare ground, they bear incredible fatigues and go many + days without food. When women become strong, men become still stronger; + when men become soft, women become softer; change both the terms and the + ratio remains unaltered. + </p> + <p> + I am quite aware that Plato, in the Republic, assigns the same gymnastics + to women and men. Having got rid of the family there is no place for women + in his system of government, so he is forced to turn them into men. That + great genius has worked out his plans in detail and has provided for every + contingency; he has even provided against a difficulty which in all + likelihood no one would ever have raised; but he has not succeeded in + meeting the real difficulty. I am not speaking of the alleged community of + wives which has often been laid to his charge; this assertion only shows + that his detractors have never read his works. I refer to that political + promiscuity under which the same occupations are assigned to both sexes + alike, a scheme which could only lead to intolerable evils; I refer to + that subversion of all the tenderest of our natural feelings, which he + sacrificed to an artificial sentiment which can only exist by their aid. + Will the bonds of convention hold firm without some foundation in nature? + Can devotion to the state exist apart from the love of those near and dear + to us? Can patriotism thrive except in the soil of that miniature + fatherland, the home? Is it not the good son, the good husband, the good + father, who makes the good citizen? + </p> + <p> + When once it is proved that men and women are and ought to be unlike in + constitution and in temperament, it follows that their education must be + different. Nature teaches us that they should work together, but that each + has its own share of the work; the end is the same, but the means are + different, as are also the feelings which direct them. We have attempted + to paint a natural man, let us try to paint a helpmeet for him. + </p> + <p> + You must follow nature’s guidance if you would walk aright. The + native characters of sex should be respected as nature’s handiwork. + You are always saying, “Women have such and such faults, from which + we are free.” You are misled by your vanity; what would be faults in + you are virtues in them; and things would go worse, if they were without + these so-called faults. Take care that they do not degenerate into evil, + but beware of destroying them. + </p> + <p> + On the other hand, women are always exclaiming that we educate them for + nothing but vanity and coquetry, that we keep them amused with trifles + that we may be their masters; we are responsible, so they say, for the + faults we attribute to them. How silly! What have men to do with the + education of girls? What is there to hinder their mothers educating them + as they please? There are no colleges for girls; so much the better for + them! Would God there were none for the boys, their education would be + more sensible and more wholesome. Who is it that compels a girl to waste + her time on foolish trifles? Are they forced, against their will, to spend + half their time over their toilet, following the example set them by you? + Who prevents you teaching them, or having them taught, whatever seems good + in your eyes? Is it our fault that we are charmed by their beauty and + delighted by their airs and graces, if we are attracted and flattered by + the arts they learn from you, if we love to see them prettily dressed, if + we let them display at leisure the weapons by which we are subjugated? + Well then, educate them like men. The more women are like men, the less + influence they will have over men, and then men will be masters indeed. + </p> + <p> + All the faculties common to both sexes are not equally shared between + them, but taken as a whole they are fairly divided. Woman is worth more as + a woman and less as a man; when she makes a good use of her own rights, + she has the best of it; when she tries to usurp our rights, she is our + inferior. It is impossible to controvert this, except by quoting + exceptions after the usual fashion of the partisans of the fair sex. + </p> + <p> + To cultivate the masculine virtues in women and to neglect their own is + evidently to do them an injury. Women are too clear-sighted to be thus + deceived; when they try to usurp our privileges they do not abandon their + own; with this result: they are unable to make use of two incompatible + things, so they fall below their own level as women, instead of rising to + the level of men. If you are a sensible mother you will take my advice. Do + not try to make your daughter a good man in defiance of nature. Make her a + good woman, and be sure it will be better both for her and us. + </p> + <p> + Does this mean that she must be brought up in ignorance and kept to + housework only? Is she to be man’s handmaid or his help-meet? Will + he dispense with her greatest charm, her companionship? To keep her a + slave will he prevent her knowing and feeling? Will he make an automaton + of her? No, indeed, that is not the teaching of nature, who has given + women such a pleasant easy wit. On the contrary, nature means them to + think, to will, to love, to cultivate their minds as well as their + persons; she puts these weapons in their hands to make up for their lack + of strength and to enable them to direct the strength of men. They should + learn many things, but only such things as are suitable. + </p> + <p> + When I consider the special purpose of woman, when I observe her + inclinations or reckon up her duties, everything combines to indicate the + mode of education she requires. Men and women are made for each other, but + their mutual dependence differs in degree; man is dependent on woman + through his desires; woman is dependent on man through her desires and + also through her needs; he could do without her better than she can do + without him. She cannot fulfil her purpose in life without his aid, + without his goodwill, without his respect; she is dependent on our + feelings, on the price we put upon her virtue, and the opinion we have of + her charms and her deserts. Nature herself has decreed that woman, both + for herself and her children, should be at the mercy of man’s + judgment. + </p> + <p> + Worth alone will not suffice, a woman must be thought worthy; nor beauty, + she must be admired; nor virtue, she must be respected. A woman’s + honour does not depend on her conduct alone, but on her reputation, and no + woman who permits herself to be considered vile is really virtuous. A man + has no one but himself to consider, and so long as he does right he may + defy public opinion; but when a woman does right her task is only half + finished, and what people think of her matters as much as what she really + is. Hence her education must, in this respect, be different from man’s + education. “What will people think” is the grave of a man’s + virtue and the throne of a woman’s. + </p> + <p> + The children’s health depends in the first place on the mother’s, + and the early education of man is also in a woman’s hands; his + morals, his passions, his tastes, his pleasures, his happiness itself, + depend on her. A woman’s education must therefore be planned in + relation to man. To be pleasing in his sight, to win his respect and love, + to train him in childhood, to tend him in manhood, to counsel and console, + to make his life pleasant and happy, these are the duties of woman for all + time, and this is what she should be taught while she is young. The + further we depart from this principle, the further we shall be from our + goal, and all our precepts will fail to secure her happiness or our own. + </p> + <p> + Every woman desires to be pleasing in men’s eyes, and this is right; + but there is a great difference between wishing to please a man of worth, + a really lovable man, and seeking to please those foppish manikins who are + a disgrace to their own sex and to the sex which they imitate. Neither + nature nor reason can induce a woman to love an effeminate person, nor + will she win love by imitating such a person. + </p> + <p> + If a woman discards the quiet modest bearing of her sex, and adopts the + airs of such foolish creatures, she is not following her vocation, she is + forsaking it; she is robbing herself of the rights to which she lays + claim. “If we were different,” she says, “the men would + not like us.” She is mistaken. Only a fool likes folly; to wish to + attract such men only shows her own foolishness. If there were no + frivolous men, women would soon make them, and women are more responsible + for men’s follies than men are for theirs. The woman who loves true + manhood and seeks to find favour in its sight will adopt means adapted to + her ends. Woman is a coquette by profession, but her coquetry varies with + her aims; let these aims be in accordance with those of nature, and a + woman will receive a fitting education. + </p> + <p> + Even the tiniest little girls love finery; they are not content to be + pretty, they must be admired; their little airs and graces show that their + heads are full of this idea, and as soon as they can understand they are + controlled by “What will people think of you?” If you are + foolish enough to try this way with little boys, it will not have the same + effect; give them their freedom and their sports, and they care very + little what people think; it is a work of time to bring them under the + control of this law. + </p> + <p> + However acquired, this early education of little girls is an excellent + thing in itself. As the birth of the body must precede the birth of the + mind, so the training of the body must precede the cultivation of the + mind. This is true of both sexes; but the aim of physical training for + boys and girls is not the same; in the one case it is the development of + strength, in the other of grace; not that these qualities should be + peculiar to either sex, but that their relative values should be + different. Women should be strong enough to do anything gracefully; men + should be skilful enough to do anything easily. + </p> + <p> + The exaggeration of feminine delicacy leads to effeminacy in men. Women + should not be strong like men but for them, so that their sons may be + strong. Convents and boarding-schools, with their plain food and ample + opportunities for amusements, races, and games in the open air and in the + garden, are better in this respect than the home, where the little girl is + fed on delicacies, continually encouraged or reproved, where she is kept + sitting in a stuffy room, always under her mother’s eye, afraid to + stand or walk or speak or breathe, without a moment’s freedom to + play or jump or run or shout, or to be her natural, lively, little self; + there is either harmful indulgence or misguided severity, and no trace of + reason. In this fashion heart and body are alike destroyed. + </p> + <p> + In Sparta the girls used to take part in military sports just like the + boys, not that they might go to war, but that they might bear sons who + could endure hardship. That is not what I desire. To provide the state + with soldiers it is not necessary that the mother should carry a musket + and master the Prussian drill. Yet, on the whole, I think the Greeks were + very wise in this matter of physical training. Young girls frequently + appeared in public, not with the boys, but in groups apart. There was + scarcely a festival, a sacrifice, or a procession without its bands of + maidens, the daughters of the chief citizens. Crowned with flowers, + chanting hymns, forming the chorus of the dance, bearing baskets, vases, + offerings, they presented a charming spectacle to the depraved senses of + the Greeks, a spectacle well fitted to efface the evil effects of their + unseemly gymnastics. Whatever this custom may have done for the Greek men, + it was well fitted to develop in the Greek women a sound constitution by + means of pleasant, moderate, and healthy exercise; while the desire to + please would develop a keen and cultivated taste without risk to + character. + </p> + <p> + When the Greek women married, they disappeared from public life; within + the four walls of their home they devoted themselves to the care of their + household and family. This is the mode of life prescribed for women alike + by nature and reason. These women gave birth to the healthiest, strongest, + and best proportioned men who ever lived, and except in certain islands of + ill repute, no women in the whole world, not even the Roman matrons, were + ever at once so wise and so charming, so beautiful and so virtuous, as the + women of ancient Greece. + </p> + <p> + It is admitted that their flowing garments, which did not cramp the + figure, preserved in men and women alike the fine proportions which are + seen in their statues. These are still the models of art, although nature + is so disfigured that they are no longer to be found among us. The Gothic + trammels, the innumerable bands which confine our limbs as in a press, + were quite unknown. The Greek women were wholly unacquainted with those + frames of whalebone in which our women distort rather than display their + figures. It seems to me that this abuse, which is carried to an incredible + degree of folly in England, must sooner or later lead to the production of + a degenerate race. Moreover, I maintain that the charm which these corsets + are supposed to produce is in the worst possible taste; it is not a + pleasant thing to see a woman cut in two like a wasp—it offends both + the eye and the imagination. A slender waist has its limits, like + everything else, in proportion and suitability, and beyond these limits it + becomes a defect. This defect would be a glaring one in the nude; why + should it be beautiful under the costume? + </p> + <p> + I will not venture upon the reasons which induce women to incase + themselves in these coats of mail. A clumsy figure, a large waist, are no + doubt very ugly at twenty, but at thirty they cease to offend the eye, and + as we are bound to be what nature has made us at any given age, and as + there is no deceiving the eye of man, such defects are less offensive at + any age than the foolish affectations of a young thing of forty. + </p> + <p> + Everything which cramps and confines nature is in bad taste; this is as + true of the adornments of the person as of the ornaments of the mind. + Life, health, common-sense, and comfort must come first; there is no grace + in discomfort, languor is not refinement, there is no charm in ill-health; + suffering may excite pity, but pleasure and delight demand the freshness + of health. + </p> + <p> + Boys and girls have many games in common, and this is as it should be; do + they not play together when they are grown up? They have also special + tastes of their own. Boys want movement and noise, drums, tops, toy-carts; + girls prefer things which appeal to the eye, and can be used for + dressing-up—mirrors, jewellery, finery, and specially dolls. The + doll is the girl’s special plaything; this shows her instinctive + bent towards her life’s work. The art of pleasing finds its physical + basis in personal adornment, and this physical side of the art is the only + one which the child can cultivate. + </p> + <p> + Here is a little girl busy all day with her doll; she is always changing + its clothes, dressing and undressing it, trying new combinations of + trimmings well or ill matched; her fingers are clumsy, her taste is crude, + but there is no mistaking her bent; in this endless occupation time flies + unheeded, the hours slip away unnoticed, even meals are forgotten. She is + more eager for adornment than for food. “But she is dressing her + doll, not herself,” you will say. Just so; she sees her doll, she + cannot see herself; she cannot do anything for herself, she has neither + the training, nor the talent, nor the strength; as yet she herself is + nothing, she is engrossed in her doll and all her coquetry is devoted to + it. This will not always be so; in due time she will be her own doll. + </p> + <p> + We have here a very early and clearly-marked bent; you have only to follow + it and train it. What the little girl most clearly desires is to dress her + doll, to make its bows, its tippets, its sashes, and its tuckers; she is + dependent on other people’s kindness in all this, and it would be + much pleasanter to be able to do it herself. Here is a motive for her + earliest lessons, they are not tasks prescribed, but favours bestowed. + Little girls always dislike learning to read and write, but they are + always ready to learn to sew. They think they are grown up, and in + imagination they are using their knowledge for their own adornment. + </p> + <p> + The way is open and it is easy to follow it; cutting out, embroidery, + lace-making follow naturally. Tapestry is not popular; furniture is too + remote from the child’s interests, it has nothing to do with the + person, it depends on conventional tastes. Tapestry is a woman’s + amusement; young girls never care for it. + </p> + <p> + This voluntary course is easily extended to include drawing, an art which + is closely connected with taste in dress; but I would not have them taught + landscape and still less figure painting. Leaves, fruit, flowers, + draperies, anything that will make an elegant trimming for the accessories + of the toilet, and enable the girl to design her own embroidery if she + cannot find a pattern to her taste; that will be quite enough. Speaking + generally, if it is desirable to restrict a man’s studies to what is + useful, this is even more necessary for women, whose life, though less + laborious, should be even more industrious and more uniformly employed in + a variety of duties, so that one talent should not be encouraged at the + expense of others. + </p> + <p> + Whatever may be said by the scornful, good sense belongs to both sexes + alike. Girls are usually more docile than boys, and they should be + subjected to more authority, as I shall show later on, but that is no + reason why they should be required to do things in which they can see + neither rhyme nor reason. The mother’s art consists in showing the + use of everything they are set to do, and this is all the easier as the + girl’s intelligence is more precocious than the boy’s. This + principle banishes, both for boys and girls, not only those pursuits which + never lead to any appreciable results, not even increasing the charms of + those who have pursued them, but also those studies whose utility is + beyond the scholar’s present age and can only be appreciated in + later years. If I object to little boys being made to learn to read, still + more do I object to it for little girls until they are able to see the use + of reading; we generally think more of our own ideas than theirs in our + attempts to convince them of the utility of this art. After all, why + should a little girl know how to read and write! Has she a house to + manage? Most of them make a bad use of this fatal knowledge, and girls are + so full of curiosity that few of them will fail to learn without + compulsion. Possibly cyphering should come first; there is nothing so + obviously useful, nothing which needs so much practice or gives so much + opportunity for error as reckoning. If the little girl does not get the + cherries for her lunch without an arithmetical exercise, she will soon + learn to count. + </p> + <p> + I once knew a little girl who learnt to write before she could read, and + she began to write with her needle. To begin with, she would write nothing + but O’s; she was always making O’s, large and small, of all + kinds and one within another, but always drawn backwards. Unluckily one + day she caught a glimpse of herself in the glass while she was at this + useful work, and thinking that the cramped attitude was not pretty, like + another Minerva she flung away her pen and declined to make any more O’s. + Her brother was no fonder of writing, but what he disliked was the + constraint, not the look of the thing. She was induced to go on with her + writing in this way. The child was fastidious and vain; she could not bear + her sisters to wear her clothes. Her things had been marked, they declined + to mark them any more, she must learn to mark them herself; there is no + need to continue the story. + </p> + <p> + Show the sense of the tasks you set your little girls, but keep them busy. + Idleness and insubordination are two very dangerous faults, and very hard + to cure when once established. Girls should be attentive and industrious, + but this is not enough by itself; they should early be accustomed to + restraint. This misfortune, if such it be, is inherent in their sex, and + they will never escape from it, unless to endure more cruel sufferings. + All their life long, they will have to submit to the strictest and most + enduring restraints, those of propriety. They must be trained to bear the + yoke from the first, so that they may not feel it, to master their own + caprices and to submit themselves to the will of others. If they were + always eager to be at work, they should sometimes be compelled to do + nothing. Their childish faults, unchecked and unheeded, may easily lead to + dissipation, frivolity, and inconstancy. To guard against this, teach them + above all things self-control. Under our senseless conditions, the life of + a good woman is a perpetual struggle against self; it is only fair that + woman should bear her share of the ills she has brought upon man. + </p> + <p> + Beware lest your girls become weary of their tasks and infatuated with + their amusements; this often happens under our ordinary methods of + education, where, as Fenelon says, all the tedium is on one side and all + the pleasure on the other. If the rules already laid down are followed, + the first of these dangers will be avoided, unless the child dislikes + those about her. A little girl who is fond of her mother or her friend + will work by her side all day without getting tired; the chatter alone + will make up for any loss of liberty. But if her companion is distasteful + to her, everything done under her direction will be distasteful too. + Children who take no delight in their mother’s company are not + likely to turn out well; but to judge of their real feelings you must + watch them and not trust to their words alone, for they are flatterers and + deceitful and soon learn to conceal their thoughts. Neither should they be + told that they ought to love their mother. Affection is not the result of + duty, and in this respect constraint is out of place. Continual + intercourse, constant care, habit itself, all these will lead a child to + love her mother, if the mother does nothing to deserve the child’s + ill-will. The very control she exercises over the child, if well directed, + will increase rather than diminish the affection, for women being made for + dependence, girls feel themselves made to obey. + </p> + <p> + Just because they have, or ought to have, little freedom, they are apt to + indulge themselves too fully with regard to such freedom as they have; + they carry everything to extremes, and they devote themselves to their + games with an enthusiasm even greater than that of boys. This is the + second difficulty to which I referred. This enthusiasm must be kept in + check, for it is the source of several vices commonly found among women, + caprice and that extravagant admiration which leads a woman to regard a + thing with rapture to-day and to be quite indifferent to it to-morrow. + This fickleness of taste is as dangerous as exaggeration; and both spring + from the same cause. Do not deprive them of mirth, laughter, noise, and + romping games, but do not let them tire of one game and go off to another; + do not leave them for a moment without restraint. Train them to break off + their games and return to their other occupations without a murmur. Habit + is all that is needed, as you have nature on your side. + </p> + <p> + This habitual restraint produces a docility which woman requires all her + life long, for she will always be in subjection to a man, or to man’s + judgment, and she will never be free to set her own opinion above his. + What is most wanted in a woman is gentleness; formed to obey a creature so + imperfect as man, a creature often vicious and always faulty, she should + early learn to submit to injustice and to suffer the wrongs inflicted on + her by her husband without complaint; she must be gentle for her own sake, + not his. Bitterness and obstinacy only multiply the sufferings of the wife + and the misdeeds of the husband; the man feels that these are not the + weapons to be used against him. Heaven did not make women attractive and + persuasive that they might degenerate into bitterness, or meek that they + should desire the mastery; their soft voice was not meant for hard words, + nor their delicate features for the frowns of anger. When they lose their + temper they forget themselves; often enough they have just cause of + complaint; but when they scold they always put themselves in the wrong. We + should each adopt the tone which befits our sex; a soft-hearted husband + may make an overbearing wife, but a man, unless he is a perfect monster, + will sooner or later yield to his wife’s gentleness, and the victory + will be hers. + </p> + <p> + Daughters must always be obedient, but mothers need not always be harsh. + To make a girl docile you need not make her miserable; to make her modest + you need not terrify her; on the contrary, I should not be sorry to see + her allowed occasionally to exercise a little ingenuity, not to escape + punishment for her disobedience, but to evade the necessity for obedience. + Her dependence need not be made unpleasant, it is enough that she should + realise that she is dependent. Cunning is a natural gift of woman, and so + convinced am I that all our natural inclinations are right, that I would + cultivate this among others, only guarding against its abuse. + </p> + <p> + For the truth of this I appeal to every honest observer. I do not ask you + to question women themselves, our cramping institutions may compel them to + sharpen their wits; I would have you examine girls, little girls, + newly-born so to speak; compare them with boys of the same age, and I am + greatly mistaken if you do not find the little boys heavy, silly, and + foolish, in comparison. Let me give one illustration in all its childish + simplicity. + </p> + <p> + Children are commonly forbidden to ask for anything at table, for people + think they can do nothing better in the way of education than to burden + them with useless precepts; as if a little bit of this or that were not + readily given or refused without leaving a poor child dying of greediness + intensified by hope. Every one knows how cunningly a little boy brought up + in this way asked for salt when he had been overlooked at table. I do not + suppose any one will blame him for asking directly for salt and indirectly + for meat; the neglect was so cruel that I hardly think he would have been + punished had he broken the rule and said plainly that he was hungry. But + this is what I saw done by a little girl of six; the circumstances were + much more difficult, for not only was she strictly forbidden to ask for + anything directly or indirectly, but disobedience would have been + unpardonable, for she had eaten of every dish; one only had been + overlooked, and on this she had set her heart. This is what she did to + repair the omission without laying herself open to the charge of + disobedience; she pointed to every dish in turn, saying, “I’ve + had some of this; I’ve had some of this;” however she omitted + the one dish so markedly that some one noticed it and said, “Have + not you had some of this?” “Oh, no,” replied the greedy + little girl with soft voice and downcast eyes. These instances are typical + of the cunning of the little boy and girl. + </p> + <p> + What is, is good, and no general law can be bad. This special skill with + which the female sex is endowed is a fair equivalent for its lack of + strength; without it woman would be man’s slave, not his helpmeet. + By her superiority in this respect she maintains her equality with man, + and rules in obedience. She has everything against her, our faults and her + own weakness and timidity; her beauty and her wiles are all that she has. + Should she not cultivate both? Yet beauty is not universal; it may be + destroyed by all sorts of accidents, it will disappear with years, and + habit will destroy its influence. A woman’s real resource is her + wit; not that foolish wit which is so greatly admired in society, a wit + which does nothing to make life happier; but that wit which is adapted to + her condition, the art of taking advantage of our position and controlling + us through our own strength. Words cannot tell how beneficial this is to + man, what a charm it gives to the society of men and women, how it checks + the petulant child and restrains the brutal husband; without it the home + would be a scene of strife; with it, it is the abode of happiness. I know + that this power is abused by the sly and the spiteful; but what is there + that is not liable to abuse? Do not destroy the means of happiness because + the wicked use them to our hurt. + </p> + <p> + The toilet may attract notice, but it is the person that wins our hearts. + Our finery is not us; its very artificiality often offends, and that which + is least noticeable in itself often wins the most attention. The education + of our girls is, in this respect, absolutely topsy-turvy. Ornaments are + promised them as rewards, and they are taught to delight in elaborate + finery. “How lovely she is!” people say when she is most + dressed up. On the contrary, they should be taught that so much finery is + only required to hide their defects, and that beauty’s real triumph + is to shine alone. The love of fashion is contrary to good taste, for + faces do not change with the fashion, and while the person remains + unchanged, what suits it at one time will suit it always. + </p> + <p> + If I saw a young girl decked out like a little peacock, I should show + myself anxious about her figure so disguised, and anxious what people + would think of her; I should say, “She is over-dressed with all + those ornaments; what a pity! Do you think she could do with something + simpler? Is she pretty enough to do without this or that?” Possibly + she herself would be the first to ask that her finery might be taken off + and that we should see how she looked without it. In that case her beauty + should receive such praise as it deserves. I should never praise her + unless simply dressed. If she only regards fine clothes as an aid to + personal beauty, and as a tacit confession that she needs their aid, she + will not be proud of her finery, she will be humbled by it; and if she + hears some one say, “How pretty she is,” when she is smarter + than usual, she will blush for shame. + </p> + <p> + Moreover, though there are figures that require adornment there are none + that require expensive clothes. Extravagance in dress is the folly of the + class rather than the individual, it is merely conventional. Genuine + coquetry is sometimes carefully thought out, but never sumptuous, and Juno + dressed herself more magnificently than Venus. “As you cannot make + her beautiful you are making her fine,” said Apelles to an unskilful + artist who was painting Helen loaded with jewellery. I have also noticed + that the smartest clothes proclaim the plainest women; no folly could be + more misguided. If a young girl has good taste and a contempt for fashion, + give her a few yards of ribbon, muslin, and gauze, and a handful of + flowers, without any diamonds, fringes, or lace, and she will make herself + a dress a hundredfold more becoming than all the smart clothes of La + Duchapt. + </p> + <p> + Good is always good, and as you should always look your best, the women + who know what they are about select a good style and keep to it, and as + they are not always changing their style they think less about dress than + those who can never settle to any one style. A genuine desire to dress + becomingly does not require an elaborate toilet. Young girls rarely give + much time to dress; needlework and lessons are the business of the day; + yet, except for the rouge, they are generally as carefully dressed as + older women and often in better taste. Contrary to the usual opinion, the + real cause of the abuse of the toilet is not vanity but lack of + occupation. The woman who devotes six hours to her toilet is well aware + that she is no better dressed than the woman who took half an hour, but + she has got rid of so many of the tedious hours and it is better to amuse + oneself with one’s clothes than to be sick of everything. Without + the toilet how would she spend the time between dinner and supper. With a + crowd of women about her, she can at least cause them annoyance, which is + amusement of a kind; better still she avoids a tete-a-tete with the + husband whom she never sees at any other time; then there are the + tradespeople, the dealers in bric-a-brac, the fine gentlemen, the minor + poets with their songs, their verses, and their pamphlets; how could you + get them together but for the toilet. Its only real advantage is the + chance of a little more display than is permitted by full dress, and + perhaps this is less than it seems and a woman gains less than she thinks. + Do not be afraid to educate your women as women; teach them a woman’s + business, that they be modest, that they may know how to manage their + house and look after their family; the grand toilet will soon disappear, + and they will be more tastefully dressed. + </p> + <p> + Growing girls perceive at once that all this outside adornment is not + enough unless they have charms of their own. They cannot make themselves + beautiful, they are too young for coquetry, but they are not too young to + acquire graceful gestures, a pleasing voice, a self-possessed manner, a + light step, a graceful bearing, to choose whatever advantages are within + their reach. The voice extends its range, it grows stronger and more + resonant, the arms become plumper, the bearing more assured, and they + perceive that it is easy to attract attention however dressed. Needlework + and industry suffice no longer, fresh gifts are developing and their + usefulness is already recognised. + </p> + <p> + I know that stern teachers would have us refuse to teach little girls to + sing or dance, or to acquire any of the pleasing arts. This strikes me as + absurd. Who should learn these arts—our boys? Are these to be the + favourite accomplishments of men or women? Of neither, say they; profane + songs are simply so many crimes, dancing is an invention of the Evil One; + her tasks and her prayers we all the amusement a young girl should have. + What strange amusements for a child of ten! I fear that these little + saints who have been forced to spend their childhood in prayers to God + will pass their youth in another fashion; when they are married they will + try to make up for lost time. I think we must consider age as well as sex; + a young girl should not live like her grandmother; she should be lively, + merry, and eager; she should sing and dance to her heart’s content, + and enjoy all the innocent pleasures of youth; the time will come, all too + soon, when she must settle down and adopt a more serious tone. + </p> + <p> + But is this change in itself really necessary? Is it not merely another + result of our own prejudices? By making good women the slaves of dismal + duties, we have deprived marriage of its charm for men. Can we wonder that + the gloomy silence they find at home drives them elsewhere, or inspires + little desire to enter a state which offers so few attractions? + Christianity, by exaggerating every duty, has made our duties + impracticable and useless; by forbidding singing, dancing, and amusements + of every kind, it renders women sulky, fault-finding, and intolerable at + home. There is no religion which imposes such strict duties upon married + life, and none in which such a sacred engagement is so often profaned. + Such pains has been taken to prevent wives being amiable, that their + husbands have become indifferent to them. This should not be, I grant you, + but it will be, since husbands are but men. I would have an English maiden + cultivate the talents which will delight her husband as zealously as the + Circassian cultivates the accomplishments of an Eastern harem. Husbands, + you say, care little for such accomplishments. So I should suppose, when + they are employed, not for the husband, but to attract the young rakes who + dishonour the home. But imagine a virtuous and charming wife, adorned with + such accomplishments and devoting them to her husband’s amusement; + will she not add to his happiness? When he leaves his office worn out with + the day’s work, will she not prevent him seeking recreation + elsewhere? Have we not all beheld happy families gathered together, each + contributing to the general amusement? Are not the confidence and + familiarity thus established, the innocence and the charm of the pleasures + thus enjoyed, more than enough to make up for the more riotous pleasures + of public entertainments? + </p> + <p> + Pleasant accomplishments have been made too formal an affair of rules and + precepts, so that young people find them very tedious instead of a mere + amusement or a merry game as they ought to be. Nothing can be more absurd + than an elderly singing or dancing master frowning upon young people, + whose one desire is to laugh, and adopting a more pedantic and magisterial + manner in teaching his frivolous art than if he were teaching the + catechism. Take the case of singing; does this art depend on reading + music; cannot the voice be made true and flexible, can we not learn to + sing with taste and even to play an accompaniment without knowing a note? + Does the same kind of singing suit all voices alike? Is the same method + adapted to every mind? You will never persuade me that the same attitudes, + the same steps, the same movements, the same gestures, the same dances + will suit a lively little brunette and a tall fair maiden with languishing + eyes. So when I find a master giving the same lessons to all his pupils I + say, “He has his own routine, but he knows nothing of his art!” + </p> + <p> + Should young girls have masters or mistresses? I cannot say; I wish they + could dispense with both; I wish they could learn of their own accord what + they are already so willing to learn. I wish there were fewer of these + dressed-up old ballet masters promenading our streets. I fear our young + people will get more harm from intercourse with such people than profit + from their instruction, and that their jargon, their tone, their airs and + graces, will instil a precocious taste for the frivolities which the + teacher thinks so important, and to which the scholars are only too likely + to devote themselves. + </p> + <p> + Where pleasure is the only end in view, any one may serve as teacher—father, + mother, brother, sister, friend, governess, the girl’s mirror, and + above all her own taste. Do not offer to teach, let her ask; do not make a + task of what should be a reward, and in these studies above all remember + that the wish to succeed is the first step. If formal instruction is + required I leave it to you to choose between a master and a mistress. How + can I tell whether a dancing master should take a young pupil by her soft + white hand, make her lift her skirt and raise her eyes, open her arms and + advance her throbbing bosom? but this I know, nothing on earth would + induce me to be that master. + </p> + <p> + Taste is formed partly by industry and partly by talent, and by its means + the mind is unconsciously opened to the idea of beauty of every kind, till + at length it attains to those moral ideas which are so closely related to + beauty. Perhaps this is one reason why ideas of propriety and modesty are + acquired earlier by girls than by boys, for to suppose that this early + feeling is due to the teaching of the governesses would show little + knowledge of their style of teaching and of the natural development of the + human mind. The art of speaking stands first among the pleasing arts; it + alone can add fresh charms to those which have been blunted by habit. It + is the mind which not only gives life to the body, but renews, so to + speak, its youth; the flow of feelings and ideas give life and variety to + the countenance, and the conversation to which it gives rise arouses and + sustains attention, and fixes it continuously on one object. I suppose + this is why little girls so soon learn to prattle prettily, and why men + enjoy listening to them even before the child can understand them; they + are watching for the first gleam of intelligence and sentiment. + </p> + <p> + Women have ready tongues; they talk earlier, more easily, and more + pleasantly than men. They are also said to talk more; this may be true, + but I am prepared to reckon it to their credit; eyes and mouth are equally + busy and for the same cause. A man says what he knows, a woman says what + will please; the one needs knowledge, the other taste; utility should be + the man’s object; the woman speaks to give pleasure. There should be + nothing in common but truth. + </p> + <p> + You should not check a girl’s prattle like a boy’s by the + harsh question, “What is the use of that?” but by another + question at least as difficult to answer, “What effect will that + have?” At this early age when they know neither good nor evil, and + are incapable of judging others, they should make this their rule and + never say anything which is unpleasant to those about them; this rule is + all the more difficult to apply because it must always be subordinated to + our first rule, “Never tell a lie.” + </p> + <p> + I can see many other difficulties, but they belong to a later stage. For + the present it is enough for your little girls to speak the truth without + grossness, and as they are naturally averse to what is gross, education + easily teaches them to avoid it. In social intercourse I observe that a + man’s politeness is usually more helpful and a woman’s more + caressing. This distinction is natural, not artificial. A man seeks to + serve, a woman seeks to please. Hence a woman’s politeness is less + insincere than ours, whatever we may think of her character; for she is + only acting upon a fundamental instinct; but when a man professes to put + my interests before his own, I detect the falsehood, however disguised. + Hence it is easy for women to be polite, and easy to teach little girls + politeness. The first lessons come by nature; art only supplements them + and determines the conventional form which politeness shall take. The + courtesy of woman to woman is another matter; their manner is so + constrained, their attentions so chilly, they find each other so + wearisome, that they take little pains to conceal the fact, and seem + sincere even in their falsehood, since they take so little pains to + conceal it. Still young girls do sometimes become sincerely attached to + one another. At their age good spirits take the place of a good + disposition, and they are so pleased with themselves that they are pleased + with every one else. Moreover, it is certain that they kiss each other + more affectionately and caress each other more gracefully in the presence + of men, for they are proud to be able to arouse their envy without danger + to themselves by the sight of favours which they know will arouse that + envy. + </p> + <p> + If young boys must not be allowed to ask unsuitable questions, much more + must they be forbidden to little girls; if their curiosity is satisfied or + unskilfully evaded it is a much more serious matter, for they are so keen + to guess the mysteries concealed from them and so skilful to discover + them. But while I would not permit them to ask questions, I would have + them questioned frequently, and pains should be taken to make them talk; + let them be teased to make them speak freely, to make them answer readily, + to loosen mind and tongue while it can be done without danger. Such + conversation always leading to merriment, yet skilfully controlled and + directed, would form a delightful amusement at this age and might instil + into these youthful hearts the first and perhaps the most helpful lessons + in morals which they will ever receive, by teaching them in the guise of + pleasure and fun what qualities are esteemed by men and what is the true + glory and happiness of a good woman. + </p> + <p> + If boys are incapable of forming any true idea of religion, much more is + it beyond the grasp of girls; and for this reason I would speak of it all + the sooner to little girls, for if we wait till they are ready for a + serious discussion of these deep subjects we should be in danger of never + speaking of religion at all. A woman’s reason is practical, and + therefore she soon arrives at a given conclusion, but she fails to + discover it for herself. The social relation of the sexes is a wonderful + thing. This relation produces a moral person of which woman is the eye and + man the hand, but the two are so dependent on one another that the man + teaches the woman what to see, while she teaches him what to do. If women + could discover principles and if men had as good heads for detail, they + would be mutually independent, they would live in perpetual strife, and + there would be an end to all society. But in their mutual harmony each + contributes to a common purpose; each follows the other’s lead, each + commands and each obeys. + </p> + <p> + As a woman’s conduct is controlled by public opinion, so is her + religion ruled by authority. The daughter should follow her mother’s + religion, the wife her husband’s. Were that religion false, the + docility which leads mother and daughter to submit to nature’s laws + would blot out the sin of error in the sight of God. Unable to judge for + themselves they should accept the judgment of father and husband as that + of the church. + </p> + <p> + While women unaided cannot deduce the rules of their faith, neither can + they assign limits to that faith by the evidence of reason; they allow + themselves to be driven hither and thither by all sorts of external + influences, they are ever above or below the truth. Extreme in everything, + they are either altogether reckless or altogether pious; you never find + them able to combine virtue and piety. Their natural exaggeration is not + wholly to blame; the ill-regulated control exercised over them by men is + partly responsible. Loose morals bring religion into contempt; the terrors + of remorse make it a tyrant; this is why women have always too much or too + little religion. + </p> + <p> + As a woman’s religion is controlled by authority it is more + important to show her plainly what to believe than to explain the reasons + for belief; for faith attached to ideas half-understood is the main source + of fanaticism, and faith demanded on behalf of what is absurd leads to + madness or unbelief. Whether our catechisms tend to produce impiety rather + than fanaticism I cannot say, but I do know that they lead to one or + other. + </p> + <p> + In the first place, when you teach religion to little girls never make it + gloomy or tiresome, never make it a task or a duty, and therefore never + give them anything to learn by heart, not even their prayers. Be content + to say your own prayers regularly in their presence, but do not compel + them to join you. Let their prayers be short, as Christ himself has taught + us. Let them always be said with becoming reverence and respect; remember + that if we ask the Almighty to give heed to our words, we should at least + give heed to what we mean to say. + </p> + <p> + It does not much matter that a girl should learn her religion young, but + it does matter that she should learn it thoroughly, and still more that + she should learn to love it. If you make religion a burden to her, if you + always speak of God’s anger, if in the name of religion you impose + all sorts of disagreeable duties, duties which she never sees you perform, + what can she suppose but that to learn one’s catechism and to say + one’s prayers is only the duty of a little girl, and she will long + to be grown-up to escape, like you, from these duties. Example! Example! + Without it you will never succeed in teaching children anything. + </p> + <p> + When you explain the Articles of Faith let it be by direct teaching, not + by question and answer. Children should only answer what they think, not + what has been drilled into them. All the answers in the catechism are the + wrong way about; it is the scholar who instructs the teacher; in the child’s + mouth they are a downright lie, since they explain what he does not + understand, and affirm what he cannot believe. Find me, if you can, an + intelligent man who could honestly say his catechism. The first question I + find in our catechism is as follows: “Who created you and brought + you into the world?” To which the girl, who thinks it was her + mother, replies without hesitation, “It was God.” All she + knows is that she is asked a question which she only half understands and + she gives an answer she does not understand at all. + </p> + <p> + I wish some one who really understands the development of children’s + minds would write a catechism for them. It might be the most useful book + ever written, and, in my opinion, it would do its author no little honour. + This at least is certain—if it were a good book it would be very + unlike our catechisms. + </p> + <p> + Such a catechism will not be satisfactory unless the child can answer the + questions of its own accord without having to learn the answers; indeed + the child will often ask the questions itself. An example is required to + make my meaning plain and I feel how ill equipped I am to furnish such an + example. I will try to give some sort of outline of my meaning. + </p> + <p> + To get to the first question in our catechism I suppose we must begin + somewhat after the following fashion. + </p> + <p> + NURSE: Do you remember when your mother was a little girl? + </p> + <p> + CHILD: No, nurse. + </p> + <p> + NURSE: Why not, when you have such a good memory? + </p> + <p> + CHILD: I was not alive. + </p> + <p> + NURSE: Then you were not always alive! + </p> + <p> + CHILD: No. + </p> + <p> + NURSE: Will you live for ever! + </p> + <p> + CHILD: Yes. + </p> + <p> + NURSE: Are you young or old? + </p> + <p> + CHILD: I am young. + </p> + <p> + NURSE: Is your grandmamma old or young? + </p> + <p> + CHILD: She is old. + </p> + <p> + NURSE: Was she ever young? + </p> + <p> + CHILD: Yes. + </p> + <p> + NURSE: Why is she not young now? + </p> + <p> + CHILD: She has grown old. + </p> + <p> + NURSE: Will you grow old too? + </p> + <p> + CHILD: I don’t know. + </p> + <p> + NURSE: Where are your last year’s frocks? + </p> + <p> + CHILD: They have been unpicked. + </p> + <p> + NURSE: Why! + </p> + <p> + CHILD: Because they were too small for me. + </p> + <p> + NURSE: Why were they too small? + </p> + <p> + CHILD: I have grown bigger. + </p> + <p> + NURSE: Will you grow any more! + </p> + <p> + CHILD: Oh, yes. + </p> + <p> + NURSE: And what becomes of big girls? + </p> + <p> + CHILD: They grow into women. + </p> + <p> + NURSE: And what becomes of women! + </p> + <p> + CHILD: They are mothers. + </p> + <p> + NURSE: And what becomes of mothers? + </p> + <p> + CHILD: They grow old. + </p> + <p> + NURSE: Will you grow old? + </p> + <p> + CHILD: When I am a mother. + </p> + <p> + NURSE: And what becomes of old people? + </p> + <p> + CHILD: I don’t know. + </p> + <p> + NURSE: What became of your grandfather? + </p> + <p> + CHILD: He died. [Footnote: The child will say this because she has heard + it said; but you must make sure she knows what death is, for the idea is + not so simple and within the child’s grasp as people think. In that + little poem “Abel” you will find an example of the way to + teach them. This charming work breathes a delightful simplicity with which + one should feed one’s own mind so as to talk with children.] + </p> + <p> + NURSE: Why did he die? + </p> + <p> + CHILD: Because he was so old. + </p> + <p> + NURSE: What becomes of old people! + </p> + <p> + CHILD: They die. + </p> + <p> + NURSE: And when you are old——? + </p> + <p> + CHILD: Oh nurse! I don’t want to die! + </p> + <p> + NURSE: My dear, no one wants to die, and everybody dies. + </p> + <p> + CHILD: Why, will mamma die too! + </p> + <p> + NURSE: Yes, like everybody else. Women grow old as well as men, and old + age ends in death. + </p> + <p> + CHILD: What must I do to grow old very, very slowly? + </p> + <p> + NURSE: Be good while you are little. + </p> + <p> + CHILD: I will always be good, nurse. + </p> + <p> + NURSE: So much the better. But do you suppose you will live for ever? + </p> + <p> + CHILD: When I am very, very old—— + </p> + <p> + NURSE: Well? + </p> + <p> + CHILD: When we are so very old you say we must die? + </p> + <p> + NURSE: You must die some day. + </p> + <p> + CHILD: Oh dear! I suppose I must. + </p> + <p> + NURSE: Who lived before you? + </p> + <p> + CHILD: My father and mother. + </p> + <p> + NURSE: And before them? + </p> + <p> + CHILD: Their father and mother. + </p> + <p> + NURSE: Who will live after you? + </p> + <p> + CHILD: My children. + </p> + <p> + NURSE: Who will live after them? + </p> + <p> + CHILD: Their children. + </p> + <p> + In this way, by concrete examples, you will find a beginning and end for + the human race like everything else—that is to say, a father and + mother who never had a father and mother, and children who will never have + children of their own. + </p> + <p> + It is only after a long course of similar questions that we are ready for + the first question in the catechism; then alone can we put the question + and the child may be able to understand it. But what a gap there is + between the first and the second question which is concerned with the + definitions of the divine nature. When will this chasm be bridged? “God + is a spirit.” “And what is a spirit?” Shall I start the + child upon this difficult question of metaphysics which grown men find so + hard to understand? These are no questions for a little girl to answer; if + she asks them, it is as much or more than we can expect. In that case I + should tell her quite simply, “You ask me what God is; it is not + easy to say; we can neither hear nor see nor handle God; we can only know + Him by His works. To learn what He is, you must wait till you know what He + has done.” + </p> + <p> + If our dogmas are all equally true, they are not equally important. It + makes little difference to the glory of God that we should perceive it + everywhere, but it does make a difference to human society, and to every + member of that society, that a man should know and do the duties which are + laid upon him by the law of God, his duty to his neighbour and to himself. + This is what we should always be teaching one another, and it is this + which fathers and mothers are specially bound to teach their little ones. + Whether a virgin became the mother of her Creator, whether she gave birth + to God, or merely to a man into whom God has entered, whether the Father + and the Son are of the same substance or of like substance only, whether + the Spirit proceeded from one or both of these who are but one, or from + both together, however important these questions may seem, I cannot see + that it is any more necessary for the human race to come to a decision + with regard to them than to know what day to keep Easter, or whether we + should tell our beads, fast, and refuse to eat meat, speak Latin or French + in church, adorn the walls with statues, hear or say mass, and have no + wife of our own. Let each think as he pleases; I cannot see that it + matters to any one but himself; for my own part it is no concern of mine. + But what does concern my fellow-creatures and myself alike is to know that + there is indeed a judge of human fate, that we are all His children, that + He bids us all be just, He bids us love one another, He bids us be kindly + and merciful, He bids us keep our word with all men, even with our own + enemies and His; we must know that the apparent happiness of this world is + naught; that there is another life to come, in which this Supreme Being + will be the rewarder of the just and the judge of the unjust. Children + need to be taught these doctrines and others like them and all citizens + require to be persuaded of their truth. Whoever sets his face against + these doctrines is indeed guilty; he is the disturber of the peace, the + enemy of society. Whoever goes beyond these doctrines and seeks to make us + the slaves of his private opinions, reaches the same goal by another way; + to establish his own kind of order he disturbs the peace; in his rash + pride he makes himself the interpreter of the Divine, and in His name + demands the homage and the reverence of mankind; so far as may be, he sets + himself in God’s place; he should receive the punishment of + sacrilege if he is not punished for his intolerance. + </p> + <p> + Give no heed, therefore, to all those mysterious doctrines which are words + without ideas for us, all those strange teachings, the study of which is + too often offered as a substitute for virtue, a study which more often + makes men mad rather than good. Keep your children ever within the little + circle of dogmas which are related to morality. Convince them that the + only useful learning is that which teaches us to act rightly. Do not make + your daughters theologians and casuists; only teach them such things of + heaven as conduce to human goodness; train them to feel that they are + always in the presence of God, who sees their thoughts and deeds, their + virtue and their pleasures; teach them to do good without ostentation and + because they love it, to suffer evil without a murmur, because God will + reward them; in a word to be all their life long what they will be glad to + have been when they appear in His presence. This is true religion; this + alone is incapable of abuse, impiety, or fanaticism. Let those who will, + teach a religion more sublime, but this is the only religion I know. + </p> + <p> + Moreover, it is as well to observe that, until the age when the reason + becomes enlightened, when growing emotion gives a voice to conscience, + what is wrong for young people is what those about have decided to be + wrong. What they are told to do is good; what they are forbidden to do is + bad; that is all they ought to know: this shows how important it is for + girls, even more than for boys, that the right people should be chosen to + be with them and to have authority over them. At last there comes a time + when they begin to judge things for themselves, and that is the time to + change your method of education. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps I have said too much already. To what shall we reduce the + education of our women if we give them no law but that of conventional + prejudice? Let us not degrade so far the set which rules over us, and + which does us honour when we have not made it vile. For all mankind there + is a law anterior to that of public opinion. All other laws should bend + before the inflexible control of this law; it is the judge of public + opinion, and only in so far as the esteem of men is in accordance with + this law has it any claim on our obedience. + </p> + <p> + This law is our individual conscience. I will not repeat what has been + said already; it is enough to point out that if these two laws clash, the + education of women will always be imperfect. Right feeling without respect + for public opinion will not give them that delicacy of soul which lends to + right conduct the charm of social approval; while respect for public + opinion without right feeling will only make false and wicked women who + put appearances in the place of virtue. + </p> + <p> + It is, therefore, important to cultivate a faculty which serves as judge + between the two guides, which does not permit conscience to go astray and + corrects the errors of prejudice. That faculty is reason. But what a crowd + of questions arise at this word. Are women capable of solid reason; should + they cultivate it, can they cultivate it successfully? Is this culture + useful in relation to the functions laid upon them? Is it compatible with + becoming simplicity? + </p> + <p> + The different ways of envisaging and answering these questions lead to two + extremes; some would have us keep women indoors sewing and spinning with + their maids; thus they make them nothing more than the chief servant of + their master. Others, not content to secure their rights, lead them to + usurp ours; for to make woman our superior in all the qualities proper to + her sex, and to make her our equal in all the rest, what is this but to + transfer to the woman the superiority which nature has given to her + husband? The reason which teaches a man his duties is not very complex; + the reason which teaches a woman hers is even simpler. The obedience and + fidelity which she owes to her husband, the tenderness and care due to her + children, are such natural and self-evident consequences of her position + that she cannot honestly refuse her consent to the inner voice which is + her guide, nor fail to discern her duty in her natural inclination. + </p> + <p> + I would not altogether blame those who would restrict a woman to the + labours of her sex and would leave her in profound ignorance of everything + else; but that would require a standard of morality at once very simple + and very healthy, or a life withdrawn from the world. In great towns, + among immoral men, such a woman would be too easily led astray; her virtue + would too often be at the mercy of circumstances; in this age of + philosophy, virtue must be able to resist temptation; she must know + beforehand what she may hear and what she should think of it. + </p> + <p> + Moreover, in submission to man’s judgment she should deserve his + esteem; above all she should obtain the esteem of her husband; she should + not only make him love her person, she should make him approve her + conduct; she should justify his choice before the world, and do honour to + her husband through the honour given to the wife. But how can she set + about this task if she is ignorant of our institutions, our customs, our + notions of propriety, if she knows nothing of the source of man’s + judgment, nor the passions by which it is swayed! Since she depends both + on her own conscience and on public opinion, she must learn to know and + reconcile these two laws, and to put her own conscience first only when + the two are opposed to each other. She becomes the judge of her own + judges, she decides when she should obey and when she should refuse her + obedience. She weighs their prejudices before she accepts or rejects them; + she learns to trace them to their source, to foresee what they will be, + and to turn them in her own favour; she is careful never to give cause for + blame if duty allows her to avoid it. This cannot be properly done without + cultivating her mind and reason. + </p> + <p> + I always come back to my first principle and it supplies the solution of + all my difficulties. I study what is, I seek its cause, and I discover in + the end that what is, is good. I go to houses where the master and + mistress do the honours together. They are equally well educated, equally + polite, equally well equipped with wit and good taste, both of them are + inspired with the same desire to give their guests a good reception and to + send every one away satisfied. The husband omits no pains to be attentive + to every one; he comes and goes and sees to every one and takes all sorts + of trouble; he is attention itself. The wife remains in her place; a + little circle gathers round her and apparently conceals the rest of the + company from her; yet she sees everything that goes on, no one goes + without a word with her; she has omitted nothing which might interest + anybody, she has said nothing unpleasant to any one, and without any fuss + the least is no more overlooked than the greatest. Dinner is announced, + they take their places; the man knowing the assembled guests will place + them according to his knowledge; the wife, without previous acquaintance, + never makes a mistake; their looks and bearing have already shown her what + is wanted and every one will find himself where he wishes to be. I do not + assert that the servants forget no one. The master of the house may have + omitted no one, but the mistress perceives what you like and sees that you + get it; while she is talking to her neighbour she has one eye on the other + end of the table; she sees who is not eating because he is not hungry and + who is afraid to help himself because he is clumsy and timid. When the + guests leave the table every one thinks she has had no thought but for + him, everybody thinks she has had no time to eat anything, but she has + really eaten more than anybody. + </p> + <p> + When the guests are gone, husband and wife tails over the events of the + evening. He relates what was said to him, what was said and done by those + with whom he conversed. If the lady is not always quite exact in this + respect, yet on the other hand she perceived what was whispered at the + other end of the room; she knows what so-and-so thought, and what was the + meaning of this speech or that gesture; there is scarcely a change of + expression for which she has not an explanation in readiness, and she is + almost always right. + </p> + <p> + The same turn of mind which makes a woman of the world such an excellent + hostess, enables a flirt to excel in the art of amusing a number of + suitors. Coquetry, cleverly carried out, demands an even finer discernment + than courtesy; provided a polite lady is civil to everybody, she has done + fairly well in any case; but the flirt would soon lose her hold by such + clumsy uniformity; if she tries to be pleasant to all her lovers alike, + she will disgust them all. In ordinary social intercourse the manners + adopted towards everybody are good enough for all; no question is asked as + to private likes or dislikes provided all are alike well received. But in + love, a favour shared with others is an insult. A man of feeling would + rather be singled out for ill-treatment than be caressed with the crowd, + and the worst that can befall him is to be treated like every one else. So + a woman who wants to keep several lovers at her feet must persuade every + one of them that she prefers him, and she must contrive to do this in the + sight of all the rest, each of whom is equally convinced that he is her + favourite. + </p> + <p> + If you want to see a man in a quandary, place him between two women with + each of whom he has a secret understanding, and see what a fool he looks. + But put a woman in similar circumstances between two men, and the results + will be even more remarkable; you will be astonished at the skill with + which she cheats them both, and makes them laugh at each other. Now if + that woman were to show the same confidence in both, if she were to be + equally familiar with both, how could they be deceived for a moment? If + she treated them alike, would she not show that they both had the same + claims upon her? Oh, she is far too clever for that; so far from treating + them just alike, she makes a marked difference between them, and she does + it so skilfully that the man she flatters thinks it is affection, and the + man she ill uses think it is spite. So that each of them believes she is + thinking of him, when she is thinking of no one but herself. + </p> + <p> + A general desire to please suggests similar measures; people would be + disgusted with a woman’s whims if they were not skilfully managed, + and when they are artistically distributed her servants are more than ever + enslaved. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Usa ogn’arte la donna, onde sia colto + Nella sua rete alcun novello amante; + Ne con tutti, ne sempre un stesso volto + Serba; ma cangia a tempo atto e sembiante.” + Tasso, Jerus. Del., c. iv., v. 87. +</pre> + <p> + What is the secret of this art? Is it not the result of a delicate and + continuous observation which shows her what is taking place in a man’s + heart, so that she is able to encourage or to check every hidden impulse? + Can this art be acquired? No; it is born with women; it is common to them + all, and men never show it to the same degree. It is one of the + distinctive characters of the sex. Self-possession, penetration, delicate + observation, this is a woman’s science; the skill to make use of it + is her chief accomplishment. + </p> + <p> + This is what is, and we have seen why it is so. It is said that women are + false. They become false. They are really endowed with skill not + duplicity; in the genuine inclinations of their sex they are not false + even when they tell a lie. Why do you consult their words when it is not + their mouths that speak? Consult their eyes, their colour, their + breathing, their timid manner, their slight resistance, that is the + language nature gave them for your answer. The lips always say “No,” + and rightly so; but the tone is not always the same, and that cannot lie. + Has not a woman the same needs as a man, but without the same right to + make them known? Her fate would be too cruel if she had no language in + which to express her legitimate desires except the words which she dare + not utter. Must her modesty condemn her to misery? Does she not require a + means of indicating her inclinations without open expression? What skill + is needed to hide from her lover what she would fain reveal! Is it not of + vital importance that she should learn to touch his heart without showing + that she cares for him? It is a pretty story that tale of Galatea with her + apple and her clumsy flight. What more is needed? Will she tell the + shepherd who pursues her among the willows that she only flees that he may + follow? If she did, it would be a lie; for she would no longer attract + him. The more modest a woman is, the more art she needs, even with her + husband. Yes, I maintain that coquetry, kept within bounds, becomes modest + and true, and out of it springs a law of right conduct. + </p> + <p> + One of my opponents has very truly asserted that virtue is one; you cannot + disintegrate it and choose this and reject the other. If you love virtue, + you love it in its entirety, and you close your heart when you can, and + you always close your lips to the feelings which you ought not to allow. + Moral truth is not only what is, but what is good; what is bad ought not + to be, and ought not to be confessed, especially when that confession + produces results which might have been avoided. If I were tempted to + steal, and in confessing it I tempted another to become my accomplice, the + very confession of my temptation would amount to a yielding to that + temptation. Why do you say that modesty makes women false? Are those who + lose their modesty more sincere than the rest? Not so, they are a + thousandfold more deceitful. This degree of depravity is due to many + vices, none of which is rejected, vices which owe their power to intrigue + and falsehood. [Footnote: I know that women who have openly decided on a + certain course of conduct profess that their lack of concealment is a + virtue in itself, and swear that, with one exception, they are possessed + of all the virtues; but I am sure they never persuaded any but fools to + believe them. When the natural curb is removed from their sex, what is + there left to restrain them? What honour will they prize when they have + rejected the honour of their sex? Having once given the rein to passion + they have no longer any reason for self-control. “Nec femina, amissa + pudicitia, alia abnuerit.” No author ever understood more thoroughly + the heart of both sexes than Tacitus when he wrote those words.] + </p> + <p> + On the other hand, those who are not utterly shameless, who take no pride + in their faults, who are able to conceal their desires even from those who + inspire them, those who confess their passion most reluctantly, these are + the truest and most sincere, these are they on whose fidelity you may + generally rely. + </p> + <p> + The only example I know which might be quoted as a recognised exception to + these remarks is Mlle. de L’Enclos; and she was considered a + prodigy. In her scorn for the virtues of women, she practised, so they + say, the virtues of a man. She is praised for her frankness and + uprightness; she was a trustworthy acquaintance and a faithful friend. To + complete the picture of her glory it is said that she became a man. That + may be, but in spite of her high reputation I should no more desire that + man as my friend than as my mistress. + </p> + <p> + This is not so irrelevant as it seems. I am aware of the tendencies of our + modern philosophy which make a jest of female modesty and its so-called + insincerity; I also perceive that the most certain result of this + philosophy will be to deprive the women of this century of such shreds of + honour as they still possess. + </p> + <p> + On these grounds I think we may decide in general terms what sort of + education is suited to the female mind, and the objects to which we should + turn its attention in early youth. + </p> + <p> + As I have already said, the duties of their sex are more easily recognised + than performed. They must learn in the first place to love those duties by + considering the advantages to be derived from them—that is the only + way to make duty easy. Every age and condition has its own duties. We are + quick to see our duty if we love it. Honour your position as a woman, and + in whatever station of life to which it shall please heaven to call you, + you will be well off. The essential thing is to be what nature has made + you; women are only too ready to be what men would have them. + </p> + <p> + The search for abstract and speculative truths, for principles and axioms + in science, for all that tends to wide generalisation, is beyond a woman’s + grasp; their studies should be thoroughly practical. It is their business + to apply the principles discovered by men, it is their place to make the + observations which lead men to discover those principles. A woman’s + thoughts, beyond the range of her immediate duties, should be directed to + the study of men, or the acquirement of that agreeable learning whose sole + end is the formation of taste; for the works of genius are beyond her + reach, and she has neither the accuracy nor the attention for success in + the exact sciences; as for the physical sciences, to decide the relations + between living creatures and the laws of nature is the task of that sex + which is more active and enterprising, which sees more things, that sex + which is possessed of greater strength and is more accustomed to the + exercise of that strength. Woman, weak as she is and limited in her range + of observation, perceives and judges the forces at her disposal to + supplement her weakness, and those forces are the passions of man. Her own + mechanism is more powerful than ours; she has many levers which may set + the human heart in motion. She must find a way to make us desire what she + cannot achieve unaided and what she considers necessary or pleasing; + therefore she must have a thorough knowledge of man’s mind; not an + abstract knowledge of the mind of man in general, but the mind of those + men who are about her, the mind of those men who have authority over her, + either by law or custom. She must learn to divine their feelings from + speech and action, look and gesture. By her own speech and action, look + and gesture, she must be able to inspire them with the feelings she + desires, without seeming to have any such purpose. The men will have a + better philosophy of the human heart, but she will read more accurately in + the heart of men. Woman should discover, so to speak, an experimental + morality, man should reduce it to a system. Woman has more wit, man more + genius; woman observes, man reasons; together they provide the clearest + light and the profoundest knowledge which is possible to the unaided human + mind; in a word, the surest knowledge of self and of others of which the + human race is capable. In this way art may constantly tend to the + perfection of the instrument which nature has given us. + </p> + <p> + The world is woman’s book; if she reads it ill, it is either her own + fault or she is blinded by passion. Yet the genuine mother of a family is + no woman of the world, she is almost as much of a recluse as the nun in + her convent. Those who have marriageable daughters should do what is or + ought to be done for those who are entering the cloisters: they should + show them the pleasures they forsake before they are allowed to renounce + them, lest the deceitful picture of unknown pleasures should creep in to + disturb the happiness of their retreat. In France it is the girls who live + in convents and the wives who flaunt in society. Among the ancients it was + quite otherwise; girls enjoyed, as I have said already, many games and + public festivals; the married women lived in retirement. This was a more + reasonable custom and more conducive to morality. A girl may be allowed a + certain amount of coquetry, and she may be mainly occupied at amusement. A + wife has other responsibilities at home, and she is no longer on the + look-out for a husband; but women would not appreciate the change, and + unluckily it is they who set the fashion. Mothers, let your daughters be + your companions. Give them good sense and an honest heart, and then + conceal from them nothing that a pure eye may behold. Balls, assemblies, + sports, the theatre itself; everything which viewed amiss delights + imprudent youth may be safely displayed to a healthy mind. The more they + know of these noisy pleasures, the sooner they will cease to desire them. + </p> + <p> + I can fancy the outcry with which this will be received. What girl will + resist such an example? Their heads are turned by the first glimpse of the + world; not one of them is ready to give it up. That may be; but before you + showed them this deceitful prospect, did you prepare them to behold it + without emotion? Did you tell them plainly what it was they would see? Did + you show it in its true light? Did you arm them against the illusions of + vanity? Did you inspire their young hearts with a taste for the true + pleasures which are not to be met with in this tumult? What precautions, + what steps, did you take to preserve them from the false taste which leads + them astray? Not only have you done nothing to preserve their minds from + the tyranny of prejudice, you have fostered that prejudice; you have + taught them to desire every foolish amusement they can get. Your own + example is their teacher. Young people on their entrance into society have + no guide but their mother, who is often just as silly as they are + themselves, and quite unable to show them things except as she sees them + herself. Her example is stronger than reason; it justifies them in their + own eyes, and the mother’s authority is an unanswerable excuse for + the daughter. If I ask a mother to bring her daughter into society, I + assume that she will show it in its true light. + </p> + <p> + The evil begins still earlier; the convents are regular schools of + coquetry; not that honest coquetry which I have described, but a coquetry + the source of every kind of misconduct, a coquetry which turns out girls + who are the most ridiculous little madams. When they leave the convent to + take their place in smart society, young women find themselves quite at + home. They have been educated for such a life; is it strange that they + like it? I am afraid what I am going to say may be based on prejudice + rather than observation, but so far as I can see, one finds more family + affection, more good wives and loving mothers in Protestant than in + Catholic countries; if that is so, we cannot fail to suspect that the + difference is partly due to the convent schools. + </p> + <p> + The charms of a peaceful family life must be known to be enjoyed; their + delights should be tasted in childhood. It is only in our father’s + home that we learn to love our own, and a woman whose mother did not + educate her herself will not be willing to educate her own children. + Unfortunately, there is no such thing as home education in our large + towns. Society is so general and so mixed there is no place left for + retirement, and even in the home we live in public. We live in company + till we have no family, and we scarcely know our own relations, we see + them as strangers; and the simplicity of home life disappears together + with the sweet familiarity which was its charm. In this wise do we draw + with our mother’s milk a taste for the pleasures of the age and the + maxims by which it is controlled. + </p> + <p> + Girls are compelled to assume an air of propriety so that men may be + deceived into marrying them by their appearance. But watch these young + people for a moment; under a pretence of coyness they barely conceal the + passion which devours them, and already you may read in their eager eyes + their desire to imitate their mothers. It is not a husband they want, but + the licence of a married woman. What need of a husband when there are so + many other resources; but a husband there must be to act as a screen. + [Footnote: The way of a man in his youth was one of the four things that + the sage could not understand; the fifth was the shamelessness of an + adulteress. “Quae comedit, et tergens os suum dicit; non sum operata + malum.” Prov. xxx. 20.] There is modesty on the brow, but vice in + the heart; this sham modesty is one of its outward signs; they affect it + that they may be rid of it once for all. Women of Paris and London, + forgive me! There may be miracles everywhere, but I am not aware of them; + and if there is even one among you who is really pure in heart, I know + nothing of our institutions. + </p> + <p> + All these different methods of education lead alike to a taste for the + pleasures of the great world, and to the passions which this taste so soon + kindles. In our great towns depravity begins at birth; in the smaller + towns it begins with reason. Young women brought up in the country are + soon taught to despise the happy simplicity of their lives, and hasten to + Paris to share the corruption of ours. Vices, cloaked under the fair name + of accomplishments, are the sole object of their journey; ashamed to find + themselves so much behind the noble licence of the Parisian ladies, they + hasten to become worthy of the name of Parisian. Which is responsible for + the evil—the place where it begins, or the place where it is + accomplished? + </p> + <p> + I would not have a sensible mother bring her girl to Paris to show her + these sights so harmful to others; but I assert that if she did so, either + the girl has been badly brought up, or such sights have little danger for + her. With good taste, good sense, and a love of what is right, these + things are less attractive than to those who abandon themselves to their + charm. In Paris you may see giddy young things hastening to adopt the tone + and fashions of the town for some six months, so that they may spend the + rest of their life in disgrace; but who gives any heed to those who, + disgusted with the rout, return to their distant home and are contented + with their lot when they have compared it with that which others desire. + How many young wives have I seen whose good-natured husbands have taken + them to Paris where they might live if they pleased; but they have shrunk + from it and returned home more willingly than they went, saying tenderly, + “Ah, let us go back to our cottage, life is happier there than in + these palaces.” We do not know how many there are who have not bowed + the knee to Baal, who scorn his senseless worship. Fools make a stir; good + women pass unnoticed. + </p> + <p> + If so many women preserve a judgment which is proof against temptation, in + spite of universal prejudice, in spite of the bad education of girls, what + would their judgment have been, had it been strengthened by suitable + instruction, or rather left unaffected by evil teaching, for to preserve + or restore the natural feelings is our main business? You can do this + without preaching endless sermons to your daughters, without crediting + them with your harsh morality. The only effect of such teaching is to + inspire a dislike for the teacher and the lessons. In talking to a young + girl you need not make her afraid of her duties, nor need you increase the + burden laid upon her by nature. When you explain her duties speak plainly + and pleasantly; do not let her suppose that the performance of these + duties is a dismal thing—away with every affectation of disgust or + pride. Every thought which we desire to arouse should find its expression + in our pupils, their catechism of conduct should be as brief and plain as + their catechism of religion, but it need not be so serious. Show them that + these same duties are the source of their pleasures and the basis of their + rights. Is it so hard to win love by love, happiness by an amiable + disposition, obedience by worth, and honour by self-respect? How fair are + these woman’s rights, how worthy of reverence, how dear to the heart + of man when a woman is able to show their worth! These rights are no + privilege of years; a woman’s empire begins with her virtues; her + charms are only in the bud, yet she reigns already by the gentleness of + her character and the dignity of her modesty. Is there any man so + hard-hearted and uncivilised that he does not abate his pride and take + heed to his manners with a sweet and virtuous girl of sixteen, who listens + but says little; her bearing is modest, her conversation honest, her + beauty does not lead her to forget her sex and her youth, her very + timidity arouses interest, while she wins for herself the respect which + she shows to others? + </p> + <p> + These external signs are not devoid of meaning; they do not rest entirely + upon the charms of sense; they arise from that conviction that we all feel + that women are the natural judges of a man’s worth. Who would be + scorned by women? not even he who has ceased to desire their love. And do + you suppose that I, who tell them such harsh truths, am indifferent to + their verdict? Reader, I care more for their approval than for yours; you + are often more effeminate than they. While I scorn their morals, I will + revere their justice; I care not though they hate me, if I can compel + their esteem. + </p> + <p> + What great things might be accomplished by their influence if only we + could bring it to bear! Alas for the age whose women lose their + ascendancy, and fail to make men respect their judgment! This is the last + stage of degradation. Every virtuous nation has shown respect to women. + Consider Sparta, Germany, and Rome; Rome the throne of glory and virtue, + if ever they were enthroned on earth. The Roman women awarded honour to + the deeds of great generals, they mourned in public for the fathers of the + country, their awards and their tears were alike held sacred as the most + solemn utterance of the Republic. Every great revolution began with the + women. Through a woman Rome gained her liberty, through a woman the + plebeians won the consulate, through a woman the tyranny of the decemvirs + was overthrown; it was the women who saved Rome when besieged by + Coriolanus. What would you have said at the sight of this procession, you + Frenchmen who pride yourselves on your gallantry, would you not have + followed it with shouts of laughter? You and I see things with such + different eyes, and perhaps we are both right. Such a procession formed of + the fairest beauties of France would be an indecent spectacle; but let it + consist of Roman ladies, you will all gaze with the eyes of the Volscians + and feel with the heart of Coriolanus. + </p> + <p> + I will go further and maintain that virtue is no less favourable to love + than to other rights of nature, and that it adds as much to the power of + the beloved as to that of the wife or mother. There is no real love + without enthusiasm, and no enthusiasm without an object of perfection real + or supposed, but always present in the imagination. What is there to + kindle the hearts of lovers for whom this perfection is nothing, for whom + the loved one is merely the means to sensual pleasure? Nay, not thus is + the heart kindled, not thus does it abandon itself to those sublime + transports which form the rapture of lovers and the charm of love. Love is + an illusion, I grant you, but its reality consists in the feelings it + awakes, in the love of true beauty which it inspires. That beauty is not + to be found in the object of our affections, it is the creation of our + illusions. What matter! do we not still sacrifice all those baser feelings + to the imaginary model? and we still feed our hearts on the virtues we + attribute to the beloved, we still withdraw ourselves from the baseness of + human nature. What lover is there who would not give his life for his + mistress? What gross and sensual passion is there in a man who is willing + to die? We scoff at the knights of old; they knew the meaning of love; we + know nothing but debauchery. When the teachings of romance began to seem + ridiculous, it was not so much the work of reason as of immorality. + </p> + <p> + Natural relations remain the same throughout the centuries, their good or + evil effects are unchanged; prejudices, masquerading as reason, can but + change their outward seeming; self-mastery, even at the behest of + fantastic opinions, will not cease to be great and good. And the true + motives of honour will not fail to appeal to the heart of every woman who + is able to seek happiness in life in her woman’s duties. To a + high-souled woman chastity above all must be a delightful virtue. She sees + all the kingdoms of the world before her and she triumphs over herself and + them; she sits enthroned in her own soul and all men do her homage; a few + passing struggles are crowned with perpetual glory; she secures the + affection, or it may be the envy, she secures in any case the esteem of + both sexes and the universal respect of her own. The loss is fleeting, the + gain is permanent. What a joy for a noble heart—the pride of virtue + combined with beauty. Let her be a heroine of romance; she will taste + delights more exquisite than those of Lais and Cleopatra; and when her + beauty is fled, her glory and her joys remain; she alone can enjoy the + past. + </p> + <p> + The harder and more important the duties, the stronger and clearer must be + the reasons on which they are based. There is a sort of pious talk about + the most serious subjects which is dinned in vain into the ears of young + people. This talk, quite unsuited to their ideas and the small importance + they attach to it in secret, inclines them to yield readily to their + inclinations, for lack of any reasons for resistance drawn from the facts + themselves. No doubt a girl brought up to goodness and piety has strong + weapons against temptation; but one whose heart, or rather her ears, are + merely filled with the jargon of piety, will certainly fall a prey to the + first skilful seducer who attacks her. A young and beautiful girl will + never despise her body, she will never really deplore sins which her + beauty leads men to commit, she will never lament earnestly in the sight + of God that she is an object of desire, she will never be convinced that + the tenderest feeling is an invention of the Evil One. Give her other and + more pertinent reasons for her own sake, for these will have no effect. It + will be worse to instil, as is often done, ideas which contradict each + other, and after having humbled and degraded her person and her charms as + the stain of sin, to bid her reverence that same vile body as the temple + of Jesus Christ. Ideas too sublime and too humble are equally ineffective + and they cannot both be true. A reason adapted to her age and sex is what + is needed. Considerations of duty are of no effect unless they are + combined with some motive for the performance of our duty. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Quae quia non liceat non facit, illa facit.” + OVID, Amor. I. iii. eleg. iv. +</pre> + <p> + One would not suspect Ovid of such a harsh judgment. + </p> + <p> + If you would inspire young people with a love of good conduct avoid + saying, “Be good;” make it their interest to be good; make + them feel the value of goodness and they will love it. It is not enough to + show this effect in the distant future, show it now, in the relations of + the present, in the character of their lovers. Describe a good man, a man + of worth, teach them to recognise him when they see him, to love him for + their own sake; convince them that such a man alone can make them happy as + friend, wife, or mistress. Let reason lead the way to virtue; make them + feel that the empire of their sex and all the advantages derived from it + depend not merely on the right conduct, the morality, of women, but also + on that of men; that they have little hold over the vile and base, and + that the lover is incapable of serving his mistress unless he can do + homage to virtue. You may then be sure that when you describe the manners + of our age you will inspire them with a genuine disgust; when you show + them men of fashion they will despise them; you will give them a distaste + for their maxims, an aversion to their sentiments, and a scorn for their + empty gallantry; you will arouse a nobler ambition, to reign over great + and strong souls, the ambition of the Spartan women to rule over men. A + bold, shameless, intriguing woman, who can only attract her lovers by + coquetry and retain them by her favours, wins a servile obedience in + common things; in weighty and important matters she has no influence over + them. But the woman who is both virtuous, wise, and charming, she who, in + a word, combines love and esteem, can send them at her bidding to the end + of the world, to war, to glory, and to death at her behest. This is a fine + kingdom and worth the winning. + </p> + <p> + This is the spirit in which Sophy has been educated, she has been trained + carefully rather than strictly, and her taste has been followed rather + than thwarted. Let us say just a word about her person, according to the + description I have given to Emile and the picture he himself has formed of + the wife in whom he hopes to find happiness. + </p> + <p> + I cannot repeat too often that I am not dealing with prodigies. Emile is + no prodigy, neither is Sophy. He is a man and she is a woman; this is all + they have to boast of. In the present confusion between the sexes it is + almost a miracle to belong to one’s own sex. Sophy is well born and + she has a good disposition; she is very warm-hearted, and this warmth of + heart sometimes makes her imagination run away with her. Her mind is keen + rather than accurate, her temper is pleasant but variable, her person + pleasing though nothing out of the common, her countenance bespeaks a soul + and it speaks true; you may meet her with indifference, but you will not + leave her without emotion. Others possess good qualities which she lacks; + others possess her good qualities in a higher degree, but in no one are + these qualities better blended to form a happy disposition. She knows how + to make the best of her very faults, and if she were more perfect she + would be less pleasing. + </p> + <p> + Sophy is not beautiful; but in her presence men forget the fairer women, + and the latter are dissatisfied with themselves. At first sight she is + hardly pretty; but the more we see her the prettier she is; she wins where + so many lose, and what she wins she keeps. Her eyes might be finer, her + mouth more beautiful, her stature more imposing; but no one could have a + more graceful figure, a finer complexion, a whiter hand, a daintier foot, + a sweeter look, and a more expressive countenance. She does not dazzle; + she arouses interest; she delights us, we know not why. + </p> + <p> + Sophy is fond of dress, and she knows how to dress; her mother has no + other maid; she has taste enough to dress herself well; but she hates rich + clothes; her own are always simple but elegant. She does not like showy + but becoming things. She does not know what colours are fashionable, but + she makes no mistake about those that suit her. No girl seems more simply + dressed, but no one could take more pains over her toilet; no article is + selected at random, and yet there is no trace of artificiality. Her dress + is very modest in appearance and very coquettish in reality; she does not + display her charms, she conceals them, but in such a way as to enhance + them. When you see her you say, “That is a good modest girl,” + but while you are with her, you cannot take your eyes or your thoughts off + her and one might say that this very simple adornment is only put on to be + removed bit by bit by the imagination. + </p> + <p> + Sophy has natural gifts; she is aware of them, and they have not been + neglected; but never having had a chance of much training she is content + to use her pretty voice to sing tastefully and truly; her little feet step + lightly, easily, and gracefully, she can always make an easy graceful + courtesy. She has had no singing master but her father, no dancing + mistress but her mother; a neighbouring organist has given her a few + lessons in playing accompaniments on the spinet, and she has improved + herself by practice. At first she only wished to show off her hand on the + dark keys; then she discovered that the thin clear tone of the spinet made + her voice sound sweeter; little by little she recognised the charms of + harmony; as she grew older she at last began to enjoy the charms of + expression, to love music for its own sake. But she has taste rather than + talent; she cannot read a simple air from notes. + </p> + <p> + Needlework is what Sophy likes best; and the feminine arts have been + taught her most carefully, even those you would not expect, such as + cutting out and dressmaking. There is nothing she cannot do with her + needle, and nothing that she does not take a delight in doing; but + lace-making is her favourite occupation, because there is nothing which + requires such a pleasing attitude, nothing which calls for such grace and + dexterity of finger. She has also studied all the details of housekeeping; + she understands cooking and cleaning; she knows the prices of food, and + also how to choose it; she can keep accounts accurately, she is her mother’s + housekeeper. Some day she will be the mother of a family; by managing her + father’s house she is preparing to manage her own; she can take the + place of any of the servants and she is always ready to do so. You cannot + give orders unless you can do the work yourself; that is why her mother + sets her to do it. Sophy does not think of that; her first duty is to be a + good daughter, and that is all she thinks about for the present. Her one + idea is to help her mother and relieve her of some of her anxieties. + However, she does not like them all equally well. For instance, she likes + dainty food, but she does not like cooking; the details of cookery offend + her, and things are never clean enough for her. She is extremely sensitive + in this respect and carries her sensitiveness to a fault; she would let + the whole dinner boil over into the fire rather than soil her cuffs. She + has always disliked inspecting the kitchen-garden for the same reason. The + soil is dirty, and as soon as she sees the manure heap she fancies there + is a disagreeable smell. + </p> + <p> + This defect is the result of her mother’s teaching. According to + her, cleanliness is one of the most necessary of a woman’s duties, a + special duty, of the highest importance and a duty imposed by nature. + Nothing could be more revolting than a dirty woman, and a husband who + tires of her is not to blame. She insisted so strongly on this duty when + Sophy was little, she required such absolute cleanliness in her person, + clothing, room, work, and toilet, that use has become habit, till it + absorbs one half of her time and controls the other; so that she thinks + less of how to do a thing than of how to do it without getting dirty. + </p> + <p> + Yet this has not degenerated into mere affectation and softness; there is + none of the over refinement of luxury. Nothing but clean water enters her + room; she knows no perfumes but the scent of flowers, and her husband will + never find anything sweeter than her breath. In conclusion, the attention + she pays to the outside does not blind her to the fact that time and + strength are meant for greater tasks; either she does not know or she + despises that exaggerated cleanliness of body which degrades the soul. + Sophy is more than clean, she is pure. + </p> + <p> + I said that Sophy was fond of good things. She was so by nature; but she + became temperate by habit and now she is temperate by virtue. Little girls + are not to be controlled, as little boys are, to some extent, through + their greediness. This tendency may have ill effects on women and it is + too dangerous to be left unchecked. When Sophy was little, she did not + always return empty handed if she was sent to her mother’s cupboard, + and she was not quite to be trusted with sweets and sugar-almonds. Her + mother caught her, took them from her, punished her, and made her go + without her dinner. At last she managed to persuade her that sweets were + bad for the teeth, and that over-eating spoiled the figure. Thus Sophy + overcame her faults; and when she grew older other tastes distracted her + from this low kind of self-indulgence. With awakening feeling greediness + ceases to be the ruling passion, both with men and women. Sophy has + preserved her feminine tastes; she likes milk and sweets; she likes pastry + and made-dishes, but not much meat. She has never tasted wine or spirits; + moreover, she eats sparingly; women, who do not work so hard as men, have + less waste to repair. In all things she likes what is good, and knows how + to appreciate it; but she can also put up with what is not so good, or can + go without it. + </p> + <p> + Sophy’s mind is pleasing but not brilliant, and thorough but not + deep; it is the sort of mind which calls for no remark, as she never seems + cleverer or stupider than oneself. When people talk to her they always + find what she says attractive, though it may not be highly ornamental + according to modern ideas of an educated woman; her mind has been formed + not only by reading, but by conversation with her father and mother, by + her own reflections, and by her own observations in the little world in + which she has lived. Sophy is naturally merry; as a child she was even + giddy; but her mother cured her of her silly ways, little by little, lest + too sudden a change should make her self-conscious. Thus she became modest + and retiring while still a child, and now that she is a child no longer, + she finds it easier to continue this conduct than it would have been to + acquire it without knowing why. It is amusing to see her occasionally + return to her old ways and indulge in childish mirth and then suddenly + check herself, with silent lips, downcast eyes, and rosy blushes; neither + child nor woman, she may well partake of both. + </p> + <p> + Sophy is too sensitive to be always good humoured, but too gentle to let + this be really disagreeable to other people; it is only herself who + suffers. If you say anything that hurts her she does not sulk, but her + heart swells; she tries to run away and cry. In the midst of her tears, at + a word from her father or mother she returns at once laughing and playing, + secretly wiping her eyes and trying to stifle her sobs. + </p> + <p> + Yet she has her whims; if her temper is too much indulged it degenerates + into rebellion, and then she forgets herself. But give her time to come + round and her way of making you forget her wrong-doing is almost a virtue. + If you punish her she is gentle and submissive, and you see that she is + more ashamed of the fault than the punishment. If you say nothing, she + never fails to make amends, and she does it so frankly and so readily that + you cannot be angry with her. She would kiss the ground before the lowest + servant and would make no fuss about it; and as soon as she is forgiven, + you can see by her delight and her caresses that a load is taken off her + heart. In a word, she endures patiently the wrong-doing of others, and she + is eager to atone for her own. This amiability is natural to her sex when + unspoiled. Woman is made to submit to man and to endure even injustice at + his hands. You will never bring young lads to this; their feelings rise in + revolt against injustice; nature has not fitted them to put up with it. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Gravem Pelidae stomachum cedere nescii.” + HORACE, lib. i. ode vi. +</pre> + <p> + Sophy’s religion is reasonable and simple, with few doctrines and + fewer observances; or rather as she knows no course of conduct but the + right her whole life is devoted to the service of God and to doing good. + In all her parents’ teaching of religion she has been trained to a + reverent submission; they have often said, “My little girl, this is + too hard for you; your husband will teach you when you are grown up.” + Instead of long sermons about piety, they have been content to preach by + their example, and this example is engraved on her heart. + </p> + <p> + Sophy loves virtue; this love has come to be her ruling passion; she loves + virtue because there is nothing fairer in itself, she loves it because it + is a woman’s glory and because a virtuous woman is little lower than + the angels; she loves virtue as the only road to real happiness, because + she sees nothing but poverty, neglect, unhappiness, shame, and disgrace in + the life of a bad woman; she loves virtue because it is dear to her + revered father and to her tender and worthy mother; they are not content + to be happy in their own virtue, they desire hers; and she finds her chief + happiness in the hope of making them happy. All these feelings inspire an + enthusiasm which stirs her heart and keeps all its budding passions in + subjection to this noble enthusiasm. Sophy will be chaste and good till + her dying day; she has vowed it in her secret heart, and not before she + knew how hard it would be to keep her vow; she made this vow at a time + when she would have revoked it had she been the slave of her senses. + </p> + <p> + Sophy is not so fortunate as to be a charming French woman, cold-hearted + and vain, who would rather attract attention than give pleasure, who seeks + amusement rather than delight. She suffers from a consuming desire for + love; it even disturbs and troubles her heart in the midst of festivities; + she has lost her former liveliness, and her taste for merry games; far + from being afraid of the tedium of solitude she desires it. Her thoughts + go out to him who will make solitude sweet to her. She finds strangers + tedious, she wants a lover, not a circle of admirers. She would rather + give pleasure to one good man than be a general favourite, or win that + applause of society which lasts but a day and to-morrow is turned to + scorn. + </p> + <p> + A woman’s judgment develops sooner than a man’s; being on the + defensive from her childhood up, and intrusted with a treasure so hard to + keep, she is earlier acquainted with good and evil. Sophy is precocious by + temperament in everything, and her judgment is more formed than that of + most girls of her age. There is nothing strange in that, maturity is not + always reached at the same age. + </p> + <p> + Sophy has been taught the duties and rights of her own sex and of ours. + She knows men’s faults and women’s vices; she also knows their + corresponding good qualities and virtues, and has them by heart. No one + can have a higher ideal of a virtuous woman, but she would rather think of + a virtuous man, a man of true worth; she knows that she is made for such a + man, that she is worthy of him, that she can make him as happy as he will + make her; she is sure she will know him when she sees him; the difficulty + is to find him. + </p> + <p> + Women are by nature judges of a man’s worth, as he is of theirs; + this right is reciprocal, and it is recognised as such both by men and + women. Sophy recognises this right and exercises it, but with the modesty + becoming her youth, her inexperience, and her position; she confines her + judgment to what she knows, and she only forms an opinion when it may help + to illustrate some useful precept. She is extremely careful what she says + about those who are absent, particularly if they are women. She thinks + that talking about each other makes women spiteful and satirical; so long + as they only talk about men they are merely just. So Sophy stops there. As + to women she never says anything at all about them, except to tell the + good she knows; she thinks this is only fair to her sex; and if she knows + no good of any woman, she says nothing, and that is enough. + </p> + <p> + Sophy has little knowledge of society, but she is observant and obliging, + and all that she does is full of grace. A happy disposition does more for + her than much art. She has a certain courtesy of her own, which is not + dependent on fashion, and does not change with its changes; it is not a + matter of custom, but it arises from a feminine desire to please. She is + unacquainted with the language of empty compliment, nor does she invent + more elaborate compliments of her own; she does not say that she is + greatly obliged, that you do her too much honour, that you should not take + so much trouble, etc. Still less does she try to make phrases of her own. + She responds to an attention or a customary piece of politeness by a + courtesy or a mere “Thank you;” but this phrase in her mouth + is quite enough. If you do her a real service, she lets her heart speak, + and its words are no empty compliment. She has never allowed French + manners to make her a slave to appearances; when she goes from one room to + another she does not take the arm of an old gentleman, whom she would much + rather help. When a scented fop offers her this empty attention, she + leaves him on the staircase and rushes into the room saying that she is + not lame. Indeed, she will never wear high heels though she is not tall; + her feet are small enough to dispense with them. + </p> + <p> + Not only does she adopt a silent and respectful attitude towards women, + but also towards married men, or those who are much older than herself; + she will never take her place above them, unless compelled to do so; and + she will return to her own lower place as soon as she can; for she knows + that the rights of age take precedence of those of sex, as age is + presumably wiser than youth, and wisdom should be held in the greatest + honour. + </p> + <p> + With young folks of her own age it is another matter; she requires a + different manner to gain their respect, and she knows how to adopt it + without dropping the modest ways which become her. If they themselves are + shy and modest, she will gladly preserve the friendly familiarity of + youth; their innocent conversation will be merry but suitable; if they + become serious they must say something useful; if they become silly, she + soon puts a stop to it, for she has an utter contempt for the jargon of + gallantry, which she considers an insult to her sex. She feels sure that + the man she seeks does not speak that jargon, and she will never permit in + another what would be displeasing to her in him whose character is + engraved on her heart. Her high opinion of the rights of women, her pride + in the purity of her feelings, that active virtue which is the basis of + her self-respect, make her indignant at the sentimental speeches intended + for her amusement. She does not receive them with open anger, but with a + disconcerting irony or an unexpected iciness. If a fair Apollo displays + his charms, and makes use of his wit in the praise of her wit, her beauty, + and her grace; at the risk of offending him she is quite capable of saying + politely, “Sir, I am afraid I know that better than you; if we have + nothing more interesting to talk about, I think we may put an end to this + conversation.” To say this with a deep courtesy, and then to + withdraw to a considerable distance, is the work of a moment. Ask your + lady-killers if it is easy to continue to babble to such, an unsympathetic + ear. + </p> + <p> + It is not that she is not fond of praise if it is really sincere, and if + she thinks you believe what you say. You must show that you appreciate her + merit if you would have her believe you. Her proud spirit may take + pleasure in homage which is based upon esteem, but empty compliments are + always rejected; Sophy was not meant to practise the small arts of the + dancing-girl. + </p> + <p> + With a judgment so mature, and a mind like that of a woman of twenty, + Sophy, at fifteen, is no longer treated as a child by her parents. No + sooner do they perceive the first signs of youthful disquiet than they + hasten to anticipate its development, their conversations with her are + wise and tender. These wise and tender conversations are in keeping with + her age and disposition. If her disposition is what I fancy why should not + her father speak to her somewhat after this fashion? + </p> + <p> + “You are a big girl now, Sophy, you will soon be a woman. We want + you to be happy, for our own sakes as well as yours, for our happiness + depends on yours. A good girl finds her own happiness in the happiness of + a good man, so we must consider your marriage; we must think of it in good + time, for marriage makes or mars our whole life, and we cannot have too + much time to consider it. + </p> + <p> + “There is nothing so hard to choose as a good husband, unless it is + a good wife. You will be that rare creature, Sophy, you will be the crown + of our life and the blessing of our declining years; but however worthy + you are, there are worthier people upon earth. There is no one who would + not do himself honour by marriage with you; there are many who would do + you even greater honour than themselves. Among these we must try to find + one who suits you, we must get to know him and introduce you to him. + </p> + <p> + “The greatest possible happiness in marriage depends on so many + points of agreement that it is folly to expect to secure them all. We must + first consider the more important matters; if others are to be found along + with them, so much the better; if not we must do without them. Perfect + happiness is not to be found in this world, but we can, at least, avoid + the worst form of unhappiness, that for which ourselves are to blame. + </p> + <p> + “There is a natural suitability, there is a suitability of + established usage, and a suitability which is merely conventional. Parents + should decide as to the two latters, and the children themselves should + decide as to the former. Marriages arranged by parents only depend on a + suitability of custom and convention; it is not two people who are united, + but two positions and two properties; but these things may change, the + people remain, they are always there; and in spite of fortune it is the + personal relation that makes a happy or an unhappy marriage. + </p> + <p> + “Your mother had rank, I had wealth; this was all that our parents + considered in arranging our marriage. I lost my money, she lost her + position; forgotten by her family, what good did it do her to be a lady + born? In the midst of our misfortunes, the union of our hearts has + outweighed them all; the similarity of our tastes led us to choose this + retreat; we live happily in our poverty, we are all in all to each other. + Sophy is a treasure we hold in common, and we thank Heaven which has + bestowed this treasure and deprived us of all others. You see, my child, + whither we have been led by Providence; the conventional motives which + brought about our marriage no longer exist, our happiness consists in that + natural suitability which was held of no account. + </p> + <p> + “Husband and wife should choose each other. A mutual liking should + be the first bond between them. They should follow the guidance of their + own eyes and hearts; when they are married their first duty will be to + love one another, and as love and hatred do not depend on ourselves, this + duty brings another with it, and they must begin to love each other before + marriage. That is the law of nature, and no power can abrogate it; those + who have fettered it by so many legal restrictions have given heed rather + to the outward show of order than to the happiness of marriage or the + morals of the citizen. You see, my dear Sophy, we do not preach a harsh + morality. It tends to make you your own mistress and to make us leave the + choice of your husband to yourself. + </p> + <p> + “When we have told you our reasons for giving you full liberty, it + is only fair to speak of your reasons for making a wise use of that + liberty. My child, you are good and sensible, upright and pious, you have + the accomplishments of a good woman and you are not altogether without + charms; but you are poor; you have the gifts most worthy of esteem, but + not those which are most esteemed. Do not seek what is beyond your reach, + and let your ambition be controlled, not by your ideas or ours, but by the + opinion of others. If it were merely a question of equal merits, I know + not what limits to impose on your hopes; but do not let your ambitions + outrun your fortune, and remember it is very small. Although a man worthy + of you would not consider this inequality an obstacle, you must do what he + would not do; Sophy must follow her mother’s example and only enter + a family which counts it an honour to receive her. You never saw our + wealth, you were born in our poverty; you make it sweet for us, and you + share it without hardship. Believe me, Sophy, do not seek those good + things we indeed thank heaven for having taken from us; we did not know + what happiness was till we lost our money. + </p> + <p> + “You are so amiable that you will win affection, and you are not go + poor as to be a burden. You will be sought in marriage, it may be by those + who are unworthy of you. If they showed themselves in their true colours, + you would rate them at their real value; all their outward show would not + long deceive you; but though your judgment is good and you know what merit + is when you see it, you are inexperienced and you do not know how people + can conceal their real selves. A skilful knave might study your tastes in + order to seduce you, and make a pretence of those virtues which he does + not possess. You would be ruined, Sophy, before you knew what you were + doing, and you would only perceive your error when you had cause to lament + it. The most dangerous snare, the only snare which reason cannot avoid, is + that of the senses; if ever you have the misfortune to fall into its + toils, you will perceive nothing but fancies and illusions; your eyes will + be fascinated, your judgment troubled, your will corrupted, your very + error will be dear to you, and even if you were able to perceive it you + would not be willing to escape from it. My child, I trust you to Sophy’s + own reason; I do not trust you to the fancies of your own heart. Judge for + yourself so long as your heart is untouched, but when you love betake + yourself to your mother’s care. + </p> + <p> + “I propose a treaty between us which shows our esteem for you, and + restores the order of nature between us. Parents choose a husband for + their daughter and she is only consulted as a matter of form; that is the + custom. We shall do just the opposite; you will choose, and we shall be + consulted. Use your right, Sophy, use it freely and wisely. The husband + suitable for you should be chosen by you not us. But it is for us to judge + whether he is really suitable, or whether, without knowing it, you are + only following your own wishes. Birth, wealth, position, conventional + opinions will count for nothing with us. Choose a good man whose person + and character suit you; whatever he may be in other respects, we will + accept him as our son-in-law. He will be rich enough if he has bodily + strength, a good character, and family affection. His position will be + good enough if it is ennobled by virtue. If everybody blames us, we do not + care. We do not seek the approbation of men, but your happiness.” + </p> + <p> + I cannot tell my readers what effect such words would have upon girls + brought up in their fashion. As for Sophy, she will have no words to + reply; shame and emotion will not permit her to express herself easily; + but I am sure that what was said will remain engraved upon her heart as + long as she lives, and that if any human resolution may be trusted, we may + rely on her determination to deserve her parent’s esteem. + </p> + <p> + At worst let us suppose her endowed with an ardent disposition which will + make her impatient of long delays; I maintain that her judgment, her + knowledge, her taste, her refinement, and, above all, the sentiments in + which she has been brought up from childhood, will outweigh the + impetuosity of the senses, and enable her to offer a prolonged resistance, + if not to overcome them altogether. She would rather die a virgin martyr + than distress her parents by marrying a worthless man and exposing herself + to the unhappiness of an ill-assorted marriage. Ardent as an Italian and + sentimental as an Englishwoman, she has a curb upon heart and sense in the + pride of a Spaniard, who even when she seeks a lover does not easily + discover one worthy of her. + </p> + <p> + Not every one can realise the motive power to be found in a love of what + is right, nor the inner strength which results from a genuine love of + virtue. There are men who think that all greatness is a figment of the + brain, men who with their vile and degraded reason will never recognise + the power over human passions which is wielded by the very madness of + virtue. You can only teach such men by examples; if they persist in + denying their existence, so much the worse for them. If I told them that + Sophy is no imaginary person, that her name alone is my invention, that + her education, her conduct, her character, her very features, really + existed, and that her loss is still mourned by a very worthy family, they + would, no doubt, refuse to believe me; but indeed why should I not venture + to relate word for word the story of a girl so like Sophy that this story + might be hers without surprising any one. Believe it or no, it is all the + same to me; call my history fiction if you will; in any case I have + explained my method and furthered my purpose. + </p> + <p> + This young girl with the temperament which I have attributed to Sophy was + so like her in other respects that she was worthy of the name, and so we + will continue to use it. After the conversation related above, her father + and mother thought that suitable husbands would not be likely to offer + themselves in the hamlet where they lived; so they decided to send her to + spend the winter in town, under the care of an aunt who was privately + acquainted with the object of the journey; for Sophy’s heart + throbbed with noble pride at the thought of her self-control; and however + much she might want to marry, she would rather have died a maid than have + brought herself to go in search of a husband. + </p> + <p> + In response to her parents’ wishes her aunt introduced her to her + friends, took her into company, both private and public, showed her + society, or rather showed her in society, for Sophy paid little heed to + its bustle. Yet it was plain that she did not shrink from young men of + pleasing appearance and modest seemly behaviour. Her very shyness had a + charm of its own, which was very much like coquetry; but after talking to + them once or twice she repulsed them. She soon exchanged that air of + authority which seems to accept men’s homage for a humbler bearing + and a still more chilling politeness. Always watchful over her conduct, + she gave them no chance of doing her the least service; it was perfectly + plain that she was determined not to accept any one of them. + </p> + <p> + Never did sensitive heart take pleasure in noisy amusements, the empty and + barren delights of those who have no feelings, those who think that a + merry life is a happy life. Sophy did not find what she sought, and she + felt sure she never would, so she got tired of the town. She loved her + parents dearly and nothing made up for their absence, nothing could make + her forget them; she went home long before the time fixed for the end of + her visit. + </p> + <p> + Scarcely had she resumed her home duties when they perceived that her + temper had changed though her conduct was unaltered, she was forgetful, + impatient, sad, and dreamy; she wept in secret. At first they thought she + was in love and was ashamed to own it; they spoke to her, but she + repudiated the idea. She protested she had seen no one who could touch her + heart, and Sophy always spoke the truth. + </p> + <p> + Yet her languor steadily increased, and her health began to give way. Her + mother was anxious about her, and determined to know the reason for this + change. She took her aside, and with the winning speech and the + irresistible caresses which only a mother can employ, she said, “My + child, whom I have borne beneath my heart, whom I bear ever in my + affection, confide your secret to your mother’s bosom. What secrets + are these which a mother may not know? Who pities your sufferings, who + shares them, who would gladly relieve them, if not your father and myself? + Ah, my child! would you have me die of grief for your sorrow without + letting me share it?” + </p> + <p> + Far from hiding her griefs from her mother, the young girl asked nothing + better than to have her as friend and comforter; but she could not speak + for shame, her modesty could find no words to describe a condition so + unworthy of her, as the emotion which disturbed her senses in spite of all + her efforts. At length her very shame gave her mother a clue to her + difficulty, and she drew from her the humiliating confession. Far from + distressing her with reproaches or unjust blame, she consoled her, pitied + her, wept over her; she was too wise to make a crime of an evil which + virtue alone made so cruel. But why put up with such an evil when there + was no necessity to do so, when the remedy was so easy and so legitimate? + Why did she not use the freedom they had granted her? Why did she not take + a husband? Why did she not make her choice? Did she not know that she was + perfectly independent in this matter, that whatever her choice, it would + be approved, for it was sure to be good? They had sent her to town, but + she would not stay; many suitors had offered themselves, but she would + have none of them. What did she expect? What did she want? What an + inexplicable contradiction? + </p> + <p> + The reply was simple. If it were only a question of the partner of her + youth, her choice would soon be made; but a master for life is not so + easily chosen; and since the two cannot be separated, people must often + wait and sacrifice their youth before they find the man with whom they + could spend their life. Such was Sophy’s case; she wanted a lover, + but this lover must be her husband; and to discover a heart such as she + required, a lover and husband were equally difficult to find. All these + dashing young men were only her equals in age, in everything else they + were found lacking; their empty wit, their vanity, their affectations of + speech, their ill-regulated conduct, their frivolous imitations alike + disgusted her. She sought a man and she found monkeys; she sought a soul + and there was none to be found. + </p> + <p> + “How unhappy I am!” said she to her mother; “I am + compelled to love and yet I am dissatisfied with every one. My heart + rejects every one who appeals to my senses. Every one of them stirs my + passions and all alike revolt them; a liking unaccompanied by respect + cannot last. That is not the sort of man for your Sophy; the delightful + image of her ideal is too deeply graven in her heart. She can love no + other; she can make no one happy but him, and she cannot be happy without + him. She would rather consume herself in ceaseless conflicts, she would + rather die free and wretched, than driven desperate by the company of a + man she did not love, a man she would make as unhappy as herself; she + would rather die than live to suffer.” + </p> + <p> + Amazed at these strange ideas, her mother found them so peculiar that she + could not fail to suspect some mystery. Sophy was neither affected nor + absurd. How could such exaggerated delicacy exist in one who had been so + carefully taught from her childhood to adapt herself to those with whom + she must live, and to make a virtue of necessity? This ideal of the + delightful man with which she was so enchanted, who appeared so often in + her conversation, made her mother suspect that there was some foundation + for her caprices which was still unknown to her, and that Sophy had not + told her all. The unhappy girl, overwhelmed with her secret grief, was + only too eager to confide it to another. Her mother urged her to speak; + she hesitated, she yielded, and leaving the room without a word, she + presently returned with a book in her hand. “Have pity on your + unhappy daughter, there is no remedy for her grief, her tears cannot be + dried. You would know the cause: well, here it is,” said she, + flinging the book on the table. Her mother took the book and opened it; it + was The Adventures of Telemachus. At first she could make nothing of this + riddle; by dint of questions and vague replies, she discovered to her + great surprise that her daughter was the rival of Eucharis. + </p> + <p> + Sophy was in love with Telemachus, and loved him with a passion which + nothing could cure. When her father and mother became aware of her + infatuation, they laughed at it and tried to cure her by reasoning with + her. They were mistaken, reason was not altogether on their side; Sophy + had her own reason and knew how to use it. Many a time did she reduce them + to silence by turning their own arguments against them, by showing them + that it was all their own fault for not having trained her to suit the men + of that century; that she would be compelled to adopt her husband’s + way of thinking or he must adopt hers, that they had made the former + course impossible by the way she had been brought up, and that the latter + was just what she wanted. “Give me,” said she, “a man + who holds the same opinions as I do, or one who will be willing to learn + them from me, and I will marry him; but until then, why do you scold me? + Pity me; I am miserable, but not mad. Is the heart controlled by the will? + Did my father not ask that very question? Is it my fault if I love what + has no existence? I am no visionary; I desire no prince, I seek no + Telemachus, I know he is only an imaginary person; I seek some one like + him. And why should there be no such person, since there is such a person + as I, I who feel that my heart is like his? No, let us not wrong humanity + so greatly, let us not think that an amiable and virtuous man is a figment + of the imagination. He exists, he lives, perhaps he is seeking me; he is + seeking a soul which is capable of love for him. But who is he, where is + he? I know not; he is not among those I have seen; and no doubt I shall + never see him. Oh! mother, why did you make virtue too attractive? If I + can love nothing less, you are more to blame than I.” + </p> + <p> + Must I continue this sad story to its close? Must I describe the long + struggles which preceded it? Must I show an impatient mother exchanging + her former caresses for severity? Must I paint an angry father forgetting + his former promises, and treating the most virtuous of daughters as a mad + woman? Must I portray the unhappy girl, more than ever devoted to her + imaginary hero, because of the persecution brought upon her by that + devotion, drawing nearer step by step to her death, and descending into + the grave when they were about to force her to the altar? No; I will not + dwell upon these gloomy scenes; I have no need to go so far to show, by + what I consider a sufficiently striking example, that in spite of the + prejudices arising from the manners of our age, the enthusiasm for the + good and the beautiful is no more foreign to women than to men, and that + there is nothing which, under nature’s guidance, cannot be obtained + from them as well as from us. + </p> + <p> + You stop me here to inquire whether it is nature which teaches us to take + such pains to repress our immoderate desires. No, I reply, but neither is + it nature who gives us these immoderate desires. Now, all that is not from + nature is contrary to nature, as I have proved again and again. + </p> + <p> + Let us give Emile his Sophy; let us restore this sweet girl to life and + provide her with a less vivid imagination and a happier fate. I desired to + paint an ordinary woman, but by endowing her with a great soul, I have + disturbed her reason. I have gone astray. Let us retrace our steps. Sophy + has only a good disposition and an ordinary heart; her education is + responsible for everything in which she excels other women. + </p> + <p> + In this book I intended to describe all that might be done and to leave + every one free to choose what he could out of all the good things I + described. I meant to train a helpmeet for Emile, from the very first, and + to educate them for each other and with each other. But on consideration I + thought all these premature arrangements undesirable, for it was absurd to + plan the marriage of two children before I could tell whether this union + was in accordance with nature and whether they were really suited to each + other. We must not confuse what is suitable in a state of savagery with + what is suitable in civilised life. In the former, any woman will suit any + man, for both are still in their primitive and undifferentiated condition; + in the latter, all their characteristics have been developed by social + institutions, and each mind, having taken its own settled form, not from + education alone, but by the co-operation, more or less well-regulated, of + natural disposition and education, we can only make a match by introducing + them to each other to see if they suit each other in every respect, or at + least we can let them make that choice which gives the most promise of + mutual suitability. + </p> + <p> + The difficulty is this: while social life develops character it + differentiates classes, and these two classifications do not correspond, + so that the greater the social distinctions, the greater the difficulty of + finding the corresponding character. Hence we have ill-assorted marriages + and all their accompanying evils; and we find that it follows logically + that the further we get from equality, the greater the change in our + natural feelings; the wider the distance between great and small, the + looser the marriage tie; the deeper the gulf between rich and poor the + fewer husbands and fathers. Neither master nor slave belongs to a family, + but only to a class. + </p> + <p> + If you would guard against these abuses, and secure happy marriages, you + must stifle your prejudices, forget human institutions, and consult + nature. Do not join together those who are only alike in one given + condition, those who will not suit one another if that condition is + changed; but those who are adapted to one another in every situation, in + every country, and in every rank in which they may be placed. I do not say + that conventional considerations are of no importance in marriage, but I + do say that the influence of natural relations is so much more important, + that our fate in life is decided by them alone, and that there is such an + agreement of taste, temper, feeling, and disposition as should induce a + wise father, though he were a prince, to marry his son, without a moment’s + hesitation, to the woman so adapted to him, were she born in a bad home, + were she even the hangman’s daughter. I maintain indeed that every + possible misfortune may overtake husband and wife if they are thus united, + yet they will enjoy more real happiness while they mingle their tears, + than if they possessed all the riches of the world, poisoned by divided + hearts. + </p> + <p> + Instead of providing a wife for Emile in childhood, I have waited till I + knew what would suit him. It is not for me to decide, but for nature; my + task is to discover the choice she has made. My business, mine I repeat, + not his father’s; for when he entrusted his son to my care, he gave + up his place to me. He gave me his rights; it is I who am really Emile’s + father; it is I who have made a man of him. I would have refused to + educate him if I were not free to marry him according to his own choice, + which is mine. Nothing but the pleasure of bestowing happiness on a man + can repay me for the cost of making him capable of happiness. + </p> + <p> + Do not suppose, however, that I have delayed to find a wife for Emile till + I sent him in search of her. This search is only a pretext for acquainting + him with women, so that he may perceive the value of a suitable wife. + Sophy was discovered long since; Emile may even have seen her already, but + he will not recognise her till the time is come. + </p> + <p> + Although equality of rank is not essential in marriage, yet this equality + along with other kinds of suitability increases their value; it is not to + be weighed against any one of them, but, other things being equal, it + turns the scale. + </p> + <p> + A man, unless he is a king, cannot seek a wife in any and every class; if + he himself is free from prejudices, he will find them in others; and this + girl or that might perhaps suit him and yet she would be beyond his reach. + A wise father will therefore restrict his inquiries within the bounds of + prudence. He should not wish to marry his pupil into a family above his + own, for that is not within his power. If he could do so he ought not + desire it; for what difference does rank make to a young man, at least to + my pupil? Yet, if he rises he is exposed to all sorts of real evils which + he will feel all his life long. I even say that he should not try to + adjust the balance between different gifts, such as rank and money; for + each of these adds less to the value of the other than the amount deducted + from its own value in the process of adjustment; moreover, we can never + agree as to a common denominator; and finally the preference, which each + feels for his own surroundings, paves the way for discord between the two + families and often to difficulties between husband and wife. + </p> + <p> + It makes a considerable difference as to the suitability of a marriage + whether a man marries above or beneath him. The former case is quite + contrary to reason, the latter is more in conformity with reason. As the + family is only connected with society through its head, it is the rank of + that head which decides that of the family as a whole. When he marries + into a lower rank, a man does not lower himself, he raises his wife; if, + on the other hand, he marries above his position, he lowers his wife and + does not raise himself. Thus there is in the first case good unmixed with + evil, in the other evil unmixed with good. Moreover, the law of nature + bids the woman obey the man. If he takes a wife from a lower class, + natural and civil law are in accordance and all goes well. When he marries + a woman of higher rank it is just the opposite case; the man must choose + between diminished rights or imperfect gratitude; he must be ungrateful or + despised. Then the wife, laying claim to authority, makes herself a tyrant + over her lawful head; and the master, who has become a slave, is the most + ridiculous and miserable of creatures. Such are the unhappy favourites + whom the sovereigns of Asia honour and torment with their alliance; people + tell us that if they desire to sleep with their wife they must enter by + the foot of the bed. + </p> + <p> + I expect that many of my readers will remember that I think women have a + natural gift for managing men, and will accuse me of contradicting myself; + yet they are mistaken. There is a vast difference between claiming the + right to command, and managing him who commands. Woman’s reign is a + reign of gentleness, tact, and kindness; her commands are caresses, her + threats are tears. She should reign in the home as a minister reigns in + the state, by contriving to be ordered to do what she wants. In this + sense, I grant you, that the best managed homes are those where the wife + has most power. But when she despises the voice of her head, when she + desires to usurp his rights and take the command upon herself, this + inversion of the proper order of things leads only to misery, scandal, and + dishonour. + </p> + <p> + There remains the choice between our equals and our inferiors; and I think + we ought also to make certain restrictions with regard to the latter; for + it is hard to find in the lowest stratum of society a woman who is able to + make a good man happy; not that the lower classes are more vicious than + the higher, but because they have so little idea of what is good and + beautiful, and because the injustice of other classes makes its very vices + seem right in the eyes of this class. + </p> + <p> + By nature man thinks but seldom. He learns to think as he acquires the + other arts, but with even greater difficulty. In both sexes alike I am + only aware of two really distinct classes, those who think and those who + do not; and this difference is almost entirely one of education. A man who + thinks should not ally himself with a woman who does not think, for he + loses the chief delight of social life if he has a wife who cannot share + his thoughts. People who spend their whole life in working for a living + have no ideas beyond their work and their own interests, and their mind + seems to reside in their arms. This ignorance is not necessarily + unfavourable either to their honesty or their morals; it is often + favourable; we often content ourselves with thinking about our duties, and + in the end we substitute words for things. Conscience is the most + enlightened philosopher; to be an honest man we need not read Cicero’s + De Officiis, and the most virtuous woman in the world is probably she who + knows least about virtue. But it is none the less true that a cultivated + mind alone makes intercourse pleasant, and it is a sad thing for a father + of a family, who delights in his home, to be forced to shut himself up in + himself and to be unable to make himself understood. + </p> + <p> + Moreover, if a woman is quite unaccustomed to think, how can she bring up + her children? How will she know what is good for them? How can she incline + them to virtues of which she is ignorant, to merit of which she has no + conception? She can only flatter or threaten, she can only make them + insolent or timid; she will make them performing monkeys or noisy little + rascals; she will never make them intelligent or pleasing children. + </p> + <p> + Therefore it is not fitting that a man of education should choose a wife + who has none, or take her from a class where she cannot be expected to + have any education. But I would a thousand times rather have a homely + girl, simply brought up, than a learned lady and a wit who would make a + literary circle of my house and install herself as its president. A female + wit is a scourge to her husband, her children, her friends, her servants, + to everybody. From the lofty height of her genius she scorns every womanly + duty, and she is always trying to make a man of herself after the fashion + of Mlle. de L’Enclos. Outside her home she always makes herself + ridiculous and she is very rightly a butt for criticism, as we always are + when we try to escape from our own position into one for which we are + unfitted. These highly talented women only get a hold over fools. We can + always tell what artist or friend holds the pen or pencil when they are at + work; we know what discreet man of letters dictates their oracles in + private. This trickery is unworthy of a decent woman. If she really had + talents, her pretentiousness would degrade them. Her honour is to be + unknown; her glory is the respect of her husband; her joys the happiness + of her family. I appeal to my readers to give me an honest answer; when + you enter a woman’s room what makes you think more highly of her, + what makes you address her with more respect—to see her busy with + feminine occupations, with her household duties, with her children’s + clothes about her, or to find her writing verses at her toilet table + surrounded with pamphlets of every kind and with notes on tinted paper? If + there were none but wise men upon earth such a woman would die an old + maid. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Quaeris cur nolim te ducere, galla? diserta es.” + Martial xi. 20. +</pre> + <p> + Looks must next be considered; they are the first thing that strikes us + and they ought to be the last, still they should not count for nothing. I + think that great beauty is rather to be shunned than sought after in + marriage. Possession soon exhausts our appreciation of beauty; in six + weeks’ time we think no more about it, but its dangers endure as + long as life itself. Unless a beautiful woman is an angel, her husband is + the most miserable of men; and even if she were an angel he would still be + the centre of a hostile crowd and she could not prevent it. If extreme + ugliness were not repulsive I should prefer it to extreme beauty; for + before very long the husband would cease to notice either, but beauty + would still have its disadvantages and ugliness its advantages. But + ugliness which is actually repulsive is the worst misfortune; repulsion + increases rather than diminishes, and it turns to hatred. Such a union is + a hell upon earth; better death than such a marriage. + </p> + <p> + Desire mediocrity in all things, even in beauty. A pleasant attractive + countenance, which inspires kindly feelings rather than love, is what we + should prefer; the husband runs no risk, and the advantages are common to + husband and wife; charm is less perishable than beauty; it is a living + thing, which constantly renews itself, and after thirty years of married + life, the charms of a good woman delight her husband even as they did on + the wedding-day. + </p> + <p> + Such are the considerations which decided my choice of Sophy. Brought up, + like Emile, by Nature, she is better suited to him than any other; she + will be his true mate. She is his equal in birth and character, his + inferior in fortune. She makes no great impression at first sight, but day + by day reveals fresh charms. Her chief influence only takes effect + gradually, it is only discovered in friendly intercourse; and her husband + will feel it more than any one. Her education is neither showy nor + neglected; she has taste without deep study, talent without art, judgment + without learning. Her mind knows little, but it is trained to learn; it is + well-tilled soil ready for the sower. She has read no book but Bareme and + Telemachus which happened to fall into her hands; but no girl who can feel + so passionately towards Telemachus can have a heart without feeling or a + mind without discernment. What charming ignorance! Happy is he who is + destined to be her tutor. She will not be her husband’s teacher but + his scholar; far from seeking to control his tastes, she will share them. + She will suit him far better than a blue-stocking and he will have the + pleasure of teaching her everything. It is time they made acquaintance; + let us try to plan a meeting. + </p> + <p> + When we left Paris we were sorrowful and wrapped in thought. This Babel is + not our home. Emile casts a scornful glance towards the great city, saying + angrily, “What a time we have wasted; the bride of my heart is not + there. My friend, you knew it, but you think nothing of my time, and you + pay no heed to my sufferings.” With steady look and firm voice I + reply, “Emile, do you mean what you say?” At once he flings + his arms round my neck and clasps me to his breast without speaking. That + is his answer when he knows he is in the wrong. + </p> + <p> + And now we are wandering through the country like true knights-errant; yet + we are not seeking adventures when we leave Paris; we are escaping from + them; now fast now slow, we wander through the country like + knights-errants. By following my usual practice the taste for it has + become established; and I do not suppose any of my readers are such slaves + of custom as to picture us dozing in a post-chaise with closed windows, + travelling, yet seeing nothing, observing nothing, making the time between + our start and our arrival a mere blank, and losing in the speed of our + journey, the time we meant to save. + </p> + <p> + Men say life is short, and I see them doing their best to shorten it. As + they do not know how to spend their time they lament the swiftness of its + flight, and I perceive that for them it goes only too slowly. Intent + merely on the object of their pursuit, they behold unwillingly the space + between them and it; one desires to-morrow, another looks a month ahead, + another ten years beyond that. No one wants to live to-day, no one + contents himself with the present hour, all complain that it passes + slowly. When they complain that time flies, they lie; they would gladly + purchase the power to hasten it; they would gladly spend their fortune to + get rid of their whole life; and there is probably not a single one who + would not have reduced his life to a few hours if he had been free to get + rid of those hours he found tedious, and those which separated him from + the desired moment. A man spends his whole life rushing from Paris to + Versailles, from Versailles to Paris, from town to country, from country + to town, from one district of the town to another; but he would not know + what to do with his time if he had not discovered this way of wasting it, + by leaving his business on purpose to find something to do in coming back + to it; he thinks he is saving the time he spends, which would otherwise be + unoccupied; or maybe he rushes for the sake of rushing, and travels post + in order to return in the same fashion. When will mankind cease to slander + nature? Why do you complain that life is short when it is never short + enough for you? If there were but one of you, able to moderate his + desires, so that he did not desire the flight of time, he would never find + life too short; for him life and the joy of life would be one and the + same; should he die young, he would still die full of days. + </p> + <p> + If this were the only advantage of my way of travelling it would be + enough. I have brought Emile up neither to desire nor to wait, but to + enjoy; and when his desires are bent upon the future, their ardour is not + so great as to make time seem tedious. He will not only enjoy the delights + of longing, but the delights of approaching the object of his desires; and + his passions are under such restraint that he lives to a great extent in + the present. + </p> + <p> + So we do not travel like couriers but like explorers. We do not merely + consider the beginning and the end, but the space between. The journey + itself is a delight. We do not travel sitting, dismally imprisoned, so to + speak, in a tightly closed cage. We do not travel with the ease and + comfort of ladies. We do not deprive ourselves of the fresh air, nor the + sight of the things about us, nor the opportunity of examining them at our + pleasure. Emile will never enter a post-chaise, nor will he ride post + unless in a great hurry. But what cause has Emile for haste? None but the + joy of life. Shall I add to this the desire to do good when he can? No, + for that is itself one of the joys of life. + </p> + <p> + I can only think of one way of travelling pleasanter than travelling on + horseback, and that is to travel on foot. You start at your own time, you + stop when you will, you do as much or as little as you choose. You see the + country, you turn off to the right or left; you examine anything which + interests you, you stop to admire every view. Do I see a stream, I wander + by its banks; a leafy wood, I seek its shade; a cave, I enter it; a + quarry, I study its geology. If I like a place, I stop there. As soon as I + am weary of it, I go on. I am independent of horses and postillions; I + need not stick to regular routes or good roads; I go anywhere where a man + can go; I see all that a man can see; and as I am quite independent of + everybody, I enjoy all the freedom man can enjoy. If I am stopped by bad + weather and I find myself getting bored, then I take horses. If I am tired—but + Emile is hardly ever tired; he is strong; why should he get tired? There + is no hurry? If he stops, why should he be bored? He always finds some + amusement. He works at a trade; he uses his arms to rest his feet. + </p> + <p> + To travel on foot is to travel in the fashion of Thales, Plato, and + Pythagoras. I find it hard to understand how a philosopher can bring + himself to travel in any other way; how he can tear himself from the study + of the wealth which lies before his eyes and beneath his feet. Is there + any one with an interest in agriculture, who does not want to know the + special products of the district through which he is passing, and their + method of cultivation? Is there any one with a taste for natural history, + who can pass a piece of ground without examining it, a rock without + breaking off a piece of it, hills without looking for plants, and stones + without seeking for fossils? + </p> + <p> + Your town-bred scientists study natural history in cabinets; they have + small specimens; they know their names but nothing of their nature. Emile’s + museum is richer than that of kings; it is the whole world. Everything is + in its right place; the Naturalist who is its curator has taken care to + arrange it in the fairest order; Dauberton could do no better. + </p> + <p> + What varied pleasures we enjoy in this delightful way of travelling, not + to speak of increasing health and a cheerful spirit. I notice that those + who ride in nice, well-padded carriages are always wrapped in thought, + gloomy, fault-finding, or sick; while those who go on foot are always + merry, light-hearted, and delighted with everything. How cheerful we are + when we get near our lodging for the night! How savoury is the coarse + food! How we linger at table enjoying our rest! How soundly we sleep on a + hard bed! If you only want to get to a place you may ride in a + post-chaise; if you want to travel you must go on foot. + </p> + <p> + If Sophy is not forgotten before we have gone fifty leagues in the way I + propose, either I am a bungler or Emile lacks curiosity; for with an + elementary knowledge of so many things, it is hardly to be supposed that + he will not be tempted to extend his knowledge. It is knowledge that makes + us curious; and Emile knows just enough to want to know more. + </p> + <p> + One thing leads on to another, and we make our way forward. If I chose a + distant object for the end of our first journey, it is not difficult to + find an excuse for it; when we leave Paris we must seek a wife at a + distance. + </p> + <p> + A few days later we had wandered further than usual among hills and + valleys where no road was to be seen and we lost our way completely. No + matter, all roads are alike if they bring you to your journey’s end, + but if you are hungry they must lead somewhere. Luckily we came across a + peasant who took up to his cottage; we enjoyed his poor dinner with a + hearty appetite. When he saw how hungry and tired we were he said, “If + the Lord had led you to the other side of the hill you would have had a + better welcome, you would have found a good resting place, such good, + kindly people! They could not wish to do more for you than I, but they are + richer, though folks say they used to be much better off. Still they are + not reduced to poverty, and the whole country-side is the better for what + they have.” + </p> + <p> + When Emile heard of these good people his heart warmed to them. “My + friend,” said he, looking at me, “let us visit this house, + whose owners are a blessing to the district; I shall be very glad to see + them; perhaps they will be pleased to see us too; I am sure we shall be + welcome; we shall just suit each other.” + </p> + <p> + Our host told us how to find our way to the house and we set off, but lost + our way in the woods. We were caught in a heavy rainstorm, which delayed + us further. At last we found the right path and in the evening we reached + the house, which had been described to us. It was the only house among the + cottages of the little hamlet, and though plain it had an air of dignity. + We went up to the door and asked for hospitality. We were taken to the + owner of the house, who questioned us courteously; without telling him the + object of our journey, we told him why we had left our path. His former + wealth enabled him to judge a man’s position by his manners; those + who have lived in society are rarely mistaken; with this passport we were + admitted. + </p> + <p> + The room we were shown into was very small, but clean and comfortable; a + fire was lighted, and we found linen, clothes, and everything we needed. + “Why,” said Emile, in astonishment, “one would think + they were expecting us. The peasant was quite right; how kind and + attentive, how considerate, and for strangers too! I shall think I am + living in the times of Homer.” “I am glad you feel this,” + said I, “but you need not be surprised; where strangers are scarce, + they are welcome; nothing makes people more hospitable than the fact that + calls upon their hospitality are rare; when guests are frequent there is + an end to hospitality. In Homer’s time, people rarely travelled, and + travellers were everywhere welcome. Very likely we are the only people who + have passed this way this year.” “Never mind,” said he, + “to know how to do without guests and yet to give them a kind + welcome, is its own praise.” + </p> + <p> + Having dried ourselves and changed our clothes, we rejoined the master of + the house, who introduced us to his wife; she received us not merely with + courtesy but with kindness. Her glance rested on Emile. A mother, in her + position, rarely receives a young man into her house without some anxiety + or some curiosity at least. + </p> + <p> + Supper was hurried forward on our account. When we went into the + dining-room there were five places laid; we took our seats and the fifth + chair remained empty. Presently a young girl entered, made a deep + courtesy, and modestly took her place without a word. Emile was busy with + his supper or considering how to reply to what was said to him; he bowed + to her and continued talking and eating. The main object of his journey + was as far from his thoughts as he believed himself to be from the end of + his journey. The conversation turned upon our losing our way. “Sir,” + said the master of the house to Emile, “you seem to be a pleasant + well-behaved young gentleman, and that reminds me that your tutor and you + arrived wet and weary like Telemachus and Mentor in the island of Calypso.” + “Indeed,” said Emile, “we have found the hospitality of + Calypso.” His Mentor added, “And the charms of Eucharis.” + But Emile knew the Odyssey and he had not read Telemachus, so he knew + nothing of Eucharis. As for the young girl, I saw she blushed up to her + eyebrows, fixed her eyes on her plate, and hardly dared to breathe. Her + mother, noticing her confusion, made a sign to her father to turn the + conversation. When he talked of his lonely life, he unconsciously began to + relate the circumstances which brought him into it; his misfortunes, his + wife’s fidelity, the consolations they found in their marriage, + their quiet, peaceful life in their retirement, and all this without a + word of the young girl; it is a pleasing and a touching story, which + cannot fail to interest. Emile, interested and sympathetic, leaves off + eating and listens. When finally this best of men discourses with delight + of the affection of the best of women, the young traveller, carried away + by his feelings, stretches one hand to the husband, and taking the wife’s + hand with the other, he kisses it rapturously and bathes it with his + tears. Everybody is charmed with the simple enthusiasm of the young man; + but the daughter, more deeply touched than the rest by this evidence of + his kindly heart, is reminded of Telemachus weeping for the woes of + Philoctetus. She looks at him shyly, the better to study his countenance; + there is nothing in it to give the lie to her comparison. + </p> + <p> + His easy bearing shows freedom without pride; his manners are lively but + not boisterous; sympathy makes his glance softer and his expression more + pleasing; the young girl, seeing him weep, is ready to mingle her tears + with his. With so good an excuse for tears, she is restrained by a secret + shame; she blames herself already for the tears which tremble on her + eyelids, as though it were wrong to weep for one’s family. + </p> + <p> + Her mother, who has been watching her ever since she sat down to supper, + sees her distress, and to relieve it she sends her on some errand. The + daughter returns directly, but so little recovered that her distress is + apparent to all. Her mother says gently, “Sophy, control yourself; + will you never cease to weep for the misfortunes of your parents? Why + should you, who are their chief comfort, be more sensitive than they are + themselves?” + </p> + <p> + At the name of Sophy you would have seen Emile give a start. His attention + is arrested by this dear name, and he awakes all at once and looks eagerly + at one who dares to bear it. Sophy! Are you the Sophy whom my heart is + seeking? Is it you that I love? He looks at her; he watches her with a + sort of fear and self-distrust. The face is not quite what he pictured; he + cannot tell whether he likes it more or less. He studies every feature, he + watches every movement, every gesture; he has a hundred fleeting + interpretations for them all; he would give half his life if she would but + speak. He looks at me anxiously and uneasily; his eyes are full of + questions and reproaches. His every glance seems to say, “Guide me + while there is yet time; if my heart yields itself and is deceived, I + shall never get over it.” + </p> + <p> + There is no one in the world less able to conceal his feelings than Emile. + How should he conceal them, in the midst of the greatest disturbance he + has ever experienced, and under the eyes of four spectators who are all + watching him, while she who seems to heed him least is really most + occupied with him. His uneasiness does not escape the keen eyes of Sophy; + his own eyes tell her that she is its cause; she sees that this uneasiness + is not yet love; what matter? He is thinking of her, and that is enough; + she will be very unlucky if he thinks of her with impunity. + </p> + <p> + Mothers, like daughters, have eyes; and they have experience too. Sophy’s + mother smiles at the success of our schemes. She reads the hearts of the + young people; she sees that the time has come to secure the heart of this + new Telemachus; she makes her daughter speak. Her daughter, with her + native sweetness, replies in a timid tone which makes all the more + impression. At the first sound of her voice, Emile surrenders; it is Sophy + herself; there can be no doubt about it. If it were not so, it would be + too late to deny it. + </p> + <p> + The charms of this maiden enchantress rush like torrents through his + heart, and he begins to drain the draughts of poison with which he is + intoxicated. He says nothing; questions pass unheeded; he sees only Sophy, + he hears only Sophy; if she says a word, he opens his mouth; if her eyes + are cast down, so are his; if he sees her sigh, he sighs too; it is Sophy’s + heart which seems to speak in his. What a change have these few moments + wrought in her heart! It is no longer her turn to tremble, it is Emile’s. + Farewell liberty, simplicity, frankness. Confused, embarrassed, fearful, + he dare not look about him for fear he should see that we are watching + him. Ashamed that we should read his secret, he would fain become + invisible to every one, that he might feed in secret on the sight of + Sophy. Sophy, on the other hand, regains her confidence at the sight of + Emile’s fear; she sees her triumph and rejoices in it. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “No’l mostra gia, ben che in suo cor ne rida.” + Tasso, Jerus. Del., c. iv. v. 33. +</pre> + <p> + Her expression remains unchanged; but in spite of her modest look and + downcast eyes, her tender heart is throbbing with joy, and it tells her + that she has found Telemachus. + </p> + <p> + If I relate the plain and simple tale of their innocent affections you + will accuse me of frivolity, but you will be mistaken. Sufficient + attention is not given to the effect which the first connection between + man and woman is bound to produce on the future life of both. People do + not see that a first impression so vivid as that of love, or the liking + which takes the place of love, produces lasting effects whose influence + continues till death. Works on education are crammed with wordy and + unnecessary accounts of the imaginary duties of children; but there is not + a word about the most important and most difficult part of their + education, the crisis which forms the bridge between the child and the + man. If any part of this work is really useful, it will be because I have + dwelt at great length on this matter, so essential in itself and so + neglected by other authors, and because I have not allowed myself to be + discouraged either by false delicacy or by the difficulties of expression. + The story of human nature is a fair romance. Am I to blame if it is not + found elsewhere? I am trying to write the history of mankind. If my book + is a romance, the fault lies with those who deprave mankind. + </p> + <p> + This is supported by another reason; we are not dealing with a youth given + over from childhood to fear, greed, envy, pride, and all those passions + which are the common tools of the schoolmaster; we have to do with a youth + who is not only in love for the first time, but with one who is also + experiencing his first passion of any kind; very likely it will be the + only strong passion he will ever know, and upon it depends the final + formation of his character. His mode of thought, his feelings, his tastes, + determined by a lasting passion, are about to become so fixed that they + will be incapable of further change. + </p> + <p> + You will easily understand that Emile and I do not spend the whole of the + night which follows after such an evening in sleep. Why! Do you mean to + tell me that a wise man should be so much affected by a mere coincidence + of name! Is there only one Sophy in the world? Are they all alike in heart + and in name? Is every Sophy he meets his Sophy? Is he mad to fall in love + with a person of whom he knows so little, with whom he has scarcely + exchanged a couple of words? Wait, young man; examine, observe. You do not + even know who our hosts may be, and to hear you talk one would think the + house was your own. + </p> + <p> + This is no time for teaching, and what I say will receive scant attention. + It only serves to stimulate Emile to further interest in Sophy, through + his desire to find reasons for his fancy. The unexpected coincidence in + the name, the meeting which, so far as he knows, was quite accidental, my + very caution itself, only serve as fuel to the fire. He is so convinced + already of Sophy’s excellence, that he feels sure he can make me + fond of her. + </p> + <p> + Next morning I have no doubt Emile will make himself as smart as his old + travelling suit permits. I am not mistaken; but I am amused to see how + eager he is to wear the clean linen put out for us. I know his thoughts, + and I am delighted to see that he is trying to establish a means of + intercourse, through the return and exchange of the linen; so that he may + have a right to return it and so pay another visit to the house. + </p> + <p> + I expected to find Sophy rather more carefully dressed too; but I was + mistaken. Such common coquetry is all very well for those who merely + desire to please. The coquetry of true love is a more delicate matter; it + has quite another end in view. Sophy is dressed, if possible, more simply + than last night, though as usual her frock is exquisitely clean. The only + sign of coquetry is her self-consciousness. She knows that an elaborate + toilet is a sign of love, but she does not know that a careless toilet is + another of its signs; it shows a desire to be like not merely for one’s + clothes but for oneself. What does a lover care for her clothes if he + knows she is thinking of him? Sophy is already sure of her power over + Emile, and she is not content to delight his eyes if his heart is not hers + also; he must not only perceive her charms, he must divine them; has he + not seen enough to guess the rest? + </p> + <p> + We may take it for granted that while Emile and I were talking last night, + Sophy and her mother were not silent; a confession was made and + instructions given. The morning’s meeting is not unprepared. Twelve + hours ago our young people had never met; they have never said a word to + each other; but it is clear that there is already an understanding between + them. Their greeting is formal, confused, timid; they say nothing, their + downcast eyes seem to avoid each other, but that is in itself a sign that + they understand, they avoid each other with one consent; they already feel + the need of concealment, though not a word has been uttered. When we + depart we ask leave to come again to return the borrowed clothes in + person, Emile’s words are addressed to the father and mother, but + his eyes seek Sophy’s, and his looks are more eloquent than his + words. Sophy says nothing by word or gesture; she seems deaf and blind, + but she blushes, and that blush is an answer even plainer than that of her + parents. + </p> + <p> + We receive permission to come again, though we are not invited to stay. + This is only fitting; you offer shelter to benighted travellers, but a + lover does not sleep in the house of his mistress. + </p> + <p> + We have hardly left the beloved abode before Emile is thinking of taking + rooms in the neighbourhood; the nearest cottage seems too far; he would + like to sleep in the next ditch. “You young fool!” I said in a + tone of pity, “are you already blinded by passion? Have you no + regard for manners or for reason? Wretched youth, you call yourself a + lover and you would bring disgrace upon her you love! What would people + say of her if they knew that a young man who has been staying at her house + was sleeping close by? You say you love her! Would you ruin her + reputation? Is that the price you offer for her parents’ + hospitality? Would you bring disgrace on her who will one day make you the + happiest of men?” “Why should we trouble ourselves about the + empty words and unjust suspicions of other people?” said he eagerly. + “Have you not taught me yourself to make light of them? Who knows + better than I how greatly I honour Sophy, what respect I desire to show + her? My attachment will not cause her shame, it will be her glory, it + shall be worthy of her. If my heart and my actions continually give her + the homage she deserves, what harm can I do her?” “Dear Emile,” + I said, as I clasped him to my heart, “you are thinking of yourself + alone; learn to think for her too. Do not compare the honour of one sex + with that of the other, they rest on different foundations. These + foundations are equally firm and right, because they are both laid by + nature, and that same virtue which makes you scorn what men say about + yourself, binds you to respect what they say of her you love. Your honour + is in your own keeping, her honour depends on others. To neglect it is to + wound your own honour, and you fail in what is due to yourself if you do + not give her the respect she deserves.” + </p> + <p> + Then while I explain the reasons for this difference, I make him realise + how wrong it would be to pay no attention to it. Who can say if he will + really be Sophy’s husband? He does not know how she feels towards + him; her own heart or her parents’ will may already have formed + other engagements; he knows nothing of her, perhaps there are none of + those grounds of suitability which make a happy marriage. Is he not aware + that the least breath of scandal with regard to a young girl is an + indelible stain, which not even marriage with him who has caused the + scandal can efface? What man of feeling would ruin the woman he loves? + What man of honour would desire that a miserable woman should for ever + lament the misfortune of having found favour in his eyes? + </p> + <p> + Always prone to extremes, the youth takes alarm at the consequences which + I have compelled him to consider, and now he thinks that he cannot be too + far from Sophy’s home; he hastens his steps to get further from it; + he glances round to make sure that no one is listening; he would sacrifice + his own happiness a thousand times to the honour of her whom he loves; he + would rather never see her again than cause her the least unpleasantness. + This is the first result of the pains I have taken ever since he was a + child to make him capable of affection. + </p> + <p> + We must therefore seek a lodging at a distance, but not too far. We look + about us, we make inquiries; we find that there is a town at least two + leagues away. We try and find lodgings in this town, rather than in the + nearer villages, where our presence might give rise to suspicion. It is + there that the new lover takes up his abode, full of love, hope, joy, + above all full of right feeling. In this way, I guide his rising passion + towards all that is honourable and good, so that his inclinations + unconsciously follow the same bent. + </p> + <p> + My course is drawing to a close; the end is in view. All the chief + difficulties are vanquished, the chief obstacles overcome; the hardest + thing left to do is to refrain from spoiling my work by undue haste to + complete it. Amid the uncertainty of human life, let us shun that false + prudence which seeks to sacrifice the present to the future; what is, is + too often sacrificed to what will never be. Let us make man happy at every + age lest in spite of our care he should die without knowing the meaning of + happiness. Now if there is a time to enjoy life, it is undoubtedly the + close of adolescence, when the powers of mind and body have reached their + greatest strength, and when man in the midst of his course is furthest + from those two extremes which tell him “Life is short.” If the + imprudence of youth deceives itself it is not in its desire for enjoyment, + but because it seeks enjoyment where it is not to be found, and lays up + misery for the future, while unable to enjoy the present. + </p> + <p> + Consider my Emile over twenty years of age, well formed, well developed in + mind and body, strong, healthy, active, skilful, robust, full of sense, + reason, kindness, humanity, possessed of good morals and good taste, + loving what is beautiful, doing what is good, free from the sway of fierce + passions, released from the tyranny of popular prejudices, but subject to + the law of wisdom, and easily guided by the voice of a friend; gifted with + so many useful and pleasant accomplishments, caring little for wealth, + able to earn a living with his own hands, and not afraid of want, whatever + may come. Behold him in the intoxication of a growing passion; his heart + opens to the first beams of love; its pleasant fancies reveal to him a + whole world of new delights and enjoyments; he loves a sweet woman, whose + character is even more delightful than her person; he hopes, he expects + the reward which he deserves. + </p> + <p> + Their first attachment took its rise in mutual affection, in community of + honourable feelings; therefore this affection is lasting. It abandons + itself, with confidence, with reason, to the most delightful madness, + without fear, regret, remorse, or any other disturbing thought, but that + which is inseparable from all happiness. What lacks there yet? Behold, + inquire, imagine what still is lacking, that can be combined with present + joys. Every happiness which can exist in combination is already present; + nothing could be added without taking away from what there is; he is as + happy as man can be. Shall I choose this time to cut short so sweet a + period? Shall I disturb such pure enjoyment? The happiness he enjoys is my + life’s reward. What could I give that could outweigh what I should + take away? Even if I set the crown to his happiness I should destroy its + greatest charm. That supreme joy is a hundredfold greater in anticipation + than in possession; its savour is greater while we wait for it than when + it is ours. O worthy Emile! love and be loved! prolong your enjoyment + before it is yours; rejoice in your love and in your innocence, find your + paradise upon earth, while you await your heaven. I shall not cut short + this happy period of life. I will draw out its enchantments, I will + prolong them as far as possible. Alas! it must come to an end and that + soon; but it shall at least linger in your memory, and you will never + repent of its joys. + </p> + <p> + Emile has not forgotten that we have something to return. As soon as the + things are ready, we take horse and set off at a great pace, for on this + occasion he is anxious to get there. When the heart opens the door to + passion, it becomes conscious of the slow flight of time. If my time has + not been wasted he will not spend his life like this. + </p> + <p> + Unluckily the road is intricate and the country difficult. We lose our + way; he is the first to notice it, and without losing his temper, and + without grumbling, he devotes his whole attention to discovering the path; + he wanders for a long time before he knows where he is and always with the + same self-control. You think nothing of that; but I think it a matter of + great importance, for I know how eager he is; I see the results of the + care I have taken from his infancy to harden him to endure the blows of + necessity. + </p> + <p> + We are there at last! Our reception is much simpler and more friendly than + on the previous occasion; we are already old acquaintances. Emile and + Sophy bow shyly and say nothing; what can they say in our presence? What + they wish to say requires no spectators. We walk in the garden; a + well-kept kitchen-garden takes the place of flower-beds, the park is an + orchard full of fine tall fruit trees of every kind, divided by pretty + streams and borders full of flowers. “What a lovely place!” + exclaims Emile, still thinking of his Homer, and still full of enthusiasm, + “I could fancy myself in the garden of Alcinous.” The daughter + wishes she knew who Alcinous was; her mother asks. “Alcinous,” + I tell them, “was a king of Coreyra. Homer describes his garden and + the critics think it too simple and unadorned. [Footnote: “‘When + you leave the palace you enter a vast garden, four acres in extent, walled + in on every side, planted with tall trees in blossom, and yielding pears, + pomegranates, and other goodly fruits, fig-trees with their luscious + burden and green olives. All the year round these fair trees are heavy + with fruit; summer and winter the soft breath of the west wind sways the + trees and ripens the fruit. Pears and apples wither on the branches, the + fig on the fig-tree, and the clusters of grapes on the vine. The + inexhaustible stock bears fresh grapes, some are baked, some are spread + out on the threshing floor to dry, others are made into wine, while + flowers, sour grapes, and those which are beginning to wither are left + upon the tree. At either end is a square garden filled with flowers which + bloom throughout the year, these gardens are adorned by two fountains, one + of these streams waters the garden, the other passes through the palace + and is then taken to a lofty tower in the town to provide drinking water + for its citizens.’ Such is the description of the royal garden of + Alcinous in the 7th book of the Odyssey, a garden in which, to the lasting + disgrace of that old dreamer Homer and the princes of his day, there were + neither trellises, statues, cascades, nor bowling-greens.”] This + Alcinous had a charming daughter who dreamed the night before her father + received a stranger at his board that she would soon have a husband.” + Sophy, taken unawares, blushed, hung her head, and bit her lips; no one + could be more confused. Her father, who was enjoying her confusion, added + that the young princess bent herself to wash the linen in the river. + “Do you think,” said he, “she would have scorned to + touch the dirty clothes, saying, that they smelt of grease?” Sophy, + touched to the quick, forgot her natural timidity and defended herself + eagerly. Her papa knew very well all the smaller things would have had no + other laundress if she had been allowed to wash them, and she would gladly + have done more had she been set to do it. [Footnote: I own I feel grateful + to Sophy’s mother for not letting her spoil such pretty hands with + soap, hands which Emile will kiss so often.] Meanwhile she watched me + secretly with such anxiety that I could not suppress a smile, while I read + the terrors of her simple heart which urged her to speak. Her father was + cruel enough to continue this foolish sport, by asking her, in jest, why + she spoke on her own behalf and what had she in common with the daughter + of Alcinous. Trembling and ashamed she dared hardly breathe or look at us. + Charming girl! This is no time for feigning, you have shown your true + feelings in spite of yourself. + </p> + <p> + To all appearance this little scene is soon forgotten; luckily for Sophy, + Emile, at least, is unaware of it. We continue our walk, the young people + at first keeping close beside us; but they find it hard to adapt + themselves to our slower pace, and presently they are a little in front of + us, they are walking side by side, they begin to talk, and before long + they are a good way ahead. Sophy seems to be listening quietly, Emile is + talking and gesticulating vigorously; they seem to find their conversation + interesting. When we turn homewards a full hour later, we call them to us + and they return slowly enough now, and we can see they are making good use + of their time. Their conversation ceases suddenly before they come within + earshot, and they hurry up to us. Emile meets us with a frank affectionate + expression; his eyes are sparkling with joy; yet he looks anxiously at + Sophy’s mother to see how she takes it. Sophy is not nearly so much + at her ease; as she approaches us she seems covered with confusion at + finding herself tete-a-tete with a young man, though she has met so many + other young men frankly enough, and without being found fault with for it. + She runs up to her mother, somewhat out of breath, and makes some trivial + remark, as if to pretend she had been with her for some time. + </p> + <p> + From the happy expression of these dear children we see that this + conversation has taken a load off their hearts. They are no less reticent + in their intercourse, but their reticence is less embarrassing, it is only + due to Emile’s reverence and Sophy’s modesty, to the goodness + of both. Emile ventures to say a few words to her, she ventures to reply, + but she always looks at her mother before she dares to answer. The most + remarkable change is in her attitude towards me. She shows me the greatest + respect, she watches me with interest, she takes pains to please me; I see + that I am honoured with her esteem, and that she is not indifferent to + mine. I understand that Emile has been talking to her about me; you might + say they have been scheming to win me over to their side; yet it is not + so, and Sophy herself is not so easily won. Perhaps Emile will have more + need of my influence with her than of hers with me. What a charming pair! + When I consider that the tender love of my young friend has brought my + name so prominently into his first conversation with his lady-love, I + enjoy the reward of all my trouble; his affection is a sufficient + recompense. + </p> + <p> + Our visit is repeated. There are frequent conversations between the young + people. Emile is madly in love and thinks that his happiness is within his + grasp. Yet he does not succeed in winning any formal avowal from Sophy; + she listens to what he says and answers nothing. Emile knows how modest + she is, and is not surprised at her reticence; he feels sure that she + likes him; he knows that parents decide whom their daughters shall marry; + he supposes that Sophy is awaiting her parents’ commands; he asks + her permission to speak to them, and she makes no objection. He talks to + me and I speak on his behalf and in his presence. He is immensely + surprised to hear that Sophy is her own mistress, that his happiness + depends on her alone. He begins to be puzzled by her conduct. He is less + self-confident, he takes alarm, he sees that he has not made so much + progress as he expected, and then it is that his love appeals to her in + the tenderest and most moving language. + </p> + <p> + Emile is not the sort of man to guess what is the matter; if no one told + him he would never discover it as long as he lived, and Sophy is too proud + to tell him. What she considers obstacles, others would call advantages. + She has not forgotten her parents’ teaching. She is poor; Emile is + rich; so much she knows. He must win her esteem; his deserts must be great + indeed to remove this inequality. But how should he perceive these + obstacles? Is Emile aware that he is rich? Has he ever condescended to + inquire? Thank heaven, he has no need of riches, he can do good without + their aid. The good he does comes from his heart, not his purse. He gives + the wretched his time, his care, his affection, himself; and when he + reckons up what he has done, he hardly dares to mention the money spent on + the poor. + </p> + <p> + As he does not know what to make of his disgrace, he thinks it is his own + fault; for who would venture to accuse the adored one of caprice. The + shame of humiliation adds to the pangs of disappointed love. He no longer + approaches Sophy with that pleasant confidence of his own worth; he is shy + and timid in her presence. He no longer hopes to win her affections, but + to gain her pity. Sometimes he loses patience and is almost angry with + her. Sophy seems to guess his angry feelings and she looks at him. Her + glance is enough to disarm and terrify him; he is more submissive than he + used to be. + </p> + <p> + Disturbed by this stubborn resistance, this invincible silence, he pours + out his heart to his friend. He shares with him the pangs of a heart + devoured by sorrow; he implores his help and counsel. “How + mysterious it is, how hard to understand! She takes an interest in me, + that I am sure; far from avoiding me she is pleased to see me; when I come + she shows signs of pleasure, when I go she shows regret; she receives my + attentions kindly, my services seem to give her pleasure, she condescends + to give me her advice and even her commands. Yet she rejects my requests + and my prayers. When I venture to speak of marriage, she bids me be + silent; if I say a word, she leaves me at once. Why on earth should she + wish me to be hers but refuse to be mine? She respects and loves you, and + she will not dare to refuse to listen to you. Speak to her, make her + answer. Come to your friend’s help, and put the coping stone to all + you have done for him; do not let him fall a victim to your care! If you + fail to secure his happiness, your own teaching will have been the cause + of his misery.” + </p> + <p> + I speak to Sophy, and have no difficulty in getting her to confide her + secret to me, a secret which was known to me already. It is not so easy to + get permission to tell Emile; but at last she gives me leave and I tell + him what is the matter. He cannot get over his surprise at this + explanation. He cannot understand this delicacy; he cannot see how a few + pounds more or less can affect his character or his deserts. When I get + him to see their effect on people’s prejudices he begins to laugh; + he is so wild with delight that he wants to be off at once to tear up his + title deeds and renounce his money, so as to have the honour of being as + poor as Sophy, and to return worthy to be her husband. + </p> + <p> + “Why,” said I, trying to check him, and laughing in my turn at + his impetuosity, “will this young head never grow any older? Having + dabbled all your life in philosophy, will you never learn to reason? Do + not you see that your wild scheme would only make things worse, and Sophy + more obstinate? It is a small superiority to be rather richer than she, + but to give up all for her would be a very great superiority; if her pride + cannot bear to be under the small obligation, how will she make up her + mind to the greater? If she cannot bear to think that her husband might + taunt her with the fact that he has enriched her, would she permit him to + blame her for having brought him to poverty? Wretched boy, beware lest she + suspects you of such a plan! On the contrary, be careful and economical + for her sake, lest she should accuse you of trying to gain her by cunning, + by sacrificing of your own free will what you are really wasting through + carelessness. + </p> + <p> + “Do you really think that she is afraid of wealth, and that she is + opposed to great possessions in themselves? No, dear Emile; there are more + serious and substantial grounds for her opinion, in the effect produced by + wealth on its possessor. She knows that those who are possessed of fortune’s + gifts are apt to place them first. The rich always put wealth before + merit. When services are reckoned against silver, the latter always + outweighs the former, and those who have spent their life in their master’s + service are considered his debtors for the very bread they eat. What must + you do, Emile, to calm her fears? Let her get to know you better; that is + not done in a day. Show her the treasures of your heart, to counterbalance + the wealth which is unfortunately yours. Time and constancy will overcome + her resistance; let your great and noble feelings make her forget your + wealth. Love her, serve her, serve her worthy parents. Convince her that + these attentions are not the result of a foolish fleeting passion, but of + settled principles engraved upon your heart. Show them the honour deserved + by worth when exposed to the buffets of Fortune; that is the only way to + reconcile it with that worth which basks in her smiles.” + </p> + <p> + The transports of joy experienced by the young man at these words may + easily be imagined; they restore confidence and hope, his good heart + rejoices to do something to please Sophy, which he would have done if + there had been no such person, or if he had not been in love with her. + However little his character has been understood, anybody can see how he + would behave under such circumstances. + </p> + <p> + Here am I, the confidant of these two young people and the mediator of + their affection. What a fine task for a tutor! So fine that never in all + my life have I stood so high in my own eyes, nor felt so pleased with + myself. Moreover, this duty is not without its charms. I am not unwelcome + in the home; it is my business to see that the lovers behave themselves; + Emile, ever afraid of offending me, was never so docile. The little lady + herself overwhelms me with a kindness which does not deceive me, and of + which I only take my proper share. This is her way of making up for her + severity towards Emile. For his sake she bestows on me a hundred tender + caresses, though she would die rather than bestow them on him; and he, + knowing that I would never stand in his way, is delighted that I should + get on so well with her. If she refuses his arm when we are out walking, + he consoles himself with the thought that she has taken mine. He makes way + for me without a murmur, he clasps my hand, and voice and look alike + whisper, “My friend, plead for me!” and his eyes follow us + with interest; he tries to read our feelings in our faces, and to + interpret our conversation by our gestures; he knows that everything we + are saying concerns him. Dear Sophy, how frank and easy you are when you + can talk to Mentor without being overheard by Telemachus. How freely and + delightfully you permit him to read what is passing in your tender little + heart! How delighted you are to show him how you esteem his pupil! How + cunningly and appealingly you allow him to divine still tenderer + sentiments. With what a pretence of anger you dismiss Emile when his + impatience leads him to interrupt you? With what pretty vexation you + reproach his indiscretion when he comes and prevents you saying something + to his credit, or listening to what I say about him, or finding in my + words some new excuse to love him! + </p> + <p> + Having got so far as to be tolerated as an acknowledged lover, Emile takes + full advantage of his position; he speaks, he urges, he implores, he + demands. Hard words or ill treatment make no difference, provided he gets + a hearing. At length Sophy is persuaded, though with some difficulty, to + assume the authority of a betrothed, to decide what he shall do, to + command instead of to ask, to accept instead of to thank, to control the + frequency and the hours of his visits, to forbid him to come till such a + day or to stay beyond such an hour. This is not done in play, but in + earnest, and if it was hard to induce her to accept these rights, she uses + them so sternly that Emile is often ready to regret that he gave them to + her. But whatever her commands, they are obeyed without question, and + often when at her bidding he is about to leave her, he glances at me his + eyes full of delight, as if to say, “You see she has taken + possession of me.” Yet unknown to him, Sophy, with all her pride, is + observing him closely, and she is smiling to herself at the pride of her + slave. + </p> + <p> + Oh that I had the brush of an Alban or a Raphael to paint their bliss, or + the pen of the divine Milton to describe the pleasures of love and + innocence! Not so; let such hollow arts shrink back before the sacred + truth of nature. In tenderness and pureness of heart let your imagination + freely trace the raptures of these young lovers, who under the eyes of + parents and tutor, abandon themselves to their blissful illusions; in the + intoxication of passion they are advancing step by step to its + consummation; with flowers and garlands they are weaving the bonds which + are to bind them till death do part. I am carried away by this succession + of pictures, I am so happy that I cannot group them in any sort of order + or scheme; any one with a heart in his breast can paint the charming + picture for himself and realise the different experiences of father, + mother, daughter, tutor, and pupil, and the part played by each and all in + the union of the most delightful couple whom love and virtue have ever led + to happiness. + </p> + <p> + Now that he is really eager to please, Emile begins to feel the value of + the accomplishments he has acquired. Sophy is fond of singing, he sings + with her; he does more, he teaches her music. She is lively and light of + foot, she loves skipping; he dances with her, he perfects and develops her + untrained movements into the steps of the dance. These lessons, enlivened + by the gayest mirth, are quite delightful, they melt the timid respect of + love; a lover may enjoy teaching his betrothed—he has a right to be + her teacher. + </p> + <p> + There is an old spinet quite out of order. Emile mends and tunes it; he is + a maker and mender of musical instruments as well as a carpenter; it has + always been his rule to learn to do everything he can for himself. The + house is picturesquely situated and he makes several sketches of it, in + some of which Sophy does her share, and she hangs them in her father’s + study. The frames are not gilded, nor do they require gilding. When she + sees Emile drawing, she draws too, and improves her own drawing; she + cultivates all her talents, and her grace gives a charm to all she does. + Her father and mother recall the days of their wealth, when they find + themselves surrounded by the works of art which alone gave value to + wealth; the whole house is adorned by love; love alone has enthroned among + them, without cost or effort, the very same pleasures which were gathered + together in former days by dint of toil and money. + </p> + <p> + As the idolater gives what he loves best to the shrine of the object of + his worship, so the lover is not content to see perfection in his + mistress, he must be ever trying to add to her adornment. She does not + need it for his pleasure, it is he who needs the pleasure of giving, it is + a fresh homage to be rendered to her, a fresh pleasure in the joy of + beholding her. Everything of beauty seems to find its place only as an + accessory to the supreme beauty. It is both touching and amusing to see + Emile eager to teach Sophy everything he knows, without asking whether she + wants to learn it or whether it is suitable for her. He talks about all + sorts of things and explains them to her with boyish eagerness; he thinks + he has only to speak and she will understand; he looks forward to arguing, + and discussing philosophy with her; everything he cannot display before + her is so much useless learning; he is quite ashamed of knowing more than + she. + </p> + <p> + So he gives her lessons in philosophy, physics, mathematics, history, and + everything else. Sophy is delighted to share his enthusiasm and to try and + profit by it. How pleased Emile is when he can get leave to give these + lessons on his knees before her! He thinks the heavens are open. Yet this + position, more trying to pupil than to teacher, is hardly favourable to + study. It is not easy to know where to look, to avoid meeting the eyes + which follow our own, and if they meet so much the worse for the lesson. + </p> + <p> + Women are no strangers to the art of thinking, but they should only skim + the surface of logic and metaphysics. Sophy understands readily, but she + soon forgets. She makes most progress in the moral sciences and + aesthetics; as to physical science she retains some vague idea of the + general laws and order of this world. Sometimes in the course of their + walks, the spectacle of the wonders of nature bids them not fear to raise + their pure and innocent hearts to nature’s God; they are not afraid + of His presence, and they pour out their hearts before him. + </p> + <p> + What! Two young lovers spending their time together talking of religion! + Have they nothing better to do than to say their catechism! What profit is + there in the attempt to degrade what is noble? Yes, no doubt they are + saying their catechism in their delightful land of romance; they are + perfect in each other’s eyes; they love one another, they talk + eagerly of all that makes virtue worth having. Their sacrifices to virtue + make her all the dearer to them. Their struggles after self-control draw + from them tears purer than the dew of heaven, and these sweet tears are + the joy of life; no human heart has ever experienced a sweeter + intoxication. Their very renunciation adds to their happiness, and their + sacrifices increase their self-respect. Sensual men, bodies without souls, + some day they will know your pleasures, and all their life long they will + recall with regret the happy days when they refused the cup of pleasure. + </p> + <p> + In spite of this good understanding, differences and even quarrels occur + from time to time; the lady has her whims, the lover has a hot temper; but + these passing showers are soon over and only serve to strengthen their + union. Emile learns by experience not to attach too much importance to + them, he always gains more by the reconciliation than he lost by the + quarrel. The results of the first difference made him expect a like result + from all; he was mistaken, but even if he does not make any appreciable + step forward, he has always the satisfaction of finding Sophy’s + genuine concern for his affection more firmly established. “What + advantage is this to him?” you would ask. I will gladly tell you; + all the more gladly because it will give me an opportunity to establish + clearly a very important principle, and to combat a very deadly one. + </p> + <p> + Emile is in love, but he is not presuming; and you will easily understand + that the dignified Sophy is not the sort of girl to allow any kind of + familiarity. Yet virtue has its bounds like everything else, and she is + rather to be blamed for her severity than for indulgence; even her father + himself is sometimes afraid lest her lofty pride should degenerate into a + haughty spirit. When most alone, Emile dare not ask for the slightest + favour, he must not even seem to desire it; and if she is gracious enough + to take his arm when they are out walking, a favour which she will never + permit him to claim as a right, it is only occasionally that he dare + venture with a sigh to press her hand to his heart. However, after a long + period of self-restraint, he ventured secretly to kiss the hem of her + dress, and several times he was lucky enough to find her willing at least + to pretend she was not aware of it. One day he attempts to take the same + privilege rather more openly, and Sophy takes it into her head to be + greatly offended. He persists, she gets angry and speaks sharply to him; + Emile will not put up with this without reply; the rest of the day is + given over to sulks, and they part in a very ill temper. + </p> + <p> + Sophy is ill at ease; her mother is her confidant in all things, how can + she keep this from her? It is their first misunderstanding, and the + misunderstanding of an hour is such a serious business. She is sorry for + what she has done, she has her mother’s permission and her father’s + commands to make reparation. + </p> + <p> + The next day Emile returns somewhat earlier than usual and in a state of + some anxiety. Sophy is in her mother’s dressing-room and her father + is also present. Emile enters respectfully but gloomily. Scarcely have her + parents greeted him than Sophy turns round and holding out her hand asks + him in an affectionate tone how he is. That pretty hand is clearly held + out to be kissed; he takes it but does not kiss it. Sophy, rather ashamed + of herself, withdraws her hand as best she may. Emile, who is not used to + a woman’s whims, and does not know how far caprice may be carried, + does not forget so easily or make friends again all at once. Sophy’s + father, seeing her confusion, completes her discomfiture by his jokes. The + poor girl, confused and ashamed, does not know what to do with herself and + would gladly have a good cry. The more she tries to control herself the + worse she feels; at last a tear escapes in spite of all she can do to + prevent it. Emile, seeing this tear, rushes towards her, falls on his + knees, takes her hand and kisses it again and again with the greatest + devotion. “My word, you are too kind to her,” says her father, + laughing; “if I were you, I should deal more severely with these + follies, I should punish the mouth that wronged me.” Emboldened by + these words, Emile turns a suppliant eye towards her mother, and thinking + she is not unwilling, he tremblingly approaches Sophy’s face; she + turns away her head, and to save her mouth she exposes a blushing cheek. + The daring young man is not content with this; there is no great + resistance. What a kiss, if it were not taken under her mother’s + eyes. Have a care, Sophy, in your severity; he will be ready enough to try + to kiss your dress if only you will sometimes say “No.” + </p> + <p> + After this exemplary punishment, Sophy’s father goes about his + business, and her mother makes some excuse for sending her out of the + room; then she speaks to Emile very seriously. “Sir,” she + says, “I think a young man so well born and well bred as yourself, a + man of feeling and character, would never reward with dishonour the + confidence reposed in him by the friendship of this family. I am neither + prudish nor over strict; I know how to make excuses for youthful folly, + and what I have permitted in my own presence is sufficient proof of this. + Consult your friend as to your own duty, he will tell you there is all the + difference in the world between the playful kisses sanctioned by the + presence of father and mother, and the same freedom taken in their absence + and in betrayal of their confidence, a freedom which makes a snare of the + very favours which in the parents’ presence were wholly innocent. He + will tell you, sir, that my daughter is only to blame for not having + perceived from the first what she ought never to have permitted; he will + tell you that every favour, taken as such, is a favour, and that it is + unworthy of a man of honour to take advantage of a young girl’s + innocence, to usurp in private the same freedom which she may permit in + the presence of others. For good manners teach us what is permitted in + public; but we do not know what a man will permit to himself in private, + if he makes himself the sole judge of his conduct.” + </p> + <p> + After this well-deserved rebuke, addressed rather to me than to my pupil, + the good mother leaves us, and I am amazed by her rare prudence, in + thinking it a little thing that Emile should kiss her daughter’s + lips in her presence, while fearing lest he should venture to kiss her + dress when they are alone. When I consider the folly of worldly maxims, + whereby real purity is continually sacrificed to a show of propriety, I + understand why speech becomes more refined while the heart becomes more + corrupt, and why etiquette is stricter while those who conform to it are + most immoral. + </p> + <p> + While I am trying to convince Emile’s heart with regard to these + duties which I ought to have instilled into him sooner, a new idea occurs + to me, an idea which perhaps does Sophy all the more credit, though I + shall take care not to tell her lover; this so-called pride, for which she + has been censured, is clearly only a very wise precaution to protect her + from herself. Being aware that, unfortunately, her own temperament is + inflammable, she dreads the least spark, and keeps out of reach so far as + she can. Her sternness is due not to pride but to humility. She assumes a + control over Emile because she doubts her control of herself; she turns + the one against the other. If she had more confidence in herself she would + be much less haughty. With this exception is there anywhere on earth a + gentler, sweeter girl? Is there any who endures an affront with greater + patience, any who is more afraid of annoying others? Is there any with + less pretension, except in the matter of virtue? Moreover, she is not + proud of her virtue, she is only proud in order to preserve her virtue, + and if she can follow the guidance of her heart without danger, she + caresses her lover himself. But her wise mother does not confide all this + even to her father; men should not hear everything. + </p> + <p> + Far from seeming proud of her conquest, Sophy has grown more friendly and + less exacting towards everybody, except perhaps the one person who has + wrought this change. Her noble heart no longer swells with the feeling of + independence. She triumphs modestly over a victory gained at the price of + her freedom. Her bearing is more restrained, her speech more timid, since + she has begun to blush at the word “lover”; but contentment + may be seen beneath her outward confusion and this very shame is not + painful. This change is most noticeable in her behaviour towards the young + men she meets. Now that she has ceased to be afraid of them, much of her + extreme reserve has disappeared. Now that her choice is made, she does not + hesitate to be gracious to those to whom she is quite indifferent; taking + no more interest in them, she is less difficult to please, and she always + finds them pleasant enough for people who are of no importance to her. + </p> + <p> + If true love were capable of coquetry, I should fancy I saw traces of it + in the way Sophy behaves towards other young men in her lover’s + presence. One would say that not content with the ardent passion she + inspires by a mixture of shyness and caresses, she is not sorry to rouse + this passion by a little anxiety; one would say that when she is purposely + amusing her young guests she means to torment Emile by the charms of a + freedom she will not allow herself with him; but Sophy is too considerate, + too kindly, too wise to really torment him. Love and honour take the place + of prudence and control the use of this dangerous weapon. She can alarm + and reassure him just as he needs it; and if she sometimes makes him + uneasy she never really gives him pain. The anxiety she causes to her + beloved may be forgiven because of her fear that he is not sufficiently + her own. + </p> + <p> + But what effect will this little performance have upon Emile? Will he be + jealous or not? That is what we must discover; for such digressions form + part of the purpose of my book, and they do not lead me far from my main + subject. + </p> + <p> + I have already shown how this passion of jealousy in matters of convention + finds its way into the heart of man. In love it is another matter; then + jealousy is so near akin to nature, that it is hard to believe that it is + not her work; and the example of the very beasts, many of whom are madly + jealous, seems to prove this point beyond reply. Is it man’s + influence that has taught cooks to tear each other to pieces or bulls to + fight to the death? + </p> + <p> + No one can deny that the aversion to everything which may disturb or + interfere with our pleasures is a natural impulse. Up to a certain point + the desire for the exclusive possession of that which ministers to our + pleasure is in the same case. But when this desire has become a passion, + when it is transformed into madness, or into a bitter and suspicious fancy + known as jealousy, that is quite another matter; such a passion may be + natural or it may not; we must distinguish between these different cases. + </p> + <p> + I have already analysed the example of the animal world in my Discourse on + Inequality, and on further consideration I think I may refer my readers to + that analysis as sufficiently thorough. I will only add this further point + to those already made in that work, that the jealousy which springs from + nature depends greatly on sexual power, and that when sexual power is or + appears to be boundless, that jealousy is at its height; for then the + male, measuring his rights by his needs, can never see another male except + as an unwelcome rival. In such species the females always submit to the + first comer, they only belong to the male by right of conquest, and they + are the cause of unending strife. + </p> + <p> + Among the monogamous species, where intercourse seems to give rise to some + sort of moral bond, a kind of marriage, the female who belongs by choice + to the male on whom she has bestowed herself usually denies herself to all + others; and the male, having this preference of affection as a pledge of + her fidelity, is less uneasy at the sight of other males and lives more + peaceably with them. Among these species the male shares the care of the + little ones; and by one of those touching laws of nature it seems as if + the female rewards the father for his love for his children. + </p> + <p> + Now consider the human species in its primitive simplicity; it is easy to + see, from the limited powers of the male, and the moderation of his + desires, that nature meant him to be content with one female; this is + confirmed by the numerical equality of the two sexes, at any rate in our + part of the world; an equality which does not exist in anything like the + same degree among those species in which several females are collected + around one male. Though a man does not brood like a pigeon, and though he + has no milk to suckle the young, and must in this respect be classed with + the quadrupeds, his children are feeble and helpless for so long a time, + that mother and children could ill dispense with the father’s + affection, and the care which results from it. + </p> + <p> + All these observations combine to prove that the jealous fury of the males + of certain animals proves nothing with regard to man; and the exceptional + case of those southern regions were polygamy is the established custom, + only confirms the rule, since it is the plurality of wives that gives rise + to the tyrannical precautions of the husband, and the consciousness of his + own weakness makes the man resort to constraint to evade the laws of + nature. + </p> + <p> + Among ourselves where these same laws are less frequently evaded in this + respect, but are more frequently evaded in another and even more + detestable manner, jealousy finds its motives in the passions of society + rather than in those of primitive instinct. In most irregular connections + the hatred of the lover for his rivals far exceeds his love for his + mistress; if he fears a rival in her affections it is the effect of that + self-love whose origin I have already traced out, and he is moved by + vanity rather than affection. Moreover, our clumsy systems of education + have made women so deceitful, [Footnote: The kind of deceit referred to + here is just the opposite of that deceit becoming in a woman, and taught + her by nature; the latter consists in concealing her real feelings, the + former in feigning what she does not feel. Every society lady spends her + life in boasting of her supposed sensibility, when in reality she cares + for no one but herself.] and have so over-stimulated their appetites, that + you cannot rely even on the most clearly proved affection; they can no + longer display a preference which secures you against the fear of a rival. + </p> + <p> + True love is another matter. I have shown, in the work already referred + to, that this sentiment is not so natural as men think, and that there is + a great difference between the gentle habit which binds a man with cords + of love to his helpmeet, and the unbridled passion which is intoxicated by + the fancied charms of an object which he no longer sees in its true light. + This passion which is full of exclusions and preferences, only differs + from vanity in this respect, that vanity demands all and gives nothing, so + that it is always harmful, while love, bestowing as much as it demands, is + in itself a sentiment full of equity. Moreover, the more exacting it is, + the more credulous; that very illusion which gave rise to it, makes it + easy to persuade. If love is suspicious, esteem is trustful; and love will + never exist in an honest heart without esteem, for every one loves in + another the qualities which he himself holds in honour. + </p> + <p> + When once this is clearly understood, we can predict with confidence the + kind of jealousy which Emile will be capable of experiencing; as there is + only the smallest germ of this passion in the human heart, the form it + takes must depend solely upon education: Emile, full of love and jealousy, + will not be angry, sullen, suspicious, but delicate, sensitive, and timid; + he will be more alarmed than vexed; he will think more of securing his + lady-love than of threatening his rival; he will treat him as an obstacle + to be removed if possible from his path, rather than as a rival to be + hated; if he hates him, it is not because he presumes to compete with him + for Sophy’s affection, but because Emile feels that there is a real + danger of losing that affection; he will not be so unjust and foolish as + to take offence at the rivalry itself; he understands that the law of + preference rests upon merit only, and that honour depends upon success; he + will redouble his efforts to make himself acceptable, and he will probably + succeed. His generous Sophy, though she has given alarm to his love, is + well able to allay that fear, to atone for it; and the rivals who were + only suffered to put him to the proof are speedily dismissed. + </p> + <p> + But whither am I going? O Emile! what art thou now? Is this my pupil? How + art thou fallen! Where is that young man so sternly fashioned, who braved + all weathers, who devoted his body to the hardest tasks and his soul to + the laws of wisdom; untouched by prejudice or passion, a lover of truth, + swayed by reason only, unheeding all that was not hers? Living in softness + and idleness he now lets himself be ruled by women; their amusements are + the business of his life, their wishes are his laws; a young girl is the + arbiter of his fate, he cringes and grovels before her; the earnest Emile + is the plaything of a child. + </p> + <p> + So shift the scenes of life; each age is swayed by its own motives, but + the man is the same. At ten his mind was set upon cakes, at twenty it is + set upon his mistress; at thirty it will be set upon pleasure; at forty on + ambition, at fifty on avarice; when will he seek after wisdom only? Happy + is he who is compelled to follow her against his will! What matter who is + the guide, if the end is attained. Heroes and sages have themselves paid + tribute to this human weakness; and those who handled the distaff with + clumsy fingers were none the less great men. + </p> + <p> + If you would prolong the influence of a good education through life + itself, the good habits acquired in childhood must be carried forward into + adolescence, and when your pupil is what he ought to be you must manage to + keep him what he ought to be. This is the coping-stone of your work. This + is why it is of the first importance that the tutor should remain with + young men; otherwise there is little doubt they will learn to make love + without him. The great mistake of tutors and still more of fathers is to + think that one way of living makes another impossible, and that as soon as + the child is grown up, you must abandon everything you used to do when he + was little. If that were so, why should we take such pains in childhood, + since the good or bad use we make of it will vanish with childhood itself; + if another way of life were necessarily accompanied by other ways of + thinking? + </p> + <p> + The stream of memory is only interrupted by great illnesses, and the + stream of conduct, by great passions. Our tastes and inclinations may + change, but this change, though it may be sudden enough, is rendered less + abrupt by our habits. The skilful artist, in a good colour scheme, + contrives so to mingle and blend his tints that the transitions are + imperceptible; and certain colour washes are spread over the whole picture + so that there may be no sudden breaks. So should it be with our likings. + Unbalanced characters are always changing their affections, their tastes, + their sentiments; the only constant factor is the habit of change; but the + man of settled character always returns to his former habits and preserves + to old age the tastes and the pleasures of his childhood. + </p> + <p> + If you contrive that young people passing from one stage of life to + another do not despise what has gone before, that when they form new + habits, they do not forsake the old, and that they always love to do what + is right, in things new and old; then only are the fruits of your toil + secure, and you are sure of your scholars as long as they live; for the + revolution most to be dreaded is that of the age over which you are now + watching. As men always look back to this period with regret so the tastes + carried forward into it from childhood are not easily destroyed; but if + once interrupted they are never resumed. + </p> + <p> + Most of the habits you think you have instilled into children and young + people are not really habits at all; they have only been acquired under + compulsion, and being followed reluctantly they will be cast off at the + first opportunity. However long you remain in prison you never get a taste + for prison life; so aversion is increased rather than diminished by habit. + Not so with Emile; as a child he only did what he could do willingly and + with pleasure, and as a man he will do the same, and the force of habit + will only lend its help to the joys of freedom. An active life, bodily + labour, exercise, movement, have become so essential to him that he could + not relinquish them without suffering. Reduce him all at once to a soft + and sedentary life and you condemn him to chains and imprisonment, you + keep him in a condition of thraldom and constraint; he would suffer, no + doubt, both in health and temper. He can scarcely breathe in a stuffy + room, he requires open air, movement, fatigue. Even at Sophy’s feet + he cannot help casting a glance at the country and longing to explore it + in her company. Yet he remains if he must; but he is anxious and ill at + ease; he seems to be struggling with himself; he remains because he is a + captive. “Yes,” you will say, “these are necessities to + which you have subjected him, a yoke which you have laid upon him.” + You speak truly, I have subjected him to the yoke of manhood. + </p> + <p> + Emile loves Sophy; but what were the charms by which he was first + attracted? Sensibility, virtue, and love for things pure and honest. When + he loves this love in Sophy, will he cease to feel it himself? And what + price did she put upon herself? She required all her lover’s natural + feelings—esteem of what is really good, frugality, simplicity, + generous unselfishness, a scorn of pomp and riches. These virtues were + Emile’s before love claimed them of him. Is he really changed? He + has all the more reason to be himself; that is the only difference. The + careful reader will not suppose that all the circumstances in which he is + placed are the work of chance. There were many charming girls in the town; + is it chance that his choice is discovered in a distant retreat? Is their + meeting the work of chance? Is it chance that makes them so suited to each + other? Is it chance that they cannot live in the same place, that he is + compelled to find a lodging so far from her? Is it chance that he can see + her so seldom and must purchase the pleasure of seeing her at the price of + such fatigue? You say he is becoming effeminate. Not so, he is growing + stronger; he must be fairly robust to stand the fatigue he endures on + Sophy’s account. + </p> + <p> + He lives more than two leagues away. That distance serves to temper the + shafts of love. If they lived next door to each other, or if he could + drive to see her in a comfortable carriage, he would love at his ease in + the Paris fashion. Would Leander have braved death for the sake of Hero if + the sea had not lain between them? Need I say more; if my reader is able + to take my meaning, he will be able to follow out my principles in detail. + </p> + <p> + The first time we went to see Sophy, we went on horseback, so as to get + there more quickly. We continue this convenient plan until our fifth + visit. We were expected; and more than half a league from the house we see + people on the road. Emile watches them, his pulse quickens as he gets + nearer, he recognises Sophy and dismounts quickly; he hastens to join the + charming family. Emile is fond of good horses; his horse is fresh, he + feels he is free, and gallops off across the fields; I follow and with + some difficulty I succeed in catching him and bringing him back. Unluckily + Sophy is afraid of horses, and I dare not approach her. Emile has not seen + what happened, but Sophy whispers to him that he is giving his friend a + great deal of trouble. He hurries up quite ashamed of himself, takes the + horses, and follows after the party. It is only fair that each should take + his turn and he rides on to get rid of our mounts. He has to leave Sophy + behind him, and he no longer thinks riding a convenient mode of + travelling. He returns out of breath and meets us half-way. + </p> + <p> + The next time, Emile will not hear of horses. “Why,” say I, + “we need only take a servant to look after them.” “Shall + we put our worthy friends to such expense?” he replies. “You + see they would insist on feeding man and horse.” “That is + true,” I reply; “theirs is the generous hospitality of the + poor. The rich man in his niggardly pride only welcomes his friends, but + the poor find room for their friends’ horses.” “Let us + go on foot,” says he; “won’t you venture on the walk, + when you are always so ready to share the toilsome pleasures of your + child?” “I will gladly go with you,” I reply at once, + “and it seems to me that love does not desire so much show.” + </p> + <p> + As we draw near, we meet the mother and daughter even further from home + than on the last occasion. We have come at a great pace. Emile is very + warm; his beloved condescends to pass her handkerchief over his cheeks. It + would take a good many horses to make us ride there after this. + </p> + <p> + But it is rather hard never to be able to spend an evening together. + Midsummer is long past and the days are growing shorter. Whatever we say, + we are not allowed to return home in the dark, and unless we make a very + early start, we have to go back almost as soon as we get there. The mother + is sorry for us and uneasy on our account, and it occurs to her that, + though it would not be proper for us to stay in the house, beds might be + found for us in the village, if we liked to stay there occasionally. Emile + claps his hands at this idea and trembles with joy; Sophy, unwittingly, + kisses her mother rather oftener than usual on the day this idea occurs to + her. + </p> + <p> + Little by little the charm of friendship and the familiarity of innocence + take root and grow among us. I generally accompany my young friend on the + days appointed by Sophy or her mother, but sometimes I let him go alone. + The heart thrives in the sunshine of confidence, and a man must not be + treated as a child; and what have I accomplished so far, if my pupil is + unworthy of my esteem? Now and then I go without him; he is sorry, but he + does not complain; what use would it be? And then he knows I shall not + interfere with his interests. However, whether we go together or + separately you will understand that we are not stopped by the weather; we + are only too proud to arrive in a condition which calls for pity. + Unluckily Sophy deprives us of this honour and forbids us to come in bad + weather. This is the only occasion on which she rebels against the rules + which I laid down for her in private. + </p> + <p> + One day Emile had gone alone and I did not expect him back till the + following day, but he returned the same evening. “My dear Emile,” + said I, “have you come back to your old friend already?” But + instead of responding to my caresses he replied with some show of temper, + “You need not suppose I came back so soon of my own accord; she + insisted on it; it is for her sake not yours that I am here.” + Touched by his frankness I renewed my caresses, saying, “Truthful + heart and faithful friend, do not conceal from me anything I ought to + know. If you came back for her sake, you told me so for my own; your + return is her doing, your frankness is mine. Continue to preserve the + noble candour of great souls; strangers may think what they will, but it + is a crime to let our friends think us better than we are.” + </p> + <p> + I take care not to let him underrate the cost of his confession by + assuming that there is more love than generosity in it, and by telling him + that he would rather deprive himself of the honour of this return, than + give it to Sophy. But this is how he revealed to me, all unconsciously, + what were his real feelings; if he had returned slowly and comfortably, + dreaming of his sweetheart, I should know he was merely her lover; when he + hurried back, even if he was a little out of temper, he was the friend of + his Mentor. + </p> + <p> + You see that the young man is very far from spending his days with Sophy, + and seeing as much of her as he wants. One or two visits a week are all + that is permitted, and these visits are often only for the afternoon and + are rarely extended to the next day. He spends much more of his time in + longing to see her, or in rejoicing that he has seen her, than he actually + spends in her presence. Even when he goes to see her, more time is spent + in going and returning than by her side. His pleasures, genuine, pure, + delicious, but more imaginary than real, serve to kindle his love but not + to make him effeminate. + </p> + <p> + On the days when he does not see Sophy he is not sitting idle at home. He + is Emile himself and quite unchanged. He usually scours the country round + in pursuit of its natural history; he observes and studies the soil, its + products, and their mode of cultivation; he compares the methods he sees + with those with which he is already familiar; he tries to find the reasons + for any differences; if he thinks other methods better than those of the + locality, he introduces them to the farmers’ notice; if he suggests + a better kind of plough, he has one made from his own drawings; if he + finds a lime pit he teaches them how to use the lime on the land, a + process new to them; he often lends a hand himself; they are surprised to + find him handling all manner of tools more easily than they can + themselves; his furrows are deeper and straighter than theirs, he is a + more skilful sower, and his beds for early produce are more cleverly + planned. They do not scoff at him as a fine talker, they see he knows what + he is talking about. In a word, his zeal and attention are bestowed on + everything that is really useful to everybody; nor does he stop there. He + visits the peasants in their homes; inquires into their circumstances, + their families, the number of their children, the extent of their + holdings, the nature of their produce, their markets, their rights, their + burdens, their debts, etc. He gives away very little money, for he knows + it is usually ill spent; but he himself directs the use of his money, and + makes it helpful to them without distributing it among them. He supplies + them with labourers, and often pays them for work done by themselves, on + tasks for their own benefit. For one he has the falling thatch repaired or + renewed; for another he clears a piece of land which had gone out of + cultivation for lack of means; to another he gives a cow, a horse, or + stock of any kind to replace a loss; two neighbours are ready to go to + law, he wins them over, and makes them friends again; a peasant falls ill, + he has him cared for, he looks after him himself; [Footnote: To look after + a sick peasant is not merely to give him a pill, or medicine, or to send a + surgeon to him. That is not what these poor folk require in sickness; what + they want is more and better food. When you have fever, you will do well + to fast, but when your peasants have it, give them meat and wine; illness, + in their case, is nearly always due to poverty and exhaustion; your cellar + will supply the best draught, your butchers will be the best apothecary.] + another is harassed by a rich and powerful neighbor, he protects him and + speaks on his behalf; young people are fond of one another, he helps + forward their marriage; a good woman has lost her beloved child, he goes + to see her, he speaks words of comfort and sits a while with her; he does + not despise the poor, he is in no hurry to avoid the unfortunate; he often + takes his dinner with some peasant he is helping, and he will even accept + a meal from those who have no need of his help; though he is the + benefactor of some and the friend of all, he is none the less their equal. + In conclusion, he always does as much good by his personal efforts as by + his money. + </p> + <p> + Sometimes his steps are turned in the direction of the happy abode; he may + hope to see Sophy without her knowing, to see her out walking without + being seen. But Emile is always quite open in everything he does; he + neither can nor would deceive. His delicacy is of that pleasing type in + which pride rests on the foundation of a good conscience. He keeps + strictly within bounds, and never comes near enough to gain from chance + what he only desires to win from Sophy herself. On the other hand, he + delights to roam about the neighbourhood, looking for the trace of Sophy’s + steps, feeling what pains she has taken and what a distance she has walked + to please him. + </p> + <p> + The day before his visit, he will go to some neighbouring farm and order a + little feast for the morrow. We shall take our walk in that direction + without any special object, we shall turn in apparently by chance; fruit, + cakes, and cream are waiting for us. Sophy likes sweets, so is not + insensible to these attentions, and she is quite ready to do honour to + what we have provided; for I always have my share of the credit even if I + have had no part in the trouble; it is a girl’s way of returning + thanks more easily. Her father and I have cakes and wine; Emile keeps the + ladies company and is always on the look-out to secure a dish of cream in + which Sophy has dipped her spoon. + </p> + <p> + The cakes lead me to talk of the races Emile used to run. Every one wants + to hear about them; I explain amid much laughter; they ask him if he can + run as well as ever. “Better,” says he; “I should be + sorry to forget how to run.” One member of the company is dying to + see him run, but she dare not say so; some one else undertakes to suggest + it; he agrees and we send for two or three young men of the neighbourhood; + a prize is offered, and in imitation of our earlier games a cake is placed + on the goal. Every one is ready, Sophy’s father gives the signal by + clapping his hands. The nimble Emile flies like lightning and reaches the + goal almost before the others have started. He receives his prize at Sophy’s + hands, and no less generous than Aeneas, he gives gifts to all the + vanquished. + </p> + <p> + In the midst of his triumph, Sophy dares to challenge the victor, and to + assert that she can run as fast as he. He does not refuse to enter the + lists with her, and while she is getting ready to start, while she is + tucking up her skirt at each side, more eager to show Emile a pretty ankle + than to vanquish him in the race, while she is seeing if her petticoats + are short enough, he whispers a word to her mother who smiles and nods + approval. Then he takes his place by his competitor; no sooner is the + signal given than she is off like a bird. + </p> + <p> + Women were not meant to run; they flee that they may be overtaken. Running + is not the only thing they do ill, but it is the only thing they do + awkwardly; their elbows glued to their sides and pointed backwards look + ridiculous, and the high heels on which they are perched make them look + like so many grasshoppers trying to run instead of to jump. + </p> + <p> + Emile, supposing that Sophy runs no better than other women, does not + deign to stir from his place and watches her start with a smile of + mockery. But Sophy is light of foot and she wears low heels; she needs no + pretence to make her foot look smaller; she runs so quickly that he has + only just time to overtake this new Atalanta when he sees her so far + ahead. Then he starts like an eagle dashing upon its prey; he pursues her, + clutches her, grasps her at last quite out of breath, and gently placing + his left arm about her, he lifts her like a feather, and pressing his + sweet burden to his heart, he finishes the race, makes her touch the goal + first, and then exclaiming, “Sophy wins!” he sinks on one knee + before her and owns himself beaten. + </p> + <p> + Along with such occupations there is also the trade we learnt. One day a + week at least, and every day when the weather is too bad for country + pursuits, Emile and I go to work under a master-joiner. We do not work for + show, like people above our trade; we work in earnest like regular + workmen. Once when Sophy’s father came to see us, he found us at + work, and did not fail to report his wonder to his wife and daughter. + “Go and see that young man in the workshop,” said he, “and + you will soon see if he despises the condition of the poor.” You may + fancy how pleased Sophy was at this! They talk it over, and they decide to + surprise him at his work. They question me, apparently without any special + object, and having made sure of the time, mother and daughter take a + little carriage and come to town on that very day. + </p> + <p> + On her arrival, Sophy sees, at the other end of the shop, a young man in + his shirt sleeves, with his hair all untidy, so hard at work that he does + not see her; she makes a sign to her mother. Emile, a chisel in one hand + and a hammer in the other, is just finishing a mortise; then he saws a + piece of wood and places it in the vice in order to polish it. The sight + of this does not set Sophy laughing; it affects her greatly; it wins her + respect. Woman, honour your master; he it is who works for you, he it is + who gives you bread to eat; this is he! + </p> + <p> + While they are busy watching him, I perceive them and pull Emile by the + sleeve; he turns round, drops his tools, and hastens to them with an + exclamation of delight. After he has given way to his first raptures, he + makes them take a seat and he goes back to his work. But Sophy cannot keep + quiet; she gets up hastily, runs about the workshop, looks at the tools, + feels the polish of the boards, picks up shavings, looks at our hands, and + says she likes this trade, it is so clean. The merry girl tries to copy + Emile. With her delicate white hand she passes a plane over a bit of wood; + the plane slips and makes no impression. It seems to me that Love himself + is hovering over us and beating his wings; I think I can hear his joyous + cries, “Hercules is avenged.” + </p> + <p> + Yet Sophy’s mother questions the master. “Sir, how much do you + pay these two men a day?” “I give them each tenpence a day and + their food; but if that young fellow wanted he could earn much more, for + he is the best workman in the country.” “Tenpence a day and + their food,” said she looking at us tenderly. “That is so, + madam,” replied the master. At these words she hurries up to Emile, + kisses him, and clasps him to her breast with tears; unable to say more + she repeats again and again, “My son, my son!” + </p> + <p> + When they had spent some time chatting with us, but without interrupting + our work, “We must be going now,” said the mother to her + daughter, “it is getting late and we must not keep your father + waiting.” Then approaching Emile she tapped him playfully on the + cheek, saying, “Well, my good workman, won’t you come with us?” + He replied sadly, “I am at work, ask the master.” The master + is asked if he can spare us. He replies that he cannot. “I have work + on hand,” said he, “which is wanted the day after to-morrow, + so there is not much time. Counting on these gentlemen I refused other + workmen who came; if they fail me I don’t know how to replace them + and I shall not be able to send the work home at the time promised.” + The mother said nothing, she was waiting to hear what Emile would say. + Emile hung his head in silence. “Sir,” she said, somewhat + surprised at this, “have you nothing to say to that?” Emile + looked tenderly at her daughter and merely said, “You see I am bound + to stay.” Then the ladies left us. Emile went with them to the door, + gazed after them as long as they were in sight, and returned to his work + without a word. + </p> + <p> + On the way home, the mother, somewhat vexed at his conduct, spoke to her + daughter of the strange way in which he had behaved. “Why,” + said she, “was it so difficult to arrange matters with the master + without being obliged to stay. The young man is generous enough and ready + to spend money when there is no need for it, could not he spend a little + on such a fitting occasion?” “Oh, mamma,” replied Sophy, + “I trust Emile will never rely so much on money as to use it to + break an engagement, to fail to keep his own word, and to make another + break his! I know he could easily give the master a trifle to make up for + the slight inconvenience caused by his absence; but his soul would become + the slave of riches, he would become accustomed to place wealth before + duty, and he would think that any duty might be neglected provided he was + ready to pay. That is not Emile’s way of thinking, and I hope he + will never change on my account. Do you think it cost him nothing to stay? + You are quite wrong, mamma; it was for my sake that he stayed; I saw it in + his eyes.” + </p> + <p> + It is not that Sophy is indifferent to genuine proofs of love; on the + contrary she is imperious and exacting; she would rather not be loved at + all than be loved half-heartedly. Hers is the noble pride of worth, + conscious of its own value, self-respecting and claiming a like honour + from others. She would scorn a heart that did not recognise the full worth + of her own; that did not love her for her virtues as much and more than + for her charms; a heart which did not put duty first, and prefer it to + everything. She did not desire a lover who knew no will but hers. She + wished to reign over a man whom she had not spoilt. Thus Circe, having + changed into swine the comrades of Ulysses, bestowed herself on him over + whom she had no power. + </p> + <p> + Except for this sacred and inviolable right, Sophy is very jealous of her + own rights; she observes how carefully Emile respects them, how zealously + he does her will; how cleverly he guesses her wishes, how exactly he + arrives at the appointed time; she will have him neither late nor early; + he must arrive to the moment. To come early is to think more of himself + than of her; to come late is to neglect her. To neglect Sophy, that could + not happen twice. An unfounded suspicion on her part nearly ruined + everything, but Sophy is really just and knows how to atone for her + faults. + </p> + <p> + They were expecting us one evening; Emile had received his orders. They + came to meet us, but we were not there. What has become of us? What + accident have we met with? No message from us! The evening is spent in + expectation of our arrival. Sophy thinks we are dead; she is miserable and + in an agony of distress; she cries all the night through. In the course of + the evening a messenger was despatched to inquire after us and bring back + news in the morning. The messenger returns together with another messenger + sent by us, who makes our excuses verbally and says we are quite well. + Then the scene is changed; Sophy dries her tears, or if she still weeps it + is for anger. It is small consolation to her proud spirit to know that we + are alive; Emile lives and he has kept her waiting. + </p> + <p> + When we arrive she tries to escape to her own room; her parents desire her + to remain, so she is obliged to do so; but deciding at once what course + she will take she assumes a calm and contented expression which would + deceive most people. Her father comes forward to receive us saying, + “You have made your friends very uneasy; there are people here who + will not forgive you very readily.” “Who are they, papa,” + said Sophy with the most gracious smile she could assume. “What + business is that of yours,” said her father, “if it is not + you?” Sophy bent over her work without reply. Her mother received us + coldly and formally. Emile was so confused he dared not speak to Sophy. + She spoke first, inquired how he was, asked him to take a chair, and + pretended so cleverly that the poor young fellow, who as yet knew nothing + of the language of angry passions, was quite deceived by her apparent + indifference, and ready to take offence on his own account. + </p> + <p> + To undeceive him I was going to take Sophy’s hand and raise it to my + lips as I sometimes did; she drew it back so hastily, with the word, + “Sir,” uttered in such a strange manner that Emile’s + eyes were opened at once by this involuntary movement. + </p> + <p> + Sophy herself, seeing that she had betrayed herself, exercised less + control over herself. Her apparent indifference was succeeded by scornful + irony. She replied to everything he said in monosyllables uttered slowly + and hesitatingly as if she were afraid her anger should show itself too + plainly. Emile half dead with terror stared at her full of sorrow, and + tried to get her to look at him so that his eyes might read in hers her + real feelings. Sophy, still more angry at his boldness, gave him one look + which removed all wish for another. Luckily for himself, Emile, trembling + and dumbfounded, dared neither look at her nor speak to her again; for had + he not been guilty, had he been able to endure her wrath, she would never + have forgiven him. + </p> + <p> + Seeing that it was my turn now, and that the time was ripe for + explanation, I returned to Sophy. I took her hand and this time she did + not snatch it away; she was ready to faint. I said gently, “Dear + Sophy, we are the victims of misfortune; but you are just and reasonable; + you will not judge us unheard; listen to what we have to say.” She + said nothing and I proceeded— + </p> + <p> + “We set out yesterday at four o’clock; we were told to be here + at seven, and we always allow ourselves rather more time than we need, so + as to rest a little before we get here. We were more than half way here + when we heard lamentable groans, which came from a little valley in the + hillside, some distance off. We hurried towards the place and found an + unlucky peasant who had taken rather more wine than was good for him; on + his way home he had fallen heavily from his horse and broken his leg. We + shouted and called for help; there was no answer; we tried to lift the + injured man on his horse, but without success; the least movement caused + intense agony. We decided to tie up the horse in a quiet part of the wood; + then we made a chair of our crossed arms and carried the man as gently as + possible, following his directions till we got him home. The way was long, + and we were constantly obliged to stop and rest. At last we got there, but + thoroughly exhausted. We were surprised and sorry to find that it was a + house we knew already and that the wretched creature we had carried with + such difficulty was the very man who received us so kindly when first we + came. We had all been so upset that until that moment we had not + recognised each other. + </p> + <p> + “There were only two little children. His wife was about to present + him with another, and she was so overwhelmed at the sight of him brought + home in such a condition, that she was taken ill and a few hours later + gave birth to another little one. What was to be done under such + circumstances in a lonely cottage far from any help? Emile decided to + fetch the horse we had left in the wood, to ride as fast as he could into + the town and fetch a surgeon. He let the surgeon have the horse, and not + succeeding in finding a nurse all at once, he returned on foot with a + servant, after having sent a messenger to you; meanwhile I hardly knew + what to do between a man with a broken leg and a woman in travail, but I + got ready as well as I could such things in the house as I thought would + be needed for the relief of both. + </p> + <p> + “I will pass over the rest of the details; they are not to the + point. It was two o’clock in the morning before we got a moment’s + rest. At last we returned before daybreak to our lodging close at hand, + where we waited till you were up to let you know what had happened to us.” + </p> + <p> + That was all I said. But before any one could speak Emile, approaching + Sophy, raised his voice and said with greater firmness than I expected, + “Sophy, my fate is in your hands, as you very well know. You may + condemn me to die of grief; but do not hope to make me forget the rights + of humanity; they are even more sacred in my eyes than your own rights; I + will never renounce them for you.” + </p> + <p> + For all answer, Sophy rose, put her arm round his neck, and kissed him on + the cheek; then offering him her hand with inimitable grace she said to + him, “Emile, take this hand; it is yours. When you will, you shall + be my husband and my master; I will try to be worthy of that honour.” + </p> + <p> + Scarcely had she kissed him, when her delighted father clapped his hands + calling, “Encore, encore,” and Sophy without further ado, + kissed him twice on the other cheek; but afraid of what she had done she + took refuge at once in her mother’s arms and hid her blushing face + on the maternal bosom. + </p> + <p> + I will not describe our happiness; everybody will feel with us. After + dinner Sophy asked if it were too far to go and see the poor invalids. It + was her wish and it was a work of mercy. When we got there we found them + both in bed—Emile had sent for a second bedstead; there were people + there to look after them—Emile had seen to it. But in spite of this + everything was so untidy that they suffered almost as much from discomfort + as from their condition. Sophy asked for one of the good wife’s + aprons and set to work to make her more comfortable in her bed; then she + did as much for the man; her soft and gentle hand seemed to find out what + was hurting them and how to settle them into less painful positions. Her + very presence seemed to make them more comfortable; she seemed to guess + what was the matter. This fastidious girl was not disgusted by the dirt or + smells, and she managed to get rid of both without disturbing the sick + people. She who had always appeared so modest and sometimes so disdainful, + she who would not for all the world have touched a man’s bed with + her little finger, lifted the sick man and changed his linen without any + fuss, and placed him to rest in a more comfortable position. The zeal of + charity is of more value than modesty. What she did was done so skilfully + and with such a light touch that he felt better almost without knowing she + had touched him. Husband and wife mingled their blessings upon the kindly + girl who tended, pitied, and consoled them. She was an angel from heaven + come to visit them; she was an angel in face and manner, in gentleness and + goodness. Emile was greatly touched by all this and he watched her without + speaking. O man, love thy helpmeet. God gave her to relieve thy + sufferings, to comfort thee in thy troubles. This is she! + </p> + <p> + The new-born baby was baptised. The two lovers were its god-parents, and + as they held it at the font they were longing, at the bottom of their + hearts, for the time when they should have a child of their own to be + baptised. They longed for their wedding day; they thought it was close at + hand; all Sophy’s scruples had vanished, but mine remained. They had + not got so far as they expected; every one must have his turn. + </p> + <p> + One morning when they had not seen each other for two whole days, I + entered Emile’s room with a letter in my hands, and looking fixedly + at him I said to him, “What would you do if some one told you Sophy + were dead?” He uttered a loud cry, got up and struck his hands + together, and without saying a single word, he looked at me with eyes of + desperation. “Answer me,” I continued with the same calmness. + Vexed at my composure, he then approached me with eyes blazing with anger; + and checking himself in an almost threatening attitude, “What would + I do? I know not; but this I do know, I would never set eyes again upon + the person who brought me such news.” “Comfort yourself,” + said I, smiling, “she lives, she is well, and they are expecting us + this evening. But let us go for a short walk and we can talk things over.” + </p> + <p> + The passion which engrosses him will no longer permit him to devote + himself as in former days to discussions of pure reason; this very passion + must be called to our aid if his attention is to be given to my teaching. + That is why I made use of this terrible preface; I am quite sure he will + listen to me now. + </p> + <p> + “We must be happy, dear Emile; it is the end of every feeling + creature; it is the first desire taught us by nature, and the only one + which never leaves us. But where is happiness? Who knows? Every one seeks + it, and no one finds it. We spend our lives in the search and we die + before the end is attained. My young friend, when I took you, a new-born + infant, in my arms, and called God himself to witness to the vow I dared + to make that I would devote my life to the happiness of your life, did I + know myself what I was undertaking? No; I only knew that in making you + happy, I was sure of my own happiness. By making this useful inquiry on + your account, I made it for us both. + </p> + <p> + “So long as we do not know what to do, wisdom consists in doing + nothing. Of all rules there is none so greatly needed by man, and none + which he is less able to obey. In seeking happiness when we know not where + it is, we are perhaps getting further and further from it, we are running + as many risks as there are roads to choose from. But it is not every one + that can keep still. Our passion for our own well-being makes us so + uneasy, that we would rather deceive ourselves in the search for happiness + than sit still and do nothing; and when once we have left the place where + we might have known happiness, we can never return. + </p> + <p> + “In ignorance like this I tried to avoid a similar fault. When I + took charge of you I decided to take no useless steps and to prevent you + from doing so too. I kept to the path of nature, until she should show me + the path of happiness. And lo! their paths were the same, and without + knowing it this was the path I trod. + </p> + <p> + “Be at once my witness and my judge; I will never refuse to accept + your decision. Your early years have not been sacrificed to those that + were to follow, you have enjoyed all the good gifts which nature bestowed + upon you. Of the ills to which you were by nature subject, and from which + I could shelter you, you have only experienced such as would harden you to + bear others. You have never suffered any evil, except to escape a greater. + You have known neither hatred nor servitude. Free and happy, you have + remained just and kindly; for suffering and vice are inseparable, and no + man ever became bad until he was unhappy. May the memory of your childhood + remain with you to old age! I am not afraid that your kind heart will ever + recall the hand that trained it without a blessing upon it. + </p> + <p> + “When you reached the age of reason, I secured you from the + influence of human prejudice; when your heart awoke I preserved you from + the sway of passion. Had I been able to prolong this inner tranquillity + till your life’s end, my work would have been secure, and you would + have been as happy as man can be; but, my dear Emile, in vain did I dip + you in the waters of Styx, I could not make you everywhere invulnerable; a + fresh enemy has appeared, whom you have not yet learnt to conquer, and + from whom I cannot save you. That enemy is yourself. Nature and fortune + had left you free. You could face poverty, you could bear bodily pain; the + sufferings of the heart were unknown to you; you were then dependent on + nothing but your position as a human being; now you depend on all the ties + you have formed for yourself; you have learnt to desire, and you are now + the slave of your desires. Without any change in yourself, without any + insult, any injury to yourself, what sorrows may attack your soul, what + pains may you suffer without sickness, how many deaths may you die and yet + live! A lie, an error, a suspicion, may plunge you in despair. + </p> + <p> + “At the theatre you used to see heroes, abandoned to depths of woe, + making the stage re-echo with their wild cries, lamenting like women, + weeping like children, and thus securing the applause of the audience. Do + you remember how shocked you were by those lamentations, cries, and + groans, in men from whom one would only expect deeds of constancy and + heroism. ‘Why,’ said you, ‘are those the patterns we are + to follow, the models set for our imitation! Are they afraid man will not + be small enough, unhappy enough, weak enough, if his weakness is not + enshrined under a false show of virtue.’ My young friend, + henceforward you must be more merciful to the stage; you have become one + of those heroes. + </p> + <p> + “You know how to suffer and to die; you know how to bear the heavy + yoke of necessity in ills of the body, but you have not yet learnt to give + a law to the desires of your heart; and the difficulties of life arise + rather from our affections than from our needs. Our desires are vast, our + strength is little better than nothing. In his wishes man is dependent on + many things; in himself he is dependent on nothing, not even on his own + life; the more his connections are multiplied, the greater his sufferings. + Everything upon earth has an end; sooner or later all that we love escapes + from our fingers, and we behave as if it would last for ever. What was + your terror at the mere suspicion of Sophy’s death? Do you suppose + she will live for ever? Do not young people of her age die? She must die, + my son, and perhaps before you. Who knows if she is alive at this moment? + Nature meant you to die but once; you have prepared a second death for + yourself. + </p> + <p> + “A slave to your unbridled passions, how greatly are you to be + pitied! Ever privations, losses, alarms; you will not even enjoy what is + left. You will possess nothing because of the fear of losing it; you will + never be able to satisfy your passions, because you desired to follow them + continually. You will ever be seeking that which will fly before you; you + will be miserable and you will become wicked. How can you be otherwise, + having no care but your unbridled passions! If you cannot put up with + involuntary privations how will you voluntarily deprive yourself? How can + you sacrifice desire to duty, and resist your heart in order to listen to + your reason? You would never see that man again who dared to bring you + word of the death of your mistress; how would you behold him who would + deprive you of her living self, him who would dare to tell you, ‘She + is dead to you, virtue puts a gulf between you’? If you must live + with her whatever happens, whether Sophy is married or single, whether you + are free or not, whether she loves or hates you, whether she is given or + refused to you, no matter, it is your will and you must have her at any + price. Tell me then what crime will stop a man who has no law but his + heart’s desires, who knows not how to resist his own passions. + </p> + <p> + “My son, there is no happiness without courage, nor virtue without a + struggle. The word virtue is derived from a word signifying strength, and + strength is the foundation of all virtue. Virtue is the heritage of a + creature weak by nature but strong by will; that is the whole merit of the + righteous man; and though we call God good we do not call Him virtuous, + because He does good without effort. I waited to explain the meaning of + this word, so often profaned, until you were ready to understand me. As + long as virtue is quite easy to practise, there is little need to know it. + This need arises with the awakening of the passions; your time has come. + </p> + <p> + “When I brought you up in all the simplicity of nature, instead of + preaching disagreeable duties, I secured for you immunity from the vices + which make such duties disagreeable; I made lying not so much hateful as + unnecessary in your sight; I taught you not so much to give others their + due, as to care little about your own rights; I made you kindly rather + than virtuous. But the kindly man is only kind so long as he finds it + pleasant; kindness falls to pieces at the shook of human passions; the + kindly man is only kind to himself. + </p> + <p> + “What is meant by a virtuous man? He who can conquer his affections; + for then he follows his reason, his conscience; he does his duty; he is + his own master and nothing can turn him from the right way. So far you + have had only the semblance of liberty, the precarious liberty of the + slave who has not received his orders. Now is the time for real freedom; + learn to be your own master; control your heart, my Emile, and you will be + virtuous. + </p> + <p> + “There is another apprenticeship before you, an apprenticeship more + difficult than the former; for nature delivers us from the evils she lays + upon us, or else she teaches us to submit to them; but she has no message + for us with regard to our self-imposed evils; she leaves us to ourselves; + she leaves us, victims of our own passions, to succumb to our vain + sorrows, to pride ourselves on the tears of which we should be ashamed. + </p> + <p> + “This is your first passion. Perhaps it is the only passion worthy + of you. If you can control it like a man, it will be the last; you will be + master of all the rest, and you will obey nothing but the passion for + virtue. + </p> + <p> + “There is nothing criminal in this passion; I know it; it is as pure + as the hearts which experience it. It was born of honour and nursed by + innocence. Happy lovers! for you the charms of virtue do but add to those + of love; and the blessed union to which you are looking forward is less + the reward of your goodness than of your affection. But tell me, O + truthful man, though this passion is pure, is it any the less your master? + Are you the less its slave? And if to-morrow it should cease to be + innocent, would you strangle it on the spot? Now is the time to try your + strength; there is no time for that in hours of danger. These perilous + efforts should be made when danger is still afar. We do not practise the + use of our weapons when we are face to face with the enemy, we do that + before the war; we come to the battle-field ready prepared. + </p> + <p> + “It is a mistake to classify the passions as lawful and unlawful, so + as to yield to the one and refuse the other. All alike are good if we are + their masters; all alike are bad if we abandon ourselves to them. Nature + forbids us to extend our relations beyond the limits of our strength; + reason forbids us to want what we cannot get, conscience forbids us, not + to be tempted, but to yield to temptation. To feel or not to feel a + passion is beyond our control, but we can control ourselves. Every + sentiment under our own control is lawful; those which control us are + criminal. A man is not guilty if he loves his neighbour’s wife, + provided he keeps this unhappy passion under the control of the law of + duty; he is guilty if he loves his own wife so greatly as to sacrifice + everything to that love. + </p> + <p> + “Do not expect me to supply you with lengthy precepts of morality, I + have only one rule to give you which sums up all the rest. Be a man; + restrain your heart within the limits of your manhood. Study and know + these limits; however narrow they may be, we are not unhappy within them; + it is only when we wish to go beyond them that we are unhappy, only when, + in our mad passions, we try to attain the impossible; we are unhappy when + we forget our manhood to make an imaginary world for ourselves, from which + we are always slipping back into our own. The only good things, whose loss + really affects us, are those which we claim as our rights. If it is clear + that we cannot obtain what we want, our mind turns away from it; wishes + without hope cease to torture us. A beggar is not tormented by a desire to + be a king; a king only wishes to be a god when he thinks himself more than + man. + </p> + <p> + “The illusions of pride are the source of our greatest ills; but the + contemplation of human suffering keeps the wise humble. He keeps to his + proper place and makes no attempt to depart from it; he does not waste his + strength in getting what he cannot keep; and his whole strength being + devoted to the right employment of what he has, he is in reality richer + and more powerful in proportion as he desires less than we. A man, subject + to death and change, shall I forge for myself lasting chains upon this + earth, where everything changes and disappears, whence I myself shall + shortly vanish! Oh, Emile! my son! if I were to lose you, what would be + left of myself? And yet I must learn to lose you, for who knows when you + may be taken from me? + </p> + <p> + “Would you live in wisdom and happiness, fix your heart on the + beauty that is eternal; let your desires be limited by your position, let + your duties take precedence of your wishes; extend the law of necessity + into the region of morals; learn to lose what may be taken from you; learn + to forsake all things at the command of virtue, to set yourself above the + chances of life, to detach your heart before it is torn in pieces, to be + brave in adversity so that you may never be wretched, to be steadfast in + duty that you may never be guilty of a crime. Then you will be happy in + spite of fortune, and good in spite of your passions. You will find a + pleasure that cannot be destroyed, even in the possession of the most + fragile things; you will possess them, they will not possess you, and you + will realise that the man who loses everything, only enjoys what he knows + how to resign. It is true you will not enjoy the illusions of imaginary + pleasures, neither will you feel the sufferings which are their result. + You will profit greatly by this exchange, for the sufferings are real and + frequent, the pleasures are rare and empty. Victor over so many deceitful + ideas, you will also vanquish the idea that attaches such an excessive + value to life. You will spend your life in peace, and you will leave it + without terror; you will detach yourself from life as from other things. + Let others, horror-struck, believe that when this life is ended they cease + to be; conscious of the nothingness of life, you will think that you are + but entering upon the true life. To the wicked, death is the close of + life; to the just it is its dawn.” + </p> + <p> + Emile heard me with attention not unmixed with anxiety. After such a + startling preface he feared some gloomy conclusion. He foresaw that when I + showed him how necessary it is to practise the strength of the soul, I + desired to subject him to this stern discipline; he was like a wounded man + who shrinks from the surgeon, and fancies he already feels the painful but + healing touch which will cure the deadly wound. + </p> + <p> + Uncertain, anxious, eager to know what I am driving at, he does not + answer, he questions me but timidly. “What must I do?” says he + almost trembling, not daring to raise his eyes. “What must you do?” + I reply firmly. “You must leave Sophy.” “What are you + saying?” he exclaimed angrily. “Leave Sophy, leave Sophy, + deceive her, become a traitor, a villain, a perjurer!” “Why!” + I continue, interrupting him; “does Emile suppose I shall teach him + to deserve such titles?” “No,” he continued with the + same vigour. “Neither you nor any one else; I am capable of + preserving your work; I shall not deserve such reproaches.” + </p> + <p> + I was prepared for this first outburst; I let it pass unheeded. If I had + not the moderation I preach it would not be much use preaching it! Emile + knows me too well to believe me capable of demanding any wrong action from + him, and he knows that it would be wrong to leave Sophy, in the sense he + attaches to the phrase. So he waits for an explanation. Then I resume my + speech. + </p> + <p> + “My dear Emile, do you think any man whatsoever can be happier than + you have been for the last three months? If you think so, undeceive + yourself. Before tasting the pleasures of life you have plumbed the depths + of its happiness. There is nothing more than you have already experienced. + The joys of sense are soon over; habit invariably destroys them. You have + tasted greater joys through hope than you will ever enjoy in reality. The + imagination which adorns what we long for, deserts its possession. With + the exception of the one self-existing Being, there is nothing beautiful + except that which is not. If that state could have lasted for ever, you + would have found perfect happiness. But all that is related to man shares + his decline; all is finite, all is fleeting in human life, and even if the + conditions which make us happy could be prolonged for ever, habit would + deprive us of all taste for that happiness. If external circumstances + remain unchanged, the heart changes; either happiness forsakes us, or we + forsake her. + </p> + <p> + “During your infatuation time has passed unheeded. Summer is over, + winter is at hand. Even if our expeditions were possible, at such a time + of year they would not be permitted. Whether we wish it or no, we shall + have to change our way of life; it cannot continue. I read in your eager + eyes that this does not disturb you greatly; Sophy’s confession and + your own wishes suggest a simple plan for avoiding the snow and escaping + the journey. The plan has its advantages, no doubt; but when spring + returns, the snow will melt and the marriage will remain; you must reckon + for all seasons. + </p> + <p> + “You wish to marry Sophy and you have only known her five months! + You wish to marry her, not because she is a fit wife for you, but because + she pleases you; as if love were never mistaken as to fitness, as if + those, who begin with love, never ended with hatred! I know she is + virtuous; but is that enough? Is fitness merely a matter of honour? It is + not her virtue I misdoubt, it is her disposition. Does a woman show her + real character in a day? Do you know how often you must have seen her and + under what varying conditions to really know her temper? Is four months of + liking a sufficient pledge for the rest of your life? A couple of months + hence you may have forgotten her; as soon as you are gone another may + efface your image in her heart; on your return you may find her as + indifferent as you have hitherto found her affectionate. Sentiments are + not a matter of principle; she may be perfectly virtuous and yet cease to + love you. I am inclined to think she will be faithful and true; but who + will answer for her, and who will answer for you if you are not put to the + proof? Will you postpone this trial till it is too late, will you wait to + know your true selves till parting is no longer possible? + </p> + <p> + “Sophy is not eighteen, and you are barely twenty-two; this is the + age for love, but not for marriage. What a father and mother for a family! + If you want to know how to bring up children, you should at least wait + till you yourselves are children no longer. Do you not know that too early + motherhood has weakened the constitution, destroyed the health, and + shortened the life of many young women? Do you not know that many children + have always been weak and sickly because their mother was little more than + a child herself? When mother and child are both growing, the strength + required for their growth is divided, and neither gets all that nature + intended; are not both sure to suffer? Either I know very little of Emile, + or he would rather wait and have a healthy wife and children, than satisfy + his impatience at the price of their life and health. + </p> + <p> + “Let us speak of yourself. You hope to be a husband and a father; + have you seriously considered your duties? When you become the head of a + family you will become a citizen of your country. And what is a citizen of + the state? What do you know about it? You have studied your duties as a + man, but what do you know of the duties of a citizen? Do you know the + meaning of such terms as government, laws, country? Do you know the price + you must pay for life, and for what you must be prepared to die? You think + you know everything, when you really know nothing at all. Before you take + your place in the civil order, learn to perceive and know what is your + proper place. + </p> + <p> + “Emile, you must leave Sophy; I do not bid you forsake her; if you + were capable of such conduct, she would be only too happy not to have + married you; you must leave her in order to return worthy of her. Do not + be vain enough to think yourself already worthy. How much remains to be + done! Come and fulfil this splendid task; come and learn to submit to + absence; come and earn the prize of fidelity, so that when you return you + may indeed deserve some honour, and may ask her hand not as a favour but + as a reward.” + </p> + <p> + Unaccustomed to struggle with himself, untrained to desire one thing and + to will another, the young man will not give way; he resists, he argues. + Why should he refuse the happiness which awaits him? Would he not despise + the hand which is offered him if he hesitated to accept it? Why need he + leave her to learn what he ought to know? And if it were necessary to + leave her why not leave her as his wife with a certain pledge of his + return? Let him be her husband, and he is ready to follow me; let them be + married and he will leave her without fear. “Marry her in order to + leave her, dear Emile! what a contradiction! A lover who can leave his + mistress shows himself capable of great things; a husband should never + leave his wife unless through necessity. To cure your scruples, I see the + delay must be involuntary on your part; you must be able to tell Sophy you + leave her against your will. Very well, be content, and since you will not + follow the commands of reason, you must submit to another master. You have + not forgotten your promise. Emile, you must leave Sophy; I will have it.” + </p> + <p> + For a moment or two he was downcast, silent, and thoughtful, then looking + me full in the face he said, “When do we start?” “In a + week’s time,” I replied; “Sophy must be prepared for our + going. Women are weaker than we are, and we must show consideration for + them; and this parting is not a duty for her as it is for you, so she may + be allowed to bear it less bravely.” + </p> + <p> + The temptation to continue the daily history of their love up to the time + of their separation is very great; but I have already presumed too much + upon the good nature of my readers; let us abridge the story so as to + bring it to an end. Will Emile face the situation as bravely at his + mistress’ feet as he has done in conversation with his friend? I + think he will; his confidence is rooted in the sincerity of his love. He + would be more at a loss with her, if it cost him less to leave her; he + would leave her feeling himself to blame, and that is a difficult part for + a man of honour to play; but the greater the sacrifice, the more credit he + demands for it in the sight of her who makes it so difficult. He has no + fear that she will misunderstand his motives. Every look seems to say, + “Oh, Sophy, read my heart and be faithful to me; your lover is not + without virtue.” + </p> + <p> + Sophy tries to bear the unforeseen blow with her usual pride and dignity. + She tries to seem as if she did not care, but as the honours of war are + not hers, but Emile’s, her strength is less equal to the task. She + weeps, she sighs against her will, and the fear of being forgotten + embitters the pain of parting. She does not weep in her lover’s + sight, she does not let him see her terror; she would die rather than + utter a sigh in his presence. I am the recipient of her lamentations, I + behold her tears, it is I who am supposed to be her confidant. Women are + very clever and know how to conceal their cleverness; the more she frets + in private, the more pains she takes to please me; she feels that her fate + is in my hands. + </p> + <p> + I console and comfort her; I make myself answerable for her lover, or + rather for her husband; let her be as true to him as he to her and I + promise they shall be married in two years’ time. She respects me + enough to believe that I do not want to deceive her. I am guarantor to + each for the other. Their hearts, their virtue, my honesty, the confidence + of their parents, all combine to reassure them. But what can reason avail + against weakness? They part as if they were never to meet again. + </p> + <p> + Then it is that Sophy recalls the regrets of Eucharis, and fancies herself + in her place. Do not let us revive that fantastic affection during his + absence “Sophy,” say I one day, “exchange books with + Emile; let him have your Telemachus that he may learn to be like him, and + let him give you his Spectator which you enjoy reading. Study the duties + of good wives in it, and remember that in two years’ time you will + undertake those duties.” The exchange gave pleasure to both and + inspired them with confidence. At last the sad day arrived and they must + part. + </p> + <p> + Sophy’s worthy father, with whom I had arranged the whole business, + took affectionate leave of me, and taking me aside, he spoke seriously and + somewhat emphatically, saying, “I have done everything to please + you; I knew I had to do with a man of honour; I have only one word to say. + Remembering your pupil has signed his contract of marriage on my daughter’s + lips.” + </p> + <p> + What a difference in the behaviour of the two lovers! Emile, impetuous, + eager, excited, almost beside himself, cries aloud and sheds torrents of + tears upon the hands of father, mother, and daughter; with sobs he + embraces every one in the house and repeats the same thing over and over + again in a way that would be ludicrous at any other time. Sophy, pale, + sorrowful, doleful, and heavy-eyed, remains quiet without a word or a + tear, she sees no one, not even Emile. In vain he takes her hand, and + clasps her in his arms; she remains motionless, unheeding his tears, his + caresses, and everything he does; so far as she is concerned, he is gone + already. A sight more moving than the prolonged lamentations and noisy + regrets of her lover! He sees, he feels, he is heartbroken. I drag him + reluctantly away; if I left him another minute, he would never go. I am + delighted that he should carry this touching picture with him. If he + should ever be tempted to forget what is due to Sophy, his heart must have + strayed very far indeed if I cannot bring it back to her by recalling her + as he saw her last. + </p> + <h3> + OF TRAVEL + </h3> + <p> + Is it good for young people to travel? The question is often asked and as + often hotly disputed. If it were stated otherwise—Are men the better + for having travelled?—perhaps there would be less difference of + opinion. + </p> + <p> + The misuse of books is the death of sound learning. People think they know + what they have read, and take no pains to learn. Too much reading only + produces a pretentious ignoramus. There was never so much reading in any + age as the present, and never was there less learning; in no country of + Europe are so many histories and books of travel printed as in France, and + nowhere is there less knowledge of the mind and manners of other nations. + So many books lead us to neglect the book of the world; if we read it at + all, we keep each to our own page. If the phrase, “Can one become a + Persian,” were unknown to me, I should suspect on hearing it that it + came from the country where national prejudice is most prevalent and from + the sex which does most to increase it. + </p> + <p> + A Parisian thinks he has a knowledge of men and he knows only Frenchmen; + his town is always full of foreigners, but he considers every foreigner as + a strange phenomenon which has no equal in the universe. You must have a + close acquaintance with the middle classes of that great city, you must + have lived among them, before you can believe that people could be at once + so witty and so stupid. The strangest thing about it is that probably + every one of them has read a dozen times a description of the country + whose inhabitants inspire him with such wonder. + </p> + <p> + To discover the truth amidst our own prejudices and those of the authors + is too hard a task. I have been reading books of travels all my life, but + I never found two that gave me the same idea of the same nation. On + comparing my own scanty observations with what I have read, I have decided + to abandon the travellers and I regret the time wasted in trying to learn + from their books; for I am quite convinced that for that sort of study, + seeing not reading is required. That would be true enough if every + traveller were honest, if he only said what he saw and believed, and if + truth were not tinged with false colours from his own eyes. What must it + be when we have to disentangle the truth from the web of lies and + ill-faith? + </p> + <p> + Let us leave the boasted resources of books to those who are content to + use them. Like the art of Raymond Lully they are able to set people + chattering about things they do not know. They are able to set + fifteen-year-old Platos discussing philosophy in the clubs, and teaching + people the customs of Egypt and the Indies on the word of Paul Lucas or + Tavernier. + </p> + <p> + I maintain that it is beyond dispute that any one who has only seen one + nation does not know men; he only knows those men among whom he has lived. + Hence there is another way of stating the question about travel: “Is + it enough for a well-educated man to know his fellow-countrymen, or ought + he to know mankind in general?” Then there is no place for argument + or uncertainty. See how greatly the solution of a difficult problem may + depend on the way in which it is stated. + </p> + <p> + But is it necessary to travel the whole globe to study mankind? Need we go + to Japan to study Europeans? Need we know every individual before we know + the species? No, there are men so much alike that it is not worth while to + study them individually. When you have seen a dozen Frenchmen you have + seen them all. Though one cannot say as much of the English and other + nations, it is, however, certain that every nation has its own specific + character, which is derived by induction from the study, not of one, but + many of its members. He who has compared a dozen nations knows men, just + he who has compared a dozen Frenchmen knows the French. + </p> + <p> + To acquire knowledge it is not enough to travel hastily through a country. + Observation demands eyes, and the power of directing them towards the + object we desire to know. There are plenty of people who learn no more + from their travels than from their books, because they do not know how to + think; because in reading their mind is at least under the guidance of the + author, and in their travels they do not know how to see for themselves. + Others learn nothing, because they have no desire to learn. Their object + is so entirely different, that this never occurs to them; it is very + unlikely that you will see clearly what you take no trouble to look for. + The French travel more than any other nation, but they are so taken up + with their own customs, that everything else is confused together. There + are Frenchmen in every corner of the globe. In no country of the world do + you find more people who have travelled than in France. And yet of all the + nations of Europe, that which has seen most, knows least. The English are + also travellers, but they travel in another fashion; these two nations + must always be at opposite extremes. The English nobility travels, the + French stays at home; the French people travel, the English stay at home. + This difference does credit, I think, to the English. The French almost + always travel for their own ends; the English do not seek their fortune in + other lands, unless in the way of commerce and with their hands full; when + they travel it is to spend their money, not to live by their wits; they + are too proud to cringe before strangers. This is why they learn more + abroad than the French who have other fish to fry. Yet the English have + their national prejudices; but these prejudices are not so much the result + of ignorance as of feeling. The Englishman’s prejudices are the + result of pride, the Frenchman’s are due to vanity. + </p> + <p> + Just as the least cultivated nations are usually the best, so those travel + best who travel least; they have made less progress than we in our + frivolous pursuits, they are less concerned with the objects of our empty + curiosity, so that they give their attention to what is really useful. I + hardly know any but the Spaniards who travel in this fashion. While the + Frenchman is running after all the artists of the country, while the + Englishman is getting a copy of some antique, while the German is taking + his album to every man of science, the Spaniard is silently studying the + government, the manners of the country, its police, and he is the only one + of the four who from all that he has seen will carry home any observation + useful to his own country. + </p> + <p> + The ancients travelled little, read little, and wrote few books; yet we + see in those books that remain to us, that they observed each other more + thoroughly than we observe our contemporaries. Without going back to the + days of Homer, the only poet who transports us to the country he + describes, we cannot deny to Herodotus the glory of having painted manners + in his history, though he does it rather by narrative than by comment; + still he does it better than all our historians whose books are overladen + with portraits and characters. Tacitus has described the Germans of his + time better than any author has described the Germans of to-day. There can + be no doubt that those who have devoted themselves to ancient history know + more about the Greeks, Carthaginians, Romans, Gauls, and Persians than any + nation of to-day knows about its neighbours. + </p> + <p> + It must also be admitted that the original characteristics of different + nations are changing day by day, and are therefore more difficult to + grasp. As races blend and nations intermingle, those national differences + which formerly struck the observer at first sight gradually disappear. + Before our time every nation remained more or less cut off from the rest; + the means of communication were fewer; there was less travelling, less of + mutual or conflicting interests, less political and civil intercourse + between nation and nation; those intricate schemes of royalty, miscalled + diplomacy, were less frequent; there were no permanent ambassadors + resident at foreign courts; long voyages were rare, there was little + foreign trade, and what little there was, was either the work of princes, + who employed foreigners, or of people of no account who had no influence + on others and did nothing to bring the nations together. The relations + between Europe and Asia in the present century are a hundredfold more + numerous than those between Gaul and Spain in the past; Europe alone was + less accessible than the whole world is now. + </p> + <p> + Moreover, the peoples of antiquity usually considered themselves as the + original inhabitants of their country; they had dwelt there so long that + all record was lost of the far-off times when their ancestors settled + there; they had been there so long that the place had made a lasting + impression on them; but in modern Europe the invasions of the barbarians, + following upon the Roman conquests, have caused an extraordinary + confusion. The Frenchmen of to-day are no longer the big fair men of old; + the Greeks are no longer beautiful enough to serve as a sculptor’s + model; the very face of the Romans has changed as well as their character; + the Persians, originally from Tartary, are daily losing their native + ugliness through the intermixture of Circassian blood. Europeans are no + longer Gauls, Germans, Iberians, Allobroges; they are all Scythians, more + or less degenerate in countenance, and still more so in conduct. + </p> + <p> + This is why the ancient distinctions of race, the effect of soil and + climate, made a greater difference between nation and nation in respect of + temperament, looks, manners, and character than can be distinguished in + our own time, when the fickleness of Europe leaves no time for natural + causes to work, when the forests are cut down and the marshes drained, + when the earth is more generally, though less thoroughly, tilled, so that + the same differences between country and country can no longer be detected + even in purely physical features. + </p> + <p> + If they considered these facts perhaps people would not be in such a hurry + to ridicule Herodotus, Ctesias, Pliny for having described the inhabitants + of different countries each with its own peculiarities and with striking + differences which we no longer see. To recognise such types of face we + should need to see the men themselves; no change must have passed over + them, if they are to remain the same. If we could behold all the people + who have ever lived, who can doubt that we should find greater variations + between one century and another, than are now found between nation and + nation. + </p> + <p> + At the same time, while observation becomes more difficult, it is more + carelessly and badly done; this is another reason for the small success of + our researches into the natural history of the human race. The information + acquired by travel depends upon the object of the journey. If this object + is a system of philosophy, the traveller only sees what he desires to see; + if it is self-interest, it engrosses the whole attention of those + concerned. Commerce and the arts which blend and mingle the nations at the + same time prevent them from studying each other. If they know how to make + a profit out of their neighbours, what more do they need to know? + </p> + <p> + It is a good thing to know all the places where we might live, so as to + choose those where we can live most comfortably. If every one lived by his + own efforts, all he would need to know would be how much land would keep + him in food. The savage, who has need of no one, and envies no one, + neither knows nor seeks to know any other country but his own. If he + requires more land for his subsistence he shuns inhabited places; he makes + war upon the wild beasts and feeds on them. But for us, to whom civilised + life has become a necessity, for us who must needs devour our + fellow-creatures, self-interest prompts each one of us to frequent those + districts where there are most people to be devoured. This is why we all + flock to Rome, Paris, and London. Human flesh and blood are always + cheapest in the capital cities. Thus we only know the great nations, which + are just like one another. + </p> + <p> + They say that men of learning travel to obtain information; not so, they + travel like other people from interested motives. Philosophers like Plato + and Pythagoras are no longer to be found, or if they are, it must be in + far-off lands. Our men of learning only travel at the king’s + command; they are sent out, their expenses are paid, they receive a salary + for seeing such and such things, and the object of that journey is + certainly not the study of any question of morals. Their whole time is + required for the object of their journey, and they are too honest not to + earn their pay. If in any country whatsoever there are people travelling + at their own expense, you may be sure it is not to study men but to teach + them. It is not knowledge they desire but ostentation. How should their + travels teach them to shake off the yoke of prejudice? It is prejudice + that sends them on their travels. + </p> + <p> + To travel to see foreign lands or to see foreign nations are two very + different things. The former is the usual aim of the curious, the latter + is merely subordinate to it. If you wish to travel as a philosopher you + should reverse this order. The child observes things till he is old enough + to study men. Man should begin by studying his fellows; he can study + things later if time permits. + </p> + <p> + It is therefore illogical to conclude that travel is useless because we + travel ill. But granting the usefulness of travel, does it follow that it + is good for all of us? Far from it; there are very few people who are + really fit to travel; it is only good for those who are strong enough in + themselves to listen to the voice of error without being deceived, strong + enough to see the example of vice without being led away by it. Travelling + accelerates the progress of nature, and completes the man for good or + evil. When a man returns from travelling about the world, he is what he + will be all his life; there are more who return bad than good, because + there are more who start with an inclination towards evil. In the course + of their travels, young people, ill-educated and ill-behaved, pick up all + the vices of the nations among whom they have sojourned, and none of the + virtues with which those vices are associated; but those who, happily for + themselves, are well-born, those whose good disposition has been well + cultivated, those who travel with a real desire to learn, all such return + better and wiser than they went. Emile will travel in this fashion; in + this fashion there travelled another young man, worthy of a nobler age; + one whose worth was the admiration of Europe, one who died for his country + in the flower of his manhood; he deserved to live, and his tomb, ennobled + by his virtues only, received no honour till a stranger’s hand + adorned it with flowers. + </p> + <p> + Everything that is done in reason should have its rules. Travel, + undertaken as a part of education, should therefore have its rules. To + travel for travelling’s sake is to wander, to be a vagabond; to + travel to learn is still too vague; learning without some definite aim is + worthless. I would give a young man a personal interest in learning, and + that interest, well-chosen, will also decide the nature of the + instruction. This is merely the continuation of the method I have hitherto + practised. + </p> + <p> + Now after he has considered himself in his physical relations to other + creatures, in his moral relations with other men, there remains to be + considered his civil relations with his fellow-citizens. To do this he + must first study the nature of government in general, then the different + forms of government, and lastly the particular government under which he + was born, to know if it suits him to live under it; for by a right which + nothing can abrogate, every man, when he comes of age, becomes his own + master, free to renounce the contract by which he forms part of the + community, by leaving the country in which that contract holds good. It is + only by sojourning in that country, after he has come to years of + discretion, that he is supposed to have tacitly confirmed the pledge given + by his ancestors. He acquires the right to renounce his country, just as + he has the right to renounce all claim to his father’s lands; yet + his place of birth was a gift of nature, and in renouncing it, he + renounces what is his own. Strictly speaking, every man remains in the + land of his birth at his own risk unless he voluntarily submits to its + laws in order to acquire a right to their protection. + </p> + <p> + For example, I should say to Emile, “Hitherto you have lived under + my guidance, you were unable to rule yourself. But now you are approaching + the age when the law, giving you the control over your property, makes you + master of your person. You are about to find yourself alone in society, + dependent on everything, even on your patrimony. You mean to marry; that + is a praiseworthy intention, it is one of the duties of man; but before + you marry you must know what sort of man you want to be, how you wish to + spend your life, what steps you mean to take to secure a living for your + family and for yourself; for although we should not make this our main + business, it must be definitely considered. Do you wish to be dependent on + men whom you despise? Do you wish to establish your fortune and determine + your position by means of civil relations which will make you always + dependent on the choice of others, which will compel you, if you would + escape from knaves, to become a knave yourself?” + </p> + <p> + In the next place I would show him every possible way of using his money + in trade, in the civil service, in finance, and I shall show him that in + every one of these there are risks to be taken, every one of them places + him in a precarious and dependent position, and compels him to adapt his + morals, his sentiments, his conduct to the example and the prejudices of + others. + </p> + <p> + “There is yet another way of spending your time and money; you may + join the army; that is to say, you may hire yourself out at very high + wages to go and kill men who never did you any harm. This trade is held in + great honour among men, and they cannot think too highly of those who are + fit for nothing better. Moreover, this profession, far from making you + independent of other resources, makes them all the more necessary; for it + is a point of honour in this profession to ruin those who have adopted it. + It is true they are not all ruined; it is even becoming fashionable to + grow rich in this as in other professions; but if I told you how people + manage to do it, I doubt whether you would desire to follow their example. + </p> + <p> + “Moreover, you must know that, even in this trade, it is no longer a + question of courage or valour, unless with regard to the ladies; on the + contrary, the more cringing, mean, and degraded you are, the more honour + you obtain; if you have decided to take your profession seriously, you + will be despised, you will be hated, you will very possibly be driven out + of the service, or at least you will fall a victim to favouritism and be + supplanted by your comrades, because you have been doing your duty in the + trenches, while they have been attending to their toilet.” + </p> + <p> + We can hardly suppose that any of these occupations will be much to Emile’s + taste. “Why,” he will exclaim, “have I forgotten the + amusements of my childhood? Have I lost the use of my arms? Is my strength + failing me? Do I not know how to work? What do I care about all your fine + professions and all the silly prejudices of others? I know no other pride + than to be kindly and just; no other happiness than to live in + independence with her I love, gaining health and a good appetite by the + day’s work. All these difficulties you speak of do not concern me. + The only property I desire is a little farm in some quiet corner. I will + devote all my efforts after wealth to making it pay, and I will live + without a care. Give me Sophy and my land, and I shall be rich.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, my dear friend, that is all a wise man requires, a wife and + land of his own; but these treasures are scarcer than you think. The + rarest you have found already; let us discuss the other. + </p> + <p> + “A field of your own, dear Emile! Where will you find it, in what + remote corner of the earth can you say, ‘Here am I master of myself + and of this estate which belongs to me?’ We know where a man may + grow rich; who knows where he can do without riches? Who knows where to + live free and independent, without ill-treating others and without fear of + being ill-treated himself! Do you think it is so easy to find a place + where you can always live like an honest man? If there is any safe and + lawful way of living without intrigues, without lawsuits, without + dependence on others, it is, I admit, to live by the labour of our hands, + by the cultivation of our own land; but where is the state in which a man + can say, ‘The earth which I dig is my own?’ Before choosing + this happy spot, be sure that you will find the peace you desire; beware + lest an unjust government, a persecuting religion, and evil habits should + disturb you in your home. Secure yourself against the excessive taxes + which devour the fruits of your labours, and the endless lawsuits which + consume your capital. Take care that you can live rightly without having + to pay court to intendents, to their deputies, to judges, to priests, to + powerful neighbours, and to knaves of every kind, who are always ready to + annoy you if you neglect them. Above all, secure yourself from annoyance + on the part of the rich and great; remember that their estates may + anywhere adjoin your Naboth’s vineyard. If unluckily for you some + great man buys or builds a house near your cottage, make sure that he will + not find a way, under some pretence or other, to encroach on your lands to + round off his estate, or that you do not find him at once absorbing all + your resources to make a wide highroad. If you keep sufficient credit to + ward off all these disagreeables, you might as well keep your money, for + it will cost you no more to keep it. Riches and credit lean upon each + other, the one can hardly stand without the other. + </p> + <p> + “I have more experience than you, dear Emile; I see more clearly the + difficulties in the way of your scheme. Yet it is a fine scheme and + honourable; it would make you happy indeed. Let us try to carry it out. I + have a suggestion to make; let us devote the two years from now till the + time of your return to choosing a place in Europe where you could live + happily with your family, secure from all the dangers I have just + described. If we succeed, you will have discovered that true happiness, so + often sought for in vain; and you will not have to regret the time spent + in its search. If we fail, you will be cured of a mistaken idea; you will + console yourself for an inevitable ill, and you will bow to the law of + necessity.” + </p> + <p> + I do not know whether all my readers will see whither this suggested + inquiry will lead us; but this I do know, if Emile returns from his + travels, begun and continued with this end in view, without a full + knowledge of questions of government, public morality, and political + philosophy of every kind, we are greatly lacking, he in intelligence and I + in judgment. + </p> + <p> + The science of politics is and probably always will be unknown. Grotius, + our leader in this branch of learning, is only a child, and what is worse + an untruthful child. When I hear Grotius praised to the skies and Hobbes + overwhelmed with abuse, I perceive how little sensible men have read or + understood these authors. As a matter of fact, their principles are + exactly alike, they only differ in their mode of expression. Their methods + are also different: Hobbes relies on sophism; Grotius relies on the poets; + they are agreed in everything else. In modern times the only man who could + have created this vast and useless science was the illustrious + Montesquieu. But he was not concerned with the principles of political + law; he was content to deal with the positive laws of settled governments; + and nothing could be more different than these two branches of study. + </p> + <p> + Yet he who would judge wisely in matters of actual government is forced to + combine the two; he must know what ought to be in order to judge what is. + The chief difficulty in the way of throwing light upon this important + matter is to induce an individual to discuss and to answer these two + questions. “How does it concern me; and what can I do?” Emile + is in a position to answer both. + </p> + <p> + The next difficulty is due to the prejudices of childhood, the principles + in which we were brought up; it is due above all to the partiality of + authors, who are always talking about truth, though they care very little + about it; it is only their own interests that they care for, and of these + they say nothing. Now the nation has neither professorships, nor pensions, + nor membership of the academies to bestow. How then shall its rights be + established by men of that type? The education I have given him has + removed this difficulty also from Emile’s path. He scarcely knows + what is meant by government; his business is to find the best; he does not + want to write books; if ever he did so, it would not be to pay court to + those in authority, but to establish the rights of humanity. + </p> + <p> + There is a third difficulty, more specious than real; a difficulty which I + neither desire to solve nor even to state; enough that I am not afraid of + it; sure I am that in inquiries of this kind, great talents are less + necessary than a genuine love of justice and a sincere reverence for + truth. If matters of government can ever be fairly discussed, now or never + is our chance. + </p> + <p> + Before beginning our observations we must lay down rules of procedure; we + must find a scale with which to compare our measurements. Our principles + of political law are our scale. Our actual measurements are the civil law + of each country. + </p> + <p> + Our elementary notions are plain and simple, being taken directly from the + nature of things. They will take the form of problems discussed between + us, and they will not be formulated into principles, until we have found a + satisfactory solution of our problems. + </p> + <p> + For example, we shall begin with the state of nature, we shall see whether + men are born slaves or free, in a community or independent; is their + association the result of free will or of force? Can the force which + compels them to united action ever form a permanent law, by which this + original force becomes binding, even when another has been imposed upon + it, so that since the power of King Nimrod, who is said to have been the + first conqueror, every other power which has overthrown the original power + is unjust and usurping, so that there are no lawful kings but the + descendants of Nimrod or their representatives; or if this original power + has ceased, has the power which succeeded it any right over us, and does + it destroy the binding force of the former power, so that we are not bound + to obey except under compulsion, and we are free to rebel as soon as we + are capable of resistance? Such a right is not very different from might; + it is little more than a play upon words. + </p> + <p> + We shall inquire whether man might not say that all sickness comes from + God, and that it is therefore a crime to send for the doctor. + </p> + <p> + Again, we shall inquire whether we are bound by our conscience to give our + purse to a highwayman when we might conceal it from him, for the pistol in + his hand is also a power. + </p> + <p> + Does this word power in this context mean something different from a power + which is lawful and therefore subject to the laws to which it owes its + being? + </p> + <p> + Suppose we reject this theory that might is right and admit the right of + nature, or the authority of the father, as the foundation of society; we + shall inquire into the extent of this authority; what is its foundation in + nature? Has it any other grounds but that of its usefulness to the child, + his weakness, and the natural love which his father feels towards him? + When the child is no longer feeble, when he is grown-up in mind as well as + in body, does not he become the sole judge of what is necessary for his + preservation? Is he not therefore his own master, independent of all men, + even of his father himself? For is it not still more certain that the son + loves himself, than that the father loves the son? + </p> + <p> + The father being dead, should the children obey the eldest brother, or + some other person who has not the natural affection of a father? Should + there always be, from family to family, one single head to whom all the + family owe obedience? If so, how has power ever come to be divided, and + how is it that there is more than one head to govern the human race + throughout the world? + </p> + <p> + Suppose the nations to have been formed each by its own choice; we shall + then distinguish between right and fact; being thus subjected to their + brothers, uncles, or other relations, not because they were obliged, but + because they choose, we shall inquire whether this kind of society is not + a sort of free and voluntary association? + </p> + <p> + Taking next the law of slavery, we shall inquire whether a man can make + over to another his right to himself, without restriction, without + reserve, without any kind of conditions; that is to say, can he renounce + his person, his life, his reason, his very self, can he renounce all + morality in his actions; in a word, can he cease to exist before his + death, in spite of nature who places him directly in charge of his own + preservation, in spite of reason and conscience which tell him what to do + and what to leave undone? + </p> + <p> + If there is any reservation or restriction in the deed of slavery, we + shall discuss whether this deed does not then become a true contract, in + which both the contracting powers, having in this respect no common + master, [Footnote: If they had such a common master, he would be no other + than the sovereign, and then the right of slavery resting on the right of + sovereignty would not be its origin.] remain their own judge as to the + conditions of the contract, and therefore free to this extent, and able to + break the contract as soon as it becomes hurtful. + </p> + <p> + If then a slave cannot convey himself altogether to his master, how can a + nation convey itself altogether to its head? If a slave is to judge + whether his master is fulfilling his contract, is not the nation to judge + whether its head is fulfilling his contract? + </p> + <p> + Thus we are compelled to retrace our steps, and when we consider the + meaning of this collective nation we shall inquire whether some contract, + a tacit contract at the least, is not required to make a nation, a + contract anterior to that which we are assuming. + </p> + <p> + Since the nation was a nation before it chose a king, what made it a + nation, except the social contract? Therefore the social contract is the + foundation of all civil society, and it is in the nature of this contract + that we must seek the nature of the society formed by it. + </p> + <p> + We will inquire into the meaning of this contract; may it not be fairly + well expressed in this formula? As an individual every one of us + contributes his goods, his person, his life, to the common stock, under + the supreme direction of the general will; while as a body we receive each + member as an indivisible part of the whole. + </p> + <p> + Assuming this, in order to define the terms we require, we shall observe + that, instead of the individual person of each contracting party, this + deed of association produces a moral and collective body, consisting of as + many members as there are votes in the Assembly. This public personality + is usually called the body politic, which is called by its members the + State when it is passive, and the Sovereign when it is active, and a Power + when compared with its equals. With regard to the members themselves, + collectively they are known as the nation, and individually as citizens as + members of the city or partakers in the sovereign power, and subjects as + obedient to the same authority. + </p> + <p> + We shall note that this contract of association includes a mutual pledge + on the part of the public and the individual; and that each individual, + entering, so to speak, into a contract with himself, finds himself in a + twofold capacity, i.e., as a member of the sovereign with regard to + others, as member of the state with regard to the sovereign. + </p> + <p> + We shall also note that while no one is bound by any engagement to which + he was not himself a party, the general deliberation which may be binding + on all the subjects with regard to the sovereign, because of the two + different relations under which each of them is envisaged, cannot be + binding on the state with regard to itself. Hence we see that there is + not, and cannot be, any other fundamental law, properly so called, except + the social contract only. This does not mean that the body politic cannot, + in certain respects, pledge itself to others; for in regard to the + foreigner, it then becomes a simple creature, an individual. + </p> + <p> + Thus the two contracting parties, i.e., each individual and the public, + have no common superior to decide their differences; so we will inquire if + each of them remains free to break the contract at will, that is to + repudiate it on his side as soon as he considers it hurtful. + </p> + <p> + To clear up this difficulty, we shall observe that, according to the + social pact, the sovereign power is only able to act through the common, + general will; so its decrees can only have a general or common aim; hence + it follows that a private individual cannot be directly injured by the + sovereign, unless all are injured, which is impossible, for that would be + to want to harm oneself. Thus the social contract has no need of any + warrant but the general power, for it can only be broken by individuals, + and they are not therefore freed from their engagement, but punished for + having broken it. + </p> + <p> + To decide all such questions rightly, we must always bear in mind that the + nature of the social pact is private and peculiar to itself, in that the + nation only contracts with itself, i.e., the people as a whole as + sovereign, with the individuals as subjects; this condition is essential + to the construction and working of the political machine, it alone makes + pledges lawful, reasonable, and secure, without which it would be absurd, + tyrannical, and liable to the grossest abuse. + </p> + <p> + Individuals having only submitted themselves to the sovereign, and the + sovereign power being only the general will, we shall see that every man + in obeying the sovereign only obeys himself, and how much freer are we + under the social part than in the state of nature. + </p> + <p> + Having compared natural and civil liberty with regard to persons, we will + compare them as to property, the rights of ownership and the rights of + sovereignty, the private and the common domain. If the sovereign power + rests upon the right of ownership, there is no right more worthy of + respect; it is inviolable and sacred for the sovereign power, so long as + it remains a private individual right; as soon as it is viewed as common + to all the citizens, it is subject to the common will, and this will may + destroy it. Thus the sovereign has no right to touch the property of one + or many; but he may lawfully take possession of the property of all, as + was done in Sparta in the time of Lycurgus; while the abolition of debts + by Solon was an unlawful deed. + </p> + <p> + Since nothing is binding on the subjects except the general will, let us + inquire how this will is made manifest, by what signs we may recognise it + with certainty, what is a law, and what are the true characters of the + law? This is quite a fresh subject; we have still to define the term law. + </p> + <p> + As soon as the nation considers one or more of its members, the nation is + divided. A relation is established between the whole and its part which + makes of them two separate entities, of which the part is one, and the + whole, minus that part, is the other. But the whole minus the part is not + the whole; as long as this relation exists, there is no longer a whole, + but two unequal parts. + </p> + <p> + On the other hand, if the whole nation makes a law for the whole nation, + it is only considering itself; and if a relation is set up, it is between + the whole community regarded from one point of view, and the whole + community regarded from another point of view, without any division of + that whole. Then the object of the statute is general, and the will which + makes that statute is general too. Let us see if there is any other kind + of decree which may bear the name of law. + </p> + <p> + If the sovereign can only speak through laws, and if the law can never + have any but a general purpose, concerning all the members of the state, + it follows that the sovereign never has the power to make any law with + regard to particular cases; and yet it is necessary for the preservation + of the state that particular cases should also be dealt with; let us see + how this can be done. + </p> + <p> + The decrees of the sovereign can only be decrees of the general will, that + is laws; there must also be determining decrees, decrees of power or + government, for the execution of those laws; and these, on the other hand, + can only have particular aims. Thus the decrees by which the sovereign + decides that a chief shall be elected is a law; the decree by which that + chief is elected, in pursuance of the law, is only a decree of government. + </p> + <p> + This is a third relation in which the assembled people may be considered, + i.e., as magistrates or executors of the law which it has passed in its + capacity as sovereign. [Footnote: These problems and theorems are mostly + taken from the Treatise on the Social Contract, itself a summary of a + larger work, undertaken without due consideration of my own powers, and + long since abandoned.] + </p> + <p> + We will now inquire whether it is possible for the nation to deprive + itself of its right of sovereignty, to bestow it on one or more persons; + for the decree of election not being a law, and the people in this decree + not being themselves sovereign, we do not see how they can transfer a + right which they do not possess. + </p> + <p> + The essence of sovereignty consisting in the general will, it is equally + hard to see how we can be certain that an individual will shall always be + in agreement with the general will. We should rather assume that it will + often be opposed to it; for individual interest always tends to + privileges, while the common interest always tends to equality, and if + such an agreement were possible, no sovereign right could exist, unless + the agreement were either necessary or indestructible. + </p> + <p> + We will inquire if, without violating the social pact, the heads of the + nation, under whatever name they are chosen, can ever be more than the + officers of the people, entrusted by them with the duty of carrying the + law into execution. Are not these chiefs themselves accountable for their + administration, and are not they themselves subject to the laws which it + is their business to see carried out? + </p> + <p> + If the nation cannot alienate its supreme right, can it entrust it to + others for a time? Cannot it give itself a master, cannot it find + representatives? This is an important question and deserves discussion. + </p> + <p> + If the nation can have neither sovereign nor representatives we will + inquire how it can pass its own laws; must there be many laws; must they + be often altered; is it easy for a great nation to be its own lawgiver? + </p> + <p> + Was not the Roman people a great nation? + </p> + <p> + Is it a good thing that there should be great nations? + </p> + <p> + It follows from considerations already established that there is an + intermediate body in the state between subjects and sovereign; and this + intermediate body, consisting of one or more members, is entrusted with + the public administration, the carrying out of the laws, and the + maintenance of civil and political liberty. + </p> + <p> + The members of this body are called magistrates or kings, that is to say, + rulers. This body, as a whole, considered in relation to its members, is + called the prince, and considered in its actions it is called the + government. + </p> + <p> + If we consider the action of the whole body upon itself, that is to say, + the relation of the whole to the whole, of the sovereign to the state, we + can compare this relation to that of the extremes in a proportion of which + the government is the middle term. The magistrate receives from the + sovereign the commands which he gives to the nation, and when it is + reckoned up his product or his power is in the same degree as the product + or power of the citizens who are subjects on one side of the proportion + and sovereigns on the other. None of the three terms can be varied without + at once destroying this proportion. If the sovereign tries to govern, and + if the prince wants to make the laws, or if the subject refuses to obey + them, disorder takes the place of order, and the state falls to pieces + under despotism or anarchy. + </p> + <p> + Let us suppose that this state consists of ten thousand citizens. The + sovereign can only be considered collectively and as a body, but each + individual, as a subject, has his private and independent existence. Thus + the sovereign is as ten thousand to one; that is to say, every member of + the state has, as his own share, only one ten-thousandth part of the + sovereign power, although he is subject to the whole. Let the nation be + composed of one hundred thousand men, the position of the subjects is + unchanged, and each continues to bear the whole weight of the laws, while + his vote, reduced to the one hundred-thousandth part, has ten times less + influence in the making of the laws. Thus the subject being always one, + the sovereign is relatively greater as the number of the citizens is + increased. Hence it follows that the larger the state the less liberty. + </p> + <p> + Now the greater the disproportion between private wishes and the general + will, i.e., between manners and laws, the greater must be the power of + repression. On the other side, the greatness of the state gives the + depositaries of public authority greater temptations and additional means + of abusing that authority, so that the more power is required by the + government to control the people, the more power should there be in the + sovereign to control the government. + </p> + <p> + From this twofold relation it follows that the continued proportion + between the sovereign, the prince, and the people is not an arbitrary + idea, but a consequence of the nature of the state. Moreover, it follows + that one of the extremes, i.e., the nation, being constant, every time the + double ratio increases or decreases, the simple ratio increases or + diminishes in its turn; which cannot be unless the middle term is as often + changed. From this we may conclude that there is no single absolute form + of government, but there must be as many different forms of government as + there are states of different size. + </p> + <p> + If the greater the numbers of the nation the less the ratio between its + manners and its laws, by a fairly clear analogy, we may also say, the more + numerous the magistrates, the weaker the government. + </p> + <p> + To make this principle clearer we will distinguish three essentially + different wills in the person of each magistrate; first, his own will as + an individual, which looks to his own advantage only; secondly, the common + will of the magistrates, which is concerned only with the advantage of the + prince, a will which may be called corporate, and one which is general in + relation to the government and particular in relation to the state of + which the government forms part; thirdly, the will of the people, or the + sovereign will, which is general, as much in relation to the state viewed + as the whole as in relation to the government viewed as a part of the + whole. In a perfect legislature the private individual will should be + almost nothing; the corporate will belonging to the government should be + quite subordinate, and therefore the general and sovereign will is the + master of all the others. On the other hand, in the natural order, these + different wills become more and more active in proportion as they become + centralised; the general will is always weak, the corporate will takes the + second place, the individual will is preferred to all; so that every one + is himself first, then a magistrate, and then a citizen; a series just the + opposite of that required by the social order. + </p> + <p> + Having laid down this principle, let us assume that the government is in + the hands of one man. In this case the individual and the corporate will + are absolutely one, and therefore this will has reached the greatest + possible degree of intensity. Now the use of power depends on the degree + of this intensity, and as the absolute power of the government is always + that of the people, and therefore invariable, it follows that the rule of + one man is the most active form of government. + </p> + <p> + If, on the other hand, we unite the government with the supreme power, and + make the prince the sovereign and the citizens so many magistrates, then + the corporate will is completely lost in the general will, and will have + no more activity than the general will, and it will leave the individual + will in full vigour. Thus the government, though its absolute force is + constant, will have the minimum of activity. + </p> + <p> + These rules are incontestable in themselves, and other considerations only + serve to confirm them. For example, we see the magistrates as a body far + more active than the citizens as a body, so that the individual will + always counts for more. For each magistrate usually has charge of some + particular duty of government; while each citizen, in himself, has no + particular duty of sovereignty. Moreover, the greater the state the + greater its real power, although its power does not increase because of + the increase in territory; but the state remaining unchanged, the + magistrates are multiplied in vain, the government acquires no further + real strength, because it is the depositary of that of the state, which I + have assumed to be constant. Thus, this plurality of magistrates decreases + the activity of the government without increasing its power. + </p> + <p> + Having found that the power of the government is relaxed in proportion as + the number of magistrates is multiplied, and that the more numerous the + people, the more the controlling power must be increased, we shall infer + that the ratio between the magistrates and the government should be + inverse to that between subjects and sovereign, that is to say, that the + greater the state, the smaller the government, and that in like manner the + number of chiefs should be diminished because of the increased numbers of + the people. + </p> + <p> + In order to make this diversity of forms clearer, and to assign them their + different names, we shall observe in the first place that the sovereign + may entrust the care of the government to the whole nation or to the + greater part of the nation, so that there are more citizen magistrates + than private citizens. This form of government is called Democracy. + </p> + <p> + Or the sovereign may restrict the government in the hands of a lesser + number, so that there are more plain citizens than magistrates; and this + form of government is called Aristocracy. + </p> + <p> + Finally, the sovereign may concentrate the whole government in the hands + of one man. This is the third and commonest form of government, and is + called Monarchy or royal government. + </p> + <p> + We shall observe that all these forms, or the first and second at least, + may be less or more, and that within tolerably wide limits. For the + democracy may include the whole nation, or may be confined to one half of + it. The aristocracy, in its turn, may shrink from the half of the nation + to the smallest number. Even royalty may be shared, either between father + and son, between two brothers, or in some other fashion. There were always + two kings in Sparta, and in the Roman empire there were as many as eight + emperors at once, and yet it cannot be said that the empire was divided. + There is a point where each form of government blends with the next; and + under the three specific forms there may be really as many forms of + government as there are citizens in the state. + </p> + <p> + Nor is this all. In certain respects each of these governments is capable + of subdivision into different parts, each administered in one of these + three ways. From these forms in combination there may arise a multitude of + mixed forms, since each may be multiplied by all the simple forms. + </p> + <p> + In all ages there have been great disputes as to which is the best form of + government, and people have failed to consider that each is the best in + some cases and the worst in others. For ourselves, if the number of + magistrates [Footnote: You will remember that I mean, in this context, the + supreme magistrates or heads of the nation, the others being only their + deputies in this or that respect.] in the various states is to be in + inverse ratio to the number of the citizens, we infer that generally a + democratic government is adapted to small states, an aristocratic + government to those of moderate size, and a monarchy to large states. + </p> + <p> + These inquiries furnish us with a clue by which we may discover what are + the duties and rights of citizens, and whether they can be separated one + from the other; what is our country, in what does it really consist, and + how can each of us ascertain whether he has a country or no? + </p> + <p> + Having thus considered every kind of civil society in itself, we shall + compare them, so as to note their relations one with another; great and + small, strong and weak, attacking one another, insulting one another, + destroying one another; and in this perpetual action and reaction causing + more misery and loss of life than if men had preserved their original + freedom. We shall inquire whether too much or too little has not been + accomplished in the matter of social institutions; whether individuals who + are subject to law and to men, while societies preserve the independence + of nature, are not exposed to the ills of both conditions without the + advantages of either, and whether it would not be better to have no civil + society in the world rather than to have many such societies. Is it not + that mixed condition which partakes of both and secures neither? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Per quem neutrum licet, nec tanquam in bello paratum esse, nec + tanquam in pace securum.”—Seneca De Trang: Animi, cap. I. +</pre> + <p> + Is it not this partial and imperfect association which gives rise to + tyranny and war? And are not tyranny and war the worst scourges of + humanity? + </p> + <p> + Finally we will inquire how men seek to get rid of these difficulties by + means of leagues and confederations, which leave each state its own master + in internal affairs, while they arm it against any unjust aggression. We + will inquire how a good federal association may be established, what can + make it lasting, and how far the rights of the federation may be stretched + without destroying the right of sovereignty. + </p> + <p> + The Abbe de Saint-Pierre suggested an association of all the states of + Europe to maintain perpetual peace among themselves. Is this association + practicable, and supposing that it were established, would it be likely to + last? These inquiries lead us straight to all the questions of + international law which may clear up the remaining difficulties of + political law. Finally we shall lay down the real principles of the laws + of war, and we shall see why Grotius and others have only stated false + principles. + </p> + <p> + I should not be surprised if my pupil, who is a sensible young man, should + interrupt me saying, “One would think we were building our edifice + of wood and not of men; we are putting everything so exactly in its place!” + That is true; but remember that the law does not bow to the passions of + men, and that we have first to establish the true principles of political + law. Now that our foundations are laid, come and see what men have built + upon them; and you will see some strange sights! + </p> + <p> + Then I set him to read Telemachus, and we pursue our journey; we are + seeking that happy Salentum and the good Idomeneus made wise by + misfortunes. By the way we find many like Protesilas and no Philocles, + neither can Adrastes, King of the Daunians, be found. But let our readers + picture our travels for themselves, or take the same journeys with + Telemachus in their hand; and let us not suggest to them painful + applications which the author himself avoids or makes in spite of himself. + </p> + <p> + Moreover, Emile is not a king, nor am I a god, so that we are not + distressed that we cannot imitate Telemachus and Mentor in the good they + did; none know better than we how to keep to our own place, none have less + desire to leave it. We know that the same task is allotted to all; that + whoever loves what is right with all his heart, and does the right so far + as it is in his power, has fulfilled that task. We know that Telemachus + and Mentor are creatures of the imagination. Emile does not travel in + idleness and he does more good than if he were a prince. If we were kings + we should be no greater benefactors. If we were kings and benefactors we + should cause any number of real evils for every apparent good we supposed + we were doing. If we were kings and sages, the first good deed we should + desire to perform, for ourselves and for others, would be to abdicate our + kingship and return to our present position. + </p> + <p> + I have said why travel does so little for every one. What makes it still + more barren for the young is the way in which they are sent on their + travels. Tutors, more concerned to amuse than to instruct, take them from + town to town, from palace to palace, where if they are men of learning and + letters, they make them spend their time in libraries, or visiting + antiquaries, or rummaging among old buildings transcribing ancient + inscriptions. In every country they are busy over some other century, as + if they were living in another country; so that after they have travelled + all over Europe at great expense, a prey to frivolity or tedium, they + return, having seen nothing to interest them, and having learnt nothing + that could be of any possible use to them. + </p> + <p> + All capitals are just alike, they are a mixture of all nations and all + ways of living; they are not the place in which to study the nations. + Paris and London seem to me the same town. Their inhabitants have a few + prejudices of their own, but each has as many as the other, and all their + rules of conduct are the same. We know the kind of people who will throng + the court. We know the way of living which the crowds of people and the + unequal distribution of wealth will produce. As soon as any one tells me + of a town with two hundred thousand people, I know its life already. What + I do not know about it is not worth going there to learn. + </p> + <p> + To study the genius and character of a nation you should go to the more + remote provinces, where there is less stir, less commerce, where strangers + seldom travel, where the inhabitants stay in one place, where there are + fewer changes of wealth and position. Take a look at the capital on your + way, but go and study the country far away from that capital. The French + are not in Paris, but in Touraine; the English are more English in Mercia + than in London, and the Spaniards more Spanish in Galicia than in Madrid. + In these remoter provinces a nation assumes its true character and shows + what it really is; there the good or ill effects of the government are + best perceived, just as you can measure the arc more exactly at a greater + radius. + </p> + <p> + The necessary relations between character and government have been so + clearly pointed out in the book of L’Esprit des Lois, that one + cannot do better than have recourse to that work for the study of those + relations. But speaking generally, there are two plain and simple + standards by which to decide whether governments are good or bad. One is + the population. Every country in which the population is decreasing is on + its way to ruin; and the countries in which the population increases most + rapidly, even were they the poorest countries in the world, are certainly + the best governed. [Footnote: I only know one exception to this rule—it + is China.] But this population must be the natural result of the + government and the national character, for if it is caused by colonisation + or any other temporary and accidental cause, then the remedy itself is + evidence of the disease. When Augustus passed laws against celibacy, those + laws showed that the Roman empire was already beginning to decline. + Citizens must be induced to marry by the goodness of the government, not + compelled to marry by law; you must not examine the effects of force, for + the law which strives against the constitution has little or no effect; + you should study what is done by the influence of public morals and by the + natural inclination of the government, for these alone produce a lasting + effect. It was the policy of the worthy Abbe de Saint-Pierre always to + look for a little remedy for every individual ill, instead of tracing them + to their common source and seeing if they could not all be cured together. + You do not need to treat separately every sore on a rich man’s body; + you should purify the blood which produces them. They say that in England + there are prizes for agriculture; that is enough for me; that is proof + enough that agriculture will not flourish there much longer. + </p> + <p> + The second sign of the goodness or badness of the government and the laws + is also to be found in the population, but it is to be found not in its + numbers but in its distribution. Two states equal in size and population + may be very unequal in strength; and the more powerful is always that in + which the people are more evenly distributed over its territory; the + country which has fewer large towns, and makes less show on this account, + will always defeat the other. It is the great towns which exhaust the + state and are the cause of its weakness; the wealth which they produce is + a sham wealth, there is much money and few goods. They say the town of + Paris is worth a whole province to the King of France; for my own part I + believe it costs him more than several provinces. I believe that Paris is + fed by the provinces in more senses than one, and that the greater part of + their revenues is poured into that town and stays there, without ever + returning to the people or to the king. It is inconceivable that in this + age of calculators there is no one to see that France would be much more + powerful if Paris were destroyed. Not only is this ill-distributed + population not advantageous to the state, it is more ruinous than + depopulation itself, because depopulation only gives as produce nought, + and the ill-regulated addition of still more people gives a negative + result. When I hear an Englishman and a Frenchman so proud of the size of + their capitals, and disputing whether London or Paris has more + inhabitants, it seems to me that they are quarrelling as to which nation + can claim the honour of being the worst governed. + </p> + <p> + Study the nation outside its towns; thus only will you really get to know + it. It is nothing to see the apparent form of a government, overladen with + the machinery of administration and the jargon of the administrators, if + you have not also studied its nature as seen in the effects it has upon + the people, and in every degree of administration. The difference of form + is really shared by every degree of the administration, and it is only by + including every degree that you really know the difference. In one country + you begin to feel the spirit of the minister in the manoeuvres of his + underlings; in another you must see the election of members of parliament + to see if the nation is really free; in each and every country, he who has + only seen the towns cannot possibly know what the government is like, as + its spirit is never the same in town and country. Now it is the + agricultural districts which form the country, and the country people who + make the nation. + </p> + <p> + This study of different nations in their remoter provinces, and in the + simplicity of their native genius, gives a general result which is very + satisfactory, to my thinking, and very consoling to the human heart; it is + this: All the nations, if you observe them in this fashion, seem much + better worth observing; the nearer they are to nature, the more does + kindness hold sway in their character; it is only when they are cooped up + in towns, it is only when they are changed by cultivation, that they + become depraved, that certain faults which were rather coarse than + injurious are exchanged for pleasant but pernicious vices. + </p> + <p> + From this observation we see another advantage in the mode of travel I + suggest; for young men, sojourning less in the big towns which are + horribly corrupt, are less likely to catch the infection of vice; among + simpler people and less numerous company, they will preserve a surer + judgment, a healthier taste, and better morals. Besides this contagion of + vice is hardly to be feared for Emile; he has everything to protect him + from it. Among all the precautions I have taken, I reckon much on the love + he bears in his heart. + </p> + <p> + We do not know the power of true love over youthful desires, because we + are ourselves as ignorant of it as they are, and those who have control + over the young turn them from true love. Yet a young man must either love + or fall into bad ways. It is easy to be deceived by appearances. You will + quote any number of young men who are said to live very chastely without + love; but show me one grown man, a real man, who can truly say that his + youth was thus spent? In all our virtues, all our duties, people are + content with appearances; for my own part I want the reality, and I am + much mistaken if there is any other way of securing it beyond the means I + have suggested. + </p> + <p> + The idea of letting Emile fall in love before taking him on his travels is + not my own. It was suggested to me by the following incident. + </p> + <p> + I was in Venice calling on the tutor of a young Englishman. It was winter + and we were sitting round the fire. The tutor’s letters were brought + from the post office. He glanced at them, and then read them aloud to his + pupil. They were in English; I understood not a word, but while he was + reading I saw the young man tear some fine point lace ruffles which he was + wearing, and throw them in the fire one after another, as quietly as he + could, so that no one should see it. Surprised at this whim, I looked at + his face and thought I perceived some emotion; but the external signs of + passion, though much alike in all men, have national differences which may + easily lead one astray. Nations have a different language of facial + expression as well as of speech. I waited till the letters were finished + and then showing the tutor the bare wrists of his pupil, which he did his + best to hide, I said, “May I ask the meaning of this?” + </p> + <p> + The tutor seeing what had happened began to laugh; he embraced his pupil + with an air of satisfaction and, with his consent, he gave me the desired + explanation. + </p> + <p> + “The ruffles,” said he, “which Mr. John has just torn to + pieces, were a present from a lady in this town, who made them for him not + long ago. Now you must know that Mr. John is engaged to a young lady in + his own country, with whom he is greatly in love, and she well deserves + it. This letter is from the lady’s mother, and I will translate the + passage which caused the destruction you beheld. + </p> + <p> + “‘Lucy is always at work upon Mr. John’s ruffles. + Yesterday Miss Betty Roldham came to spend the afternoon and insisted on + doing some of her work. I knew that Lucy was up very early this morning + and I wanted to see what she was doing; I found her busy unpicking what + Miss Betty had done. She would not have a single stitch in her present + done by any hand but her own.’” + </p> + <p> + Mr. John went to fetch another pair of ruffles, and I said to his tutor: + “Your pupil has a very good disposition; but tell me is not the + letter from Miss Lucy’s mother a put up job? Is it not an expedient + of your designing against the lady of the ruffles?” “No,” + said he, “it is quite genuine; I am not so artful as that; I have + made use of simplicity and zeal, and God has blessed my efforts.” + </p> + <p> + This incident with regard to the young man stuck in my mind; it was sure + to set a dreamer like me thinking. + </p> + <p> + But it is time we finished. Let us take Mr. John back to Miss Lucy, or + rather Emile to Sophy. He brings her a heart as tender as ever, and a more + enlightened mind, and he returns to his native land all the bettor for + having made acquaintance with foreign governments through their vices and + foreign nations through their virtues. I have even taken care that he + should associate himself with some man of worth in every nation, by means + of a treaty of hospitality after the fashion of the ancients, and I shall + not be sorry if this acquaintance is kept up by means of letters. Not only + may this be useful, not only is it always pleasant to have a correspondent + in foreign lands, it is also an excellent antidote against the sway of + patriotic prejudices, to which we are liable all through our life, and to + which sooner or later we are more or less enslaved. Nothing is better + calculated to lessen the hold of such prejudices than a friendly + interchange of opinions with sensible people whom we respect; they are + free from our prejudices and we find ourselves face to face with theirs, + and so we can set the one set of prejudices against the other and be safe + from both. It is not the same thing to have to do with strangers in our + own country and in theirs. In the former case there is always a certain + amount of politeness which either makes them conceal their real opinions, + or makes them think more favourably of our country while they are with us; + when they get home again this disappears, and they merely do us justice. I + should be very glad if the foreigner I consult has seen my country, but I + shall not ask what he thinks of it till he is at home again. + </p> + <p> + When we have spent nearly two years travelling in a few of the great + countries and many of the smaller countries of Europe, when we have learnt + two or three of the chief languages, when we have seen what is really + interesting in natural history, government, arts, or men, Emile, devoured + by impatience, reminds me that our time is almost up. Then I say, “Well, + my friend, you remember the main object of our journey; you have seen and + observed; what is the final result of your observations? What decision + have you come to?” Either my method is wrong, or he will answer me + somewhat after this fashion— + </p> + <p> + “What decision have I come to? I have decided to be what you made + me; of my own free will I will add no fetters to those imposed upon me by + nature and the laws. The more I study the works of men in their + institutions, the more clearly I see that, in their efforts after + independence, they become slaves, and that their very freedom is wasted in + vain attempts to assure its continuance. That they may not be carried away + by the flood of things, they form all sorts of attachments; then as soon + as they wish to move forward they are surprised to find that everything + drags them back. It seems to me that to set oneself free we need do + nothing, we need only continue to desire freedom. My master, you have made + me free by teaching me to yield to necessity. Let her come when she will, + I follow her without compulsion; I lay hold of nothing to keep me back. In + our travels I have sought for some corner of the earth where I might be + absolutely my own; but where can one dwell among men without being + dependent on their passions? On further consideration I have discovered + that my desire contradicted itself; for were I to hold to nothing else, I + should at least hold to the spot on which I had settled; my life would be + attached to that spot, as the dryads were attached to their trees. I have + discovered that the words liberty and empire are incompatible; I can only + be master of a cottage by ceasing to be master of myself. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “‘Hoc erat in votis, modus agri non ita magnus.’ + Horace, lib. ii., sat. vi. +</pre> + <p> + “I remember that my property was the origin of our inquiries. You + argued very forcibly that I could not keep both my wealth and my liberty; + but when you wished me to be free and at the same time without needs, you + desired two incompatible things, for I could only be independent of men by + returning to dependence on nature. What then shall I do with the fortune + bequeathed to me by my parents? To begin with, I will not be dependent on + it; I will cut myself loose from all the ties which bind me to it; if it + is left in my hands, I shall keep it; if I am deprived of it, I shall not + be dragged away with it. I shall not trouble myself to keep it, but I + shall keep steadfastly to my own place. Rich or poor, I shall be free. I + shall be free not merely in this country or in that; I shall be free in + any part of the world. All the chains of prejudice are broken; as far as I + am concerned I know only the bonds of necessity. I have been trained to + endure them from my childhood, and I shall endure them until death, for I + am a man; and why should I not wear those chains as a free man, for I + should have to wear them even if I were a slave, together with the + additional fetters of slavery? + </p> + <p> + “What matters my place in the world? What matters it where I am? + Wherever there are men, I am among my brethren; wherever there are none, I + am in my own home. So long as I may be independent and rich, and have + wherewithal to live, and I shall live. If my wealth makes a slave of me, I + shall find it easy to renounce it. I have hands to work, and I shall get a + living. If my hands fail me, I shall live if others will support me; if + they forsake me I shall die; I shall die even if I am not forsaken, for + death is not the penalty of poverty, it is a law of nature. Whensoever + death comes I defy it; it shall never find me making preparations for + life; it shall never prevent me having lived. + </p> + <p> + “My father, this is my decision. But for my passions, I should be in + my manhood independent as God himself, for I only desire what is and I + should never fight against fate. At least, there is only one chain, a + chain which I shall ever wear, a chain of which I may be justly proud. + Come then, give me my Sophy, and I am free.” + </p> + <p> + “Dear Emile, I am glad indeed to hear you speak like a man, and to + behold the feelings of your heart. At your age this exaggerated + unselfishness is not unpleasing. It will decrease when you have children + of your own, and then you will be just what a good father and a wise man + ought to be. I knew what the result would be before our travels; I knew + that when you saw our institutions you would be far from reposing a + confidence in them which they do not deserve. In vain do we seek freedom + under the power of the laws. The laws! Where is there any law? Where is + there any respect for law? Under the name of law you have everywhere seen + the rule of self-interest and human passion. But the eternal laws of + nature and of order exist. For the wise man they take the place of + positive law; they are written in the depths of his heart by conscience + and reason; let him obey these laws and be free; for there is no slave but + the evil-doer, for he always does evil against his will. Liberty is not to + be found in any form of government, she is in the heart of the free man, + he bears her with him everywhere. The vile man bears his slavery in + himself; the one would be a slave in Geneva, the other free in Paris. + </p> + <p> + “If I spoke to you of the duties of a citizen, you would perhaps ask + me, ‘Which is my country?’ And you would think you had put me + to confusion. Yet you would be mistaken, dear Emile, for he who has no + country has, at least, the land in which he lives. There is always a + government and certain so-called laws under which he has lived in peace. + What matter though the social contract has not been observed, if he has + been protected by private interest against the general will, if he has + been secured by public violence against private aggressions, if the evil + he has beheld has taught him to love the good, and if our institutions + themselves have made him perceive and hate their own iniquities? Oh, + Emile, where is the man who owes nothing to the land in which he lives? + Whatever that land may be, he owes to it the most precious thing possessed + by man, the morality of his actions and the love of virtue. Born in the + depths of a forest he would have lived in greater happiness and freedom; + but being able to follow his inclinations without a struggle there would + have been no merit in his goodness, he would not have been virtuous, as he + may be now, in spite of his passions. The mere sight of order teaches him + to know and love it. The public good, which to others is a mere pretext, + is a real motive for him. He learns to fight against himself and to + prevail, to sacrifice his own interest to the common weal. It is not true + that he gains nothing from the laws; they give him courage to be just, + even in the midst of the wicked. It is not true that they have failed to + make him free; they have taught him to rule himself. + </p> + <p> + “Do not say therefore, ‘What matter where I am?’ It does + matter that you should be where you can best do your duty; and one of + these duties is to love your native land. Your fellow-countrymen protected + you in childhood; you should love them in your manhood. You should live + among them, or at least you should live where you can serve them to the + best of your power, and where they know where to find you if ever they are + in need of you. There are circumstances in which a man may be of more use + to his fellow-countrymen outside his country than within it. Then he + should listen only to his own zeal and should bear his exile without a + murmur; that exile is one of his duties. But you, dear Emile, you have not + undertaken the painful task of telling men the truth, you must live in the + midst of your fellow-creatures, cultivating their friendship in pleasant + intercourse; you must be their benefactor, their pattern; your example + will do more than all our books, and the good they see you do will touch + them more deeply than all our empty words. + </p> + <p> + “Yet I do not exhort you to live in a town; on the contrary, one of + the examples which the good should give to others is that of a + patriarchal, rural life, the earliest life of man, the most peaceful, the + most natural, and the most attractive to the uncorrupted heart. Happy is + the land, my young friend, where one need not seek peace in the + wilderness! But where is that country? A man of good will finds it hard to + satisfy his inclinations in the midst of towns, where he can find few but + frauds and rogues to work for. The welcome given by the towns to those + idlers who flock to them to seek their fortunes only completes the ruin of + the country, when the country ought really to be repopulated at the cost + of the towns. All the men who withdraw from high society are useful just + because of their withdrawal, since its vices are the result of its + numbers. They are also useful when they can bring with them into the + desert places life, culture, and the love of their first condition. I like + to think what benefits Emile and Sophy, in their simple home, may spread + about them, what a stimulus they may give to the country, how they may + revive the zeal of the unlucky villagers. + </p> + <p> + “In fancy I see the population increasing, the land coming under + cultivation, the earth clothed with fresh beauty. Many workers and + plenteous crops transform the labours of the fields into holidays; I see + the young couple in the midst of the rustic sports which they have + revived, and I hear the shouts of joy and the blessings of those about + them. Men say the golden age is a fable; it always will be for those whose + feelings and taste are depraved. People do not really regret the golden + age, for they do nothing to restore it. What is needed for its + restoration? One thing only, and that is an impossibility; we must love + the golden age. + </p> + <p> + “Already it seems to be reviving around Sophy’s home; together + you will only complete what her worthy parents have begun. But, dear + Emile, you must not let so pleasant a life give you a distaste for sterner + duties, if every they are laid upon you; remember that the Romans + sometimes left the plough to become consul. If the prince or the state + calls you to the service of your country, leave all to fulfil the + honourable duties of a citizen in the post assigned to you. If you find + that duty onerous, there is a sure and honourable means of escaping from + it; do your duty so honestly that it will not long be left in your hands. + Moreover, you need not fear the difficulties of such a test; while there + are men of our own time, they will not summon you to serve the state.” + </p> + <p> + Why may I not paint the return of Emile to Sophy and the end of their + love, or rather the beginning of their wedded love! A love founded on + esteem which will last with life itself, on virtues which will not fade + with fading beauty, on fitness of character which gives a charm to + intercourse, and prolongs to old age the delights of early love. But all + such details would be pleasing but not useful, and so far I have not + permitted myself to give attractive details unless I thought they would be + useful. Shall I abandon this rule when my task is nearly ended? No, I feel + that my pen is weary. Too feeble for such prolonged labours, I should + abandon this if it were not so nearly completed; if it is not to be left + imperfect it is time it were finished. + </p> + <p> + At last I see the happy day approaching, the happiest day of Emile’s + life and my own; I see the crown of my labours, I begin to appreciate + their results. The noble pair are united till death do part; heart and + lips confirm no empty vows; they are man and wife. When they return from + the church, they follow where they are led; they know not where they are, + whither they are going, or what is happening around them. They heed + nothing, they answer at random; their eyes are troubled and they see + nothing. Oh, rapture! Oh, human weakness! Man is overwhelmed by the + feeling of happiness, he is not strong enough to bear it. + </p> + <p> + There are few people who know how to talk to the newly-married couple. The + gloomy propriety of some and the light conversation of others seem to me + equally out of place. I would rather their young hearts were left to + themselves, to abandon themselves to an agitation which is not without its + charm, rather than that they should be so cruelly distressed by a false + modesty, or annoyed by coarse witticisms which, even if they appealed to + them at other times, are surely out of place on such a day. + </p> + <p> + I behold our young people, wrapped in a pleasant languor, giving no heed + to what is said. Shall I, who desire that they should enjoy all the days + of their life, shall I let them lose this precious day? No, I desire that + they shall taste its pleasures and enjoy them. I rescue them from the + foolish crowd, and walk with them in some quiet place; I recall them to + themselves by speaking of them I wish to speak, not merely to their ears, + but to their hearts, and I know that there is only one subject of which + they can think to-day. + </p> + <p> + “My children,” say I, taking a hand of each, “it is + three years since I beheld the birth of the pure and vigorous passion + which is your happiness to-day. It has gone on growing; your eyes tell me + that it has reached its highest point; it must inevitably decline.” + My readers can fancy the raptures, the anger, the vows of Emile, and the + scornful air with which Sophy withdraws her hand from mine; how their eyes + protest that they will adore each other till their latest breath. I let + them have their way; then I continue: + </p> + <p> + “I have often thought that if the happiness of love could continue + in marriage, we should find a Paradise upon earth. So far this has never + been. But if it were not quite impossible, you two are quite worthy to set + an example you have not received, an example which few married couples + could follow. My children, shall I tell you what I think is the way, and + the only way, to do it?” + </p> + <p> + They look at one another and smile at my simplicity. Emile thanks me + curtly for my prescription, saying that he thinks Sophy has a better, at + any rate it is good enough for him. Sophy agrees with him and seems just + as certain. Yet in spite of her mockery, I think I see a trace of + curiosity. I study Emile; his eager eyes are fixed upon his wife’s + beauty; he has no curiosity for anything else; and he pays little heed to + what I say. It is my turn to smile, and I say to myself, “I will + soon get your attention.” + </p> + <p> + The almost imperceptible difference between these two hidden impulses is + characteristic of a real difference between the two sexes; it is that men + are generally less constant than women, and are sooner weary of success in + love. A woman foresees man’s future inconstancy, and is anxious; it + is this which makes her more jealous. [Footnote: In France it is the wives + who first emancipate themselves; and necessarily so, for having very + little heart, and only desiring attention, when a husband ceases to pay + them attention they care very little for himself. In other countries it is + not so; it is the husband who first emancipates himself; and necessarily + so, for women, faithful, but foolish, importune men with their desires and + only disgust them. There may be plenty of exceptions to these general + truths; but I still think they are truths.] When his passion begins to + cool she is compelled to pay him the attentions he used to bestow on her + for her pleasure; she weeps, it is her turn to humiliate herself, and she + is rarely successful. Affection and kind deeds rarely win hearts, and they + hardly ever win them back. I return to my prescription against the cooling + of love in marriage. + </p> + <p> + “It is plain and simple,” I continue. “It consists in + remaining lovers when you are husband and wife.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed,” said Emile, laughing at my secret, “we shall + not find that hard.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps you will find it harder than you think. Pray give me time + to explain. + </p> + <p> + “Cords too tightly stretched are soon broken. This is what happens + when the marriage bond is subjected to too great a strain. The fidelity + imposed by it upon husband and wife is the most sacred of all rights; but + it gives to each too great a power over the other. Constraint and love do + not agree together, and pleasure is not to be had for the asking. Do not + blush, Sophy, and do not try to run away. God forbid that I should offend + your modesty! But your fate for life is at stake. For so great a cause, + permit a conversation between your husband and your father which you would + not permit elsewhere. + </p> + <p> + “It is not so much possession as mastery of which people tire, and + affection is often more prolonged with regard to a mistress than a wife. + How can people make a duty of the tenderest caresses, and a right of the + sweetest pledges of love? It is mutual desire which gives the right, and + nature knows no other. The law may restrict this right, it cannot extend + it. The pleasure is so sweet in itself! Should it owe to sad constraint + the power which it cannot gain from its own charms? No, my children, in + marriage the hearts are bound, but the bodies are not enslaved. You owe + one another fidelity, but not complaisance. Neither of you may give + yourself to another, but neither of you belongs to the other except at + your own will. + </p> + <p> + “If it is true, dear Emile, that you would always be your wife’s + lover, that she should always be your mistress and her own, be a happy but + respectful lover; obtain all from love and nothing from duty, and let the + slightest favours never be of right but of grace. I know that modesty + shuns formal confessions and requires to be overcome; but with delicacy + and true love, will the lover ever be mistaken as to the real will? Will + not he know when heart and eyes grant what the lips refuse? Let both for + ever be master of their person and their caresses, let them have the right + to bestow them only at their own will. Remember that even in marriage this + pleasure is only lawful when the desire is mutual. Do not be afraid, my + children, that this law will keep you apart; on the contrary, it will make + both more eager to please, and will prevent satiety. True to one another, + nature and love will draw you to each other.” + </p> + <p> + Emile is angry and cries out against these and similar suggestions. Sophy + is ashamed, she hides her face behind her fan and says nothing. Perhaps + while she is saying nothing, she is the most annoyed. Yet I insist, + without mercy; I make Emile blush for his lack of delicacy; I undertake to + be surety for Sophy that she will undertake her share of the treaty. I + incite her to speak, you may guess she will not dare to say I am mistaken. + Emile anxiously consults the eyes of his young wife; he beholds them, + through all her confusion, filled with a, voluptuous anxiety which + reassures him against the dangers of trusting her. He flings himself at + her feet, kisses with rapture the hand extended to him, and swears that + beyond the fidelity he has already promised, he will renounce all other + rights over her. “My dear wife,” said he, “be the + arbiter of my pleasures as you are already the arbiter of my life and + fate. Should your cruelty cost me life itself I would yield to you my most + cherished rights. I will owe nothing to your complaisance, but all to your + heart.” + </p> + <p> + Dear Emile, be comforted; Sophy herself is too generous to let you fall a + victim to your generosity. + </p> + <p> + In the evening, when I am about to leave them, I say in the most solemn + tone, “Remember both of you, that you are free, that there is no + question of marital rights; believe me, no false deference. Emile will you + come home with me? Sophy permits it.” Emile is ready to strike me in + his anger. “And you, Sophy, what do you say? Shall I take him away?” + The little liar, blushing, answers, “Yes.” A tender and + delightful falsehood, better than truth itself! + </p> + <p> + The next day. ... Men no longer delight in the picture of bliss; their + taste is as much depraved by the corruption of vice as their hearts. They + can no longer feel what is touching or perceive what is truly delightful. + You who, as a picture of voluptuous joys, see only the happy lovers + immersed in pleasure, your picture is very imperfect; you have only its + grosser part, the sweetest charms of pleasure are not there. Which of you + has seen a young couple, happily married, on the morrow of their marriage? + their chaste yet languid looks betray the intoxication of the bliss they + have enjoyed, the blessed security of innocence, and the delightful + certainty that they will spend the rest of their life together. The heart + of man can behold no more rapturous sight; this is the real picture of + happiness; you have beheld it a hundred times without heeding it; your + hearts are so hard that you cannot love it. Sophy, peaceful and happy, + spends the day in the arms of her tender mother; a pleasant resting place, + after a night spent in the arms of her husband. + </p> + <p> + The day after I am aware of a slight change. Emile tries to look somewhat + vexed; but through this pretence I notice such a tender eagerness, and + indeed so much submission, that I do not think there is much amiss. As for + Sophy she is merrier than she was yesterday; her eyes are sparkling and + she looks very well pleased with herself; she is charming to Emile; she + ventures to tease him a little and vexes him still more. + </p> + <p> + These changes are almost imperceptible, but they do not escape me; I am + anxious and I question Emile in private, and I learn that, to his great + regret, and in spite of all entreaties, he was not permitted last night to + share Sophy’s bed. That haughty lady had made haste to assert her + right. An explanation takes place. Emile complains bitterly, Sophy laughs; + but at last, seeing that Emile is really getting angry, she looks at him + with eyes full of tenderness and love, and pressing my hand, she only says + these two words, but in a tone that goes to his heart, “Ungrateful + man!” Emile is too stupid to understand. But I understand, and I + send Emile away and speak to Sophy privately in her turn. + </p> + <p> + “I see,” said I, “the reason for this whim. No one could + be more delicate, and no one could use that delicacy so ill. Dear Sophy, + do not be anxious, I have given you a man; do not be afraid to treat him + as such. You have had the first fruits of his youth; he has not squandered + his manhood and it will endure for you. My dear child, I must explain to + you why I said what I did in our conversation of the day before yesterday. + Perhaps you only understood it as a way of restraining your pleasures to + secure their continuance. Oh, Sophy, there was another object, more worthy + of my care. When Emile became your husband, he became your head, it is + yours to obey; this is the will of nature. When the wife is like Sophy, it + is, however, good for the man to be led by her; that is another of nature’s + laws, and it is 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 will be hard for you, but you will control him if you can + control yourself, and what has already happened shows me that this + difficult art is not beyond your courage. You will long rule him by love + if you make your favours scarce and precious, if you know how to use them + aright. If you want to have your husband always in your power, keep him at + a distance. But let your sternness be the result of modesty not caprice; + let him find you modest not capricious; beware lest in controlling his + love you make him doubt your own. Be all the dearer for your favours and + all the more respected when you refuse them; let him honour his wife’s + chastity, without having to complain of her coldness. + </p> + <p> + “Thus, my child, he will give you his confidence, he will listen to + your opinion, will consult you in his business, and will decide nothing + without you. Thus you may recall him to wisdom, if he strays, and bring + him back by a gentle persuasion, you may make yourself lovable in order to + be useful, you may employ coquetry on behalf of virtue, and love on behalf + of reason. + </p> + <p> + “Do not think that with all this, your art will always serve your + purpose. In spite of every precaution pleasures are destroyed by + possession, and love above all others. But when love has lasted long + enough, a gentle habit takes its place and the charm of confidence + succeeds the raptures of passion. Children form a bond between their + parents, a bond no less tender and a bond which is sometimes stronger than + love itself. When you cease to be Emile’s mistress you will be his + friend and wife; you will be the mother of his children. Then instead of + your first reticence let there be the fullest intimacy between you; no + more separate beds, no more refusals, no more caprices. Become so truly + his better half that he can no longer do without you, and if he must leave + you, let him feel that he is far from himself. You have made the charms of + home life so powerful in your father’s home, let them prevail in + your own. Every man who is happy at home loves his wife. Remember that if + your husband is happy in his home, you will be a happy wife. + </p> + <p> + “For the present, do not be too hard on your lover; he deserves more + consideration; he will be offended by your fears; do not care for his + health at the cost of his happiness, and enjoy your own happiness. You + must neither wait for disgust nor repulse desire; you must not refuse for + the sake of refusing, but only to add to the value of your favours.” + </p> + <p> + Then, taking her back to Emile, I say to her young husband, “One + must bear the yoke voluntarily imposed upon oneself. Let your deserts be + such that the yoke may be lightened. Above all, sacrifice to the graces, + and do not think that sulkiness will make you more amiable.” Peace + is soon made, and everybody can guess its terms. The treaty is signed with + a kiss, after which I say to my pupil, “Dear Emile, all his life + through a man needs a guide and counsellor. So far I have done my best to + fulfil that duty; my lengthy task is now ended, and another will undertake + this duty. To-day I abdicate the authority which you gave me; henceforward + Sophy is your guardian.” + </p> + <p> + Little by little the first raptures subside and they can peacefully enjoy + the delights of their new condition. Happy lovers, worthy husband and + wife! To do honour to their virtues, to paint their felicity, would + require the history of their lives. How often does my heart throb with + rapture when I behold in them the crown of my life’s work! How often + do I take their hands in mine blessing God with all my heart! How often do + I kiss their clasped hands! How often do their tears of joy fall upon + mine! They are touched by my joy and they share my raptures. Their worthy + parents see their own youth renewed in that of their children; they begin + to live, as it were, afresh in them; or rather they perceive, for the + first time, the true value of life; they curse their former wealth, which + prevented them from enjoying so delightful a lot when they were young. If + there is such a thing as happiness upon earth, you must seek it in our + abode. + </p> + <p> + One morning a few months later Emile enters my room and embraces me, + saying, “My master, congratulate your son; he hopes soon to have the + honour of being a father. What a responsibility will be ours, how much we + shall need you! Yet God forbid that I should let you educate the son as + you educated the father. God forbid that so sweet and holy a task should + be fulfilled by any but myself, even though I should make as good a choice + for my child as was made for me! But continue to be the teacher of the + young teachers. Advise and control us; we shall be easily led; as long as + I live I shall need you. I need you more than ever now that I am taking up + the duties of manhood. You have done your own duty; teach me to follow + your example, while you enjoy your well-earned leisure.” + </p> + <h3> + THE END + </h3> + + + + +<pre> + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Emile, by Jean-Jacques Rousseau + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK EMILE *** + +***** This file should be named 5427-h.htm or 5427-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/5/4/2/5427/ + +Etext Produced by Steve Harris, Charles Franks and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team. + +HTML file produced by David Widger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Emile + +Author: Jean-Jacques Rousseau + +Posting Date: September 26, 2011 [EBook #5427] +Release Date: April, 2004 +[This file was first posted on July 18, 2002] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK EMILE *** + + + + +Produced by Steve Harris, Charles Franks and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team. + + + + + + + + + +EMILE + +By Jean-Jacques Rousseau + + +Translated by Barbara Foxley + + + + +Author's Preface + +This collection of scattered thoughts and observations has little +order or continuity; it was begun to give pleasure to a good mother +who thinks for herself. My first idea was to write a tract a few +pages long, but I was carried away by my subject, and before I knew +what I was doing my tract had become a kind of book, too large indeed +for the matter contained in it, but too small for the subject of +which it treats. For a long time I hesitated whether to publish +it or not, and I have often felt, when at work upon it, that it is +one thing to publish a few pamphlets and another to write a book. +After vain attempts to improve it, I have decided that it is my +duty to publish it as it stands. I consider that public attention +requires to be directed to this subject, and even if my own ideas +are mistaken, my time will not have been wasted if I stir up others +to form right ideas. A solitary who casts his writings before the +public without any one to advertise them, without any party ready +to defend them, one who does not even know what is thought and said +about those writings, is at least free from one anxiety--if he is +mistaken, no one will take his errors for gospel. + +I shall say very little about the value of a good education, nor +shall I stop to prove that the customary method of education is bad; +this has been done again and again, and I do not wish to fill my +book with things which everyone knows. I will merely state that, go +as far back as you will, you will find a continual outcry against +the established method, but no attempt to suggest a better. The +literature and science of our day tend rather to destroy than to +build up. We find fault after the manner of a master; to suggest, +we must adopt another style, a style less in accordance with the +pride of the philosopher. In spite of all those books, whose only +aim, so they say, is public utility, the most useful of all arts, +the art of training men, is still neglected. Even after Locke's +book was written the subject remained almost untouched, and I fear +that my book will leave it pretty much as it found it. + +We know nothing of childhood; and with our mistaken notions the +further we advance the further we go astray. The wisest writers +devote themselves to what a man ought to know, without asking what +a child is capable of learning. They are always looking for the +man in the child, without considering what he is before he becomes +a man. It is to this study that I have chiefly devoted myself, +so that if my method is fanciful and unsound, my observations may +still be of service. I may be greatly mistaken as to what ought to +be done, but I think I have clearly perceived the material which +is to be worked upon. Begin thus by making a more careful study of +your scholars, for it is clear that you know nothing about them; +yet if you read this book with that end in view, I think you will +find that it is not entirely useless. + +With regard to what will be called the systematic portion of the +book, which is nothing more than the course of nature, it is here +that the reader will probably go wrong, and no doubt I shall be +attacked on this side, and perhaps my critics may be right. You +will tell me, "This is not so much a treatise on education as the +visions of a dreamer with regard to education." What can I do? I have +not written about other people's ideas of education, but about my +own. My thoughts are not those of others; this reproach has been +brought against me again and again. But is it within my power +to furnish myself with other eyes, or to adopt other ideas? It is +within my power to refuse to be wedded to my own opinions and to +refuse to think myself wiser than others. I cannot change my mind; +I can distrust myself. This is all I can do, and this I have done. +If I sometimes adopt a confident tone, it is not to impress the +reader, it is to make my meaning plain to him. Why should I profess +to suggest as doubtful that which is not a matter of doubt to +myself? I say just what I think. + +When I freely express my opinion, I have so little idea of claiming +authority that I always give my reasons, so that you may weigh +and judge them for yourselves; but though I would not obstinately +defend my ideas, I think it my duty to put them forward; for the +principles with regard to which I differ from other writers are +not matters of indifference; we must know whether they are true or +false, for on them depends the happiness or the misery of mankind. +People are always telling me to make PRACTICABLE suggestions. You +might as well tell me to suggest what people are doing already, +or at least to suggest improvements which may be incorporated with +the wrong methods at present in use. There are matters with regard +to which such a suggestion is far more chimerical than my own, +for in such a connection the good is corrupted and the bad is none +the better for it. I would rather follow exactly the established +method than adopt a better method by halves. There would be fewer +contradictions in the man; he cannot aim at one and the same time +at two different objects. Fathers and mothers, what you desire that +you can do. May I count on your goodwill? + +There are two things to be considered with regard to any scheme. +In the first place, "Is it good in itself" In the second, "Can it +be easily put into practice?" + +With regard to the first of these it is enough that the scheme +should be intelligible and feasible in itself, that what is good +in it should be adapted to the nature of things, in this case, for +example, that the proposed method of education should be suitable +to man and adapted to the human heart. + +The second consideration depends upon certain given conditions in +particular cases; these conditions are accidental and therefore +variable; they may vary indefinitely. Thus one kind of education +would be possible in Switzerland and not in France; another would be +adapted to the middle classes but not to the nobility. The scheme +can be carried out, with more or less success, according to a +multitude of circumstances, and its results can only be determined +by its special application to one country or another, to this class +or that. Now all these particular applications are not essential +to my subject, and they form no part of my scheme. It is enough +for me that, wherever men are born into the world, my suggestions +with regard to them may be carried out, and when you have made them +what I would have them be, you have done what is best for them and +best for other people. If I fail to fulfil this promise, no doubt +I am to blame; but if I fulfil my promise, it is your own fault if +you ask anything more of me, for I have promised you nothing more. + + + + +BOOK I + +God makes all things good; man meddles with them and they become +evil. He forces one soil to yield the products of another, one tree +to bear another's fruit. He confuses and confounds time, place, +and natural conditions. He mutilates his dog, his horse, and his +slave. He destroys and defaces all things; he loves all that is +deformed and monstrous; he will have nothing as nature made it, +not even man himself, who must learn his paces like a saddle-horse, +and be shaped to his master's taste like the trees in his garden. +Yet things would be worse without this education, and mankind cannot +be made by halves. Under existing conditions a man left to himself +from birth would be more of a monster than the rest. Prejudice, +authority, necessity, example, all the social conditions into which +we are plunged, would stifle nature in him and put nothing in her +place. She would be like a sapling chance sown in the midst of the +highway, bent hither and thither and soon crushed by the passers-by. + +Tender, anxious mother, [Footnote: The earliest education is +most important and it undoubtedly is woman's work. If the author +of nature had meant to assign it to men he would have given them +milk to feed the child. Address your treatises on education to the +women, for not only are they able to watch over it more closely than +men, not only is their influence always predominant in education, +its success concerns them more nearly, for most widows are at the +mercy of their children, who show them very plainly whether their +education was good or bad. The laws, always more concerned about +property than about people, since their object is not virtue but +peace, the laws give too little authority to the mother. Yet her +position is more certain than that of the father, her duties are +more trying; the right ordering of the family depends more upon +her, and she is usually fonder of her children. There are occasions +when a son may be excused for lack of respect for his father, but +if a child could be so unnatural as to fail in respect for the +mother who bore him and nursed him at her breast, who for so many +years devoted herself to his care, such a monstrous wretch should +be smothered at once as unworthy to live. You say mothers spoil +their children, and no doubt that is wrong, but it is worse to +deprave them as you do. The mother wants her child to be happy +now. She is right, and if her method is wrong, she must be taught +a better. Ambition, avarice, tyranny, the mistaken foresight of fathers, +their neglect, their harshness, are a hundredfold more harmful to +the child than the blind affection of the mother. Moreover, I must +explain what I mean by a mother and that explanation follows.] I +appeal to you. You can remove this young tree from the highway and +shield it from the crushing force of social conventions. Tend and +water it ere it dies. One day its fruit will reward your care. +From the outset raise a wall round your child's soul; another may +sketch the plan, you alone should carry it into execution. + +Plants are fashioned by cultivation, man by education. If a man +were born tall and strong, his size and strength would be of no +good to him till he had learnt to use them; they would even harm +him by preventing others from coming to his aid; [Footnote: Like +them in externals, but without speech and without the ideas which +are expressed by speech, he would be unable to make his wants known, +while there would be nothing in his appearance to suggest that he +needed their help.] left to himself he would die of want before he +knew his needs. We lament the helplessness of infancy; we fail to +perceive that the race would have perished had not man begun by +being a child. + +We are born weak, we need strength; helpless, we need aid; foolish, +we need reason. All that we lack at birth, all that we need when +we come to man's estate, is the gift of education. + +This education comes to us from nature, from men, or from things. +The inner growth of our organs and faculties is the education of +nature, the use we learn to make of this growth is the education +of men, what we gain by our experience of our surroundings is the +education of things. + +Thus we are each taught by three masters. If their teaching +conflicts, the scholar is ill-educated and will never be at peace +with himself; if their teaching agrees, he goes straight to his +goal, he lives at peace with himself, he is well-educated. + +Now of these three factors in education nature is wholly beyond +our control, things are only partly in our power; the education of +men is the only one controlled by us; and even here our power is +largely illusory, for who can hope to direct every word and deed +of all with whom the child has to do. + +Viewed as an art, the success of education is almost impossible, +since the essential conditions of success are beyond our control. +Our efforts may bring us within sight of the goal, but fortune must +favour us if we are to reach it. + +What is this goal? As we have just shown, it is the goal of nature. +Since all three modes of education must work together, the two +that we can control must follow the lead of that which is beyond +our control. Perhaps this word Nature has too vague a meaning. Let +us try to define it. + +Nature, we are told, is merely habit. What does that mean? Are there +not habits formed under compulsion, habits which never stifle nature? +Such, for example, are the habits of plants trained horizontally. +The plant keeps its artificial shape, but the sap has not changed +its course, and any new growth the plant may make will be vertical. +It is the same with a man's disposition; while the conditions remain +the same, habits, even the least natural of them, hold good; but +change the conditions, habits vanish, nature reasserts herself. +Education itself is but habit, for are there not people who forget +or lose their education and others who keep it? Whence comes +this difference? If the term nature is to be restricted to habits +conformable to nature we need say no more. + +We are born sensitive and from our birth onwards we are affected +in various ways by our environment. As soon as we become conscious +of our sensations we tend to seek or shun the things that cause +them, at first because they are pleasant or unpleasant, then because +they suit us or not, and at last because of judgments formed by +means of the ideas of happiness and goodness which reason gives +us. These tendencies gain strength and permanence with the growth +of reason, but hindered by our habits they are more or less warped +by our prejudices. Before this change they are what I call Nature +within us. + +Everything should therefore be brought into harmony with these +natural tendencies, and that might well be if our three modes of +education merely differed from one another; but what can be done +when they conflict, when instead of training man for himself you +try to train him for others? Harmony becomes impossible. Forced to +combat either nature or society, you must make your choice between +the man and the citizen, you cannot train both. + +The smaller social group, firmly united in itself and dwelling +apart from others, tends to withdraw itself from the larger society. +Every patriot hates foreigners; they are only men, and nothing to +him.[Footnote: Thus the wars of republics are more cruel than those +of monarchies. But if the wars of kings are less cruel, their peace +is terrible; better be their foe than their subject.] This defect +is inevitable, but of little importance. The great thing is to be +kind to our neighbours. Among strangers the Spartan was selfish, +grasping, and unjust, but unselfishness, justice, and harmony ruled +his home life. Distrust those cosmopolitans who search out remote +duties in their books and neglect those that lie nearest. Such +philosophers will love the Tartars to avoid loving their neighbour. + +The natural man lives for himself; he is the unit, the whole, +dependent only on himself and on his like. The citizen is but the +numerator of a fraction, whose value depends on its denominator; +his value depends upon the whole, that is, on the community. Good +social institutions are those best fitted to make a man unnatural, +to exchange his independence for dependence, to merge the unit +in the group, so that he no longer regards himself as one, but as +a part of the whole, and is only conscious of the common life. A +citizen of Rome was neither Caius nor Lucius, he was a Roman; he +ever loved his country better than his life. The captive Regulus +professed himself a Carthaginian; as a foreigner he refused to take +his seat in the Senate except at his master's bidding. He scorned +the attempt to save his life. He had his will, and returned in +triumph to a cruel death. There is no great likeness between Regulus +and the men of our own day. + +The Spartan Pedaretes presented himself for admission to the council +of the Three Hundred and was rejected; he went away rejoicing that +there were three hundred Spartans better than himself. I suppose he +was in earnest; there is no reason to doubt it. That was a citizen. + +A Spartan mother had five sons with the army. A Helot arrived; +trembling she asked his news. "Your five sons are slain." "Vile +slave, was that what I asked thee?" "We have won the victory." +She hastened to the temple to render thanks to the gods. That was +a citizen. + +He who would preserve the supremacy of natural feelings in social +life knows not what he asks. Ever at war with himself, hesitating +between his wishes and his duties, he will be neither a man nor +a citizen. He will be of no use to himself nor to others. He will +be a man of our day, a Frenchman, an Englishman, one of the great +middle class. + +To be something, to be himself, and always at one with himself, a +man must act as he speaks, must know what course he ought to take, +and must follow that course with vigour and persistence. When I +meet this miracle it will be time enough to decide whether he is +a man or a citizen, or how he contrives to be both. + +Two conflicting types of educational systems spring from these +conflicting aims. One is public and common to many, the other +private and domestic. + +If you wish to know what is meant by public education, read Plato's +Republic. Those who merely judge books by their titles take this for +a treatise on politics, but it is the finest treatise on education +ever written. + +In popular estimation the Platonic Institute stands for all that +is fanciful and unreal. For my own part I should have thought the +system of Lycurgus far more impracticable had he merely committed +it to writing. Plato only sought to purge man's heart; Lycurgus +turned it from its natural course. + +The public institute does not and cannot exist, for there is neither +country nor patriot. The very words should be struck out of our +language. The reason does not concern us at present, so that though +I know it I refrain from stating it. + +I do not consider our ridiculous colleges [Footnote: There are +teachers dear to me in many schools and especially in the University +of Paris, men for whom I have a great respect, men whom I believe +to be quite capable of instructing young people, if they were not +compelled to follow the established custom. I exhort one of them +to publish the scheme of reform which he has thought out. Perhaps +people would at length seek to cure the evil if they realised that +there was a remedy.] as public institutes, nor do I include under +this head a fashionable education, for this education facing two +ways at once achieves nothing. It is only fit to turn out hypocrites, +always professing to live for others, while thinking of themselves +alone. These professions, however, deceive no one, for every one +has his share in them; they are so much labour wasted. + +Our inner conflicts are caused by these contradictions. Drawn +this way by nature and that way by man, compelled to yield to both +forces, we make a compromise and reach neither goal. We go through +life, struggling and hesitating, and die before we have found peace, +useless alike to ourselves and to others. + +There remains the education of the home or of nature; but how will +a man live with others if he is educated for himself alone? If +the twofold aims could be resolved into one by removing the man's +self-contradictions, one great obstacle to his happiness would be +gone. To judge of this you must see the man full-grown; you must +have noted his inclinations, watched his progress, followed his +steps; in a word you must really know a natural man. When you have +read this work, I think you will have made some progress in this +inquiry. + +What must be done to train this exceptional man! We can do much, +but the chief thing is to prevent anything being done. To sail +against the wind we merely follow one tack and another; to keep our +position in a stormy sea we must cast anchor. Beware, young pilot, +lest your boat slip its cable or drag its anchor before you know +it. + + + +In the social order where each has his own place a man must be +educated for it. If such a one leave his own station he is fit for +nothing else. His education is only useful when fate agrees with +his parents' choice; if not, education harms the scholar, if only +by the prejudices it has created. In Egypt, where the son was +compelled to adopt his father's calling, education had at least +a settled aim; where social grades remain fixed, but the men who +form them are constantly changing, no one knows whether he is not +harming his son by educating him for his own class. + +In the natural order men are all equal and their common calling +is that of manhood, so that a well-educated man cannot fail to do +well in that calling and those related to it. It matters little to +me whether my pupil is intended for the army, the church, or the +law. Before his parents chose a calling for him nature called him +to be a man. Life is the trade I would teach him. When he leaves +me, I grant you, he will be neither a magistrate, a soldier, nor a +priest; he will be a man. All that becomes a man he will learn as +quickly as another. In vain will fate change his station, he will +always be in his right place. "Occupavi te, fortuna, atque cepi; +omnes-que aditus tuos interclusi, ut ad me aspirare non posses." +The real object of our study is man and his environment. To my mind +those of us who can best endure the good and evil of life are the +best educated; hence it follows that true education consists less +in precept than in practice. We begin to learn when we begin to +live; our education begins with ourselves, our first teacher is +our nurse. The ancients used the word "Education" in a different +sense, it meant "Nurture." "Educit obstetrix," says Varro. "Educat +nutrix, instituit paedagogus, docet magister." Thus, education, +discipline, and instruction are three things as different in +their purpose as the dame, the usher, and the teacher. But these +distinctions are undesirable and the child should only follow one +guide. + +We must therefore look at the general rather than the particular, +and consider our scholar as man in the abstract, man exposed to all +the changes and chances of mortal life. If men were born attached +to the soil of our country, if one season lasted all the year round, +if every man's fortune were so firmly grasped that he could never +lose it, then the established method of education would have +certain advantages; the child brought up to his own calling would +never leave it, he could never have to face the difficulties of +any other condition. But when we consider the fleeting nature of +human affairs, the restless and uneasy spirit of our times, when +every generation overturns the work of its predecessor, can we +conceive a more senseless plan than to educate a child as if he +would never leave his room, as if he would always have his servants +about him? If the wretched creature takes a single step up or down +he is lost. This is not teaching him to bear pain; it is training +him to feel it. + +People think only of preserving their child's life; this is not +enough, he must be taught to preserve his own life when he is a +man, to bear the buffets of fortune, to brave wealth and poverty, +to live at need among the snows of Iceland or on the scorching rocks +of Malta. In vain you guard against death; he must needs die; and +even if you do not kill him with your precautions, they are mistaken. +Teach him to live rather than to avoid death: life is not breath, +but action, the use of our senses, our mind, our faculties, every +part of ourselves which makes us conscious of our being. Life +consists less in length of days than in the keen sense of living. +A man maybe buried at a hundred and may never have lived at all. +He would have fared better had he died young. + +Our wisdom is slavish prejudice, our customs consist in control, +constraint, compulsion. Civilised man is born and dies a slave. +The infant is bound up in swaddling clothes, the corpse is nailed +down in his coffin. All his life long man is imprisoned by our +institutions. + +I am told that many midwives profess to improve the shape of the +infant's head by rubbing, and they are allowed to do it. Our heads +are not good enough as God made them, they must be moulded outside +by the nurse and inside by the philosopher. The Caribs are better +off than we are. The child has hardly left the mother's womb, it +has hardly begun to move and stretch its limbs, when it is deprived +of its freedom. It is wrapped in swaddling bands, laid down with +its head fixed, its legs stretched out, and its arms by its sides; +it is wound round with linen and bandages of all sorts so that it +cannot move. It is fortunate if it has room to breathe, and it is +laid on its side so that water which should flow from its mouth can +escape, for it is not free to turn its head on one side for this +purpose. + +The new-born child requires to stir and stretch his limbs to free +them from the stiffness resulting from being curled up so long. +His limbs are stretched indeed, but he is not allowed to move them. +Even the head is confined by a cap. One would think they were afraid +the child should look as if it were alive. + +Thus the internal impulses which should lead to growth find an +insurmountable obstacle in the way of the necessary movements. The +child exhausts his strength in vain struggles, or he gains strength +very slowly. He was freer and less constrained in the womb; he has +gained nothing by birth. + +The inaction, the constraint to which the child's limbs are subjected +can only check the circulation of the blood and humours; it can +only hinder the child's growth in size and strength, and injure its +constitution. Where these absurd precautions are absent, all the +men are tall, strong, and well-made. Where children are swaddled, +the country swarms with the hump-backed, the lame, the bow-legged, +the rickety, and every kind of deformity. In our fear lest the +body should become deformed by free movement, we hasten to deform +it by putting it in a press. We make our children helpless lest +they should hurt themselves. + +Is not such a cruel bondage certain to affect both health and temper? +Their first feeling is one of pain and suffering; they find every +necessary movement hampered; more miserable than a galley slave, in +vain they struggle, they become angry, they cry. Their first words +you say are tears. That is so. From birth you are always checking +them, your first gifts are fetters, your first treatment, torture. +Their voice alone is free; why should they not raise it in complaint? +They cry because you are hurting them; if you were swaddled you +would cry louder still. + +What is the origin of this senseless and unnatural custom? Since +mothers have despised their first duty and refused to nurse their +own children, they have had to be entrusted to hired nurses. Finding +themselves the mothers of a stranger's children, without the ties +of nature, they have merely tried to save themselves trouble. +A child unswaddled would need constant watching; well swaddled it +is cast into a corner and its cries are unheeded. So long as the +nurse's negligence escapes notice, so long as the nursling does +not break its arms or legs, what matter if it dies or becomes a +weakling for life. Its limbs are kept safe at the expense of its +body, and if anything goes wrong it is not the nurse's fault. + +These gentle mothers, having got rid of their babies, devote +themselves gaily to the pleasures of the town. Do they know how +their children are being treated in the villages? If the nurse is at +all busy, the child is hung up on a nail like a bundle of clothes +and is left crucified while the nurse goes leisurely about her +business. Children have been found in this position purple in the +face, their tightly bandaged chest forbade the circulation of the +blood, and it went to the head; so the sufferer was considered very +quiet because he had not strength to cry. How long a child might +survive under such conditions I do not know, but it could not be +long. That, I fancy, is one of the chief advantages of swaddling +clothes. + +It is maintained that unswaddled infants would assume faulty positions +and make movements which might injure the proper development of +their limbs. That is one of the empty arguments of our false wisdom +which has never been confirmed by experience. Out of all the crowds +of children who grow up with the full use of their limbs among +nations wiser than ourselves, you never find one who hurts himself +or maims himself; their movements are too feeble to be dangerous, +and when they assume an injurious position, pain warns them to +change it. + +We have not yet decided to swaddle our kittens and puppies; are +they any the worse for this neglect? Children are heavier, I admit, +but they are also weaker. They can scarcely move, how could they +hurt themselves! If you lay them on their backs, they will lie +there till they die, like the turtle, unable to turn itself over. +Not content with having ceased to suckle their children, women no +longer wish to do it; with the natural result motherhood becomes a +burden; means are found to avoid it. They will destroy their work +to begin it over again, and they thus turn to the injury of the race +the charm which was given them for its increase. This practice, with +other causes of depopulation, forbodes the coming fate of Europe. +Her arts and sciences, her philosophy and morals, will shortly +reduce her to a desert. She will be the home of wild beasts, and +her inhabitants will hardly have changed for the worse. + +I have sometimes watched the tricks of young wives who pretend +that they wish to nurse their own children. They take care to be +dissuaded from this whim. They contrive that husbands, doctors, +and especially mothers should intervene. If a husband should let +his wife nurse her own baby it would be the ruin of him; they would +make him out a murderer who wanted to be rid of her. A prudent husband +must sacrifice paternal affection to domestic peace. Fortunately +for you there are women in the country districts more continent than +your wives. You are still more fortunate if the time thus gained +is not intended for another than yourself. + +There can be no doubt about a wife's duty, but, considering the +contempt in which it is held, it is doubtful whether it is not +just as good for the child to be suckled by a stranger. This is +a question for the doctors to settle, and in my opinion they have +settled it according to the women's wishes, [Footnote: The league +between the women and the doctors has always struck me as one of +the oddest things in Paris. The doctors' reputation depends on the +women, and by means of the doctors the women get their own way. +It is easy to see what qualifications a doctor requires in Paris +if he is to become celebrated.] and for my own part I think it is +better that the child should suck the breast of a healthy nurse +rather than of a petted mother, if he has any further evil to fear +from her who has given him birth. + +Ought the question, however, to be considered only from the +physiological point of view? Does not the child need a mother's +care as much as her milk? Other women, or even other animals, may +give him the milk she denies him, but there is no substitute for +a mother's love. + +The woman who nurses another's child in place of her own is a bad +mother; how can she be a good nurse? She may become one in time; +use will overcome nature, but the child may perish a hundred times +before his nurse has developed a mother's affection for him. + +And this affection when developed has its drawbacks, which should +make any feeling woman afraid to put her child out to nurse. Is +she prepared to divide her mother's rights, or rather to abdicate +them in favour of a stranger; to see her child loving another more +than herself; to feel that the affection he retains for his own +mother is a favour, while his love for his foster-mother is a duty; +for is not some affection due where there has been a mother's care? + +To remove this difficulty, children are taught to look down on +their nurses, to treat them as mere servants. When their task is +completed the child is withdrawn or the nurse is dismissed. Her +visits to her foster-child are discouraged by a cold reception. After +a few years the child never sees her again. The mother expects to +take her place, and to repair by her cruelty the results of her own +neglect. But she is greatly mistaken; she is making an ungrateful +foster-child, not an affectionate son; she is teaching him ingratitude, +and she is preparing him to despise at a later day the mother who +bore him, as he now despises his nurse. + +How emphatically would I speak if it were not so hopeless to keep +struggling in vain on behalf of a real reform. More depends on +this than you realise. Would you restore all men to their primal +duties, begin with the mothers; the results will surprise you. +Every evil follows in the train of this first sin; the whole moral +order is disturbed, nature is quenched in every breast, the home +becomes gloomy, the spectacle of a young family no longer stirs +the husband's love and the stranger's reverence. The mother whose +children are out of sight wins scanty esteem; there is no home +life, the ties of nature are not strengthened by those of habit; +fathers, mothers, children, brothers, and sisters cease to exist. +They are almost strangers; how should they love one another? Each +thinks of himself first. When the home is a gloomy solitude pleasure +will be sought elsewhere. + +But when mothers deign to nurse their own children, then will be +a reform in morals; natural feeling will revive in every heart; +there will be no lack of citizens for the state; this first step +by itself will restore mutual affection. The charms of home are +the best antidote to vice. The noisy play of children, which we +thought so trying, becomes a delight; mother and father rely more +on each other and grow dearer to one another; the marriage tie is +strengthened. In the cheerful home life the mother finds her sweetest +duties and the father his pleasantest recreation. Thus the cure of +this one evil would work a wide-spread reformation; nature would +regain her rights. When women become good mothers, men will be good +husbands and fathers. + +My words are vain! When we are sick of worldly pleasures we do +not return to the pleasures of the home. Women have ceased to be +mothers, they do not and will not return to their duty. Could they +do it if they would? The contrary custom is firmly established; each +would have to overcome the opposition of her neighbours, leagued +together against the example which some have never given and others +do not desire to follow. + +Yet there are still a few young women of good natural disposition +who refuse to be the slaves of fashion and rebel against the +clamour of other women, who fulfil the sweet task imposed on them +by nature. Would that the reward in store for them might draw +others to follow their example. My conclusion is based upon plain +reason, and upon facts I have never seen disputed; and I venture +to promise these worthy mothers the firm and steadfast affection +of their husbands and the truly filial love of their children and +the respect of all the world. Child-birth will be easy and will +leave no ill-results, their health will be strong and vigorous, and +they will see their daughters follow their example, and find that +example quoted as a pattern to others. + +No mother, no child; their duties are reciprocal, and when ill done +by the one they will be neglected by the other. The child should +love his mother before he knows what he owes her. If the voice of +instinct is not strengthened by habit it soon dies, the heart is +still-born. From the outset we have strayed from the path of nature. + +There is another by-way which may tempt our feet from the path of +nature. The mother may lavish excessive care on her child instead +of neglecting him; she may make an idol of him; she may develop +and increase his weakness to prevent him feeling it; she wards +off every painful experience in the hope of withdrawing him from +the power of nature, and fails to realise that for every trifling +ill from which she preserves him the future holds in store many +accidents and dangers, and that it is a cruel kindness to prolong +the child's weakness when the grown man must bear fatigue. + +Thetis, so the story goes, plunged her son in the waters of Styx to +make him invulnerable. The truth of this allegory is apparent. The +cruel mothers I speak of do otherwise; they plunge their children +into softness, and they are preparing suffering for them, they open +the way to every kind of ill, which their children will not fail +to experience after they grow up. + +Fix your eyes on nature, follow the path traced by her. She keeps +children at work, she hardens them by all kinds of difficulties, +she soon teaches them the meaning of pain and grief. They cut their +teeth and are feverish, sharp colics bring on convulsions, they +are choked by fits of coughing and tormented by worms, evil humours +corrupt the blood, germs of various kinds ferment in it, causing +dangerous eruptions. Sickness and danger play the chief part in +infancy. One half of the children who are born die before their +eighth year. The child who has overcome hardships has gained strength, +and as soon as he can use his life he holds it more securely. + +This is nature's law; why contradict it? Do you not see that in +your efforts to improve upon her handiwork you are destroying it; +her cares are wasted? To do from without what she does within is +according to you to increase the danger twofold. On the contrary, +it is the way to avert it; experience shows that children delicately +nurtured are more likely to die. Provided we do not overdo it, there +is less risk in using their strength than in sparing it. Accustom +them therefore to the hardships they will have to face; train them +to endure extremes of temperature, climate, and condition, hunger, +thirst, and weariness. Dip them in the waters of Styx. Before bodily +habits become fixed you may teach what habits you will without any +risk, but once habits are established any change is fraught with +peril. A child will bear changes which a man cannot bear, the muscles +of the one are soft and flexible, they take whatever direction +you give them without any effort; the muscles of the grown man are +harder and they only change their accustomed mode of action when +subjected to violence. So we can make a child strong without risking +his life or health, and even if there were some risk, it should not +be taken into consideration. Since human life is full of dangers, +can we do better than face them at a time when they can do the +least harm? + +A child's worth increases with his years. To his personal value +must be added the cost of the care bestowed upon him. For himself +there is not only loss of life, but the consciousness of death. +We must therefore think most of his future in our efforts for his +preservation. He must be protected against the ills of youth before +he reaches them: for if the value of life increases until the child +reaches an age when he can be useful, what madness to spare some +suffering in infancy only to multiply his pain when he reaches the +age of reason. Is that what our master teaches us? + +Man is born to suffer; pain is the means of his preservation. +His childhood is happy, knowing only pain of body. These bodily +sufferings are much less cruel, much less painful, than other forms +of suffering, and they rarely lead to self-destruction. It is not +the twinges of gout which make a man kill himself, it is mental +suffering that leads to despair. We pity the sufferings of childhood; +we should pity ourselves; our worst sorrows are of our own making. + +The new-born infant cries, his early days are spent in crying. He +is alternately petted and shaken by way of soothing him; sometimes +he is threatened, sometimes beaten, to keep him quiet. We do what +he wants or we make him do what we want, we submit to his whims or +subject him to our own. There is no middle course; he must rule or +obey. Thus his earliest ideas are those of the tyrant or the slave. +He commands before he can speak, he obeys before he can act, and +sometimes he is punished for faults before he is aware of them, or +rather before they are committed. Thus early are the seeds of evil +passions sown in his young heart. At a later day these are attributed +to nature, and when we have taken pains to make him bad we lament +his badness. + +In this way the child passes six or seven years in the hands of +women, the victim of his own caprices or theirs, and after they +have taught him all sorts of things, when they have burdened his +memory with words he cannot understand, or things which are of no +use to him, when nature has been stifled by the passions they have +implanted in him, this sham article is sent to a tutor. The tutor +completes the development of the germs of artificiality which he finds +already well grown, he teaches him everything except self-knowledge +and self-control, the arts of life and happiness. When at length +this infant slave and tyrant, crammed with knowledge but empty of +sense, feeble alike in mind and body, is flung upon the world, and +his helplessness, his pride, and his other vices are displayed, +we begin to lament the wretchedness and perversity of mankind. We +are wrong; this is the creature of our fantasy; the natural man is +cast in another mould. + +Would you keep him as nature made him? Watch over him from his +birth. Take possession of him as soon as he comes into the world +and keep him till he is a man; you will never succeed otherwise. +The real nurse is the mother and the real teacher is the father. +Let them agree in the ordering of their duties as well as in their +method, let the child pass from one to the other. He will be better +educated by a sensible though ignorant father than by the cleverest +master in the world. For zeal will atone for lack of knowledge, +rather than knowledge for lack of zeal. But the duties of public +and private business! Duty indeed! Does a father's duty come last. +[Footnote: When we read in Plutarch that Cato the Censor, who ruled +Rome with such glory, brought up his own sons from the cradle, +and so carefully that he left everything to be present when their +nurse, that is to say their mother, bathed them; when we read +in Suetonius that Augustus, the master of the world which he had +conquered and which he himself governed, himself taught his grandsons +to write, to swim, to understand the beginnings of science, and that +he always had them with him, we cannot help smiling at the little +people of those days who amused themselves with such follies, and +who were too ignorant, no doubt, to attend to the great affairs +of the great people of our own time.] It is not surprising that +the man whose wife despises the duty of suckling her child should +despise its education. There is no more charming picture than +that of family life; but when one feature is wanting the whole is +marred. If the mother is too delicate to nurse her child, the father +will be too busy to teach him. Their children, scattered about +in schools, convents, and colleges, will find the home of their +affections elsewhere, or rather they will form the habit of caring +for nothing. Brothers and sisters will scarcely know each other; +when they are together in company they will behave as strangers. +When there is no confidence between relations, when the family +society ceases to give savour to life, its place is soon usurped +by vice. Is there any man so stupid that he cannot see how all this +hangs together? + +A father has done but a third of his task when he begets children +and provides a living for them. He owes men to humanity, citizens +to the state. A man who can pay this threefold debt and neglect to +do so is guilty, more guilty, perhaps, if he pays it in part than +when he neglects it entirely. He has no right to be a father if +he cannot fulfil a father's duties. Poverty, pressure of business, +mistaken social prejudices, none of these can excuse a man from his +duty, which is to support and educate his own children. If a man +of any natural feeling neglects these sacred duties he will repent +it with bitter tears and will never be comforted. + +But what does this rich man do, this father of a family, compelled, +so he says, to neglect his children? He pays another man to perform +those duties which are his alone. Mercenary man! do you expect to +purchase a second father for your child? Do not deceive yourself; +it is not even a master you have hired for him, it is a flunkey, +who will soon train such another as himself. + +There is much discussion as to the characteristics of a good +tutor. My first requirement, and it implies a good many more, is +that he should not take up his task for reward. There are callings +so great that they cannot be undertaken for money without showing +our unfitness for them; such callings are those of the soldier and +the teacher. + +"But who must train my child?" "I have just told you, you should +do it yourself." "I cannot." "You cannot! Then find a friend. I +see no other course." + +A tutor! What a noble soul! Indeed for the training of a man one +must either be a father or more than man. It is this duty you would +calmly hand over to a hireling! + +The more you think of it the harder you will find it. The tutor +must have been trained for his pupil, his servants must have been +trained for their master, so that all who come near him may have +received the impression which is to be transmitted to him. We must +pass from education to education, I know not how far. How can a +child be well educated by one who has not been well educated himself! + +Can such a one be found? I know not. In this age of degradation who +knows the height of virtue to which man's soul may attain? But let +us assume that this prodigy has been discovered. We shall learn +what he should be from the consideration of his duties. I fancy the +father who realises the value of a good tutor will contrive to do +without one, for it will be harder to find one than to become such +a tutor himself; he need search no further, nature herself having +done half the work. + +Some one whose rank alone is known to me suggested that I should +educate his son. He did me a great honour, no doubt, but far from +regretting my refusal, he ought to congratulate himself on my +prudence. Had the offer been accepted, and had I been mistaken in +my method, there would have been an education ruined; had I succeeded, +things would have been worse--his son would have renounced his +title and refused to be a prince. + +I feel too deeply the importance of a tutor's duties and my own +unfitness, ever to accept such a post, whoever offered it, and +even the claims of friendship would be only an additional motive +for my refusal. Few, I think, will be tempted to make me such an +offer when they have read this book, and I beg any one who would +do so to spare his pains. I have had enough experience of the task +to convince myself of my own unfitness, and my circumstances would +make it impossible, even if my talents were such as to fit me for +it. I have thought it my duty to make this public declaration to +those who apparently refuse to do me the honour of believing in +the sincerity of my determination. If I am unable to undertake the +more useful task, I will at least venture to attempt the easier +one; I will follow the example of my predecessors and take up, not +the task, but my pen; and instead of doing the right thing I will +try to say it. + +I know that in such an undertaking the author, who ranges at will +among theoretical systems, utters many fine precepts impossible +to practise, and even when he says what is practicable it remains +undone for want of details and examples as to its application. + +I have therefore decided to take an imaginary pupil, to assume on +my own part the age, health, knowledge, and talents required for +the work of his education, to guide him from birth to manhood, when +he needs no guide but himself. This method seems to me useful for +an author who fears lest he may stray from the practical to the +visionary; for as soon as he departs from common practice he has +only to try his method on his pupil; he will soon know, or the +reader will know for him, whether he is following the development +of the child and the natural growth of the human heart. + +This is what I have tried to do. Lest my book should be unduly +bulky, I have been content to state those principles the truth of +which is self-evident. But as to the rules which call for proof, I +have applied them to Emile or to others, and I have shown, in very +great detail, how my theories may be put into practice. Such at +least is my plan; the reader must decide whether I have succeeded. +At first I have said little about Emile, for my earliest maxims +of education, though very different from those generally accepted, +are so plain that it is hard for a man of sense to refuse to accept +them, but as I advance, my scholar, educated after another fashion +than yours, is no longer an ordinary child, he needs a special +system. Then he appears upon the scene more frequently, and towards +the end I never lose sight of him for a moment, until, whatever he +may say, he needs me no longer. + +I pass over the qualities required in a good tutor; I take them for +granted, and assume that I am endowed with them. As you read this +book you will see how generous I have been to myself. + +I will only remark that, contrary to the received opinion, a child's +tutor should be young, as young indeed as a man may well be who +is also wise. Were it possible, he should become a child himself, +that he may be the companion of his pupil and win his confidence +by sharing his games. Childhood and age have too little in common +for the formation of a really firm affection. Children sometimes +flatter old men; they never love them. + +People seek a tutor who has already educated one pupil. This is +too much; one man can only educate one pupil; if two were essential +to success, what right would he have to undertake the first? With +more experience you may know better what to do, but you are less +capable of doing it; once this task has been well done, you will +know too much of its difficulties to attempt it a second time--if +ill done, the first attempt augurs badly for the second. + +It is one thing to follow a young man about for four years, another +to be his guide for five-and-twenty. You find a tutor for your son +when he is already formed; I want one for him before he is born. +Your man may change his pupil every five years; mine will never have +but one pupil. You distinguish between the teacher and the tutor. +Another piece of folly! Do you make any distinction between the +pupil and the scholar? There is only one science for children to +learn--the duties of man. This science is one, and, whatever Xenophon +may say of the education of the Persians, it is indivisible. Besides, +I prefer to call the man who has this knowledge master rather than +teacher, since it is a question of guidance rather than instruction. +He must not give precepts, he must let the scholar find them out +for himself. + +If the master is to be so carefully chosen, he may well choose +his pupil, above all when he proposes to set a pattern for others. +This choice cannot depend on the child's genius or character, as I +adopt him before he is born, and they are only known when my task +is finished. If I had my choice I would take a child of ordinary +mind, such as I assume in my pupil. It is ordinary people who have +to be educated, and their education alone can serve as a pattern +for the education of their fellows. The others find their way alone. + +The birthplace is not a matter of indifference in the education +of man; it is only in temperate climes that he comes to his full +growth. The disadvantages of extremes are easily seen. A man is +not planted in one place like a tree, to stay there the rest of +his life, and to pass from one extreme to another you must travel +twice as far as he who starts half-way. + +If the inhabitant of a temperate climate passes in turn through both +extremes his advantage is plain, for although he may be changed as +much as he who goes from one extreme to the other, he only removes +half-way from his natural condition. A Frenchman can live in +New Guinea or in Lapland, but a negro cannot live in Tornea nor a +Samoyed in Benin. It seems also as if the brain were less perfectly +organised in the two extremes. Neither the negroes nor the Laps +are as wise as Europeans. So if I want my pupil to be a citizen of +the world I will choose him in the temperate zone, in France for +example, rather than elsewhere. + +In the north with its barren soil men devour much food, in the +fertile south they eat little. This produces another difference: the +one is industrious, the other contemplative. Society shows us, in +one and the same spot, a similar difference between rich and poor. +The one dwells in a fertile land, the other in a barren land. + +The poor man has no need of education. The education of his +own station in life is forced upon him, he can have no other; the +education received by the rich man from his own station is least +fitted for himself and for society. Moreover, a natural education +should fit a man for any position. Now it is more unreasonable +to train a poor man for wealth than a rich man for poverty, for +in proportion to their numbers more rich men are ruined and fewer +poor men become rich. Let us choose our scholar among the rich; we +shall at least have made another man; the poor may come to manhood +without our help. + +For the same reason I should not be sorry if Emile came of a good +family. He will be another victim snatched from prejudice. + +Emile is an orphan. No matter whether he has father or mother, +having undertaken their duties I am invested with their rights. +He must honour his parents, but he must obey me. That is my first +and only condition. + +I must add that there is just one other point arising out of this; +we must never be separated except by mutual consent. This clause is +essential, and I would have tutor and scholar so inseparable that +they should regard their fate as one. If once they perceive the +time of their separation drawing near, the time which must make +them strangers to one another, they become strangers then and +there; each makes his own little world, and both of them being +busy in thought with the time when they will no longer be together, +they remain together against their will. The disciple regards his +master as the badge and scourge of childhood, the master regards +his scholar as a heavy burden which he longs to be rid of. Both +are looking forward to the time when they will part, and as there +is never any real affection between them, there will be scant +vigilance on the one hand, and on the other scant obedience. + +But when they consider they must always live together, they must +needs love one another, and in this way they really learn to love +one another. The pupil is not ashamed to follow as a child the +friend who will be with him in manhood; the tutor takes an interest +in the efforts whose fruits he will enjoy, and the virtues he is +cultivating in his pupil form a store laid up for his old age. + +This agreement made beforehand assumes a normal birth, a strong, +well-made, healthy child. A father has no choice, and should have +no preference within the limits of the family God has given him; all +his children are his alike, the same care and affection is due to +all. Crippled or well-made, weak or strong, each of them is a trust +for which he is responsible to the Giver, and nature is a party to +the marriage contract along with husband and wife. + +But if you undertake a duty not imposed upon you by nature, you +must secure beforehand the means for its fulfilment, unless you +would undertake duties you cannot fulfil. If you take the care of +a sickly, unhealthy child, you are a sick nurse, not a tutor. To +preserve a useless life you are wasting the time which should be +spent in increasing its value, you risk the sight of a despairing +mother reproaching you for the death of her child, who ought to +have died long ago. + +I would not undertake the care of a feeble, sickly child, should +he live to four score years. I want no pupil who is useless alike +to himself and others, one whose sole business is to keep himself +alive, one whose body is always a hindrance to the training of his +mind. If I vainly lavish my care upon him, what can I do but double +the loss to society by robbing it of two men, instead of one? Let +another tend this weakling for me; I am quite willing, I approve +his charity, but I myself have no gift for such a task; I could +never teach the art of living to one who needs all his strength to +keep himself alive. + +The body must be strong enough to obey the mind; a good servant +must be strong. I know that intemperance stimulates the passions; +in course of time it also destroys the body; fasting and penance +often produce the same results in an opposite way. The weaker +the body, the more imperious its demands; the stronger it is, the +better it obeys. All sensual passions find their home in effeminate +bodies; the less satisfaction they can get the keener their sting. + +A feeble body makes a feeble mind. Hence the influence of physic, +an art which does more harm to man than all the evils it professes +to cure. I do not know what the doctors cure us of, but I know +this: they infect us with very deadly diseases, cowardice, timidity, +credulity, the fear of death. What matter if they make the dead +walk, we have no need of corpses; they fail to give us men, and it +is men we need. + +Medicine is all the fashion in these days, and very naturally. It +is the amusement of the idle and unemployed, who do not know what +to do with their time, and so spend it in taking care of themselves. +If by ill-luck they had happened to be born immortal, they would +have been the most miserable of men; a life they could not lose +would be of no value to them. Such men must have doctors to threaten +and flatter them, to give them the only pleasure they can enjoy, +the pleasure of not being dead. + +I will say no more at present as to the uselessness of medicine. My +aim is to consider its bearings on morals. Still I cannot refrain +from saying that men employ the same sophism about medicine as +they do about the search for truth. They assume that the patient +is cured and that the seeker after truth finds it. They fail to see +that against one life saved by the doctors you must set a hundred +slain, and against the value of one truth discovered the errors +which creep in with it. The science which instructs and the medicine +which heals are no doubt excellent, but the science which misleads +us and the medicine which kills us are evil. Teach us to know +them apart. That is the real difficulty. If we were content to be +ignorant of truth we should not be the dupes of falsehood; if we +did not want to be cured in spite of nature, we should not be killed +by the doctors. We should do well to steer clear of both, and we +should evidently be the gainers. I do not deny that medicine is +useful to some men; I assert that it is fatal to mankind. + +You will tell me, as usual, that the doctors are to blame, that +medicine herself is infallible. Well and good, then give us the +medicine without the doctor, for when we have both, the blunders of +the artist are a hundredfold greater than our hopes from the art. +This lying art, invented rather for the ills of the mind than +of the body, is useless to both alike; it does less to cure us of +our diseases than to fill us with alarm. It does less to ward off +death than to make us dread its approach. It exhausts life rather +than prolongs it; should it even prolong life it would only be to +the prejudice of the race, since it makes us set its precautions +before society and our fears before our duties. It is the knowledge +of danger that makes us afraid. If we thought ourselves invulnerable +we should know no fear. The poet armed Achilles against danger and +so robbed him of the merit of courage; on such terms any man would +be an Achilles. + +Would you find a really brave man? Seek him where there are no +doctors, where the results of disease are unknown, and where death +is little thought of. By nature a man bears pain bravely and dies +in peace. It is the doctors with their rules, the philosophers with +their precepts, the priests with their exhortations, who debase +the heart and make us afraid to die. + +Give me a pupil who has no need of these, or I will have nothing +to do with him. No one else shall spoil my work, I will educate him +myself or not at all. That wise man, Locke, who had devoted part +of his life to the study of medicine, advises us to give no drugs +to the child, whether as a precaution, or on account of slight +ailments. I will go farther, and will declare that, as I never +call in a doctor for myself, I will never send for one for Emile, +unless his life is clearly in danger, when the doctor can but kill +him. + +I know the doctor will make capital out of my delay. If the child +dies, he was called in too late; if he recovers, it is his doing. +So be it; let the doctor boast, but do not call him in except in +extremity. + +As the child does not know how to be cured, he knows how to be +ill. The one art takes the place of the other and is often more +successful; it is the art of nature. When a beast is ill, it keeps +quiet and suffers in silence; but we see fewer sickly animals than +sick men. How many men have been slain by impatience, fear, anxiety, +and above all by medicine, men whom disease would have spared, +and time alone have cured. I shall be told that animals, who live +according to nature, are less liable to disease than ourselves. +Well, that way of living is just what I mean to teach my pupil; he +should profit by it in the same way. + +Hygiene is the only useful part of medicine, and hygiene is rather +a virtue than a science. Temperance and industry are man's true +remedies; work sharpens his appetite and temperance teaches him to +control it. + +To learn what system is most beneficial you have only to study +those races remarkable for health, strength, and length of days. If +common observation shows us that medicine neither increases health +nor prolongs life, it follows that this useless art is worse than +useless, since it wastes time, men, and things on what is pure +loss. Not only must we deduct the time spent, not in using life, +but preserving it, but if this time is spent in tormenting ourselves +it is worse than wasted, it is so much to the bad, and to reckon +fairly a corresponding share must be deducted from what remains to +us. A man who lives ten years for himself and others without the +help of doctors lives more for himself and others than one who +spends thirty years as their victim. I have tried both, so I think +I have a better right than most to draw my own conclusions. + +For these reasons I decline to take any but a strong and healthy +pupil, and these are my principles for keeping him in health. I will +not stop to prove at length the value of manual labour and bodily +exercise for strengthening the health and constitution; no one +denies it. Nearly all the instances of long life are to be found +among the men who have taken most exercise, who have endured fatigue +and labour. [Footnote: I cannot help quoting the following passage +from an English newspaper, as it throws much light on my opinions: +"A certain Patrick O'Neil, born in 1647, has just married his seventh +wife in 1760. In the seventeenth year of Charles II. he served in +the dragoons and in other regiments up to 1740, when he took his +discharge. He served in all the campaigns of William III. and +Marlborough. This man has never drunk anything but small beer; he +has always lived on vegetables, and has never eaten meat except on +few occasions when he made a feast for his relations. He has always +been accustomed to rise with the sun and go to bed at sunset unless +prevented by his military duties. He is now in his 130th year; +he is healthy, his hearing is good, and he walks with the help +of a stick. In spite of his great age he is never idle, and every +Sunday he goes to his parish church accompanied by his children, +grandchildren, and great grandchildren."] Neither will I enter +into details as to the care I shall take for this alone. It will +be clear that it forms such an essential part of my practice that +it is enough to get hold of the idea without further explanation. + +When our life begins our needs begin too. The new-born infant must +have a nurse. If his mother will do her duty, so much the better; +her instructions will be given her in writing, but this advantage +has its drawbacks, it removes the tutor from his charge. But it +is to be hoped that the child's own interests, and her respect for +the person to whom she is about to confide so precious a treasure, +will induce the mother to follow the master's wishes, and whatever +she does you may be sure she will do better than another. If we +must have a strange nurse, make a good choice to begin with. + +It is one of the misfortunes of the rich to be cheated on all sides; +what wonder they think ill of mankind! It is riches that corrupt +men, and the rich are rightly the first to feel the defects of the +only tool they know. Everything is ill-done for them, except what +they do themselves, and they do next to nothing. When a nurse must +be selected the choice is left to the doctor. What happens? The +best nurse is the one who offers the highest bribe. I shall not +consult the doctor about Emile's nurse, I shall take care to choose +her myself. I may not argue about it so elegantly as the surgeon, +but I shall be more reliable, I shall be less deceived by my zeal +than the doctor by his greed. + +There is no mystery about this choice; its rules are well known, +but I think we ought probably to pay more attention to the age of +the milk as well as its quality. The first milk is watery, it must +be almost an aperient, to purge the remains of the meconium curdled +in the bowels of the new-born child. Little by little the milk +thickens and supplies more solid food as the child is able to +digest it. It is surely not without cause that nature changes the +milk in the female of every species according to the age of the +offspring. + +Thus a new-born child requires a nurse who has recently become mother. +There is, I know, a difficulty here, but as soon as we leave the +path of nature there are difficulties in the way of all well-doing. +The wrong course is the only right one under the circumstances, so +we take it. + +The nurse must be healthy alike in disposition and in body. The +violence of the passions as well as the humours may spoil her milk. +Moreover, to consider the body only is to keep only half our aim +in view. The milk may be good and the nurse bad; a good character +is as necessary as a good constitution. If you choose a vicious +person, I do not say her foster-child will acquire her vices, but +he will suffer for them. Ought she not to bestow on him day by +day, along with her milk, a care which calls for zeal, patience, +gentleness, and cleanliness. If she is intemperate and greedy her +milk will soon be spoilt; if she is careless and hasty what will +become of a poor little wretch left to her mercy, and unable either +to protect himself or to complain. The wicked are never good for +anything. + +The choice is all the more important because her foster-child should +have no other guardian, just as he should have no teacher but his +tutor. This was the custom of the ancients, who talked less but +acted more wisely than we. The nurse never left her foster-daughter; +this is why the nurse is the confidante in most of their plays. +A child who passes through many hands in turn, can never be well +brought up. + +At every change he makes a secret comparison, which continually +tends to lessen his respect for those who control him, and with +it their authority over him. If once he thinks there are grown-up +people with no more sense than children the authority of age +is destroyed and his education is ruined. A child should know no +betters but its father and mother, or failing them its foster-mother +and its tutor, and even this is one too many, but this division is +inevitable, and the best that can be done in the way of remedy is +that the man and woman who control him shall be so well agreed with +regard to him that they seem like one. + +The nurse must live rather more comfortably, she must have rather +more substantial food, but her whole way of living must not +be altered, for a sudden change, even a change for the better, is +dangerous to health, and since her usual way of life has made her +healthy and strong, why change it? + +Country women eat less meat and more vegetables than towns-women, +and this vegetarian diet seems favourable rather than otherwise to +themselves and their children. When they take nurslings from the +upper classes they eat meat and broth with the idea that they will +form better chyle and supply more milk. I do not hold with this +at all, and experience is on my side, for we do not find children +fed in this way less liable to colic and worms. + +That need not surprise us, for decaying animal matter swarms with +worms, but this is not the case with vegetable matter. [Footnote: +Women eat bread, vegetables, and dairy produce; female dogs and +cats do the same; the she-wolves eat grass. This supplies vegetable +juices to their milk. There are still those species which are +unable to eat anything but flesh, if such there are, which I very +much doubt.] Milk, although manufactured in the body of an animal, +is a vegetable substance; this is shown by analysis; it readily +turns acid, and far from showing traces of any volatile alkali like +animal matter, it gives a neutral salt like plants. + +The milk of herbivorous creatures is sweeter and more wholesome than +the milk of the carnivorous; formed of a substance similar to its +own, it keeps its goodness and becomes less liable to putrifaction. +If quantity is considered, it is well known that farinaceous foods +produce more blood than meat, so they ought to yield more milk. If +a child were not weaned too soon, and if it were fed on vegetarian +food, and its foster-mother were a vegetarian, I do not think it +would be troubled with worms. + +Milk derived from vegetable foods may perhaps be more liable to go +sour, but I am far from considering sour milk an unwholesome food; +whole nations have no other food and are none the worse, and all the +array of absorbents seems to me mere humbug. There are constitutions +which do not thrive on milk, others can take it without absorbents. +People are afraid of the milk separating or curdling; that is +absurd, for we know that milk always curdles in the stomach. This +is how it becomes sufficiently solid to nourish children and young +animals; if it did not curdle it would merely pass away without +feeding them. [Footnote: Although the juices which nourish us are +liquid, they must be extracted from solids. A hard-working man who +ate nothing but soup would soon waste away. He would be far better +fed on milk, just because it curdles.] In vain you dilute milk and +use absorbents; whoever swallows milk digests cheese, this rule is +without exception; rennet is made from a calf's stomach. + +Instead of changing the nurse's usual diet, I think it would be +enough to give food in larger quantities and better of its kind. +It is not the nature of the food that makes a vegetable diet +indigestible, but the flavouring that makes it unwholesome. Reform +your cookery, use neither butter nor oil for frying. Butter, salt, +and milk should never be cooked. Let your vegetables be cooked +in water and only seasoned when they come to table. The vegetable +diet, far from disturbing the nurse, will give her a plentiful +supply of milk. [Footnote: Those who wish to study a full account +of the advantages and disadvantages of the Pythagorean regime, may +consult the works of Dr. Cocchi and his opponent Dr. Bianchi on +this important subject.] If a vegetable diet is best for the child, +how can meat food be best for his nurse? The things are contradictory. + +Fresh air affects children's constitutions, particularly in early +years. It enters every pore of a soft and tender skin, it has +a powerful effect on their young bodies. Its effects can never +be destroyed. So I should not agree with those who take a country +woman from her village and shut her up in one room in a town and +her nursling with her. I would rather send him to breathe the fresh +air of the country than the foul air of the town. He will take his +new mother's position, will live in her cottage, where his tutor +will follow him. The reader will bear in mind that this tutor is +not a paid servant, but the father's friend. But if this friend +cannot be found, if this transfer is not easy, if none of my advice +can be followed, you will say to me, "What shall I do instead?" I +have told you already--"Do what you are doing;" no advice is needed +there. + +Men are not made to be crowded together in ant-hills, but scattered +over the earth to till it. The more they are massed together, the +more corrupt they become. Disease and vice are the sure results of +over-crowded cities. Of all creatures man is least fitted to live +in herds. Huddled together like sheep, men would very soon die. +Man's breath is fatal to his fellows. This is literally as well as +figuratively true. + +Men are devoured by our towns. In a few generations the race dies +out or becomes degenerate; it needs renewal, and it is always +renewed from the country. Send your children to renew themselves, +so to speak, send them to regain in the open fields the strength +lost in the foul air of our crowded cities. Women hurry home that +their children may be born in the town; they ought to do just the +opposite, especially those who mean to nurse their own children. They +would lose less than they think, and in more natural surroundings +the pleasures associated by nature with maternal duties would soon +destroy the taste for other delights. + +The new-born infant is first bathed in warm water to which a little +wine is usually added. I think the wine might be dispensed with. +As nature does not produce fermented liquors, it is not likely that +they are of much value to her creatures. + +In the same way it is unnecessary to take the precaution of heating +the water; in fact among many races the new-born infants are bathed +with no more ado in rivers or in the sea. Our children, made tender +before birth by the softness of their parents, come into the world +with a constitution already enfeebled, which cannot be at once +exposed to all the trials required to restore it to health. Little +by little they must be restored to their natural vigour. Begin then +by following this custom, and leave it off gradually. Wash your +children often, their dirty ways show the need of this. If they +are only wiped their skin is injured; but as they grow stronger +gradually reduce the heat of the water, till at last you bathe them +winter and summer in cold, even in ice-cold water. To avoid risk +this change must be slow, gradual, and imperceptible, so you may +use the thermometer for exact measurements. + +This habit of the bath, once established, should never be broken +off, it must be kept up all through life. I value it not only on +grounds of cleanliness and present health, but also as a wholesome +means of making the muscles supple, and accustoming them to bear +without risk or effort extremes of heat and cold. As he gets older +I would have the child trained to bathe occasionally in hot water +of every bearable degree, and often in every degree of cold water. +Now water being a denser fluid touches us at more points than air, +so that, having learnt to bear all the variations of temperature in +water, we shall scarcely feel this of the air. [Footnote: Children +in towns are stifled by being kept indoors and too much wrapped +up. Those who control them have still to learn that fresh air, +far from doing them harm, will make them strong, while hot air will +make them weak, will give rise to fevers, and will eventually kill +them.] + +When the child draws its first breath do not confine it in tight +wrappings. No cap, no bandages, nor swaddling clothes. Loose and +flowing flannel wrappers, which leave its limbs free and are not too +heavy to check his movements, not too warm to prevent his feeling +the air. [Footnote: I say "cradle" using the common word for want +of a better, though I am convinced that it is never necessary +and often harmful to rock children in the cradle.] Put him in a +big cradle, well padded, where he can move easily and safely. As +he begins to grow stronger, let him crawl about the room; let him +develop and stretch his tiny limbs; you will see him gain strength +from day to day. Compare him with a well swaddled child of the same +age and you will be surprised at their different rates of progress. +[Footnote: The ancient Peruvians wrapped their children in loose +swaddling bands, leaving the arms quite free. Later they placed +them unswaddled in a hole in the ground, lined with cloths, so that +the lower part of the body was in the hole, and their arms were +free and they could move the head and bend the body at will without +falling or hurting themselves. When they began to walk they were +enticed to come to the breast. The little negroes are often in a +position much more difficult for sucking. They cling to the mother's +hip, and cling so tightly that the mother's arm is often not needed +to support them. They clasp the breast with their hand and continue +sucking while their mother goes on with her ordinary work. These +children begin to walk at two months, or rather to crawl. Later on +they can run on all fours almost as well as on their feet.--Buffon. +M. Buffon might also have quoted the example of England, where +the senseless and barbarous swaddling clothes have become almost +obsolete. Cf. La Longue Voyage de Siam, Le Beau Voyage de Canada, +etc.] + +You must expect great opposition from the nurses, who find a half +strangled baby needs much less watching. Besides his dirtyness is +more perceptible in an open garment; he must be attended to more +frequently. Indeed, custom is an unanswerable argument in some +lands and among all classes of people. + +Do not argue with the nurses; give your orders, see them carried +out, and spare no pains to make the attention you prescribe easy in +practice. Why not take your share in it? With ordinary nurslings, +where the body alone is thought of, nothing matters so long as the +child lives and does not actually die, but with us, when education +begins with life, the new-born child is already a disciple, not +of his tutor, but of nature. The tutor merely studies under this +master, and sees that his orders are not evaded. He watches over +the infant, he observes it, he looks for the first feeble glimmering +of intelligence, as the Moslem looks for the moment of the moon's +rising in her first quarter. + +We are born capable of learning, but knowing nothing, perceiving +nothing. The mind, bound up within imperfect and half grown organs, +is not even aware of its own existence. The movements and cries of +the new-born child are purely reflex, without knowledge or will. + +Suppose a child born with the size and strength of manhood, entering +upon life full grown like Pallas from the brain of Jupiter; such a +child-man would be a perfect idiot, an automaton, a statue without +motion and almost without feeling; he would see and hear nothing, +he would recognise no one, he could not turn his eyes towards what +he wanted to see; not only would he perceive no external object, +he would not even be aware of sensation through the several +sense-organs. His eye would not perceive colour, his ear sounds, +his body would be unaware of contact with neighbouring bodies, he +would not even know he had a body, what his hands handled would +be in his brain alone; all his sensations would be united in one +place, they would exist only in the common "sensorium," he would +have only one idea, that of self, to which he would refer all his +sensations; and this idea, or rather this feeling, would be the +only thing in which he excelled an ordinary child. + +This man, full grown at birth, would also be unable to stand on his +feet, he would need a long time to learn how to keep his balance; +perhaps he would not even be able to try to do it, and you would +see the big strong body left in one place like a stone, or creeping +and crawling like a young puppy. + +He would feel the discomfort of bodily needs without knowing what +was the matter and without knowing how to provide for these needs. +There is no immediate connection between the muscles of the stomach +and those of the arms and legs to make him take a step towards +food, or stretch a hand to seize it, even were he surrounded with +it; and as his body would be full grown and his limbs well developed +he would be without the perpetual restlessness and movement +of childhood, so that he might die of hunger without stirring +to seek food. However little you may have thought about the order +and development of our knowledge, you cannot deny that such a one +would be in the state of almost primitive ignorance and stupidity +natural to man before he has learnt anything from experience or +from his fellows. + +We know then, or we may know, the point of departure from which +we each start towards the usual level of understanding; but who +knows the other extreme? Each progresses more or less according to +his genius, his taste, his needs, his talents, his zeal, and his +opportunities for using them. No philosopher, so far as I know, +has dared to say to man, "Thus far shalt thou go and no further." +We know not what nature allows us to be, none of us has measured +the possible difference between man and man. Is there a mind so +dead that this thought has never kindled it, that has never said +in his pride, "How much have I already done, how much more may I +achieve? Why should I lag behind my fellows?" + +As I said before, man's education begins at birth; before he can +speak or understand he is learning. Experience precedes instruction; +when he recognises his nurse he has learnt much. The knowledge +of the most ignorant man would surprise us if we had followed his +course from birth to the present time. If all human knowledge were +divided into two parts, one common to all, the other peculiar to +the learned, the latter would seem very small compared with the +former. But we scarcely heed this general experience, because +it is acquired before the age of reason. Moreover, knowledge only +attracts attention by its rarity, as in algebraic equations common +factors count for nothing. Even animals learn much. They have +senses and must learn to use them; they have needs, they must learn +to satisfy them; they must learn to eat, walk, or fly. Quadrupeds +which can stand on their feet from the first cannot walk for all +that; from their first attempts it is clear that they lack confidence. +Canaries who escape from their cage are unable to fly, having never +used their wings. Living and feeling creatures are always learning. +If plants could walk they would need senses and knowledge, else +their species would die out. The child's first mental experiences are +purely affective, he is only aware of pleasure and pain; it takes +him a long time to acquire the definite sensations which show +him things outside himself, but before these things present and +withdraw themselves, so to speak, from his sight, taking size and +shape for him, the recurrence of emotional experiences is beginning to +subject the child to the rule of habit. You see his eyes constantly +follow the light, and if the light comes from the side the eyes turn +towards it, so that one must be careful to turn his head towards +the light lest he should squint. He must also be accustomed from the +first to the dark, or he will cry if he misses the light. Food and +sleep, too, exactly measured, become necessary at regular intervals, +and soon desire is no longer the effect of need, but of habit, or +rather habit adds a fresh need to those of nature. You must be on +your guard against this. + +The only habit the child should be allowed to contract is that +of having no habits; let him be carried on either arm, let him be +accustomed to offer either hand, to use one or other indifferently; +let him not want to eat, sleep, or do anything at fixed hours, nor +be unable to be left alone by day or night. Prepare the way for +his control of his liberty and the use of his strength by leaving +his body its natural habit, by making him capable of lasting +self-control, of doing all that he wills when his will is formed. + +As soon as the child begins to take notice, what is shown him +must be carefully chosen. The natural man is interested in all new +things. He feels so feeble that he fears the unknown: the habit of +seeing fresh things without ill effects destroys this fear. Children +brought up in clean houses where there are no spiders are afraid +of spiders, and this fear often lasts through life. I never saw +peasants, man, woman, or child, afraid of spiders. + +Since the mere choice of things shown him may make the child timid +or brave, why should not his education begin before he can speak +or understand? I would have him accustomed to see fresh things, +ugly, repulsive, and strange beasts, but little by little, and far +off till he is used to them, and till having seen others handle +them he handles them himself. If in childhood he sees toads, snakes, +and crayfish, he will not be afraid of any animal when he is grown +up. Those who are continually seeing terrible things think nothing +of them. + +All children are afraid of masks. I begin by showing Emile a mask +with a pleasant face, then some one puts this mask before his face; +I begin to laugh, they all laugh too, and the child with them. By +degrees I accustom him to less pleasing masks, and at last hideous +ones. If I have arranged my stages skilfully, far from being afraid +of the last mask, he will laugh at it as he did at the first. After +that I am not afraid of people frightening him with masks. + +When Hector bids farewell to Andromache, the young Astyanax, startled +by the nodding plumes on the helmet, does not know his father; he +flings himself weeping upon his nurse's bosom and wins from his +mother a smile mingled with tears. What must be done to stay this +terror? Just what Hector did; put the helmet on the ground and +caress the child. In a calmer moment one would do more; one would +go up to the helmet, play with the plumes, let the child feel them; +at last the nurse would take the helmet and place it laughingly +on her own head, if indeed a woman's hand dare touch the armour of +Hector. + +If Emile must get used to the sound of a gun, I first fire a pistol +with a small charge. He is delighted with this sudden flash, this +sort of lightning; I repeat the process with more powder; gradually +I add a small charge without a wad, then a larger; in the end I +accustom him to the sound of a gun, to fireworks, cannon, and the +most terrible explosions. + +I have observed that children are rarely afraid of thunder unless +the peals are really terrible and actually hurt the ear, otherwise +this fear only comes to them when they know that thunder sometimes +hurts or kills. When reason begins to cause fear, let us reassure +them. By slow and careful stages man and child learn to fear nothing. + +In the dawn of life, when memory and imagination have not begun to +function, the child only attends to what affects its senses. His +sense experiences are the raw material of thought; they should, +therefore, be presented to him in fitting order, so that memory may +at a future time present them in the same order to his understanding; +but as he only attends to his sensations it is enough, at first, +to show him clearly the connection between these sensations and the +things which cause them. He wants to touch and handle everything; +do not check these movements which teach him invaluable lessons. +Thus he learns to perceive the heat, cold, hardness, softness, +weight, or lightness of bodies, to judge their size and shape and +all their physical properties, by looking, feeling, [Footnote: Of +all the senses that of smell is the latest to develop in children +up to two or three years of age they appear to be insensible of +pleasant or unpleasant odours; in this respect they are as indifferent +or rather as insensible as many animals.] listening, and, above +all, by comparing sight and touch, by judging with the eye what +sensation they would cause to his hand. + +It is only by movement that we learn the difference between self +and not self; it is only by our own movements that we gain the idea +of space. The child has not this idea, so he stretches out his hand +to seize the object within his reach or that which is a hundred +paces from him. You take this as a sign of tyranny, an attempt to +bid the thing draw near, or to bid you bring it. Nothing of the +kind, it is merely that the object first seen in his brain, then +before his eyes, now seems close to his arms, and he has no idea of +space beyond his reach. Be careful, therefore, to take him about, +to move him from place to place, and to let him perceive the change +in his surroundings, so as to teach him to judge of distances. + +When he begins to perceive distances then you must change your +plan, and only carry him when you please, not when he pleases; for +as soon as he is no longer deceived by his senses, there is another +motive for his effort. This change is remarkable and calls for +explanation. + +The discomfort caused by real needs is shown by signs, when the +help of others is required. Hence the cries of children; they often +cry; it must be so. Since they are only conscious of feelings, when +those feelings are pleasant they enjoy them in silence; when they +are painful they say so in their own way and demand relief. Now +when they are awake they can scarcely be in a state of indifference, +either they are asleep or else they are feeling something. + +All our languages are the result of art. It has long been a subject +of inquiry whether there ever was a natural language common to all; +no doubt there is, and it is the language of children before they +begin to speak. This language is inarticulate, but it has tone, +stress, and meaning. The use of our own language has led us to +neglect it so far as to forget it altogether. Let us study children +and we shall soon learn it afresh from them. Nurses can teach us +this language; they understand all their nurslings say to them, they +answer them, and keep up long conversations with them; and though +they use words, these words are quite useless. It is not the hearing +of the word, but its accompanying intonation that is understood. + +To the language of intonation is added the no less forcible language +of gesture. The child uses, not its weak hands, but its face. The +amount of expression in these undeveloped faces is extraordinary; +their features change from one moment to another with incredible +speed. You see smiles, desires, terror, come and go like lightning; +every time the face seems different. The muscles of the face are +undoubtedly more mobile than our own. On the other hand the eyes +are almost expressionless. Such must be the sort of signs they use +at an age when their only needs are those of the body. Grimaces +are the sign of sensation, the glance expresses sentiment. + +As man's first state is one of want and weakness, his first sounds +are cries and tears. The child feels his needs and cannot satisfy +them, he begs for help by his cries. Is he hungry or thirsty? there +are tears; is he too cold or too hot? more tears; he needs movement +and is kept quiet, more tears; he wants to sleep and is disturbed, +he weeps. The less comfortable he is, the more he demands change. +He has only one language because he has, so to say, only one kind +of discomfort. In the imperfect state of his sense organs he does +not distinguish their several impressions; all ills produce one +feeling of sorrow. + +These tears, which you think so little worthy of your attention, +give rise to the first relation between man and his environment; +here is forged the first link in the long chain of social order. + +When the child cries he is uneasy, he feels some need which he +cannot satisfy; you watch him, seek this need, find it, and satisfy +it. If you can neither find it nor satisfy it, the tears continue +and become tiresome. The child is petted to quiet him, he is rocked +or sung to sleep; if he is obstinate, the nurse becomes impatient +and threatens him; cruel nurses sometimes strike him. What strange +lessons for him at his first entrance into life! + +I shall never forget seeing one of these troublesome crying children +thus beaten by his nurse. He was silent at once. I thought he was +frightened, and said to myself, "This will be a servile being from +whom nothing can be got but by harshness." I was wrong, the poor +wretch was choking with rage, he could not breathe, he was black +in the face. A moment later there were bitter cries, every sign +of the anger, rage, and despair of this age was in his tones. +I thought he would die. Had I doubted the innate sense of justice +and injustice in man's heart, this one instance would have convinced +me. I am sure that a drop of boiling liquid falling by chance on +that child's hand would have hurt him less than that blow, slight +in itself, but clearly given with the intention of hurting him. + +This tendency to anger, vexation, and rage needs great care. +Boerhaave thinks that most of the diseases of children are of the +nature of convulsions, because the head being larger in proportion +and the nervous system more extensive than in adults, they are +more liable to nervous irritation. Take the greatest care to remove +from them any servants who tease, annoy, or vex them. They are a +hundredfold more dangerous and more fatal than fresh air and changing +seasons. When children only experience resistance in things and never +in the will of man, they do not become rebellious or passionate, +and their health is better. This is one reason why the children of +the poor, who are freer and more independent, are generally less +frail and weakly, more vigorous than those who are supposed to be +better brought up by being constantly thwarted; but you must always +remember that it is one thing to refrain from thwarting them, but +quite another to obey them. The child's first tears are prayers, +beware lest they become commands; he begins by asking for aid, he +ends by demanding service. Thus from his own weakness, the source +of his first consciousness of dependence, springs the later idea of +rule and tyranny; but as this idea is aroused rather by his needs +than by our services, we begin to see moral results whose causes +are not in nature; thus we see how important it is, even at the +earliest age, to discern the secret meaning of the gesture or cry. + +When the child tries to seize something without speaking, he +thinks he can reach the object, for he does not rightly judge its +distance; when he cries and stretches out his hands he no longer +misjudges the distance, he bids the object approach, or orders you +to bring it to him. In the first case bring it to him slowly; in +the second do not even seem to hear his cries. The more he cries +the less you should heed him. He must learn in good time not to +give commands to men, for he is not their master, nor to things, +for they cannot hear him. Thus when the child wants something you +mean to give him, it is better to carry him to it rather than to +bring the thing to him. From this he will draw a conclusion suited +to his age, and there is no other way of suggesting it to him. + +The Abbe Saint-Pierre calls men big children; one might also call +children little men. These statements are true, but they require +explanation. But when Hobbes calls the wicked a strong child, +his statement is contradicted by facts. All wickedness comes from +weakness. The child is only naughty because he is weak; make him +strong and he will be good; if we could do everything we should +never do wrong. Of all the attributes of the Almighty, goodness is +that which it would be hardest to dissociate from our conception +of Him. All nations who have acknowledged a good and an evil power, +have always regarded the evil as inferior to the good; otherwise +their opinion would have been absurd. Compare this with the creed +of the Savoyard clergyman later on in this book. + +Reason alone teaches us to know good and evil. Therefore conscience, +which makes us love the one and hate the other, though it is +independent of reason, cannot develop without it. Before the age +of reason we do good or ill without knowing it, and there is no +morality in our actions, although there is sometimes in our feeling +with regard to other people's actions in relation to ourselves. A +child wants to overturn everything he sees. He breaks and smashes +everything he can reach; he seizes a bird as he seizes a stone, +and strangles it without knowing what he is about. + +Why so? In the first place philosophy will account for this by +inbred sin, man's pride, love of power, selfishness, spite; perhaps +it will say in addition to this that the child's consciousness of +his own weakness makes him eager to use his strength, to convince +himself of it. But watch that broken down old man reduced in the +downward course of life to the weakness of a child; not only is he +quiet and peaceful, he would have all about him quiet and peaceful +too; the least change disturbs and troubles him, he would like to +see universal calm. How is it possible that similar feebleness and +similar passions should produce such different effects in age and +in infancy, if the original cause were not different? And where can +we find this difference in cause except in the bodily condition of +the two. The active principle, common to both, is growing in one +case and declining in the other; it is being formed in the one +and destroyed in the other; one is moving towards life, the other +towards death. The failing activity of the old man is centred in his +heart, the child's overflowing activity spreads abroad. He feels, +if we may say so, strong enough to give life to all about him. To +make or to destroy, it is all one to him; change is what he seeks, +and all change involves action. If he seems to enjoy destructive +activity it is only that it takes time to make things and very +little time to break them, so that the work of destruction accords +better with his eagerness. + +While the Author of nature has given children this activity, He +takes care that it shall do little harm by giving them small power +to use it. But as soon as they can think of people as tools to be +used, they use them to carry out their wishes and to supplement +their own weakness. This is how they become tiresome, masterful, +imperious, naughty, and unmanageable; a development which does not +spring from a natural love of power, but one which has been taught +them, for it does not need much experience to realise how pleasant +it is to set others to work and to move the world by a word. + +As the child grows it gains strength and becomes less restless and +unquiet and more independent. Soul and body become better balanced +and nature no longer asks for more movement than is required for +self-preservation. But the love of power does not die with the need +that aroused it; power arouses and flatters self-love, and habit +strengthens it; thus caprice follows upon need, and the first seeds +of prejudice and obstinacy are sown. + +FIRST MAXIM.--Far from being too strong, children are not strong +enough for all the claims of nature. Give them full use of such +strength as they have; they will not abuse it. + +SECOND MAXIM.--Help them and supply the experience and strength +they lack whenever the need is of the body. + +THIRD MAXIM.--In the help you give them confine yourself to what is +really needful, without granting anything to caprice or unreason; +for they will not be tormented by caprice if you do not call it +into existence, seeing it is no part of nature. + +FOURTH MAXIM--Study carefully their speech and gestures, so that +at an age when they are incapable of deceit you may discriminate +between those desires which come from nature and those which spring +from perversity. + +The spirit of these rules is to give children more real liberty and +less power, to let them do more for themselves and demand less of +others; so that by teaching them from the first to confine their +wishes within the limits of their powers they will scarcely feel +the want of whatever is not in their power. + +This is another very important reason for leaving children's limbs +and bodies perfectly free, only taking care that they do not fall, +and keeping anything that might hurt them out of their way. + +The child whose body and arms are free will certainly cry much +less than a child tied up in swaddling clothes. He who knows only +bodily needs, only cries when in pain; and this is a great advantage, +for then we know exactly when he needs help, and if possible we +should not delay our help for an instant. But if you cannot relieve +his pain, stay where you are and do not flatter him by way of +soothing him; your caresses will not cure his colic, but he will +remember what he must do to win them; and if he once finds out +how to gain your attention at will, he is your master; the whole +education is spoilt. + +Their movements being less constrained, children will cry less; +less wearied with their tears, people will not take so much trouble +to check them. With fewer threats and promises, they will be less +timid and less obstinate, and will remain more nearly in their +natural state. Ruptures are produced less by letting children cry +than by the means taken to stop them, and my evidence for this is +the fact that the most neglected children are less liable to them +than others. I am very far from wishing that they should be neglected; +on the contrary, it is of the utmost importance that their wants +should be anticipated, so that they need not proclaim their wants +by crying. But neither would I have unwise care bestowed on them. +Why should they think it wrong to cry when they find they can get +so much by it? When they have learned the value of their silence they +take good care not to waste it. In the end they will so exaggerate +its importance that no one will be able to pay its price; then worn +out with crying they become exhausted, and are at length silent. + +Prolonged crying on the part of a child neither swaddled nor out +of health, a child who lacks nothing, is merely the result of habit +or obstinacy. Such tears are no longer the work of nature, but the +work of the child's nurse, who could not resist its importunity +and so has increased it, without considering that while she quiets +the child to-day she is teaching him to cry louder to-morrow. + +Moreover, when caprice or obstinacy is the cause of their tears, +there is a sure way of stopping them by distracting their attention +by some pleasant or conspicuous object which makes them forget that +they want to cry. Most nurses excel in this art, and rightly used +it is very useful; but it is of the utmost importance that the +child should not perceive that you mean to distract his attention, +and that he should be amused without suspecting you are thinking +about him; now this is what most nurses cannot do. + +Most children are weaned too soon. The time to wean them is when +they cut their teeth. This generally causes pain and suffering. At +this time the child instinctively carries everything he gets hold +of to his mouth to chew it. To help forward this process he is given +as a plaything some hard object such as ivory or a wolf's tooth. +I think this is a mistake. Hard bodies applied to the gums do not +soften them; far from it, they make the process of cutting the +teeth more difficult and painful. Let us always take instinct as +our guide; we never see puppies practising their budding teeth on +pebbles, iron, or bones, but on wood, leather, rags, soft materials +which yield to their jaws, and on which the tooth leaves its mark. + +We can do nothing simply, not even for our children. Toys of +silver, gold, coral, cut crystal, rattles of every price and kind; +what vain and useless appliances. Away with them all! Let us have +no corals or rattles; a small branch of a tree with its leaves and +fruit, a stick of liquorice which he may suck and chew, will amuse +him as well as these splendid trifles, and they will have this +advantage at least, he will not be brought up to luxury from his +birth. + +It is admitted that pap is not a very wholesome food. Boiled milk +and uncooked flour cause gravel and do not suit the stomach. In +pap the flour is less thoroughly cooked than in bread and it has +not fermented. I think bread and milk or rice-cream are better. If +you will have pap, the flour should be lightly cooked beforehand. +In my own country they make a very pleasant and wholesome soup from +flour thus heated. Meat-broth or soup is not a very suitable food +and should be used as little as possible. The child must first get +used to chewing his food; this is the right way to bring the teeth +through, and when the child begins to swallow, the saliva mixed +with the food helps digestion. + +I would have them first chew dried fruit or crusts. I should give +them as playthings little bits of dry bread or biscuits, like +the Piedmont bread, known in the country as "grisses." By dint of +softening this bread in the mouth some of it is eventually swallowed +the teeth come through of themselves, and the child is weaned +almost imperceptibly. Peasants have usually very good digestions, +and they are weaned with no more ado. + +From the very first children hear spoken language; we speak to +them before they can understand or even imitate spoken sounds. The +vocal organs are still stiff, and only gradually lend themselves to +the reproduction of the sounds heard; it is even doubtful whether +these sounds are heard distinctly as we hear them. The nurse may +amuse the child with songs and with very merry and varied intonation, +but I object to her bewildering the child with a multitude of +vain words of which it understands nothing but her tone of voice. +I would have the first words he hears few in number, distinctly +and often repeated, while the words themselves should be related to +things which can first be shown to the child. That fatal facility +in the use of words we do not understand begins earlier than we +think. In the schoolroom the scholar listens to the verbiage of his +master as he listened in the cradle to the babble of his nurse. I +think it would be a very useful education to leave him in ignorance +of both. + +All sorts of ideas crowd in upon us when we try to consider the +development of speech and the child's first words. Whatever we +do they all learn to talk in the same way, and all philosophical +speculations are utterly useless. + +To begin with, they have, so to say, a grammar of their own, whose +rules and syntax are more general than our own; if you attend +carefully you will be surprised to find how exactly they follow +certain analogies, very much mistaken if you like, but very regular; +these forms are only objectionable because of their harshness or +because they are not recognised by custom. I have just heard a child +severely scolded by his father for saying, "Mon pere, irai-je-t-y?" +Now we see that this child was following the analogy more closely +than our grammarians, for as they say to him, "Vas-y," why should +he not say, "Irai-je-t-y?" Notice too the skilful way in which he +avoids the hiatus in irai-je-y or y-irai-je? Is it the poor child's +fault that we have so unskilfully deprived the phrase of this +determinative adverb "y," because we did not know what to do with +it? It is an intolerable piece of pedantry and most superfluous +attention to detail to make a point of correcting all children's +little sins against the customary expression, for they always +cure themselves with time. Always speak correctly before them, let +them never be so happy with any one as with you, and be sure that +their speech will be imperceptibly modelled upon yours without any +correction on your part. + +But a much greater evil, and one far less easy to guard against, +is that they are urged to speak too much, as if people were afraid +they would not learn to talk of themselves. This indiscreet zeal +produces an effect directly opposite to what is meant. They speak +later and more confusedly; the extreme attention paid to everything +they say makes it unnecessary for them to speak distinctly, and +as they will scarcely open their mouths, many of them contract a +vicious pronunciation and a confused speech, which last all their +life and make them almost unintelligible. + +I have lived much among peasants, and I never knew one of them lisp, +man or woman, boy or girl. Why is this? Are their speech organs +differently made from our own? No, but they are differently used. +There is a hillock facing my window on which the children of the +place assemble for their games. Although they are far enough away, +I can distinguish perfectly what they say, and often get good notes +for this book. Every day my ear deceives me as to their age. I hear +the voices of children of ten; I look and see the height and features +of children of three or four. This experience is not confined to +me; the townspeople who come to see me, and whom I consult on this +point, all fall into the same mistake. + +This results from the fact that, up to five or six, children in +town, brought up in a room and under the care of a nursery governess, +do not need to speak above a whisper to make themselves heard. As +soon as their lips move people take pains to make out what they +mean; they are taught words which they repeat inaccurately, and by +paying great attention to them the people who are always with them +rather guess what they meant to say than what they said. + +It is quite a different matter in the country. A peasant woman is +not always with her child; he is obliged to learn to say very clearly +and loudly what he wants, if he is to make himself understood. +Children scattered about the fields at a distance from their fathers, +mothers and other children, gain practice in making themselves +heard at a distance, and in adapting the loudness of the voice to +the distance which separates them from those to whom they want to +speak. This is the real way to learn pronunciation, not by stammering +out a few vowels into the ear of an attentive governess. So when +you question a peasant child, he may be too shy to answer, but what +he says he says distinctly, while the nurse must serve as interpreter +for the town child; without her one can understand nothing of what +he is muttering between his teeth. [Footnote: There are exceptions +to this; and often those children who at first are most difficult +to hear, become the noisiest when they begin to raise their voices. +But if I were to enter into all these details I should never make +an end; every sensible reader ought to see that defect and excess, +caused by the same abuse, are both corrected by my method. I regard +the two maxims as inseparable--always enough--never too much. When +the first is well established, the latter necessarily follows on +it.] + +As they grow older, the boys are supposed to be cured of this fault +at college, the girls in the convent schools; and indeed both usually +speak more clearly than children brought up entirely at home. But +they are prevented from acquiring as clear a pronunciation as the +peasants in this way--they are required to learn all sorts of things +by heart, and to repeat aloud what they have learnt; for when they +are studying they get into the way of gabbling and pronouncing +carelessly and ill; it is still worse when they repeat their lessons; +they cannot find the right words, they drag out their syllables. +This is only possible when the memory hesitates, the tongue does +not stammer of itself. Thus they acquire or continue habits of bad +pronunciation. Later on you will see that Emile does not acquire +such habits or at least not from this cause. + +I grant you uneducated people and villagers often fall into the opposite +extreme. They almost always speak too loud; their pronunciation is +too exact, and leads to rough and coarse articulation; their accent +is too pronounced, they choose their expressions badly, etc. + +But, to begin with, this extreme strikes me as much less dangerous +than the other, for the first law of speech is to make oneself +understood, and the chief fault is to fail to be understood. To pride +ourselves on having no accent is to pride ourselves on ridding our +phrases of strength and elegance. Emphasis is the soul of speech, +it gives it its feeling and truth. Emphasis deceives less than +words; perhaps that is why well-educated people are so afraid of +it. From the custom of saying everything in the same tone has arisen +that of poking fun at people without their knowing it. When emphasis +is proscribed, its place is taken by all sorts of ridiculous, affected, +and ephemeral pronunciations, such as one observes especially among +the young people about court. It is this affectation of speech and +manner which makes Frenchmen disagreeable and repulsive to other +nations on first acquaintance. Emphasis is found, not in their +speech, but in their bearing. That is not the way to make themselves +attractive. + +All these little faults of speech, which you are so afraid the +children will acquire, are mere trifles; they may be prevented or +corrected with the greatest ease, but the faults which are taught +them when you make them speak in a low, indistinct, and timid voice, +when you are always criticising their tone and finding fault with +their words, are never cured. A man who has only learnt to speak +in society of fine ladies could not make himself heard at the head +of his troops, and would make little impression on the rabble in +a riot. First teach the child to speak to men; he will be able to +speak to the women when required. + +Brought up in all the rustic simplicity of the country, your +children will gain a more sonorous voice; they will not acquire +the hesitating stammer of town children, neither will they acquire +the expressions nor the tone of the villagers, or if they do they +will easily lose them; their master being with them from their +earliest years, and more and more in their society the older they +grow, will be able to prevent or efface by speaking correctly himself +the impression of the peasants' talk. Emile will speak the purest +French I know, but he will speak it more distinctly and with a +better articulation than myself. + +The child who is trying to speak should hear nothing but words he +can understand, nor should he say words he cannot articulate; his +efforts lead him to repeat the same syllable as if he were practising +its clear pronunciation. When he begins to stammer, do not try to +understand him. To expect to be always listened to is a form of +tyranny which is not good for the child. See carefully to his real +needs, and let him try to make you understand the rest. Still +less should you hurry him into speech; he will learn to talk when +he feels the want of it. + +It has indeed been remarked that those who begin to speak very late +never speak so distinctly as others; but it is not because they +talked late that they are hesitating; on the contrary, they began +to talk late because they hesitate; if not, why did they begin to +talk so late? Have they less need of speech, have they been less +urged to it? On the contrary, the anxiety aroused with the first +suspicion of this backwardness leads people to tease them much +more to begin to talk than those who articulated earlier; and this +mistaken zeal may do much to make their speech confused, when with +less haste they might have had time to bring it to greater perfection. + +Children who are forced to speak too soon have no time to learn +either to pronounce correctly or to understand what they are made +to say; while left to themselves they first practise the easiest +syllables, and then, adding to them little by little some meaning +which their gestures explain, they teach you their own words before +they learn yours. By this means they do not acquire your words +till they have understood them. Being in no hurry to use them, they +begin by carefully observing the sense in which you use them, and +when they are sure of them they adopt them. + +The worst evil resulting from the precocious use of speech by young +children is that we not only fail to understand the first words +they use, we misunderstand them without knowing it; so that while +they seem to answer us correctly, they fail to understand us and we +them. This is the most frequent cause of our surprise at children's +sayings; we attribute to them ideas which they did not attach to +their words. This lack of attention on our part to the real meaning +which words have for children seems to me the cause of their earliest +misconceptions; and these misconceptions, even when corrected, +colour their whole course of thought for the rest of their life. I +shall have several opportunities of illustrating these by examples +later on. + +Let the child's vocabulary, therefore, be limited; it is very +undesirable that he should have more words than ideas, that he +should be able to say more than he thinks. One of the reasons why +peasants are generally shrewder than townsfolk is, I think, that +their vocabulary is smaller. They have few ideas, but those few +are thoroughly grasped. + +The infant is progressing in several ways at once; he is learning +to talk, eat, and walk about the same time. This is really the +first phase of his life. Up till now, he was little more than he +was before birth; he had neither feeling nor thought, he was barely +capable of sensation; he was unconscious of his own existence. + +"Vivit, et est vitae nescius ipse suae."--Ovid. + + + + +BOOK II + +We have now reached the second phase of life; infancy, strictly +so-called, is over; for the words infans and puer are not +synonymous. The latter includes the former, which means literally +"one who cannot speak;" thus Valerius speaks of puerum infantem. +But I shall continue to use the word child (French enfant) according +to the custom of our language till an age for which there is another +term. + +When children begin to talk they cry less. This progress is quite +natural; one language supplants another. As soon as they can say +"It hurts me," why should they cry, unless the pain is too sharp +for words? If they still cry, those about them are to blame. When +once Emile has said, "It hurts me," it will take a very sharp pain +to make him cry. + +If the child is delicate and sensitive, if by nature he begins to +cry for nothing, I let him cry in vain and soon check his tears at +their source. So long as he cries I will not go near him; I come +at once when he leaves off crying. He will soon be quiet when he +wants to call me, or rather he will utter a single cry. Children +learn the meaning of signs by their effects; they have no other +meaning for them. However much a child hurts himself when he is +alone, he rarely cries, unless he expects to be heard. + +Should he fall or bump his head, or make his nose bleed, or cut +his fingers, I shall show no alarm, nor shall I make any fuss over +him; I shall take no notice, at any rate at first. The harm is done; +he must bear it; all my zeal could only frighten him more and make +him more nervous. Indeed it is not the blow but the fear of it which +distresses us when we are hurt. I shall spare him this suffering +at least, for he will certainly regard the injury as he sees me +regard it; if he finds that I hasten anxiously to him, if I pity +him or comfort him, he will think he is badly hurt. If he finds I +take no notice, he will soon recover himself, and will think the +wound is healed when it ceases to hurt. This is the time for his +first lesson in courage, and by bearing slight ills without fear +we gradually learn to bear greater. + +I shall not take pains to prevent Emile hurting himself; far from +it, I should be vexed if he never hurt himself, if he grew up +unacquainted with pain. To bear pain is his first and most useful +lesson. It seems as if children were small and weak on purpose to +teach them these valuable lessons without danger. The child has +such a little way to fall he will not break his leg; if he knocks +himself with a stick he will not break his arm; if he seizes a sharp +knife he will not grasp it tight enough to make a deep wound. So +far as I know, no child, left to himself, has ever been known to +kill or maim itself, or even to do itself any serious harm, unless +it has been foolishly left on a high place, or alone near the fire, +or within reach of dangerous weapons. What is there to be said for +all the paraphernalia with which the child is surrounded to shield +him on every side so that he grows up at the mercy of pain, with +neither courage nor experience, so that he thinks he is killed by +a pin-prick and faints at the sight of blood? + +With our foolish and pedantic methods we are always preventing children +from learning what they could learn much better by themselves, while +we neglect what we alone can teach them. Can anything be sillier +than the pains taken to teach them to walk, as if there were any +one who was unable to walk when he grows up through his nurse's +neglect? How many we see walking badly all their life because they +were ill taught? + +Emile shall have no head-pads, no go-carts, no leading-strings; +or at least as soon as he can put one foot before another he shall +only be supported along pavements, and he shall be taken quickly +across them. [Footnote: There is nothing so absurd and hesitating +as the gait of those who have been kept too long in leading-strings +when they were little. This is one of the observations which are +considered trivial because they are true.] Instead of keeping him +mewed up in a stuffy room, take him out into a meadow every day; +let him run about, let him struggle and fall again and again, the +oftener the better; he will learn all the sooner to pick himself +up. The delights of liberty will make up for many bruises. My +pupil will hurt himself oftener than yours, but he will always be +merry; your pupils may receive fewer injuries, but they are always +thwarted, constrained, and sad. I doubt whether they are any better +off. + +As their strength increases, children have also less need for tears. +They can do more for themselves, they need the help of others less +frequently. With strength comes the sense to use it. It is with +this second phase that the real personal life has its beginning; it +is then that the child becomes conscious of himself. During every +moment of his life memory calls up the feeling of self; he becomes +really one person, always the same, and therefore capable of joy +or sorrow. Hence we must begin to consider him as a moral being. + +Although we know approximately the limits of human life and our +chances of attaining those limits, nothing is more uncertain than +the length of the life of any one of us. Very few reach old age. +The chief risks occur at the beginning of life; the shorter our +past life, the less we must hope to live. Of all the children who +are born scarcely one half reach adolescence, and it is very likely +your pupil will not live to be a man. + +What is to be thought, therefore, of that cruel education which +sacrifices the present to an uncertain future, that burdens a child +with all sorts of restrictions and begins by making him miserable, +in order to prepare him for some far-off happiness which he may +never enjoy? Even if I considered that education wise in its aims, +how could I view without indignation those poor wretches subjected +to an intolerable slavery and condemned like galley-slaves to endless +toil, with no certainty that they will gain anything by it? The +age of harmless mirth is spent in tears, punishments, threats, +and slavery. You torment the poor thing for his good; you fail +to see that you are calling Death to snatch him from these gloomy +surroundings. Who can say how many children fall victims to the +excessive care of their fathers and mothers? They are happy to +escape from this cruelty; this is all that they gain from the ills +they are forced to endure: they die without regretting, having +known nothing of life but its sorrows. + +Men, be kind to your fellow-men; this is your first duty, kind to +every age and station, kind to all that is not foreign to humanity. +What wisdom can you find that is greater than kindness? Love childhood, +indulge its sports, its pleasures, its delightful instincts. Who +has not sometimes regretted that age when laughter was ever on the +lips, and when the heart was ever at peace? Why rob these innocents +of the joys which pass so quickly, of that precious gift which they +cannot abuse? Why fill with bitterness the fleeting days of early +childhood, days which will no more return for them than for you? +Fathers, can you tell when death will call your children to him? +Do not lay up sorrow for yourselves by robbing them of the short +span which nature has allotted to them. As soon as they are aware +of the joy of life, let them rejoice in it, go that whenever God +calls them they may not die without having tasted the joy of life. + +How people will cry out against me! I hear from afar the shouts of +that false wisdom which is ever dragging us onwards, counting the +present as nothing, and pursuing without a pause a future which +flies as we pursue, that false wisdom which removes us from our +place and never brings us to any other. + +Now is the time, you say, to correct his evil tendencies; we must +increase suffering in childhood, when it is less keenly felt, to +lessen it in manhood. But how do you know that you can carry out +all these fine schemes; how do you know that all this fine teaching +with which you overwhelm the feeble mind of the child will not do +him more harm than good in the future? How do you know that you +can spare him anything by the vexations you heap upon him now? Why +inflict on him more ills than befit his present condition unless +you are quite sure that these present ills will save him future +ill? And what proof can you give me that those evil tendencies +you profess to cure are not the result of your foolish precautions +rather than of nature? What a poor sort of foresight, to make a +child wretched in the present with the more or less doubtful hope +of making him happy at some future day. If such blundering thinkers +fail to distinguish between liberty and licence, between a merry +child and a spoilt darling, let them learn to discriminate. + +Let us not forget what befits our present state in the pursuit +of vain fancies. Mankind has its place in the sequence of things; +childhood has its place in the sequence of human life; the man must +be treated as a man and the child as a child. Give each his place, +and keep him there. Control human passions according to man's +nature; that is all we can do for his welfare. The rest depends on +external forces, which are beyond our control. + +Absolute good and evil are unknown to us. In this life they are +blended together; we never enjoy any perfectly pure feeling, nor +do we remain for more than a moment in the same state. The feelings +of our minds, like the changes in our bodies, are in a continual +flux. Good and ill are common to all, but in varying proportions. +The happiest is he who suffers least; the most miserable is he who +enjoys least. Ever more sorrow than joy--this is the lot of all of +us. Man's happiness in this world is but a negative state; it must +be reckoned by the fewness of his ills. + +Every feeling of hardship is inseparable from the desire to escape +from it; every idea of pleasure from the desire to enjoy it. All desire +implies a want, and all wants are painful; hence our wretchedness +consists in the disproportion between our desires and our powers. +A conscious being whose powers were equal to his desires would be +perfectly happy. + +What then is human wisdom? Where is the path of true happiness? +The mere limitation of our desires is not enough, for if they were +less than our powers, part of our faculties would be idle, and we +should not enjoy our whole being; neither is the mere extension of +our powers enough, for if our desires were also increased we should +only be the more miserable. True happiness consists in decreasing +the difference between our desires and our powers, in establishing +a perfect equilibrium between the power and the will. Then only, +when all its forces are employed, will the soul be at rest and man +will find himself in his true position. + +In this condition, nature, who does everything for the best, has +placed him from the first. To begin with, she gives him only such +desires as are necessary for self-preservation and such powers as +are sufficient for their satisfaction. All the rest she has stored +in his mind as a sort of reserve, to be drawn upon at need. It +is only in this primitive condition that we find the equilibrium +between desire and power, and then alone man is not unhappy. As +soon as his potential powers of mind begin to function, imagination, +more powerful than all the rest, awakes, and precedes all the rest. +It is imagination which enlarges the bounds of possibility for us, +whether for good or ill, and therefore stimulates and feeds desires +by the hope of satisfying them. But the object which seemed within +our grasp flies quicker than we can follow; when we think we have +grasped it, it transforms itself and is again far ahead of us. +We no longer perceive the country we have traversed, and we think +nothing of it; that which lies before us becomes vaster and stretches +still before us. Thus we exhaust our strength, yet never reach our +goal, and the nearer we are to pleasure, the further we are from +happiness. + +On the other hand, the more nearly a man's condition approximates +to this state of nature the less difference is there between his +desires and his powers, and happiness is therefore less remote. +Lacking everything, he is never less miserable; for misery consists, +not in the lack of things, but in the needs which they inspire. + +The world of reality has its bounds, the world of imagination is +boundless; as we cannot enlarge the one, let us restrict the other; +for all the sufferings which really make us miserable arise from +the difference between the real and the imaginary. Health, strength, +and a good conscience excepted, all the good things of life are a +matter of opinion; except bodily suffering and remorse, all our woes +are imaginary. You will tell me this is a commonplace; I admit it, +but its practical application is no commonplace, and it is with +practice only that we are now concerned. + +What do you mean when you say, "Man is weak"? The term weak implies +a relation, a relation of the creature to whom it is applied. An +insect or a worm whose strength exceeds its needs is strong; an +elephant, a lion, a conqueror, a hero, a god himself, whose needs +exceed his strength is weak. The rebellious angel who fought against +his own nature was weaker than the happy mortal who is living at +peace according to nature. When man is content to be himself he +is strong indeed; when he strives to be more than man he is weak +indeed. But do not imagine that you can increase your strength +by increasing your powers. Not so; if your pride increases more +rapidly your strength is diminished. Let us measure the extent of +our sphere and remain in its centre like the spider in its web; +we shall have strength sufficient for our needs, we shall have no +cause to lament our weakness, for we shall never be aware of it. + +The other animals possess only such powers as are required for +self-preservation; man alone has more. Is it not very strange that +this superfluity should make him miserable? In every land a man's +labour yields more than a bare living. If he were wise enough to +disregard this surplus he would always have enough, for he would +never have too much. "Great needs," said Favorin, "spring from +great wealth; and often the best way of getting what we want is +to get rid of what we have." By striving to increase our happiness +we change it into wretchedness. If a man were content to live, he +would live happy; and he would therefore be good, for what would +he have to gain by vice? + +If we were immortal we should all be miserable; no doubt it is hard +to die, but it is sweet to think that we shall not live for ever, +and that a better life will put an end to the sorrows of this +world. If we had the offer of immortality here below, who would +accept the sorrowful gift? [Footnote: You understand I am speaking +of those who think, and not of the crowd.] What resources, what +hopes, what consolation would be left against the cruelties of +fate and man's injustice? The ignorant man never looks before; he +knows little of the value of life and does not fear to lose it; +the wise man sees things of greater worth and prefers them to it. +Half knowledge and sham wisdom set us thinking about death and +what lies beyond it; and they thus create the worst of our ills. +The wise man bears life's ills all the better because he knows +he must die. Life would be too dearly bought did we not know that +sooner or later death will end it. + +Our moral ills are the result of prejudice, crime alone excepted, +and that depends on ourselves; our bodily ills either put an end +to themselves or to us. Time or death will cure them, but the less +we know how to bear it, the greater is our pain, and we suffer more +in our efforts to cure our diseases than if we endured them. Live +according to nature; be patient, get rid of the doctors; you will +not escape death, but you will only die once, while the doctors +make you die daily through your diseased imagination; their lying +art, instead of prolonging your days, robs you of all delight in +them. I am always asking what real good this art has done to mankind. +True, the doctors cure some who would have died, but they kill +millions who would have lived. If you are wise you will decline to +take part in this lottery when the odds are so great against you. +Suffer, die, or get better; but whatever you do, live while you +are alive. + +Human institutions are one mass of folly and contradiction. As our +life loses its value we set a higher price upon it. The old regret +life more than the young; they do not want to lose all they have +spent in preparing for its enjoyment. At sixty it is cruel to +die when one has not begun to live. Man is credited with a strong +desire for self-preservation, and this desire exists; but we fail +to perceive that this desire, as felt by us, is largely the work +of man. In a natural state man is only eager to preserve his life +while he has the means for its preservation; when self-preservation +is no longer possible, he resigns himself to his fate and dies without +vain torments. Nature teaches us the first law of resignation. +Savages, like wild beasts, make very little struggle against +death, and meet it almost without a murmur. When this natural law +is overthrown reason establishes another, but few discern it, and +man's resignation is never so complete as nature's. + +Prudence! Prudence which is ever bidding us look forward into the +future, a future which in many cases we shall never reach; here is +the real source of all our troubles! How mad it is for so short-lived +a creature as man to look forward into a future to which he rarely +attains, while he neglects the present which is his? This madness +is all the more fatal since it increases with years, and the old, +always timid, prudent, and miserly, prefer to do without necessaries +to-day that they may have luxuries at a hundred. Thus we grasp +everything, we cling to everything; we are anxious about time, +place, people, things, all that is and will be; we ourselves are +but the least part of ourselves. We spread ourselves, so to speak, +over the whole world, and all this vast expanse becomes sensitive. +No wonder our woes increase when we may be wounded on every side. +How many princes make themselves miserable for the loss of lands +they never saw, and how many merchants lament in Paris over some +misfortune in the Indies! + +Is it nature that carries men so far from their real selves? Is it +her will that each should learn his fate from others and even be +the last to learn it; so that a man dies happy or miserable before +he knows what he is about. There is a healthy, cheerful, strong, +and vigorous man; it does me good to see him; his eyes tell of +content and well-being; he is the picture of happiness. A letter +comes by post; the happy man glances at it, it is addressed to him, +he opens it and reads it. In a moment he is changed, he turns pale +and falls into a swoon. When he comes to himself he weeps, laments, +and groans, he tears his hair, and his shrieks re-echo through the +air. You would say he was in convulsions. Fool, what harm has this +bit of paper done you? What limb has it torn away? What crime has +it made you commit? What change has it wrought in you to reduce +you to this state of misery? + +Had the letter miscarried, had some kindly hand thrown it into the +fire, it strikes me that the fate of this mortal, at once happy and +unhappy, would have offered us a strange problem. His misfortunes, +you say, were real enough. Granted; but he did not feel them. What +of that? His happiness was imaginary. I admit it; health, wealth, +a contented spirit, are mere dreams. We no longer live in our own +place, we live outside it. What does it profit us to live in such +fear of death, when all that makes life worth living is our own? + +Oh, man! live your own life and you will no longer be wretched. +Keep to your appointed place in the order of nature and nothing can +tear you from it. Do not kick against the stern law of necessity, +nor waste in vain resistance the strength bestowed on you by heaven, +not to prolong or extend your existence, but to preserve it so far +and so long as heaven pleases. Your freedom and your power extend +as far and no further than your natural strength; anything more is +but slavery, deceit, and trickery. Power itself is servile when it +depends upon public opinion; for you are dependent on the prejudices +of others when you rule them by means of those prejudices. To lead +them as you will, they must be led as they will. They have only +to change their way of thinking and you are forced to change your +course of action. Those who approach you need only contrive to +sway the opinions of those you rule, or of the favourite by whom +you are ruled, or those of your own family or theirs. Had you the +genius of Themistocles, [Footnote: "You see that little boy," said +Themistocles to his friends, "the fate of Greece is in his hands, +for he rules his mother and his mother rules me, I rule the Athenians +and the Athenians rule the Greeks." What petty creatures we should +often find controlling great empires if we traced the course of power +from the prince to those who secretly put that power in motion.] +viziers, courtiers, priests, soldiers, servants, babblers, the +very children themselves, would lead you like a child in the midst +of your legions. Whatever you do, your actual authority can never +extend beyond your own powers. As soon as you are obliged to +see with another's eyes you must will what he wills. You say with +pride, "My people are my subjects." Granted, but what are you? The +subject of your ministers. And your ministers, what are they? The +subjects of their clerks, their mistresses, the servants of their +servants. Grasp all, usurp all, and then pour out your silver with +both hands; set up your batteries, raise the gallows and the wheel; +make laws, issue proclamations, multiply your spies, your soldiers, +your hangmen, your prisons, and your chains. Poor little men, what +good does it do you? You will be no better served, you will be +none the less robbed and deceived, you will be no nearer absolute +power. You will say continually, "It is our will," and you will +continually do the will of others. + +There is only one man who gets his own way--he who can get it +single-handed; therefore freedom, not power, is the greatest good. +That man is truly free who desires what he is able to perform, and +does what he desires. This is my fundamental maxim. Apply it to +childhood, and all the rules of education spring from it. + +Society has enfeebled man, not merely by robbing him of the right +to his own strength, but still more by making his strength insufficient +for his needs. This is why his desires increase in proportion to +his weakness; and this is why the child is weaker than the man. If +a man is strong and a child is weak it is not because the strength +of the one is absolutely greater than the strength of the other, +but because the one can naturally provide for himself and the other +cannot. Thus the man will have more desires and the child more +caprices, a word which means, I take it, desires which are not true +needs, desires which can only be satisfied with the help of others. + +I have already given the reason for this state of weakness. Parental +affection is nature's provision against it; but parental affection +may be carried to excess, it may be wanting, or it may be ill applied. +Parents who live under our ordinary social conditions bring their +child into these conditions too soon. By increasing his needs they +do not relieve his weakness; they rather increase it. They further +increase it by demanding of him what nature does not demand, by +subjecting to their will what little strength he has to further +his own wishes, by making slaves of themselves or of him instead +of recognising that mutual dependence which should result from his +weakness or their affection. + +The wise man can keep his own place; but the child who does not +know what his place is, is unable to keep it. There are a thousand +ways out of it, and it is the business of those who have charge +of the child to keep him in his place, and this is no easy task. +He should be neither beast nor man, but a child. He must feel his +weakness, but not suffer through it; he must be dependent, but +he must not obey; he must ask, not command. He is only subject to +others because of his needs, and because they see better than he +what he really needs, what may help or hinder his existence. No +one, not even his father, has the right to bid the child do what +is of no use to him. + +When our natural tendencies have not been interfered with by human +prejudice and human institutions, the happiness alike of children +and of men consists in the enjoyment of their liberty. But the +child's liberty is restricted by his lack of strength. He who does +as he likes is happy provided he is self-sufficing; it is so with +the man who is living in a state of nature. He who does what he +likes is not happy if his desires exceed his strength; it is so +with a child in like conditions. Even in a state of nature children +only enjoy an imperfect liberty, like that enjoyed by men in social +life. Each of us, unable to dispense with the help of others, +becomes so far weak and wretched. We were meant to be men, laws and +customs thrust us back into infancy. The rich and great, the very +kings themselves are but children; they see that we are ready to +relieve their misery; this makes them childishly vain, and they are +quite proud of the care bestowed on them, a care which they would +never get if they were grown men. + +These are weighty considerations, and they provide a solution +for all the conflicting problems of our social system. There are +two kinds of dependence: dependence on things, which is the work +of nature; and dependence on men, which is the work of society. +Dependence on things, being non-moral, does no injury to liberty and +begets no vices; dependence on men, being out of order, [Footnote: +In my PRINCIPLES OF POLITICAL LAW it is proved that no private will +can be ordered in the social system.] gives rise to every kind of +vice, and through this master and slave become mutually depraved. +If there is any cure for this social evil, it is to be found in +the substitution of law for the individual; in arming the general +will with a real strength beyond the power of any individual will. +If the laws of nations, like the laws of nature, could never be +broken by any human power, dependence on men would become dependence +on things; all the advantages of a state of nature would be combined +with all the advantages of social life in the commonwealth. The +liberty which preserves a man from vice would be united with the +morality which raises him to virtue. + +Keep the child dependent on things only. By this course of education +you will have followed the order of nature. Let his unreasonable +wishes meet with physical obstacles only, or the punishment which +results from his own actions, lessons which will be recalled when +the same circumstances occur again. It is enough to prevent him +from wrong doing without forbidding him to do wrong. Experience or +lack of power should take the place of law. Give him, not what he +wants, but what he needs. Let there be no question of obedience for +him or tyranny for you. Supply the strength he lacks just so far +as is required for freedom, not for power, so that he may receive +your services with a sort of shame, and look forward to the time when +he may dispense with them and may achieve the honour of self-help. + +Nature provides for the child's growth in her own fashion, and this +should never be thwarted. Do not make him sit still when he wants +to run about, nor run when he wants to be quiet. If we did not +spoil our children's wills by our blunders their desires would be +free from caprice. Let them run, jump, and shout to their heart's +content. All their own activities are instincts of the body for +its growth in strength; but you should regard with suspicion those +wishes which they cannot carry out for themselves, those which +others must carry out for them. Then you must distinguish carefully +between natural and artificial needs, between the needs of budding +caprice and the needs which spring from the overflowing life just +described. + +I have already told you what you ought to do when a child cries for +this thing or that. I will only add that as soon as he has words +to ask for what he wants and accompanies his demands with tears, +either to get his own way quicker or to over-ride a refusal, he +should never have his way. If his words were prompted by a real +need you should recognise it and satisfy it at once; but to yield +to his tears is to encourage him to cry, to teach him to doubt +your kindness, and to think that you are influenced more by his +importunity than your own good-will. If he does not think you kind +he will soon think you unkind; if he thinks you weak he will soon +become obstinate; what you mean to give must be given at once. Be +chary of refusing, but, having refused, do not change your mind. + +Above all, beware of teaching the child empty phrases of politeness, +which serve as spells to subdue those around him to his will, and +to get him what he wants at once. The artificial education of the +rich never fails to make them politely imperious, by teaching them +the words to use so that no one will dare to resist them. Their +children have neither the tone nor the manner of suppliants; they are +as haughty or even more haughty in their entreaties than in their +commands, as though they were more certain to be obeyed. You see +at once that "If you please" means "It pleases me," and "I beg" +means "I command." What a fine sort of politeness which only succeeds +in changing the meaning of words so that every word is a command! +For my own part, I would rather Emile were rude than haughty, that +he should say "Do this" as a request, rather than "Please" as a +command. What concerns me is his meaning, not his words. + +There is such a thing as excessive severity as well as excessive +indulgence, and both alike should be avoided. If you let children +suffer you risk their health and life; you make them miserable now; +if you take too much pains to spare them every kind of uneasiness +you are laying up much misery for them in the future; you are making +them delicate and over-sensitive; you are taking them out of their +place among men, a place to which they must sooner or later return, +in spite of all your pains. You will say I am falling into the +same mistake as those bad fathers whom I blamed for sacrificing the +present happiness of their children to a future which may never be +theirs. + +Not so; for the liberty I give my pupil makes up for the slight +hardships to which he is exposed. I see little fellows playing in +the snow, stiff and blue with cold, scarcely able to stir a finger. +They could go and warm themselves if they chose, but they do not +choose; if you forced them to come in they would feel the harshness +of constraint a hundredfold more than the sharpness of the cold. Then +what becomes of your grievance? Shall I make your child miserable +by exposing him to hardships which he is perfectly ready to endure? I +secure his present good by leaving him his freedom, and his future +good by arming him against the evils he will have to bear. If he +had his choice, would he hesitate for a moment between you and me? + +Do you think any man can find true happiness elsewhere than in his +natural state; and when you try to spare him all suffering, are you +not taking him out of his natural state? Indeed I maintain that to +enjoy great happiness he must experience slight ills; such is his +nature. Too much bodily prosperity corrupts the morals. A man who +knew nothing of suffering would be incapable of tenderness towards +his fellow-creatures and ignorant of the joys of pity; he would be +hard-hearted, unsocial, a very monster among men. + +Do you know the surest way to make your child miserable? Let him +have everything he wants; for as his wants increase in proportion +to the ease with which they are satisfied, you will be compelled, +sooner or later, to refuse his demands, and this unlooked-for +refusal will hurt him more than the lack of what he wants. He will +want your stick first, then your watch, the bird that flies, or +the star that shines above him. He will want all he sets eyes on, +and unless you were God himself, how could you satisfy him? + +Man naturally considers all that he can get as his own. In this +sense Hobbes' theory is true to a certain extent: Multiply both our +wishes and the means of satisfying them, and each will be master of +all. Thus the child, who has only to ask and have, thinks himself +the master of the universe; he considers all men as his slaves; +and when you are at last compelled to refuse, he takes your refusal +as an act of rebellion, for he thinks he has only to command. All +the reasons you give him, while he is still too young to reason, +are so many pretences in his eyes; they seem to him only unkindness; +the sense of injustice embitters his disposition; he hates every +one. Though he has never felt grateful for kindness, he resents +all opposition. + +How should I suppose that such a child can ever be happy? He is +the slave of anger, a prey to the fiercest passions. Happy! He is +a tyrant, at once the basest of slaves and the most wretched of +creatures. I have known children brought up like this who expected +you to knock the house down, to give them the weather-cock on the +steeple, to stop a regiment on the march so that they might listen +to the band; when they could not get their way they screamed and +cried and would pay no attention to any one. In vain everybody strove +to please them; as their desires were stimulated by the ease with +which they got their own way, they set their hearts on impossibilities, +and found themselves face to face with opposition and difficulty, +pain and grief. Scolding, sulking, or in a rage, they wept and cried +all day. Were they really so greatly favoured? Weakness, combined +with love of power, produces nothing but folly and suffering. One +spoilt child beats the table; another whips the sea. They may beat +and whip long enough before they find contentment. + +If their childhood is made wretched by these notions of power and +tyranny, what of their manhood, when their relations with their +fellow-men begin to grow and multiply? They are used to find everything +give way to them; what a painful surprise to enter society and meet +with opposition on every side, to be crushed beneath the weight +of a universe which they expected to move at will. Their insolent +manners, their childish vanity, only draw down upon them mortification, +scorn, and mockery; they swallow insults like water; sharp experience +soon teaches them that they have realised neither their position +nor their strength. As they cannot do everything, they think they +can do nothing. They are daunted by unexpected obstacles, degraded +by the scorn of men; they become base, cowardly, and deceitful, and +fall as far below their true level as they formerly soared above +it. + +Let us come back to the primitive law. Nature has made children +helpless and in need of affection; did she make them to be obeyed +and feared? Has she given them an imposing manner, a stern eye, a +loud and threatening voice with which to make themselves feared? +I understand how the roaring of the lion strikes terror into the +other beasts, so that they tremble when they behold his terrible +mane, but of all unseemly, hateful, and ridiculous sights, was there +ever anything like a body of statesmen in their robes of office +with their chief at their head bowing down before a swaddled babe, +addressing him in pompous phrases, while he cries and slavers in +reply? + +If we consider childhood itself, is there anything so weak and +wretched as a child, anything so utterly at the mercy of those about +it, so dependent on their pity, their care, and their affection? +Does it not seem as if his gentle face and touching appearance +were intended to interest every one on behalf of his weakness and +to make them eager to help him? And what is there more offensive, +more unsuitable, than the sight of a sulky or imperious child, +who commands those about him, and impudently assumes the tones of +a master towards those without whom he would perish? + +On the other hand, do you not see how children are fettered by the +weakness of infancy? Do you not see how cruel it is to increase +this servitude by obedience to our caprices, by depriving them of +such liberty as they have? a liberty which they can scarcely abuse, +a liberty the loss of which will do so little good to them or us. +If there is nothing more ridiculous than a haughty child, there +is nothing that claims our pity like a timid child. With the age +of reason the child becomes the slave of the community; then why +forestall this by slavery in the home? Let this brief hour of life +be free from a yoke which nature has not laid upon it; leave the +child the use of his natural liberty, which, for a time at least, +secures him from the vices of the slave. Bring me those harsh +masters, and those fathers who are the slaves of their children, +bring them both with their frivolous objections, and before they +boast of their own methods let them for once learn the method of +nature. + +I return to practical matters. I have already said your child +must not get what he asks, but what he needs; [Footnote: We must +recognise that pain is often necessary, pleasure is sometimes needed. +So there is only one of the child's desires which should never be +complied with, the desire for power. Hence, whenever they ask for +anything we must pay special attention to their motive in asking. +As far as possible give them everything they ask for, provided it +can really give them pleasure; refuse everything they demand from +mere caprice or love of power.] he must never act from obedience, +but from necessity. + +The very words OBEY and COMMAND will be excluded from his vocabulary, +still more those of DUTY and OBLIGATION; but the words strength, +necessity, weakness, and constraint must have a large place in +it. Before the age of reason it is impossible to form any idea of +moral beings or social relations; so avoid, as far as may be, the +use of words which express these ideas, lest the child at an early +age should attach wrong ideas to them, ideas which you cannot or +will not destroy when he is older. The first mistaken idea he gets +into his head is the germ of error and vice; it is the first step +that needs watching. Act in such a way that while he only notices +external objects his ideas are confined to sensations; let him only +see the physical world around him. If not, you may be sure that +either he will pay no heed to you at all, or he will form fantastic +ideas of the moral world of which you prate, ideas which you will +never efface as long as he lives. + +"Reason with children" was Locke's chief maxim; it is in the height +of fashion at present, and I hardly think it is justified by its +results; those children who have been constantly reasoned with +strike me as exceedingly silly. Of all man's faculties, reason, +which is, so to speak, compounded of all the rest, is the last +and choicest growth, and it is this you would use for the child's +early training. To make a man reasonable is the coping stone of a +good education, and yet you profess to train a child through his +reason! You begin at the wrong end, you make the end the means. +If children understood reason they would not need education, but +by talking to them from their earliest age in a language they do +not understand you accustom them to be satisfied with words, to +question all that is said to them, to think themselves as wise as +their teachers; you train them to be argumentative and rebellious; +and whatever you think you gain from motives of reason, you really +gain from greediness, fear, or vanity with which you are obliged +to reinforce your reasoning. + +Most of the moral lessons which are and can be given to children +may be reduced to this formula; Master. You must not do that. + +Child. Why not? + +Master. Because it is wrong. + +Child. Wrong! What is wrong? + +Master. What is forbidden you. + +Child. Why is it wrong to do what is forbidden? + +Master. You will be punished for disobedience. + +Child. I will do it when no one is looking. + +Master. We shall watch you. + +Child. I will hide. + +Master. We shall ask you what you were doing. + +Child. I shall tell a lie. + +Master. You must not tell lies. + +Child. Why must not I tell lies? + +Master. Because it is wrong, etc. + +That is the inevitable circle. Go beyond it, and the child will +not understand you. What sort of use is there in such teaching? +I should greatly like to know what you would substitute for this +dialogue. It would have puzzled Locke himself. It is no part of a +child's business to know right and wrong, to perceive the reason +for a man's duties. + +Nature would have them children before they are men. If we try +to invert this order we shall produce a forced fruit immature and +flavourless, fruit which will be rotten before it is ripe; we shall +have young doctors and old children. Childhood has its own ways +of seeing, thinking, and feeling; nothing is more foolish than to +try and substitute our ways; and I should no more expect judgment +in a ten-year-old child than I should expect him to be five feet +high. Indeed, what use would reason be to him at that age? It is +the curb of strength, and the child does not need the curb. + +When you try to persuade your scholars of the duty of obedience, you +add to this so-called persuasion compulsion and threats, or still +worse, flattery and bribes. Attracted by selfishness or constrained +by force, they pretend to be convinced by reason. They see as soon +as you do that obedience is to their advantage and disobedience to +their disadvantage. But as you only demand disagreeable things of +them, and as it is always disagreeable to do another's will, they +hide themselves so that they may do as they please, persuaded that +they are doing no wrong so long as they are not found out, but +ready, if found out, to own themselves in the wrong for fear of +worse evils. The reason for duty is beyond their age, and there +is not a man in the world who could make them really aware of it; +but the fear of punishment, the hope of forgiveness, importunity, +the difficulty of answering, wrings from them as many confessions +as you want; and you think you have convinced them when you have +only wearied or frightened them. + +What does it all come to? In the first place, by imposing on them +a duty which they fail to recognise, you make them disinclined to +submit to your tyranny, and you turn away their love; you teach +them deceit, falsehood, and lying as a way to gain rewards or escape +punishment; then by accustoming them to conceal a secret motive +under the cloak of an apparent one, you yourself put into their +hands the means of deceiving you, of depriving you of a knowledge +of their real character, of answering you and others with empty +words whenever they have the chance. Laws, you say, though binding +on conscience, exercise the same constraint over grown-up men. That +is so, but what are these men but children spoilt by education? +This is just what you should avoid. Use force with children and +reasoning with men; this is the natural order; the wise man needs +no laws. + +Treat your scholar according to his age. Put him in his place from +the first, and keep him in it, so that he no longer tries to leave +it. Then before he knows what goodness is, he will be practising +its chief lesson. Give him no orders at all, absolutely none. Do +not even let him think that you claim any authority over him. Let +him only know that he is weak and you are strong, that his condition +and yours puts him at your mercy; let this be perceived, learned, +and felt. Let him early find upon his proud neck, the heavy yoke +which nature has imposed upon us, the heavy yoke of necessity, under +which every finite being must bow. Let him find this necessity in +things, not in the caprices [Footnote: You may be sure the child +will regard as caprice any will which opposes his own or any will +which he does not understand. Now the child does not understand +anything which interferes with his own fancies.] of man; let +the curb be force, not authority. If there is something he should +not do, do not forbid him, but prevent him without explanation or +reasoning; what you give him, give it at his first word without +prayers or entreaties, above all without conditions. Give willingly, +refuse unwillingly, but let your refusal be irrevocable; let +no entreaties move you; let your "No," once uttered, be a wall of +brass, against which the child may exhaust his strength some five +or six times, but in the end he will try no more to overthrow it. + +Thus you will make him patient, equable, calm, and resigned, even +when he does not get all he wants; for it is in man's nature to bear +patiently with the nature of things, but not with the ill-will of +another. A child never rebels against, "There is none left," unless +he thinks the reply is false. Moreover, there is no middle course; +you must either make no demands on him at all, or else you must +fashion him to perfect obedience. The worst education of all is +to leave him hesitating between his own will and yours, constantly +disputing whether you or he is master; I would rather a hundred +times that he were master. + +It is very strange that ever since people began to think about +education they should have hit upon no other way of guiding children +than emulation, jealousy, envy, vanity, greediness, base cowardice, +all the most dangerous passions, passions ever ready to ferment, +ever prepared to corrupt the soul even before the body is full-grown. +With every piece of precocious instruction which you try to force +into their minds you plant a vice in the depths of their hearts; +foolish teachers think they are doing wonders when they are making +their scholars wicked in order to teach them what goodness is, and +then they tell us seriously, "Such is man." Yes, such is man, as +you have made him. Every means has been tried except one, the very +one which might succeed--well-regulated liberty. Do not undertake +to bring up a child if you cannot guide him merely by the laws of +what can or cannot be. The limits of the possible and the impossible +are alike unknown to him, so they can be extended or contracted +around him at your will. Without a murmur he is restrained, urged +on, held back, by the hands of necessity alone; he is made adaptable +and teachable by the mere force of things, without any chance for +vice to spring up in him; for passions do not arise so long as they +have accomplished nothing. + +Give your scholar no verbal lessons; he should be taught by +experience alone; never punish him, for he does not know what it +is to do wrong; never make him say, "Forgive me," for he does not +know how to do you wrong. Wholly unmoral in his actions, he can +do nothing morally wrong, and he deserves neither punishment nor +reproof. + +Already I see the frightened reader comparing this child with those +of our time; he is mistaken. The perpetual restraint imposed upon +your scholars stimulates their activity; the more subdued they are +in your presence, the more boisterous they are as soon as they are +out of your sight. They must make amends to themselves in some way +or other for the harsh constraint to which you subject them. Two +schoolboys from the town will do more damage in the country than +all the children of the village. Shut up a young gentleman and +a young peasant in a room; the former will have upset and smashed +everything before the latter has stirred from his place. Why is +that, unless that the one hastens to misuse a moment's licence, +while the other, always sure of freedom, does not use it rashly. +And yet the village children, often flattered or constrained, are +still very far from the state in which I would have them kept. + +Let us lay it down as an incontrovertible rule that the first +impulses of nature are always right; there is no original sin in +the human heart, the how and why of the entrance of every vice can +be traced. The only natural passion is self-love or selfishness +taken in a wider sense. This selfishness is good in itself and in +relation to ourselves; and as the child has no necessary relations +to other people he is naturally indifferent to them; his self-love +only becomes good or bad by the use made of it and the relations +established by its means. Until the time is ripe for the appearance +of reason, that guide of selfishness, the main thing is that the +child shall do nothing because you are watching him or listening +to him; in a word, nothing because of other people, but only what +nature asks of him; then he will never do wrong. + +I do not mean to say that he will never do any mischief, never hurt +himself, never break a costly ornament if you leave it within his +reach. He might do much damage without doing wrong, since wrong-doing +depends on the harmful intention which will never be his. If once +he meant to do harm, his whole education would be ruined; he would +be almost hopelessly bad. + +Greed considers some things wrong which are not wrong in the eyes +of reason. When you leave free scope to a child's heedlessness, you +must put anything he could spoil out of his way, and leave nothing +fragile or costly within his reach. Let the room be furnished with +plain and solid furniture; no mirrors, china, or useless ornaments. +My pupil Emile, who is brought up in the country, shall have a +room just like a peasant's. Why take such pains to adorn it when he +will be so little in it? I am mistaken, however; he will ornament +it for himself, and we shall soon see how. + +But if, in spite of your precautions, the child contrives to do +some damage, if he breaks some useful article, do not punish him +for your carelessness, do not even scold him; let him hear no word +of reproval, do not even let him see that he has vexed you; behave +just as if the thing had come to pieces of itself; you may consider +you have done great things if you have managed to hold your tongue. + +May I venture at this point to state the greatest, the most +important, the most useful rule of education? It is: Do not save +time, but lose it. I hope that every-day readers will excuse my +paradoxes; you cannot avoid paradox if you think for yourself, and +whatever you may say I would rather fall into paradox than into +prejudice. The most dangerous period in human life lies between +birth and the age of twelve. It is the time when errors and vices +spring up, while as yet there is no means to destroy them; when +the means of destruction are ready, the roots have gone too deep to +be pulled up. If the infant sprang at one bound from its mother's +breast to the age of reason, the present type of education would be +quite suitable, but its natural growth calls for quite a different +training. The mind should be left undisturbed till its faculties +have developed; for while it is blind it cannot see the torch you +offer it, nor can it follow through the vast expanse of ideas a +path so faintly traced by reason that the best eyes can scarcely +follow it. + +Therefore the education of the earliest years should be merely +negative. It consists, not in teaching virtue or truth, but in +preserving the heart from vice and from the spirit of error. If only +you could let well alone, and get others to follow your example; +if you could bring your scholar to the age of twelve strong and +healthy, but unable to tell his right hand from his left, the eyes +of his understanding would be open to reason as soon as you began +to teach him. Free from prejudices and free from habits, there +would be nothing in him to counteract the effects of your labours. +In your hands he would soon become the wisest of men; by doing +nothing to begin with, you would end with a prodigy of education. + +Reverse the usual practice and you will almost always do right. +Fathers and teachers who want to make the child, not a child +but a man of learning, think it never too soon to scold, correct, +reprove, threaten, bribe, teach, and reason. Do better than they; +be reasonable, and do not reason with your pupil, more especially +do not try to make him approve what he dislikes; for if reason is +always connected with disagreeable matters, you make it distasteful +to him, you discredit it at an early age in a mind not yet ready +to understand it. Exercise his body, his limbs, his senses, his +strength, but keep his mind idle as long as you can. Distrust all +opinions which appear before the judgment to discriminate between +them. Restrain and ward off strange impressions; and to prevent +the birth of evil do not hasten to do well, for goodness is only +possible when enlightened by reason. Regard all delays as so much +time gained; you have achieved much, you approach the boundary +without loss. Leave childhood to ripen in your children. In a word, +beware of giving anything they need to-day if it can be deferred +without danger to to-morrow. + +There is another point to be considered which confirms the suitability +of this method: it is the child's individual bent, which must be +thoroughly known before we can choose the fittest moral training. +Every mind has its own form, in accordance with which it must be +controlled; and the success of the pains taken depends largely on +the fact that he is controlled in this way and no other. Oh, wise +man, take time to observe nature; watch your scholar well before +you say a word to him; first leave the germ of his character free +to show itself, do not constrain him in anything, the better to see +him as he really is. Do you think this time of liberty is wasted? +On the contrary, your scholar will be the better employed, for +this is the way you yourself will learn not to lose a single moment +when time is of more value. If, however, you begin to act before +you know what to do, you act at random; you may make mistakes, and +must retrace your steps; your haste to reach your goal will only +take you further from it. Do not imitate the miser who loses much +lest he should lose a little. Sacrifice a little time in early +childhood, and it will be repaid you with usury when your scholar +is older. The wise physician does not hastily give prescriptions +at first sight, but he studies the constitution of the sick man +before he prescribes anything; the treatment is begun later, but +the patient is cured, while the hasty doctor kills him. + +But where shall we find a place for our child so as to bring him +up as a senseless being, an automaton? Shall we keep him in the +moon, or on a desert island? Shall we remove him from human society? +Will he not always have around him the sight and the pattern of +the passions of other people? Will he never see children of his +own age? Will he not see his parents, his neighbours, his nurse, +his governess, his man-servant, his tutor himself, who after all +will not be an angel? Here we have a real and serious objection. +But did I tell you that an education according to nature would be +an easy task? Oh, men! is it my fault that you have made all good +things difficult? I admit that I am aware of these difficulties; +perhaps they are insuperable; but nevertheless it is certain that +we do to some extent avoid them by trying to do so. I am showing +what we should try to attain, I do not say we can attain it, but +I do say that whoever comes nearest to it is nearest to success. + +Remember you must be a man yourself before you try to train a man; +you yourself must set the pattern he shall copy. While the child +is still unconscious there is time to prepare his surroundings, so +that nothing shall strike his eye but what is fit for his sight. +Gain the respect of every one, begin to win their hearts, so that +they may try to please you. You will not be master of the child +if you cannot control every one about him; and this authority will +never suffice unless it rests upon respect for your goodness. There +is no question of squandering one's means and giving money right +and left; I never knew money win love. You must neither be harsh +nor niggardly, nor must you merely pity misery when you can relieve +it; but in vain will you open your purse if you do not open your +heart along with it, the hearts of others will always be closed to +you. You must give your own time, attention, affection, your very +self; for whatever you do, people always perceive that your money +is not you. There are proofs of kindly interest which produce more +results and are really more useful than any gift; how many of the +sick and wretched have more need of comfort than of charity; how +many of the oppressed need protection rather than money? Reconcile +those who are at strife, prevent lawsuits; incline children to duty, +fathers to kindness; promote happy marriages; prevent annoyances; +freely use the credit of your pupil's parents on behalf of the +weak who cannot obtain justice, the weak who are oppressed by the +strong. Be just, human, kindly. Do not give alms alone, give charity; +works of mercy do more than money for the relief of suffering; love +others and they will love you; serve them and they will serve you; +be their brother and they will be your children. + +This is one reason why I want to bring up Emile in the country, +far from those miserable lacqueys, the most degraded of men except +their masters; far from the vile morals of the town, whose gilded +surface makes them seductive and contagious to children; while +the vices of peasants, unadorned and in their naked grossness, are +more fitted to repel than to seduce, when there is no motive for +imitating them. + +In the village a tutor will have much more control over the things he +wishes to show the child; his reputation, his words, his example, +will have a weight they would never have in the town; he is of +use to every one, so every one is eager to oblige him, to win his +esteem, to appeal before the disciple what the master would have him +be; if vice is not corrected, public scandal is at least avoided, +which is all that our present purpose requires. + +Cease to blame others for your own faults; children are corrupted +less by what they see than by your own teaching. With your endless +preaching, moralising, and pedantry, for one idea you give your +scholars, believing it to be good, you give them twenty more which +are good for nothing; you are full of what is going on in your own +minds, and you fail to see the effect you produce on theirs. In +the continual flow of words with which you overwhelm them, do you +think there is none which they get hold of in a wrong sense? Do +you suppose they do not make their own comments on your long-winded +explanations, that they do not find material for the construction +of a system they can understand--one which they will use against +you when they get the chance? + +Listen to a little fellow who has just been under instruction; let +him chatter freely, ask questions, and talk at his ease, and you +will be surprised to find the strange forms your arguments have +assumed in his mind; he confuses everything, and turns everything +topsy-turvy; you are vexed and grieved by his unforeseen objections; +he reduces you to be silent yourself or to silence him: and what +can he think of silence in one who is so fond of talking? If ever +he gains this advantage and is aware of it, farewell education; +from that moment all is lost; he is no longer trying to learn, he +is trying to refute you. + +Zealous teachers, be simple, sensible, and reticent; be in no hurry +to act unless to prevent the actions of others. Again and again I +say, reject, if it may be, a good lesson for fear of giving a bad +one. Beware of playing the tempter in this world, which nature +intended as an earthly paradise for men, and do not attempt to +give the innocent child the knowledge of good and evil; since you +cannot prevent the child learning by what he sees outside himself, +restrict your own efforts to impressing those examples on his mind +in the form best suited for him. + +The explosive passions produce a great effect upon the child +when he sees them; their outward expression is very marked; he is +struck by this and his attention is arrested. Anger especially is +so noisy in its rage that it is impossible not to perceive it if +you are within reach. You need not ask yourself whether this is an +opportunity for a pedagogue to frame a fine disquisition. What! no +fine disquisition, nothing, not a word! Let the child come to you; +impressed by what he has seen, he will not fail to ask you questions. +The answer is easy; it is drawn from the very things which have +appealed to his senses. He sees a flushed face, flashing eyes, a +threatening gesture, he hears cries; everything shows that the body +is ill at ease. Tell him plainly, without affectation or mystery, +"This poor man is ill, he is in a fever." You may take the opportunity +of giving him in a few words some idea of disease and its effects; +for that too belongs to nature, and is one of the bonds of necessity +which he must recognise. By means of this idea, which is not false +in itself, may he not early acquire a certain aversion to giving +way to excessive passions, which he regards as diseases; and do +you not think that such a notion, given at the right moment, will +produce a more wholesome effect than the most tedious sermon? But +consider the after effects of this idea; you have authority, if +ever you find it necessary, to treat the rebellious child as a sick +child; to keep him in his room, in bed if need be, to diet him, to +make him afraid of his growing vices, to make him hate and dread +them without ever regarding as a punishment the strict measures +you will perhaps have to use for his recovery. If it happens that +you yourself in a moment's heat depart from the calm and self-control +which you should aim at, do not try to conceal your fault, but tell +him frankly, with a gentle reproach, "My dear, you have hurt me." + +Moreover, it is a matter of great importance that no notice should +be taken in his presence of the quaint sayings which result from +the simplicity of the ideas in which he is brought up, nor should +they be quoted in a way he can understand. A foolish laugh may +destroy six months' work and do irreparable damage for life. I +cannot repeat too often that to control the child one must often +control oneself. + +I picture my little Emile at the height of a dispute between two +neighbours going up to the fiercest of them and saying in a tone +of pity, "You are ill, I am very sorry for you." This speech will +no doubt have its effect on the spectators and perhaps on the +disputants. Without laughter, scolding, or praise I should take him +away, willing or no, before he could see this result, or at least +before he could think about it; and I should make haste to turn his +thoughts to other things, so that he would soon forget all about +it. + +I do not propose to enter into every detail, but only to explain +general rules and to give illustrations in cases of difficulty. I +think it is impossible to train a child up to the age of twelve in +the midst of society, without giving him some idea of the relations +between one man and another, and of the morality of human actions. +It is enough to delay the development of these ideas as long +as possible, and when they can no longer be avoided to limit them +to present needs, so that he may neither think himself master of +everything nor do harm to others without knowing or caring. There +are calm and gentle characters which can be led a long way in +their first innocence without any danger; but there are also stormy +dispositions whose passions develop early; you must hasten to make +men of them lest you should have to keep them in chains. + +Our first duties are to ourselves; our first feelings are centred +on self; all our instincts are at first directed to our own +preservation and our own welfare. Thus the first notion of justice +springs not from what we owe to others, but from what is due +to us. Here is another error in popular methods of education. If +you talk to children of their duties, and not of their rights, you +are beginning at the wrong end, and telling them what they cannot +understand, what cannot be of any interest to them. + +If I had to train a child such as I have just described, I should +say to myself, "A child never attacks people, [Footnote: A child +should never be allowed to play with grown-up people as if they +were his inferiors, nor even as if they were only his equals. If +he ventured to strike any one in earnest, were it only the footman, +were it the hangman himself, let the sufferer return his blows with +interest, so that he will not want to do it again. I have seen +silly women inciting children to rebellion, encouraging them to +hit people, allowing themselves to be beaten, and laughing at the +harmless blows, never thinking that those blows were in intention +the blows of a murderer, and that the child who desires to beat +people now will desire to kill them when he is grown up.] only +things; and he soon learns by experience to respect those older and +stronger than himself. Things, however, do not defend themselves. +Therefore the first idea he needs is not that of liberty but of +property, and that he may get this idea he must have something of +his own." It is useless to enumerate his clothes, furniture, and +playthings; although he uses these he knows not how or why he has +come by them. To tell him they were given him is little better, for +giving implies having; so here is property before his own, and it +is the principle of property that you want to teach him; moreover, +giving is a convention, and the child as yet has no idea of +conventions. I hope my reader will note, in this and many other +cases, how people think they have taught children thoroughly, when +they have only thrust on them words which have no intelligible +meaning to them. [Footnote: This is why most children want to take +back what they have given, and cry if they cannot get it. They do +not do this when once they know what a gift is; only they are more +careful about giving things away.] + +We must therefore go back to the origin of property, for that is +where the first idea of it must begin. The child, living in the +country, will have got some idea of field work; eyes and leisure +suffice for that, and he will have both. In every age, and +especially in childhood, we want to create, to copy, to produce, +to give all the signs of power and activity. He will hardly have +seen the gardener at work twice, sowing, planting, and growing +vegetables, before he will want to garden himself. + +According to the principles I have already laid down, I shall not +thwart him; on the contrary, I shall approve of his plan, share +his hobby, and work with him, not for his pleasure but my own; at +least, so he thinks; I shall be his under-gardener, and dig the +ground for him till his arms are strong enough to do it; he will +take possession of it by planting a bean, and this is surely a +more sacred possession, and one more worthy of respect, than that +of Nunes Balboa, who took possession of South America in the name +of the King of Spain, by planting his banner on the coast of the +Southern Sea. + +We water the beans every day, we watch them coming up with the +greatest delight. Day by day I increase this delight by saying, +"Those belong to you." To explain what that word "belong" means, +I show him how he has given his time, his labour, and his trouble, +his very self to it; that in this ground there is a part of himself +which he can claim against all the world, as he could withdraw his +arm from the hand of another man who wanted to keep it against his +will. + +One fine day he hurries up with his watering-can in his hand. What +a scene of woe! Alas! all the beans are pulled up, the soil is dug +over, you can scarcely find the place. Oh! what has become of my +labour, my work, the beloved fruits of my care and effort? Who has +stolen my property! Who has taken my beans? The young heart revolts; +the first feeling of injustice brings its sorrow and bitterness; +tears come in torrents, the unhappy child fills the air with cries +and groans, I share his sorrow and anger; we look around us, we +make inquiries. At last we discover that the gardener did it. We +send for him. + +But we are greatly mistaken. The gardener, hearing our complaint, +begins to complain louder than we: + +What, gentlemen, was it you who spoilt my work! I had sown some +Maltese melons; the seed was given me as something quite out of +the common, and I meant to give you a treat when they were ripe; +but you have planted your miserable beans and destroyed my melons, +which were coming up so nicely, and I can never get any more. You +have behaved very badly to me and you have deprived yourselves of +the pleasure of eating most delicious melons. + +JEAN JACQUES. My poor Robert, you must forgive us. You had given +your labour and your pains to it. I see we were wrong to spoil +your work, but we will send to Malta for some more seed for you, +and we will never dig the ground again without finding out if some +one else has been beforehand with us. + +ROBERT. Well, gentlemen, you need not trouble yourselves, for +there is no more waste ground. I dig what my father tilled; every +one does the same, and all the land you see has been occupied time +out of mind. + +EMILE. Mr. Robert, do people often lose the seed of Maltese melons? + +ROBERT. No indeed, sir; we do not often find such silly little +gentlemen as you. No one meddles with his neighbour's garden; every +one respects other people's work so that his own may be safe. + +EMILE. But I have not got a garden. + +ROBERT. I don't care; if you spoil mine I won't let you walk in +it, for you see I do not mean to lose my labour. + +JEAN JACQUES. Could not we suggest an arrangement with this kind +Robert? Let him give my young friend and myself a corner of his +garden to cultivate, on condition that he has half the crop. + +ROBERT. You may have it free. But remember I shall dig up your +beans if you touch my melons. + +In this attempt to show how a child may be taught certain primitive +ideas we see how the notion of property goes back naturally to the +right of the first occupier to the results of his work. That is +plain and simple, and quite within the child's grasp. From that +to the rights of property and exchange there is but a step, after +which you must stop short. + +You also see that an explanation which I can give in writing in a +couple of pages may take a year in practice, for in the course of +moral ideas we cannot advance too slowly, nor plant each step too +firmly. Young teacher, pray consider this example, and remember +that your lessons should always be in deeds rather than words, for +children soon forget what they say or what is said to them, but +not what they have done nor what has been done to them. + +Such teaching should be given, as I have said, sooner or later, as +the scholar's disposition, gentle or turbulent, requires it. The +way of using it is unmistakable; but to omit no matter of importance +in a difficult business let us take another example. + +Your ill-tempered child destroys everything he touches. Do not vex +yourself; put anything he can spoil out of his reach. He breaks +the things he is using; do not be in a hurry to give him more; let +him feel the want of them. He breaks the windows of his room; let +the wind blow upon him night and day, and do not be afraid of his +catching cold; it is better to catch cold than to be reckless. +Never complain of the inconvenience he causes you, but let him feel +it first. At last you will have the windows mended without saying +anything. He breaks them again; then change your plan; tell him +dryly and without anger, "The windows are mine, I took pains to have +them put in, and I mean to keep them safe." Then you will shut him +up in a dark place without a window. At this unexpected proceeding +he cries and howls; no one heeds. Soon he gets tired and changes +his tone; he laments and sighs; a servant appears, the rebel begs +to be let out. Without seeking any excuse for refusing, the servant +merely says, "I, too, have windows to keep," and goes away. At last, +when the child has been there several hours, long enough to get +very tired of it, long enough to make an impression on his memory, +some one suggests to him that he should offer to make terms with +you, so that you may set him free and he will never break windows +again. That is just what he wants. He will send and ask you to +come and see him; you will come, he will suggest his plan, and you +will agree to it at once, saying, "That is a very good idea; it +will suit us both; why didn't you think of it sooner?" Then without +asking for any affirmation or confirmation of his promise, you will +embrace him joyfully and take him back at once to his own room, +considering this agreement as sacred as if he had confirmed it +by a formal oath. What idea do you think he will form from these +proceedings, as to the fulfilment of a promise and its usefulness? +If I am not greatly mistaken, there is not a child upon earth, +unless he is utterly spoilt already, who could resist this treatment, +or one who would ever dream of breaking windows again on purpose. +Follow out the whole train of thought. The naughty little fellow +hardly thought when he was making a hole for his beans that he was +hewing out a cell in which his own knowledge would soon imprison +him. [Footnote: Moreover if the duty of keeping his word were not +established in the child's mind by its own utility, the child's growing +consciousness would soon impress it on him as a law of conscience, +as an innate principle, only requiring suitable experiences for +its development. This first outline is not sketched by man, it is +engraved on the heart by the author of all justice. Take away the +primitive law of contract and the obligation imposed by contract +and there is nothing left of human society but vanity and empty +show. He who only keeps his word because it is to his own profit +is hardly more pledged than if he had given no promise at all. This +principle is of the utmost importance, and deserves to be thoroughly +studied, for man is now beginning to be at war with himself.] + +We are now in the world of morals, the door to vice is open. Deceit +and falsehood are born along with conventions and duties. As soon +as we can do what we ought not to do, we try to hide what we ought +not to have done. As soon as self-interest makes us give a promise, +a greater interest may make us break it; it is merely a question +of doing it with impunity; we naturally take refuge in concealment +and falsehood. As we have not been able to prevent vice, we must +punish it. The sorrows of life begin with its mistakes. + +I have already said enough to show that children should never receive +punishment merely as such; it should always come as the natural +consequence of their fault. Thus you will not exclaim against +their falsehood, you will not exactly punish them for lying, but +you will arrange that all the ill effects of lying, such as not +being believed when we speak the truth, or being accused of what we +have not done in spite of our protests, shall fall on their heads +when they have told a lie. But let us explain what lying means to +the child. + +There are two kinds of lies; one concerns an accomplished fact, +the other concerns a future duty. The first occurs when we falsely +deny or assert that we did or did not do something, or, to put it +in general terms, when we knowingly say what is contrary to facts. +The other occurs when we promise what we do not mean to perform, +or, in general terms, when we profess an intention which we do +not really mean to carry out. These two kinds of lie are sometimes +found in combination, [Footnote: Thus the guilty person, accused +of some evil deed, defends himself by asserting that he is a good +man. His statement is false in itself and false in its application to +the matter in hand.] but their differences are my present business. + +He who feels the need of help from others, he who is constantly +experiencing their kindness, has nothing to gain by deceiving them; +it is plainly to his advantage that they should see things as they +are, lest they should mistake his interests. It is therefore plain +that lying with regard to actual facts is not natural to children, +but lying is made necessary by the law of obedience; since obedience +is disagreeable, children disobey as far as they can in secret, +and the present good of avoiding punishment or reproof outweighs +the remoter good of speaking the truth. Under a free and natural +education why should your child lie? What has he to conceal from +you? You do not thwart him, you do not punish him, you demand nothing +from him. Why should he not tell everything to you as simply as to +his little playmate? He cannot see anything more risky in the one +course than in the other. + +The lie concerning duty is even less natural, since promises to do +or refrain from doing are conventional agreements which are outside +the state of nature and detract from our liberty. Moreover, all +promises made by children are in themselves void; when they pledge +themselves they do not know what they are doing, for their narrow +vision cannot look beyond the present. A child can hardly lie when +he makes a promise; for he is only thinking how he can get out of +the present difficulty, any means which has not an immediate result +is the same to him; when he promises for the future he promises +nothing, and his imagination is as yet incapable of projecting him +into the future while he lives in the present. If he could escape +a whipping or get a packet of sweets by promising to throw himself +out of the window to-morrow, he would promise on the spot. This +is why the law disregards all promises made by minors, and when +fathers and teachers are stricter and demand that promises shall +be kept, it is only when the promise refers to something the child +ought to do even if he had made no promise. + +The child cannot lie when he makes a promise, for he does not know +what he is doing when he makes his promise. The case is different +when he breaks his promise, which is a sort of retrospective falsehood; +for he clearly remembers making the promise, but he fails to see +the importance of keeping it. Unable to look into the future, he +cannot foresee the results of things, and when he breaks his promises +he does nothing contrary to his stage of reasoning. + +Children's lies are therefore entirely the work of their teachers, +and to teach them to speak the truth is nothing less than to teach +them the art of lying. In your zeal to rule, control, and teach +them, you never find sufficient means at your disposal. You wish +to gain fresh influence over their minds by baseless maxims, by +unreasonable precepts; and you would rather they knew their lessons +and told lies, than leave them ignorant and truthful. + +We, who only give our scholars lessons in practice, who prefer to +have them good rather than clever, never demand the truth lest they +should conceal it, and never claim any promise lest they should be +tempted to break it. If some mischief has been done in my absence +and I do not know who did it, I shall take care not to accuse +Emile, nor to say, "Did you do it?" [Footnote: Nothing could be more +indiscreet than such a question, especially if the child is guilty. +Then if he thinks you know what he has done, he will think you are +setting a trap for him, and this idea can only set him against you. +If he thinks you do not know, he will say to himself, "Why should +I make my fault known?" And here we have the first temptation to +falsehood as the direct result of your foolish question.] For in so +doing what should I do but teach him to deny it? If his difficult +temperament compels me to make some agreement with him, I will take +good care that the suggestion always comes from him, never from +me; that when he undertakes anything he has always a present and +effective interest in fulfilling his promise, and if he ever fails +this lie will bring down on him all the unpleasant consequences +which he sees arising from the natural order of things, and not +from his tutor's vengeance. But far from having recourse to such +cruel measures, I feel almost certain that Emile will not know for +many years what it is to lie, and that when he does find out, he +will be astonished and unable to understand what can be the use of +it. It is quite clear that the less I make his welfare dependent on +the will or the opinions of others, the less is it to his interest +to lie. + +When we are in no hurry to teach there is no hurry to demand, and +we can take our time, so as to demand nothing except under fitting +conditions. Then the child is training himself, in so far as he +is not being spoilt. But when a fool of a tutor, who does not know +how to set about his business, is always making his pupil promise +first this and then that, without discrimination, choice, or +proportion, the child is puzzled and overburdened with all these +promises, and neglects, forgets or even scorns them, and considering +them as so many empty phrases he makes a game of making and breaking +promises. Would you have him keep his promise faithfully, be +moderate in your claims upon him. + +The detailed treatment I have just given to lying may be applied +in many respects to all the other duties imposed upon children, +whereby these duties are made not only hateful but impracticable. +For the sake of a show of preaching virtue you make them love every +vice; you instil these vices by forbidding them. Would you have +them pious, you take them to church till they are sick of it; you +teach them to gabble prayers until they long for the happy time +when they will not have to pray to God. To teach them charity you +make them give alms as if you scorned to give yourself. It is not +the child, but the master, who should give; however much he loves +his pupil he should vie with him for this honour; he should make +him think that he is too young to deserve it. Alms-giving is the +deed of a man who can measure the worth of his gift and the needs +of his fellow-men. The child, who knows nothing of these, can have +no merit in giving; he gives without charity, without kindness; he +is almost ashamed to give, for, to judge by your practice and his +own, he thinks it is only children who give, and that there is no +need for charity when we are grown up. + +Observe that the only things children are set to give are things +of which they do not know the value, bits of metal carried in their +pockets for which they have no further use. A child would rather +give a hundred coins than one cake. But get this prodigal giver +to distribute what is dear to him, his toys, his sweets, his own +lunch, and we shall soon see if you have made him really generous. + +People try yet another way; they soon restore what he gave to the +child, so that he gets used to giving everything which he knows +will come back to him. I have scarcely seen generosity in children +except of these two types, giving what is of no use to them, or +what they expect to get back again. "Arrange things," says Locke, +"so that experience may convince them that the most generous giver +gets the biggest share." That is to make the child superficially +generous but really greedy. He adds that "children will thus form +the habit of liberality." Yes, a usurer's liberality, which expects +cent. per cent. But when it is a question of real giving, good-bye +to the habit; when they do not get things back, they will not give. +It is the habit of the mind, not of the hands, that needs watching. +All the other virtues taught to children are like this, and to +preach these baseless virtues you waste their youth in sorrow. What +a sensible sort of education! + +Teachers, have done with these shams; be good and kind; let your +example sink into your scholars' memories till they are old enough +to take it to heart. Rather than hasten to demand deeds of charity +from my pupil I prefer to perform such deeds in his presence, even +depriving him of the means of imitating me, as an honour beyond +his years; for it is of the utmost importance that he should not +regard a man's duties as merely those of a child. If when he sees +me help the poor he asks me about it, and it is time to reply to +his questions, [Footnote: It must be understood that I do not answer +his questions when he wants; that would be to subject myself to his +will and to place myself in the most dangerous state of dependence +that ever a tutor was in.] I shall say, "My dear boy, the rich only +exist, through the good-will of the poor, so they have promised +to feed those who have not enough to live on, either in goods +or labour." "Then you promised to do this?" "Certainly; I am only +master of the wealth that passes through my hands on the condition +attached to its ownership." + +After this talk (and we have seen how a child may be brought to +understand it) another than Emile would be tempted to imitate me +and behave like a rich man; in such a case I should at least take +care that it was done without ostentation; I would rather he robbed +me of my privilege and hid himself to give. It is a fraud suitable +to his age, and the only one I could forgive in him. + +I know that all these imitative virtues are only the virtues of a +monkey, and that a good action is only morally good when it is done +as such and not because of others. But at an age when the heart +does not yet feel anything, you must make children copy the deeds +you wish to grow into habits, until they can do them with understanding +and for the love of what is good. Man imitates, as do the beasts. +The love of imitating is well regulated by nature; in society it +becomes a vice. The monkey imitates man, whom he fears, and not +the other beasts, which he scorns; he thinks what is done by his +betters must be good. Among ourselves, our harlequins imitate all +that is good to degrade it and bring it into ridicule; knowing +their owners' baseness they try to equal what is better than they +are, or they strive to imitate what they admire, and their bad +taste appears in their choice of models, they would rather deceive +others or win applause for their own talents than become wiser +or better. Imitation has its roots in our desire to escape from +ourselves. If I succeed in my undertaking, Emile will certainly +have no such wish. So we must dispense with any seeming good that +might arise from it. + +Examine your rules of education; you will find them all topsy-turvy, +especially in all that concerns virtue and morals. The only moral +lesson which is suited for a child--the most important lesson for +every time of life--is this: "Never hurt anybody." The very rule of +well-doing, if not subordinated to this rule, is dangerous, false, +and contradictory. Who is there who does no good? Every one does +some good, the wicked as well as the righteous; he makes one happy +at the cost of the misery of a hundred, and hence spring all our +misfortunes. The noblest virtues are negative, they are also the +most difficult, for they make little show, and do not even make +room for that pleasure so dear to the heart of man, the thought +that some one is pleased with us. If there be a man who does no +harm to his neighbours, what good must he have accomplished! What +a bold heart, what a strong character it needs! It is not in talking +about this maxim, but in trying to practise it, that we discover +both its greatness and its difficulty. [Footnote: The precept +"Never hurt anybody," implies the greatest possible independence +of human society; for in the social state one man's good is another +man's evil. This relation is part of the nature of things; it is +inevitable. You may apply this test to man in society and to the +hermit to discover which is best. A distinguished author says, "None +but the wicked can live alone." I say, "None but the good can live +alone." This proposition, if less sententious, is truer and more +logical than the other. If the wicked were alone, what evil would +he do? It is among his fellows that he lays his snares for others. +If they wish to apply this argument to the man of property, my +answer is to be found in the passage to which this note is appended.] + +This will give you some slight idea of the precautions I would +have you take in giving children instruction which cannot always +be refused without risk to themselves or others, or the far greater +risk of the formation of bad habits, which would be difficult to +correct later on; but be sure this necessity will not often arise +with children who are properly brought up, for they cannot possibly +become rebellious, spiteful, untruthful, or greedy, unless the +seeds of these vices are sown in their hearts. What I have just +said applies therefore rather to the exception than the rule. But +the oftener children have the opportunity of quitting their proper +condition, and contracting the vices of men, the oftener will +these exceptions arise. Those who are brought up in the world must +receive more precocious instruction than those who are brought up +in retirement. So this solitary education would be preferable, even +if it did nothing more than leave childhood time to ripen. + +There is quite another class of exceptions: those so gifted by nature +that they rise above the level of their age. As there are men who +never get beyond infancy, so there are others who are never, so +to speak, children, they are men almost from birth. The difficulty +is that these cases are very rare, very difficult to distinguish; +while every mother, who knows that a child may be a prodigy, +is convinced that her child is that one. They go further; they +mistake the common signs of growth for marks of exceptional talent. +Liveliness, sharp sayings, romping, amusing simplicity, these +are the characteristic marks of this age, and show that the child +is a child indeed. Is it strange that a child who is encouraged +to chatter and allowed to say anything, who is restrained neither +by consideration nor convention, should chance to say something +clever? Were he never to hit the mark, his case would be stranger +than that of the astrologer who, among a thousand errors, occasionally +predicts the truth. "They lie so often," said Henry IV., "that at +last they say what is true." If you want to say something clever, +you have only to talk long enough. May Providence watch over those +fine folk who have no other claim to social distinction. + +The finest thoughts may spring from a child's brain, or rather the +best words may drop from his lips, just as diamonds of great worth +may fall into his hands, while neither the thoughts nor the diamonds +are his own; at that age neither can be really his. The child's +sayings do not mean to him what they mean to us, the ideas he +attaches to them are different. His ideas, if indeed he has any +ideas at all, have neither order nor connection; there is nothing +sure, nothing certain, in his thoughts. Examine your so-called +prodigy. Now and again you will discover in him extreme activity of +mind and extraordinary clearness of thought. More often this same +mind will seem slack and spiritless, as if wrapped in mist. Sometimes +he goes before you, sometimes he will not stir. One moment you +would call him a genius, another a fool. You would be mistaken in +both; he is a child, an eaglet who soars aloft for a moment, only +to drop back into the nest. + +Treat him, therefore, according to his age, in spite of appearances, +and beware of exhausting his strength by over-much exercise. If the +young brain grows warm and begins to bubble, let it work freely, +but do not heat it any further, lest it lose its goodness, and when +the first gases have been given off, collect and compress the rest +so that in after years they may turn to life-giving heat and real +energy. If not, your time and your pains will be wasted, you will +destroy your own work, and after foolishly intoxicating yourself +with these heady fumes, you will have nothing left but an insipid +and worthless wine. + +Silly children grow into ordinary men. I know no generalisation +more certain than this. It is the most difficult thing in the +world to distinguish between genuine stupidity, and that apparent +and deceitful stupidity which is the sign of a strong character. +At first sight it seems strange that the two extremes should have +the same outward signs; and yet it may well be so, for at an age +when man has as yet no true ideas, the whole difference between +the genius and the rest consists in this: the latter only take in +false ideas, while the former, finding nothing but false ideas, +receives no ideas at all. In this he resembles the fool; the one +is fit for nothing, the other finds nothing fit for him. The only +way of distinguishing between them depends upon chance, which may +offer the genius some idea which he can understand, while the fool +is always the same. As a child, the young Cato was taken for an +idiot by his parents; he was obstinate and silent, and that was all +they perceived in him; it was only in Sulla's ante-chamber that +his uncle discovered what was in him. Had he never found his way +there, he might have passed for a fool till he reached the age +of reason. Had Caesar never lived, perhaps this same Cato, who +discerned his fatal genius, and foretold his great schemes, would +have passed for a dreamer all his days. Those who judge children +hastily are apt to be mistaken; they are often more childish than +the child himself. I knew a middle-aged man, [Footnote: The Abbe de +Condillac] whose friendship I esteemed an honour, who was reckoned +a fool by his family. All at once he made his name as a philosopher, +and I have no doubt posterity will give him a high place among the +greatest thinkers and the profoundest metaphysicians of his day. + +Hold childhood in reverence, and do not be in any hurry to judge +it for good or ill. Leave exceptional cases to show themselves, +let their qualities be tested and confirmed, before special methods +are adopted. Give nature time to work before you take over her +business, lest you interfere with her dealings. You assert that +you know the value of time and are afraid to waste it. You fail +to perceive that it is a greater waste of time to use it ill than +to do nothing, and that a child ill taught is further from virtue +than a child who has learnt nothing at all. You are afraid to see +him spending his early years doing nothing. What! is it nothing +to be happy, nothing to run and jump all day? He will never be so +busy again all his life long. Plato, in his Republic, which is +considered so stern, teaches the children only through festivals, +games, songs, and amusements. It seems as if he had accomplished his +purpose when he had taught them to be happy; and Seneca, speaking +of the Roman lads in olden days, says, "They were always on their +feet, they were never taught anything which kept them sitting." Were +they any the worse for it in manhood? Do not be afraid, therefore, +of this so-called idleness. What would you think of a man who +refused to sleep lest he should waste part of his life? You would +say, "He is mad; he is not enjoying his life, he is robbing himself +of part of it; to avoid sleep he is hastening his death." Remember +that these two cases are alike, and that childhood is the sleep of +reason. + +The apparent ease with which children learn is their ruin. You fail +to see that this very facility proves that they are not learning. +Their shining, polished brain reflects, as in a mirror, the things +you show them, but nothing sinks in. The child remembers the words +and the ideas are reflected back; his hearers understand them, but +to him they are meaningless. + +Although memory and reason are wholly different faculties, the +one does not really develop apart from the other. Before the age +of reason the child receives images, not ideas; and there is this +difference between them: images are merely the pictures of external +objects, while ideas are notions about those objects determined by +their relations. An image when it is recalled may exist by itself +in the mind, but every idea implies other ideas. When we image +we merely perceive, when we reason we compare. Our sensations are +merely passive, our notions or ideas spring from an active principle +which judges. The proof of this will be given later. + +I maintain, therefore, that as children are incapable of judging, +they have no true memory. They retain sounds, form, sensation, but +rarely ideas, and still more rarely relations. You tell me they +acquire some rudiments of geometry, and you think you prove your +case; not so, it is mine you prove; you show that far from being able +to reason themselves, children are unable to retain the reasoning +of others; for if you follow the method of these little geometricians +you will see they only retain the exact impression of the figure +and the terms of the demonstration. They cannot meet the slightest +new objection; if the figure is reversed they can do nothing. All +their knowledge is on the sensation-level, nothing has penetrated +to their understanding. Their memory is little better than their +other powers, for they always have to learn over again, when they +are grown up, what they learnt as children. + +I am far from thinking, however, that children have no sort of reason. +[Footnote: I have noticed again and again that it is impossible +in writing a lengthy work to use the same words always in the +same sense. There is no language rich enough to supply terms and +expressions sufficient for the modifications of our ideas. The method +of defining every term and constantly substituting the definition +for the term defined looks well, but it is impracticable. For how +can we escape from our vicious circle? Definitions would be all +very well if we did not use words in the making of them. In spite +of this I am convinced that even in our poor language we can make +our meaning clear, not by always using words in the same sense, +but by taking care that every time we use a word the sense in which +we use it is sufficiently indicated by the sense of the context, +so that each sentence in which the word occurs acts as a sort of +definition. Sometimes I say children are incapable of reasoning. +Sometimes I say they reason cleverly. I must admit that my words are +often contradictory, but I do not think there is any contradiction +in my ideas.] On the contrary, I think they reason very well with +regard to things that affect their actual and sensible well-being. +But people are mistaken as to the extent of their information, and +they attribute to them knowledge they do not possess, and make them +reason about things they cannot understand. Another mistake is to +try to turn their attention to matters which do not concern them +in the least, such as their future interest, their happiness when +they are grown up, the opinion people will have of them when they +are men--terms which are absolutely meaningless when addressed to +creatures who are entirely without foresight. But all the forced +studies of these poor little wretches are directed towards matters +utterly remote from their minds. You may judge how much attention +they can give to them. + +The pedagogues, who make a great display of the teaching they give +their pupils, are paid to say just the opposite; yet their actions +show that they think just as I do. For what do they teach? Words! +words! words! Among the various sciences they boast of teaching +their scholars, they take good care never to choose those which +might be really useful to them, for then they would be compelled to +deal with things and would fail utterly; the sciences they choose +are those we seem to know when we know their technical terms--heraldry, +geography, chronology, languages, etc., studies so remote from man, +and even more remote from the child, that it is a wonder if he can +ever make any use of any part of them. + +You will be surprised to find that I reckon the study of languages +among the useless lumber of education; but you must remember that +I am speaking of the studies of the earliest years, and whatever +you may say, I do not believe any child under twelve or fifteen +ever really acquired two languages. + +If the study of languages were merely the study of words, that is, +of the symbols by which language expresses itself, then this might +be a suitable study for children; but languages, as they change +the symbols, also modify the ideas which the symbols express. Minds +are formed by language, thoughts take their colour from its ideas. +Reason alone is common to all. Every language has its own form, a +difference which may be partly cause and partly effect of differences +in national character; this conjecture appears to be confirmed +by the fact that in every nation under the sun speech follows the +changes of manners, and is preserved or altered along with them. + +By use the child acquires one of these different forms, and it is +the only language he retains till the age of reason. To acquire +two languages he must be able to compare their ideas, and how can +he compare ideas he can barely understand? Everything may have +a thousand meanings to him, but each idea can only have one form, +so he can only learn one language. You assure me he learns several +languages; I deny it. I have seen those little prodigies who are +supposed to speak half a dozen languages. I have heard them speak +first in German, then in Latin, French, or Italian; true, they used +half a dozen different vocabularies, but they always spoke German. +In a word, you may give children as many synonyms as you like; it +is not their language but their words that you change; they will +never have but one language. + +To conceal their deficiencies teachers choose the dead languages, +in which we have no longer any judges whose authority is beyond +dispute. The familiar use of these tongues disappeared long ago, +so they are content to imitate what they find in books, and they +call that talking. If the master's Greek and Latin is such poor +stuff, what about the children? They have scarcely learnt their +primer by heart, without understanding a word of it, when they are +set to translate a French speech into Latin words; then when they +are more advanced they piece together a few phrases of Cicero for +prose or a few lines of Vergil for verse. Then they think they can +speak Latin, and who will contradict them? + +In any study whatsoever the symbols are of no value without the +idea of the things symbolised. Yet the education of the child in +confined to those symbols, while no one ever succeeds in making +him understand the thing signified. You think you are teaching him +what the world is like; he is only learning the map; he is taught +the names of towns, countries, rivers, which have no existence for +him except on the paper before him. I remember seeing a geography +somewhere which began with: "What is the world?"--"A sphere of +cardboard." That is the child's geography. I maintain that after two +years' work with the globe and cosmography, there is not a single +ten-year-old child who could find his way from Paris to Saint Denis +by the help of the rules he has learnt. I maintain that not one of +these children could find his way by the map about the paths on his +father's estate without getting lost. These are the young doctors +who can tell us the position of Pekin, Ispahan, Mexico, and every +country in the world. + +You tell me the child must be employed on studies which only need +eyes. That may be; but if there are any such studies, they are +unknown to me. + +It is a still more ridiculous error to set them to study history, +which is considered within their grasp because it is merely +a collection of facts. But what is meant by this word "fact"? Do +you think the relations which determine the facts of history are +so easy to grasp that the corresponding ideas are easily developed +in the child's mind! Do you think that a real knowledge of events +can exist apart from the knowledge of their causes and effects, +and that history has so little relation to words that the one can +be learnt without the other? If you perceive nothing in a man's +actions beyond merely physical and external movements, what do you +learn from history? Absolutely nothing; while this study, robbed +of all that makes it interesting, gives you neither pleasure nor +information. If you want to judge actions by their moral bearings, +try to make these moral bearings intelligible to your scholars. +You will soon find out if they are old enough to learn history. + +Remember, reader, that he who speaks to you is neither a scholar +nor a philosopher, but a plain man and a lover of truth; a man who +is pledged to no one party or system, a hermit, who mixes little with +other men, and has less opportunity of imbibing their prejudices, +and more time to reflect on the things that strike him in his +intercourse with them. My arguments are based less on theories than +on facts, and I think I can find no better way to bring the facts +home to you than by quoting continually some example from the +observations which suggested my arguments. + +I had gone to spend a few days in the country with a worthy mother +of a family who took great pains with her children and their +education. One morning I was present while the eldest boy had his +lessons. His tutor, who had taken great pains to teach him ancient +history, began upon the story of Alexander and lighted on the +well-known anecdote of Philip the Doctor. There is a picture of +it, and the story is well worth study. The tutor, worthy man, made +several reflections which I did not like with regard to Alexander's +courage, but I did not argue with him lest I should lower him in the +eyes of his pupil. At dinner they did not fail to get the little +fellow talking, French fashion. The eager spirit of a child of +his age, and the confident expectation of applause, made him say +a number of silly things, and among them from time to time there +were things to the point, and these made people forget the rest. At +last came the story of Philip the Doctor. He told it very distinctly +and prettily. After the usual meed of praise, demanded by his +mother and expected by the child himself, they discussed what he +had said. Most of them blamed Alexander's rashness, some of them, +following the tutor's example, praised his resolution, which showed +me that none of those present really saw the beauty of the story. +"For my own part," I said, "if there was any courage or any +steadfastness at all in Alexander's conduct I think it was only +a piece of bravado." Then every one agreed that it was a piece of +bravado. I was getting angry, and would have replied, when a lady +sitting beside me, who had not hitherto spoken, bent towards me +and whispered in my ear. "Jean Jacques," said she, "say no more, +they will never understand you." I looked at her, I recognised the +wisdom of her advice, and I held my tongue. + +Several things made me suspect that our young professor had not in +the least understood the story he told so prettily. After dinner +I took his hand in mine and we went for a walk in the park. When +I had questioned him quietly, I discovered that he admired the +vaunted courage of Alexander more than any one. But in what do you +suppose he thought this courage consisted? Merely in swallowing +a disagreeable drink at a single draught without hesitation and +without any signs of dislike. Not a fortnight before the poor child +had been made to take some medicine which he could hardly swallow, +and the taste of it was still in his mouth. Death, and death by +poisoning, were for him only disagreeable sensations, and senna was +his only idea of poison. I must admit, however, that Alexander's +resolution had made a great impression on his young mind, and he +was determined that next time he had to take medicine he would be +an Alexander. Without entering upon explanations which were clearly +beyond his grasp, I confirmed him in his praiseworthy intention, +and returned home smiling to myself over the great wisdom of parents +and teachers who expect to teach history to children. + +Such words as king, emperor, war, conquest, law, and revolution are +easily put into their mouths; but when it is a question of attaching +clear ideas to these words the explanations are very different from +our talk with Robert the gardener. + +I feel sure some readers dissatisfied with that "Say no more, Jean +Jacques," will ask what I really saw to admire in the conduct of +Alexander. Poor things! if you need telling, how can you comprehend +it? Alexander believed in virtue, he staked his head, he staked +his own life on that faith, his great soul was fitted to hold such +a faith. To swallow that draught was to make a noble profession +of the faith that was in him. Never did mortal man recite a finer +creed. If there is an Alexander in our own days, show me such deeds. + +If children have no knowledge of words, there is no study that is +suitable for them. If they have no real ideas they have no real +memory, for I do not call that a memory which only recalls sensations. +What is the use of inscribing on their brains a list of symbols +which mean nothing to them? They will learn the symbols when they +learn the things signified; why give them the useless trouble of +learning them twice over? And yet what dangerous prejudices are you +implanting when you teach them to accept as knowledge words which +have no meaning for them. The first meaningless phrase, the first +thing taken for granted on the word of another person without +seeing its use for himself, this is the beginning of the ruin of +the child's judgment. He may dazzle the eyes of fools long enough +before he recovers from such a loss. [Footnote: The learning of +most philosophers is like the learning of children. Vast erudition +results less in the multitude of ideas than in a multitude of +images. Dates, names, places, all objects isolated or unconnected +with ideas are merely retained in the memory for symbols, and we +rarely recall any of these without seeing the right or left page +of the book in which we read it, or the form in which we first saw +it. Most science was of this kind till recently. The science of +our times is another matter; study and observation are things of +the past; we dream and the dreams of a bad night are given to us as +philosophy. You will say I too am a dreamer; I admit it, but I do +what the others fail to do, I give my dreams as dreams, and leave +the reader to discover whether there is anything in them which may +prove useful to those who are awake.] + +No, if nature has given the child this plasticity of brain which +fits him to receive every kind of impression, it was not that you +should imprint on it the names and dates of kings, the jargon of +heraldry, the globe and geography, all those words without present +meaning or future use for the child, which flood of words overwhelms +his sad and barren childhood. But by means of this plasticity all +the ideas he can understand and use, all that concern his happiness +and will some day throw light upon his duties, should be traced at +an early age in indelible characters upon his brain, to guide him +to live in such a way as befits his nature and his powers. + +Without the study of books, such a memory as the child may possess +is not left idle; everything he sees and hears makes an impression +on him, he keeps a record of men's sayings and doings, and his +whole environment is the book from which he unconsciously enriches +his memory, till his judgment is able to profit by it. + +To select these objects, to take care to present him constantly +with those he may know, to conceal from him those he ought not to +know, this is the real way of training his early memory; and in +this way you must try to provide him with a storehouse of knowledge +which will serve for his education in youth and his conduct throughout +life. True, this method does not produce infant prodigies, nor will +it reflect glory upon their tutors and governesses, but it produces +men, strong, right-thinking men, vigorous both in mind and body, +men who do not win admiration as children, but honour as men. + +Emile will not learn anything by heart, not even fables, not even +the fables of La Fontaine, simple and delightful as they are, +for the words are no more the fable than the words of history are +history. How can people be so blind as to call fables the child's +system of morals, without considering that the child is not only +amused by the apologue but misled by it? He is attracted by what +is false and he misses the truth, and the means adopted to make the +teaching pleasant prevent him profiting by it. Men may be taught +by fables; children require the naked truth. + +All children learn La Fontaine's fables, but not one of them +understands them. It is just as well that they do not understand, +for the morality of the fables is so mixed and so unsuitable for +their age that it would be more likely to incline them to vice +than to virtue. "More paradoxes!" you exclaim. Paradoxes they may +be; but let us see if there is not some truth in them. + +I maintain that the child does not understand the fables he is +taught, for however you try to explain them, the teaching you wish +to extract from them demands ideas which he cannot grasp, while the +poetical form which makes it easier to remember makes it harder to +understand, so that clearness is sacrificed to facility. Without +quoting the host of wholly unintelligible and useless fables which +are taught to children because they happen to be in the same book +as the others, let us keep to those which the author seems to have +written specially for children. + +In the whole of La Fontaine's works I only know five or six fables +conspicuous for child-like simplicity; I will take the first of +these as an example, for it is one whose moral is most suitable for +all ages, one which children get hold of with the least difficulty, +which they have most pleasure in learning, one which for this very +reason the author has placed at the beginning of his book. If his +object were really to delight and instruct children, this fable is +his masterpiece. Let us go through it and examine it briefly. + +THE FOX AND THE CROW + +A FABLE + +"Maitre corbeau, sur un arbre perche" (Mr. Crow perched on a +tree).--"Mr.!" what does that word really mean? What does it mean +before a proper noun? What is its meaning here? What is a crow? +What is "un arbre perche"? We do not say "on a tree perched," but +perched on a tree. So we must speak of poetical inversions, we +must distinguish between prose and verse. + +"Tenait dans son bec un fromage" (Held a cheese in his beak)--What +sort of a cheese? Swiss, Brie, or Dutch? If the child has never +seen crows, what is the good of talking about them? If he has seen +crows will he believe that they can hold a cheese in their beak? +Your illustrations should always be taken from nature. + +"Maitre renard, par l'odeur alleche" (Mr. Fox, attracted by +the smell).--Another Master! But the title suits the fox,--who is +master of all the tricks of his trade. You must explain what a fox +is, and distinguish between the real fox and the conventional fox +of the fables. + +"Alleche." The word is obsolete; you will have to explain it. You +will say it is only used in verse. Perhaps the child will ask why +people talk differently in verse. How will you answer that question? + +"Alleche, par l'odeur d'un fromage." The cheese was held in his beak +by a crow perched on a tree; it must indeed have smelt strong if +the fox, in his thicket or his earth, could smell it. This is the +way you train your pupil in that spirit of right judgment, which +rejects all but reasonable arguments, and is able to distinguish +between truth and falsehood in other tales. + +"Lui tient a peu pres ce langage" (Spoke to him after this fashion).--"Ce +langage." So foxes talk, do they! They talk like crows! Mind what +you are about, oh, wise tutor; weigh your answer before you give +it, it is more important than you suspect. + +"Eh! Bonjour, Monsieur le Corbeau!" ("Good-day, Mr. Crow!")--Mr.! +The child sees this title laughed to scorn before he knows it is +a title of honour. Those who say "Monsieur du Corbeau" will find +their work cut out for them to explain that "du." + +"Que vous etes joli! Que vous me semblez beau!" ("How handsome you +are, how beautiful in my eyes!")--Mere padding. The child, finding +the same thing repeated twice over in different words, is learning +to speak carelessly. If you say this redundance is a device of the +author, a part of the fox's scheme to make his praise seem all the +greater by his flow of words, that is a valid excuse for me, but +not for my pupil. + +"Sans mentir, si votre ramage" ("Without lying, if your song").--"Without +lying." So people do tell lies sometimes. What will the child think +of you if you tell him the fox only says "Sans mentir" because he +is lying? + +"Se rapporte a votre plumage" ("Answered to your fine +feathers").--"Answered!" What does that mean? Try to make the +child compare qualities so different as those of song and plumage; +you will see how much he understands. + +"Vous seriez le phenix des hotes de ces bois!" ("You would be the +phoenix of all the inhabitants of this wood!")--The phoenix! What +is a phoenix? All of a sudden we are floundering in the lies of +antiquity--we are on the edge of mythology. + +"The inhabitants of this wood." What figurative language! The +flatterer adopts the grand style to add dignity to his speech, to +make it more attractive. Will the child understand this cunning? +Does he know, how could he possibly know, what is meant by grand +style and simple style? + +"A ces mots le corbeau ne se sent pas de joie" (At these words, the +crow is beside himself with delight).--To realise the full force +of this proverbial expression we must have experienced very strong +feeling. + +"Et, pour montrer sa belle voix" (And, to show his fine voice).--Remember +that the child, to understand this line and the whole fable, must +know what is meant by the crow's fine voice. + +"Il ouvre un large bec, laisse tomber sa proie" (He opens his wide +beak and drops his prey).--This is a splendid line; its very sound +suggests a picture. I see the great big ugly gaping beak, I hear +the cheese crashing through the branches; but this kind of beauty +is thrown away upon children. + +"Le renard s'en saisit, et dit, 'Mon bon monsieur'" (The fox catches +it, and says, "My dear sir").--So kindness is already folly. You +certainly waste no time in teaching your children. + +"Apprenez que tout flatteur" ("You must learn that every flatterer").--A +general maxim. The child can make neither head nor tail of it. + +"Vit au depens de celui qui l'ecoute" ("Lives at the expense of +the person who listens to his flattery").--No child of ten ever +understood that. + +"Ce lecon vaut bien un fromage, sans doute" ("No doubt this lesson +is well worth a cheese").--This is intelligible and its meaning is +very good. Yet there are few children who could compare a cheese and +a lesson, few who would not prefer the cheese. You will therefore +have to make them understand that this is said in mockery. What +subtlety for a child! + +"Le corbeau, honteux et confus" (The crow, ashamed and confused).--A +nothing pleonasm, and there is no excuse for it this time. + +"Jura, mais un peu tard, qu'on ne l'y prendrait plus" (Swore, +but rather too late, that he would not be caught in that way +again).--"Swore." What master will be such a fool as to try to +explain to a child the meaning of an oath? + +What a host of details! but much more would be needed for the +analysis of all the ideas in this fable and their reduction to the +simple and elementary ideas of which each is composed. But who thinks +this analysis necessary to make himself intelligible to children? +Who of us is philosopher enough to be able to put himself in the +child's place? Let us now proceed to the moral. + +Should we teach a six-year-old child that there are people who +flatter and lie for the sake of gain? One might perhaps teach them +that there are people who make fools of little boys and laugh at +their foolish vanity behind their backs. But the whole thing is +spoilt by the cheese. You are teaching them how to make another +drop his cheese rather than how to keep their own. This is my second +paradox, and it is not less weighty than the former one. + +Watch children learning their fables and you will see that when +they have a chance of applying them they almost always use them +exactly contrary to the author's meaning; instead of being on their +guard against the fault which you would prevent or cure, they are +disposed to like the vice by which one takes advantage of another's +defects. In the above fable children laugh at the crow, but they +all love the fox. In the next fable you expect them to follow +the example of the grasshopper. Not so, they will choose the ant. +They do not care to abase themselves, they will always choose the +principal part--this is the choice of self-love, a very natural +choice. But what a dreadful lesson for children! There could be +no monster more detestable than a harsh and avaricious child, who +realised what he was asked to give and what he refused. The ant +does more; she teaches him not merely to refuse but to revile. + +In all the fables where the lion plays a part, usually the chief +part, the child pretends to be the lion, and when he has to preside +over some distribution of good things, he takes care to keep +everything for himself; but when the lion is overthrown by the gnat, +the child is the gnat. He learns how to sting to death those whom +he dare not attack openly. + +From the fable of the sleek dog and the starving wolf he learns a +lesson of licence rather than the lesson of moderation which you +profess to teach him. I shall never forget seeing a little girl +weeping bitterly over this tale, which had been told her as a lesson +in obedience. The poor child hated to be chained up; she felt the +chain chafing her neck; she was crying because she was not a wolf. + +So from the first of these fables the child learns the basest +flattery; from the second, cruelty; from the third, injustice; from +the fourth, satire; from the fifth, insubordination. The last of +these lessons is no more suitable for your pupils than for mine, +though he has no use for it. What results do you expect to get +from your teaching when it contradicts itself! But perhaps the +same system of morals which furnishes me with objections against +the fables supplies you with as many reasons for keeping to them. +Society requires a rule of morality in our words; it also requires +a rule of morality in our deeds; and these two rules are quite +different. The former is contained in the Catechism and it is left +there; the other is contained in La Fontaine's fables for children +and his tales for mothers. The same author does for both. + +Let us make a bargain, M. de la Fontaine. For my own part, +I undertake to make your books my favourite study; I undertake to +love you, and to learn from your fables, for I hope I shall not +mistake their meaning. As to my pupil, permit me to prevent him +studying any one of them till you have convinced me that it is good +for him to learn things three-fourths of which are unintelligible +to him, and until you can convince me that in those fables he can +understand he will never reverse the order and imitate the villain +instead of taking warning from his dupe. + +When I thus get rid of children's lessons, I get rid of the chief +cause of their sorrows, namely their books. Reading is the curse +of childhood, yet it is almost the only occupation you can find +for children. Emile, at twelve years old, will hardly know what a +book is. "But," you say, "he must, at least, know how to read." + +When reading is of use to him, I admit he must learn to read, but +till then he will only find it a nuisance. + +If children are not to be required to do anything as a matter of +obedience, it follows that they will only learn what they perceive +to be of real and present value, either for use or enjoyment; what +other motive could they have for learning? The art of speaking to +our absent friends, of hearing their words; the art of letting them +know at first hand our feelings, our desires, and our longings, is +an art whose usefulness can be made plain at any age. How is it +that this art, so useful and pleasant in itself, has become a terror +to children? Because the child is compelled to acquire it against +his will, and to use it for purposes beyond his comprehension. A +child has no great wish to perfect himself in the use of an instrument +of torture, but make it a means to his pleasure, and soon you will +not be able to keep him from it. + +People make a great fuss about discovering the beat way to teach +children to read. They invent "bureaux" [Footnote: Translator's +note.--The "bureau" was a sort of case containing letters to +be put together to form words. It was a favourite device for the +teaching of reading and gave its name to a special method, called +the bureau-method, of learning to read.] and cards, they turn the +nursery into a printer's shop. Locke would have them taught to read +by means of dice. What a fine idea! And the pity of it! There is a +better way than any of those, and one which is generally overlooked--it +consists in the desire to learn. Arouse this desire in your scholar +and have done with your "bureaux" and your dice--any method will +serve. + +Present interest, that is the motive power, the only motive power +that takes us far and safely. Sometimes Emile receives notes of +invitation from his father or mother, his relations or friends; he +is invited to a dinner, a walk, a boating expedition, to see some +public entertainment. These notes are short, clear, plain, and well +written. Some one must read them to him, and he cannot always find +anybody when wanted; no more consideration is shown to him than he +himself showed to you yesterday. Time passes, the chance is lost. +The note is read to him at last, but it is too late. Oh! if +only he had known how to read! He receives other notes, so short, +so interesting, he would like to try to read them. Sometimes he +gets help, sometimes none. He does his best, and at last he makes +out half the note; it is something about going to-morrow to drink +cream--Where? With whom? He cannot tell--how hard he tries to make +out the rest! I do not think Emile will need a "bureau." Shall I +proceed to the teaching of writing? No, I am ashamed to toy with +these trifles in a treatise on education. + +I will just add a few words which contain a principle of great +importance. It is this--What we are in no hurry to get is usually +obtained with speed and certainty. I am pretty sure Emile will learn +to read and write before he is ten, just because I care very little +whether he can do so before he is fifteen; but I would rather he +never learnt to read at all, than that this art should be acquired +at the price of all that makes reading useful. What is the use of +reading to him if he always hates it? "Id imprimis cavere oportebit, +ne studia, qui amare nondum potest, oderit, et amaritudinem semel +perceptam etiam ultra rudes annos reformidet."--Quintil. + +The more I urge my method of letting well alone, the more objections +I perceive against it. If your pupil learns nothing from you, he +will learn from others. If you do not instil truth he will learn +falsehoods; the prejudices you fear to teach him he will acquire +from those about him, they will find their way through every one +of his senses; they will either corrupt his reason before it is +fully developed or his mind will become torpid through inaction, +and will become engrossed in material things. If we do not form the +habit of thinking as children, we shall lose the power of thinking +for the rest of our life. + +I fancy I could easily answer that objection, but why should I answer +every objection? If my method itself answers your objections, it +is good; if not, it is good for nothing. I continue my explanation. + +If, in accordance with the plan I have sketched, you follow rules +which are just the opposite of the established practice, if instead +of taking your scholar far afield, instead of wandering with him +in distant places, in far-off lands, in remote centuries, in the +ends of the earth, and in the very heavens themselves, you try to +keep him to himself, to his own concerns, you will then find him +able to perceive, to remember, and even to reason; this is nature's +order. As the sentient being becomes active his discernment develops +along with his strength. Not till his strength is in excess of +what is needed for self-preservation, is the speculative faculty +developed, the faculty adapted for using this superfluous strength +for other purposes. Would you cultivate your pupil's intelligence, +cultivate the strength it is meant to control. Give his body constant +exercise, make it strong and healthy, in order to make him good +and wise; let him work, let him do things, let him run and shout, +let him be always on the go; make a man of him in strength, and he +will soon be a man in reason. + +Of course by this method you will make him stupid if you are always +giving him directions, always saying come here, go there, stop, +do this, don't do that. If your head always guides his hands, his +own mind will become useless. But remember the conditions we laid +down; if you are a mere pedant it is not worth your while to read +my book. + +It is a lamentable mistake to imagine that bodily activity hinders +the working of the mind, as if these two kinds of activity ought +not to advance hand in hand, and as if the one were not intended +to act as guide to the other. + +There are two classes of men who are constantly engaged in bodily +activity, peasants and savages, and certainly neither of these +pays the least attention to the cultivation of the mind. Peasants +are rough, coarse, and clumsy; savages are noted, not only for their +keen senses, but for great subtility of mind. Speaking generally, +there is nothing duller than a peasant or sharper than a savage. +What is the cause of this difference? The peasant has always done +as he was told, what his father did before him, what he himself +has always done; he is the creature of habit, he spends his life +almost like an automaton on the same tasks; habit and obedience +have taken the place of reason. + +The case of the savage is very different; he is tied to no one +place, he has no prescribed task, no superior to obey, he knows +no law but his own will; he is therefore forced to reason at every +step he takes. He can neither move nor walk without considering the +consequences. Thus the more his body is exercised, the more alert +is his mind; his strength and his reason increase together, and +each helps to develop the other. + +Oh, learned tutor, let us see which of our two scholars is most +like the savage and which is most like the peasant. Your scholar +is subject to a power which is continually giving him instruction; +he acts only at the word of command; he dare not eat when he is +hungry, nor laugh when he is merry, nor weep when he is sad, nor +offer one hand rather than the other, nor stir a foot unless he is +told to do it; before long he will not venture to breathe without +orders. What would you have him think about, when you do all the +thinking for him? He rests securely on your foresight, why should +he think for himself? He knows you have undertaken to take care of +him, to secure his welfare, and he feels himself freed from this +responsibility. His judgment relies on yours; what you have not +forbidden that he does, knowing that he runs no risk. Why should +he learn the signs of rain? He knows you watch the clouds for him. +Why should he time his walk? He knows there is no fear of your +letting him miss his dinner hour. He eats till you tell him to +stop, he stops when you tell him to do so; he does not attend to +the teaching of his own stomach, but yours. In vain do you make his +body soft by inaction; his understanding does not become subtle. +Far from it, you complete your task of discrediting reason in +his eyes, by making him use such reasoning power as he has on the +things which seem of least importance to him. As he never finds +his reason any use to him, he decides at last that it is useless. +If he reasons badly he will be found fault with; nothing worse will +happen to him; and he has been found fault with so often that he +pays no attention to it, such a common danger no longer alarms him. + +Yet you will find he has a mind. He is quick enough to chatter +with the women in the way I spoke of further back; but if he is in +danger, if he must come to a decision in difficult circumstances, +you will find him a hundredfold more stupid and silly than the son +of the roughest labourer. + +As for my pupil, or rather Nature's pupil, he has been trained from +the outset to be as self-reliant as possible, he has not formed +the habit of constantly seeking help from others, still less of +displaying his stores of learning. On the other hand, he exercises +discrimination and forethought, he reasons about everything that +concerns himself. He does not chatter, he acts. Not a word does +he know of what is going on in the world at large, but he knows +very thoroughly what affects himself. As he is always stirring he +is compelled to notice many things, to recognise many effects; he +soon acquires a good deal of experience. Nature, not man, is his +schoolmaster, and he learns all the quicker because he is not aware +that he has any lesson to learn. So mind and body work together. +He is always carrying out his own ideas, not those of other people, +and thus he unites thought and action; as he grows in health and +strength he grows in wisdom and discernment. This is the way to +attain later on to what is generally considered incompatible, though +most great men have achieved it, strength of body and strength of +mind, the reason of the philosopher and the vigour of the athlete. + +Young teacher, I am setting before you a difficult task, the art +of controlling without precepts, and doing everything without doing +anything at all. This art is, I confess, beyond your years, it is +not calculated to display your talents nor to make your value known +to your scholar's parents; but it is the only road to success. +You will never succeed in making wise men if you do not first make +little imps of mischief. This was the education of the Spartans; +they were not taught to stick to their books, they were set to steal +their dinners. Were they any the worse for it in after life? Ever +ready for victory, they crushed their foes in every kind of warfare, +and the prating Athenians were as much afraid of their words as of +their blows. + +When education is most carefully attended to, the teacher issues +his orders and thinks himself master, but it is the child who +is really master. He uses the tasks you set him to obtain what he +wants from you, and he can always make you pay for an hour's industry +by a week's complaisance. You must always be making bargains with +him. These bargains, suggested in your fashion, but carried out +in his, always follow the direction of his own fancies, especially +when you are foolish enough to make the condition some advantage +he is almost sure to obtain, whether he fulfils his part of the +bargain or not. The child is usually much quicker to read the +master's thoughts than the master to read the child's feelings. +And that is as it should be, for all the sagacity which the child +would have devoted to self-preservation, had he been left to himself, +is now devoted to the rescue of his native freedom from the chains +of his tyrant; while the latter, who has no such pressing need to +understand the child, sometimes finds that it pays him better to +leave him in idleness or vanity. + +Take the opposite course with your pupil; let him always think he +is master while you are really master. There is no subjection so +complete as that which preserves the forms of freedom; it is thus +that the will itself is taken captive. Is not this poor child, +without knowledge, strength, or wisdom, entirely at your mercy? Are +you not master of his whole environment so far as it affects him? +Cannot you make of him what you please? His work and play, his +pleasure and pain, are they not, unknown to him, under your control? +No doubt he ought only to do what he wants, but he ought to want +to do nothing but what you want him to do. He should never take a +step you have not foreseen, nor utter a word you could not foretell. + +Then he can devote himself to the bodily exercises adapted to his +age without brutalising his mind; instead of developing his cunning +to evade an unwelcome control, you will then find him entirely +occupied in getting the best he can out of his environment with +a view to his present welfare, and you will be surprised by the +subtlety of the means he devises to get for himself such things as +he can obtain, and to really enjoy things without the aid of other +people's ideas. You leave him master of his own wishes, but you +do not multiply his caprices. When he only does what he wants, he +will soon only do what he ought, and although his body is constantly in +motion, so far as his sensible and present interests are concerned, +you will find him developing all the reason of which he is capable, +far better and in a manner much better fitted for him than in purely +theoretical studies. + +Thus when he does not find you continually thwarting him, when he +no longer distrusts you, no longer has anything to conceal from +you, he will neither tell you lies nor deceive you; he will show +himself fearlessly as he really is, and you can study him at your +ease, and surround him with all the lessons you would have him +learn, without awaking his suspicions. + +Neither will he keep a curious and jealous eye on your own conduct, +nor take a secret delight in catching you at fault. It is a great +thing to avoid this. One of the child's first objects is, as I have +said, to find the weak spots in its rulers. Though this leads to +spitefulness, it does not arise from it, but from the desire to +evade a disagreeable control. Overburdened by the yoke laid upon +him, he tries to shake it off, and the faults he finds in his master +give him a good opportunity for this. Still the habit of spying out +faults and delighting in them grows upon people. Clearly we have +stopped another of the springs of vice in Emile's heart. Having +nothing to gain from my faults, he will not be on the watch for +them, nor will he be tempted to look out for the faults of others. + +All these methods seem difficult because they are new to us, but +they ought not to be really difficult. I have a right to assume that +you have the knowledge required for the business you have chosen; +that you know the usual course of development of the human thought, +that you can study mankind and man, that you know beforehand the +effect on your pupil's will of the various objects suited to his +age which you put before him. You have the tools and the art to +use them; are you not master of your trade? + +You speak of childish caprice; you are mistaken. Children's caprices +are never the work of nature, but of bad discipline; they have +either obeyed or given orders, and I have said again and again, +they must do neither. Your pupil will have the caprices you have +taught him; it is fair you should bear the punishment of your own +faults. "But how can I cure them?" do you say? That may still be +done by better conduct on your own part and great patience. I once +undertook the charge of a child for a few weeks; he was accustomed +not only to have his own way, but to make every one else do as he +pleased; he was therefore capricious. The very first day he wanted +to get up at midnight, to try how far he could go with me. When I +was sound asleep he jumped out of bed, got his dressing-gown, and +waked me up. I got up and lighted the candle, which was all he +wanted. After a quarter of an hour he became sleepy and went back +to bed quite satisfied with his experiment. Two days later he +repeated it, with the same success and with no sign of impatience +on my part. When he kissed me as he lay down, I said to him very +quietly, "My little dear, this is all very well, but do not try it +again." His curiosity was aroused by this, and the very next day he +did not fail to get up at the same time and woke me to see whether +I should dare to disobey him. I asked what he wanted, and he told +me he could not sleep. "So much the worse for you," I replied, and +I lay quiet. He seemed perplexed by this way of speaking. He felt +his way to the flint and steel and tried to strike a light. I could +not help laughing when I heard him strike his fingers. Convinced at +last that he could not manage it, he brought the steel to my bed; +I told him I did not want it, and I turned my back to him. Then +he began to rush wildly about the room, shouting, singing, making +a great noise, knocking against chairs and tables, but taking, +however, good care not to hurt himself seriously, but screaming +loudly in the hope of alarming me. All this had no effect, but +I perceived that though he was prepared for scolding or anger, he +was quite unprepared for indifference. + +However, he was determined to overcome my patience with his own +obstinacy, and he continued his racket so successfully that at last +I lost my temper. I foresaw that I should spoil the whole business +by an unseemly outburst of passion. I determined on another course. +I got up quietly, went to the tinder box, but could not find it; +I asked him for it, and he gave it me, delighted to have won the +victory over me. I struck a light, lighted the candle, took my +young gentleman by the hand and led him quietly into an adjoining +dressing-room with the shutters firmly fastened, and nothing he +could break. + +I left him there without a light; then locking him in I went back +to my bed without a word. What a noise there was! That was what I +expected, and took no notice. At last the noise ceased; I listened, +heard him settling down, and I was quite easy about him. Next morning +I entered the room at daybreak, and my little rebel was lying on +a sofa enjoying a sound and much needed sleep after his exertions. + +The matter did not end there. His mother heard that the child had +spent a great part of the night out of bed. That spoilt the whole +thing; her child was as good as dead. Finding a good chance for +revenge, he pretended to be ill, not seeing that he would gain +nothing by it. They sent for the doctor. Unluckily for the mother, +the doctor was a practical joker, and to amuse himself with her +terrors he did his best to increase them. However, he whispered to +me, "Leave it to me, I promise to cure the child of wanting to be +ill for some time to come." As a matter of fact he prescribed bed +and dieting, and the child was handed over to the apothecary. I +sighed to see the mother cheated on every hand except by me, whom +she hated because I did not deceive her. + +After pretty severe reproaches, she told me her son was delicate, +that he was the sole heir of the family, his life must be preserved +at all costs, and she would not have him contradicted. In that +I thoroughly agreed with her, but what she meant by contradicting +was not obeying him in everything. I saw I should have to treat +the mother as I had treated the son. "Madam," I said coldly, "I do +not know how to educate the heir to a fortune, and what is more, +I do not mean to study that art. You can take that as settled." +I was wanted for some days longer, and the father smoothed things +over. The mother wrote to the tutor to hasten his return, and the +child, finding he got nothing by disturbing my rest, nor yet by +being ill, decided at last to get better and to go to sleep. + +You can form no idea of the number of similar caprices to which the +little tyrant had subjected his unlucky tutor; for his education +was carried on under his mother's eye, and she would not allow her +son and heir to be disobeyed in anything. Whenever he wanted to go +out, you must be ready to take him, or rather to follow him, and +he always took good care to choose the time when he knew his tutor +was very busy. He wished to exercise the same power over me and +to avenge himself by day for having to leave me in peace at night. +I gladly agreed and began by showing plainly how pleased I was to +give him pleasure; after that when it was a matter of curing him +of his fancies I set about it differently. + +In the first place, he must be shown that he was in the wrong. This +was not difficult; knowing that children think only of the present, +I took the easy advantage which foresight gives; I took care to +provide him with some indoor amusement of which he was very fond. +Just when he was most occupied with it, I went and suggested a short +walk, and he sent me away. I insisted, but he paid no attention. +I had to give in, and he took note of this sign of submission. + +The next day it was my turn. As I expected, he got tired of his +occupation; I, however, pretended to be very busy. That was enough +to decide him. He came to drag me from my work, to take him at +once for a walk. I refused; he persisted. "No," I said, "when I +did what you wanted, you taught me how to get my own way; I shall +not go out." "Very well," he replied eagerly, "I shall go out by +myself." "As you please," and I returned to my work. + +He put on his things rather uneasily when he saw I did not follow +his example. When he was ready he came and made his bow; I bowed +too; he tried to frighten me with stories of the expeditions he +was going to make; to hear him talk you would think he was going +to the world's end. Quite unmoved, I wished him a pleasant journey. +He became more and more perplexed. However, he put a good face on +it, and when he was ready to go out he told his foot man to follow +him. The footman, who had his instructions, replied that he had +no time, and that he was busy carrying out my orders, and he must +obey me first. For the moment the child was taken aback. How could +he think they would really let him go out alone, him, who, in his +own eyes, was the most important person in the world, who thought +that everything in heaven and earth was wrapped up in his welfare? +However, he was beginning to feel his weakness, he perceived that +he should find himself alone among people who knew nothing of him. +He saw beforehand the risks he would run; obstinacy alone sustained +him; very slowly and unwillingly he went downstairs. At last he +went out into the street, consoling himself a little for the harm +that might happen to himself, in the hope that I should be held +responsible for it. + +This was just what I expected. All was arranged beforehand, and as +it meant some sort of public scene I had got his father's consent. +He had scarcely gone a few steps, when he heard, first on this side +then on that, all sorts of remarks about himself. "What a pretty +little gentleman, neighbour? Where is he going all alone? He will +get lost! I will ask him into our house." "Take care you don't. +Don't you see he is a naughty little boy, who has been turned out +of his own house because he is good for nothing? You must not stop +naughty boys; let him go where he likes." "Well, well; the good God +take care of him. I should be sorry if anything happened to him." +A little further on he met some young urchins of about his own age +who teased him and made fun of him. The further he got the more +difficulties he found. Alone and unprotected he was at the mercy +of everybody, and he found to his great surprise that his shoulder +knot and his gold lace commanded no respect. + +However, I had got a friend of mine, who was a stranger to him, +to keep an eye on him. Unnoticed by him, this friend followed him +step by step, and in due time he spoke to him. The role, like that +of Sbrigani in Pourceaugnac, required an intelligent actor, and it +was played to perfection. Without making the child fearful and timid +by inspiring excessive terror, he made him realise so thoroughly +the folly of his exploit that in half an hour's time he brought him +home to me, ashamed and humble, and afraid to look me in the face. + +To put the finishing touch to his discomfiture, just as he was +coming in his father came down on his way out and met him on the +stairs. He had to explain where he had been, and why I was not with +him. [Footnote: In a case like this there is no danger in asking a +child to tell the truth, for he knows very well that it cannot be +hid, and that if he ventured to tell a lie he would be found out +at once.] The poor child would gladly have sunk into the earth. His +father did not take the trouble to scold him at length, but said +with more severity than I should have expected, "When you want to +go out by yourself, you can do so, but I will not have a rebel in +my house, so when you go, take good care that you never come back." + +As for me, I received him somewhat gravely, but without blame and +without mockery, and for fear he should find out we had been playing +with him, I declined to take him out walking that day. Next day I +was well pleased to find that he passed in triumph with me through +the very same people who had mocked him the previous day, when they +met him out by himself. You may be sure he never threatened to go +out without me again. + +By these means and other like them I succeeded during the short +time I was with him in getting him to do everything I wanted without +bidding him or forbidding him to do anything, without preaching +or exhortation, without wearying him with unnecessary lessons. So +he was pleased when I spoke to him, but when I was silent he was +frightened, for he knew there was something amiss, and he always got +his lesson from the thing itself. But let us return to our subject. + +The body is strengthened by this constant exercise under the guidance +of nature herself, and far from brutalising the mind, this exercise +develops in it the only kind of reason of which young children are +capable, the kind of reason most necessary at every age. It teaches +us how to use our strength, to perceive the relations between our +own and neighbouring bodies, to use the natural tools, which are +within our reach and adapted to our senses. Is there anything +sillier than a child brought up indoors under his mother's eye, +who, in his ignorance of weight and resistance, tries to uproot a +tall tree or pick up a rock. The first time I found myself outside +Geneva I tried to catch a galloping horse, and I threw stones +at Mont Saleve, two leagues away; I was the laughing stock of the +whole village, and was supposed to be a regular idiot. At eighteen +we are taught in our natural philosophy the use of the lever; +every village boy of twelve knows how to use a lever better than +the cleverest mechanician in the academy. The lessons the scholars +learn from one another in the playground are worth a hundredfold +more than what they learn in the class-room. + +Watch a cat when she comes into a room for the first time; she goes +from place to place, she sniffs about and examines everything, she +is never still for a moment; she is suspicious of everything till +she has examined it and found out what it is. It is the same with +the child when he begins to walk, and enters, so to speak, the room +of the world around him. The only difference is that, while both +use sight, the child uses his hands and the cat that subtle sense +of smell which nature has bestowed upon it. It is this instinct, +rightly or wrongly educated, which makes children skilful or clumsy, +quick or slow, wise or foolish. + +Man's primary natural goals are, therefore, to measure himself +against his environment, to discover in every object he sees those +sensible qualities which may concern himself, so his first study +is a kind of experimental physics for his own preservation. He is +turned away from this and sent to speculative studies before he +has found his proper place in the world. While his delicate and +flexible limbs can adjust themselves to the bodies upon which they +are intended to act, while his senses are keen and as yet free from +illusions, then is the time to exercise both limbs and senses in +their proper business. It is the time to learn to perceive the +physical relations between ourselves and things. Since everything +that comes into the human mind enters through the gates of sense, +man's first reason is a reason of sense-experience. It is this +that serves as a foundation for the reason of the intelligence; +our first teachers in natural philosophy are our feet, hands, and +eyes. To substitute books for them does not teach us to reason, +it teaches us to use the reason of others rather than our own; it +teaches us to believe much and know little. + +Before you can practise an art you must first get your tools; and +if you are to make good use of those tools, they must be fashioned +sufficiently strong to stand use. To learn to think we must therefore +exercise our limbs, our senses, and our bodily organs, which are +the tools of the intellect; and to get the best use out of these +tools, the body which supplies us with them must be strong and +healthy. Not only is it quite a mistake that true reason is developed +apart from the body, but it is a good bodily constitution which +makes the workings of the mind easy and correct. + +While I am showing how the child's long period of leisure should be +spent, I am entering into details which may seem absurd. You will +say, "This is a strange sort of education, and it is subject to +your own criticism, for it only teaches what no one needs to learn. +Why spend your time in teaching what will come of itself without +care or trouble? Is there any child of twelve who is ignorant of all +you wish to teach your pupil, while he also knows what his master +has taught him." + +Gentlemen, you are mistaken. I am teaching my pupil an art, the +acquirement of which demands much time and trouble, an art which +your scholars certainly do not possess; it is the art of being +ignorant; for the knowledge of any one who only thinks he knows, what +he really does know is a very small matter. You teach science; well +and good; I am busy fashioning the necessary tools for its acquisition. +Once upon a time, they say the Venetians were displaying the treasures +of the Cathedral of Saint Mark to the Spanish ambassador; the only +comment he made was, "Qui non c'e la radice." When I see a tutor +showing off his pupil's learning, I am always tempted to say the +same to him. + +Every one who has considered the manner of life among the +ancients, attributes the strength of body and mind by which they +are distinguished from the men of our own day to their gymnastic +exercises. The stress laid by Montaigne upon this opinion, shows +that it had made a great impression on him; he returns to it again +and again. Speaking of a child's education he says, "To strengthen +the mind you must harden the muscles; by training the child to labour +you train him to suffering; he must be broken in to the hardships +of gymnastic exercises to prepare him for the hardships of dislocations, +colics, and other bodily ills." The philosopher Locke, the worthy +Rollin, the learned Fleury, the pedant De Crouzas, differing as +they do so widely from one another, are agreed in this one matter +of sufficient bodily exercise for children. This is the wisest of +their precepts, and the one which is certain to be neglected. I +have already dwelt sufficiently on its importance, and as better +reasons and more sensible rules cannot be found than those in Locke's +book, I will content myself with referring to it, after taking the +liberty of adding a few remarks of my own. + +The limbs of a growing child should be free to move easily in his +clothing; nothing should cramp their growth or movement; there +should be nothing tight, nothing fitting closely to the body, no +belts of any kind. The French style of dress, uncomfortable and +unhealthy for a man, is especially bad for children. The stagnant +humours, whose circulation is interrupted, putrify in a state of +inaction, and this process proceeds more rapidly in an inactive and +sedentary life; they become corrupt and give rise to scurvy; this +disease, which is continually on the increase among us, was almost +unknown to the ancients, whose way of dressing and living protected +them from it. The hussar's dress, far from correcting this fault, +increases it, and compresses the whole of the child's body, by way +of dispensing with a few bands. The best plan is to keep children +in frocks as long as possible and then to provide them with loose +clothing, without trying to define the shape which is only another +way of deforming it. Their defects of body and mind may all be +traced to the same source, the desire to make men of them before +their time. + +There are bright colours and dull; children like the bright colours +best, and they suit them better too. I see no reason why such natural +suitability should not be taken into consideration; but as soon as +they prefer a material because it is rich, their hearts are already +given over to luxury, to every caprice of fashion, and this taste +is certainly not their own. It is impossible to say how much +education is influenced by this choice of clothes, and the motives +for this choice. Not only do short-sighted mothers offer ornaments +as rewards to their children, but there are foolish tutors who +threaten to make their pupils wear the plainest and coarsest clothes +as a punishment. "If you do not do your lessons better, if you do +not take more care of your clothes, you shall be dressed like that +little peasant boy." This is like saying to them, "Understand that +clothes make the man." Is it to be wondered at that our young people +profit by such wise teaching, that they care for nothing but dress, +and that they only judge of merit by its outside. + +If I had to bring such a spoilt child to his senses, I would take +care that his smartest clothes were the most uncomfortable, that +he was always cramped, constrained, and embarrassed in every way; +freedom and mirth should flee before his splendour. If he wanted +to take part in the games of children more simply dressed, they +should cease their play and run away. Before long I should make +him so tired and sick of his magnificence, such a slave to his +gold-laced coat, that it would become the plague of his life, and +he would be less afraid to behold the darkest dungeon than to see +the preparations for his adornment. Before the child is enslaved by +our prejudices his first wish is always to be free and comfortable. +The plainest and most comfortable clothes, those which leave him +most liberty, are what he always likes best. + +There are habits of body suited for an active life and others for +a sedentary life. The latter leaves the humours an equable and +uniform course, and the body should be protected from changes in +temperature; the former is constantly passing from action to rest, +from heat to cold, and the body should be inured to these changes. +Hence people, engaged in sedentary pursuits indoors, should always +be warmly dressed, to keep their bodies as nearly as possible at +the same temperature at all times and seasons. Those, however, who +come and go in sun, wind, and rain, who take much exercise, and +spend most of their time out of doors, should always be lightly clad, +so as to get used to the changes in the air and to every degree of +temperature without suffering inconvenience. I would advise both +never to change their clothes with the changing seasons, and that +would be the invariable habit of my pupil Emile. By this I do not +mean that he should wear his winter clothes in summer like many +people of sedentary habits, but that he should wear his summer +clothes in winter like hard-working folk. Sir Isaac Newton always +did this, and he lived to be eighty. + +Emile should wear little or nothing on his head all the year round. +The ancient Egyptians always went bareheaded; the Persians used to +wear heavy tiaras and still wear large turbans, which according to +Chardin are required by their climate. I have remarked elsewhere +on the difference observed by Herodotus on a battle-field between +the skulls of the Persians and those of the Egyptians. Since it is +desirable that the bones of the skull should grow harder and more +substantial, less fragile and porous, not only to protect the brain +against injuries but against colds, fever, and every influence of +the air, you should therefore accustom your children to go bare-headed +winter and summer, day and night. If you make them wear a night-cap +to keep their hair clean and tidy, let it be thin and transparent +like the nets with which the Basques cover their hair. I am aware +that most mothers will be more impressed by Chardin's observations +than my arguments, and will think that all climates are the climate +of Persia, but I did not choose a European pupil to turn him into +an Asiatic. + +Children are generally too much wrapped up, particularly in infancy. +They should be accustomed to cold rather than heat; great cold +never does them any harm, if they are exposed to it soon enough; +but their skin is still too soft and tender and leaves too free +a course for perspiration, so that they are inevitably exhausted +by excessive heat. It has been observed that infant mortality is +greatest in August. Moreover, it seems certain from a comparison +of northern and southern races that we become stronger by bearing +extreme cold rather than excessive heat. But as the child's body +grows bigger and his muscles get stronger, train him gradually to +bear the rays of the sun. Little by little you will harden him till +he can face the burning heat of the tropics without danger. + +Locke, in the midst of the manly and sensible advice he gives us, +falls into inconsistencies one would hardly expect in such a careful +thinker. The same man who would have children take an ice-cold bath +summer and winter, will not let them drink cold water when they +are hot, or lie on damp grass. But he would never have their shoes +water-tight; and why should they let in more water when the child +is hot than when he is cold, and may we not draw the same inference +with regard to the feet and body that he draws with regard to the +hands and feet and the body and face? If he would have a man all +face, why blame me if I would have him all feet? + +To prevent children drinking when they are hot, he says they should +be trained to eat a piece of bread first. It is a strange thing to +make a child eat because he is thirsty; I would as soon give him a +drink when he is hungry. You will never convince me that our first +instincts are so ill-regulated that we cannot satisfy them without +endangering our lives. Were that so, the man would have perished +over and over again before he had learned how to keep himself alive. + +Whenever Emile is thirsty let him have a drink, and let him drink +fresh water just as it is, not even taking the chill off it in the +depths of winter and when he is bathed in perspiration. The only +precaution I advise is to take care what sort of water you give +him. If the water comes from a river, give it him just as it is; +if it is spring-water let it stand a little exposed to the air +before he drinks it. In warm weather rivers are warm; it is not +so with springs, whose water has not been in contact with the air. +You must wait till the temperature of the water is the same as that +of the air. In winter, on the other hand, spring water is safer +than river water. It is, however, unusual and unnatural to perspire +greatly in winter, especially in the open air, for the cold air +constantly strikes the skin and drives the perspiration inwards, +and prevents the pores opening enough to give it passage. Now I do +not intend Emile to take his exercise by the fireside in winter, +but in the open air and among the ice. If he only gets warm with +making and throwing snowballs, let him drink when he is thirsty, +and go on with his game after drinking, and you need not be afraid +of any ill effects. And if any other exercise makes him perspire +let him drink cold water even in winter provided he is thirsty. +Only take care to take him to get the water some little distance +away. In such cold as I am supposing, he would have cooled down +sufficiently when he got there to be able to drink without danger. +Above all, take care to conceal these precautions from him. I +would rather he were ill now and then, than always thinking about +his health. + +Since children take such violent exercise they need a great deal +of sleep. The one makes up for the other, and this shows that both +are necessary. Night is the time set apart by nature for rest. It +is an established fact that sleep is quieter and calmer when the +sun is below the horizon, and that our senses are less calm when +the air is warmed by the rays of the sun. So it is certainly the +healthiest plan to rise with the sun and go to bed with the sun. +Hence in our country man and all the other animals with him want +more sleep in winter than in summer. But town life is so complex, +so unnatural, so subject to chances and changes, that it is not +wise to accustom a man to such uniformity that he cannot do without +it. No doubt he must submit to rules; but the chief rule is this--be +able to break the rule if necessary. So do not be so foolish as to +soften your pupil by letting him always sleep his sleep out. Leave +him at first to the law of nature without any hindrance, but never +forget that under our conditions he must rise above this law; he +must be able to go to bed late and rise early, be awakened suddenly, +or sit up all night without ill effects. Begin early and proceed +gently, a step at a time, and the constitution adapts itself to +the very conditions which would destroy it if they were imposed +for the first time on the grown man. + +In the next place he must be accustomed to sleep in an uncomfortable +bed, which is the best way to find no bed uncomfortable. Speaking +generally, a hard life, when once we have become used to it, +increases our pleasant experiences; an easy life prepares the way +for innumerable unpleasant experiences. Those who are too tenderly +nurtured can only sleep on down; those who are used to sleep on +bare boards can find them anywhere. There is no such thing as a +hard bed for the man who falls asleep at once. + +The body is, so to speak, melted and dissolved in a soft bed where +one sinks into feathers and eider-down. The reins when too warmly +covered become inflamed. Stone and other diseases are often due to +this, and it invariably produces a delicate constitution, which is +the seed-ground of every ailment. + +The best bed is that in which we get the best sleep. Emile and +I will prepare such a bed for ourselves during the daytime. We do +not need Persian slaves to make our beds; when we are digging the +soil we are turning our mattresses. I know that a healthy child may +be made to sleep or wake almost at will. When the child is put to +bed and his nurse grows weary of his chatter, she says to him, "Go +to sleep." That is much like saying, "Get well," when he is ill. +The right way is to let him get tired of himself. Talk so much that +he is compelled to hold his tongue, and he will soon be asleep. +Here is at least one use for sermons, and you may as well preach +to him as rock his cradle; but if you use this narcotic at night, +do not use it by day. + +I shall sometimes rouse Emile, not so much to prevent his sleeping +too much, as to accustom him to anything--even to waking with a +start. Moreover, I should be unfit for my business if I could not +make him wake himself, and get up, so to speak, at my will, without +being called. + +If he wakes too soon, I shall let him look forward to a tedious +morning, so that he will count as gain any time he can give to +sleep. If he sleeps too late I shall show him some favourite toy +when he wakes. If I want him to wake at a given hour I shall say, +"To-morrow at six I am going fishing," or "I shall take a walk to +such and such a place. Would you like to come too?" He assents, +and begs me to wake him. I promise, or do not promise, as the case +requires. If he wakes too late, he finds me gone. There is something +amiss if he does not soon learn to wake himself. + +Moreover, should it happen, though it rarely does, that a sluggish +child desires to stagnate in idleness, you must not give way to +this tendency, which might stupefy him entirely, but you must apply +some stimulus to wake him. You must understand that is no question +of applying force, but of arousing some appetite which leads to +action, and such an appetite, carefully selected on the lines laid +down by nature, kills two birds with one stone. + +If one has any sort of skill, I can think of nothing for which a +taste, a very passion, cannot be aroused in children, and that without +vanity, emulation, or jealousy. Their keenness, their spirit of +imitation, is enough of itself; above all, there is their natural +liveliness, of which no teacher so far has contrived to take +advantage. In every game, when they are quite sure it is only play, +they endure without complaint, or even with laughter, hardships +which they would not submit to otherwise without floods of tears. +The sports of the young savage involve long fasting, blows, burns, +and fatigue of every kind, a proof that even pain has a charm of +its own, which may remove its bitterness. It is not every master, +however, who knows how to season this dish, nor can every scholar +eat it without making faces. However, I must take care or I shall +be wandering off again after exceptions. + +It is not to be endured that man should become the slave of pain, +disease, accident, the perils of life, or even death itself; the +more familiar he becomes with these ideas the sooner he will be +cured of that over-sensitiveness which adds to the pain by impatience +in bearing it; the sooner he becomes used to the sufferings which +may overtake him, the sooner he shall, as Montaigne has put it, +rob those pains of the sting of unfamiliarity, and so make his soul +strong and invulnerable; his body will be the coat of mail which +stops all the darts which might otherwise find a vital part. Even +the approach of death, which is not death itself, will scarcely be +felt as such; he will not die, he will be, so to speak, alive or +dead and nothing more. Montaigne might say of him as he did of a +certain king of Morocco, "No man ever prolonged his life so far into +death." A child serves his apprenticeship in courage and endurance +as well as in other virtues; but you cannot teach children these +virtues by name alone; they must learn them unconsciously through +experience. + +But speaking of death, what steps shall I take with regard to my +pupil and the smallpox? Shall he be inoculated in infancy, or shall +I wait till he takes it in the natural course of things? The former +plan is more in accordance with our practice, for it preserves his +life at a time when it is of greater value, at the cost of some +danger when his life is of less worth; if indeed we can use the +word danger with regard to inoculation when properly performed. + +But the other plan is more in accordance with our general principles--to +leave nature to take the precautions she delights in, precautions +she abandons whenever man interferes. The natural man is always +ready; let nature inoculate him herself, she will choose the fitting +occasion better than we. + +Do not think I am finding fault with inoculation, for my reasons +for exempting my pupil from it do not in the least apply to yours. +Your training does not prepare them to escape catching smallpox +as soon as they are exposed to infection. If you let them take it +anyhow, they will probably die. I perceive that in different lands +the resistance to inoculation is in proportion to the need for +it; and the reason is plain. So I scarcely condescend to discuss +this question with regard to Emile. He will be inoculated or not +according to time, place, and circumstances; it is almost a matter of +indifference, as far as he is concerned. If it gives him smallpox, +there will be the advantage of knowing what to expect, knowing +what the disease is; that is a good thing, but if he catches it +naturally it will have kept him out of the doctor's hands, which +is better. + +An exclusive education, which merely tends to keep those who have +received it apart from the mass of mankind, always selects such +teaching as is costly rather than cheap, even when the latter is +of more use. Thus all carefully educated young men learn to ride, +because it is costly, but scarcely any of them learn to swim, as +it costs nothing, and an artisan can swim as well as any one. Yet +without passing through the riding school, the traveller learns +to mount his horse, to stick on it, and to ride well enough for +practical purposes; but in the water if you cannot swim you will +drown, and we cannot swim unless we are taught. Again, you are not +forced to ride on pain of death, while no one is sure of escaping +such a common danger as drowning. Emile shall be as much at home +in the water as on land. Why should he not be able to live in every +element? If he could learn to fly, he should be an eagle; I would +make him a salamander, if he could bear the heat. + +People are afraid lest the child should be drowned while he is +learning to swim; if he dies while he is learning, or if he dies +because he has not learnt, it will be your own fault. Foolhardiness +is the result of vanity; we are not rash when no one is looking. +Emile will not be foolhardy, though all the world were watching +him. As the exercise does not depend on its danger, he will learn +to swim the Hellespont by swimming, without any danger, a stream +in his father's park; but he must get used to danger too, so as not +to be flustered by it. This is an essential part of the apprenticeship +I spoke of just now. Moreover, I shall take care to proportion the +danger to his strength, and I shall always share it myself, so that +I need scarcely fear any imprudence if I take as much care for his +life as for my own. + +A child is smaller than a man; he has not the man's strength +or reason, but he sees and hears as well or nearly as well; his +sense of taste is very good, though he is less fastidious, and he +distinguishes scents as clearly though less sensuously. The senses +are the first of our faculties to mature; they are those most +frequently overlooked or neglected. + +To train the senses it is not enough merely to use them; we must +learn to judge by their means, to learn to feel, so to speak; for +we cannot touch, see, or hear, except as we have been taught. + +There is a mere natural and mechanical use of the senses which +strengthens the body without improving the judgment. It is all +very well to swim, run, jump, whip a top, throw stones; but have +we nothing but arms and legs? Have we not eyes and ears as well; +and are not these organs necessary for the use of the rest? Do not +merely exercise the strength, exercise all the senses by which it +is guided; make the best use of every one of them, and check the +results of one by the other. Measure, count, weigh, compare. Do not +use force till you have estimated the resistance; let the estimation +of the effect always precede the application of the means. Get the +child interested in avoiding insufficient or superfluous efforts. +If in this way you train him to calculate the effects of all his +movements, and to correct his mistakes by experience, is it not +clear that the more he does the wiser he will become? + +Take the case of moving a heavy mass; if he takes too long a lever, +he will waste his strength; if it is too short, he will not have +strength enough; experience will teach him to use the very stick he +needs. This knowledge is not beyond his years. Take, for example, +a load to be carried; if he wants to carry as much as he can, and +not to take up more than he can carry, must he not calculate the +weight by the appearance? Does he know how to compare masses of like +substance and different size, or to choose between masses of the +same size and different substances? He must set to work to compare +their specific weights. I have seen a young man, very highly +educated, who could not be convinced, till he had tried it, that +a bucket full of blocks of oak weighed less than the same bucket +full of water. + +All our senses are not equally under our control. One of them, +touch, is always busy during our waking hours; it is spread over +the whole surface of the body, like a sentinel ever on the watch to +warn us of anything which may do us harm. Whether we will or not, +we learn to use it first of all by experience, by constant practice, +and therefore we have less need for special training for it. Yet we +know that the blind have a surer and more delicate sense of touch +than we, for not being guided by the one sense, they are forced to +get from the touch what we get from sight. Why, then, are not we +trained to walk as they do in the dark, to recognise what we touch, +to distinguish things about us; in a word, to do at night and in +the dark what they do in the daytime without sight? We are better +off than they while the sun shines; in the dark it is their turn +to be our guide. We are blind half our time, with this difference: +the really blind always know what to do, while we are afraid to +stir in the dark. We have lights, you say. What always artificial +aids. Who can insure that they will always be at hand when required. +I had rather Emil's eyes were in his finger tips, than in the +chandler's shop. + +If you are shut up in a building at night, clap your hands, you +will know from the sound whether the space is large or small, if +you are in the middle or in one corner. Half a foot from a wall the +air, which is refracted and does not circulate freely, produces a +different effect on your face. Stand still in one place and turn +this way and that; a slight draught will tell you if there is a +door open. If you are on a boat you will perceive from the way the +air strikes your face not merely the direction in which you are +going, but whether the current is bearing you slow or fast. These +observations and many others like them can only be properly made +at night; however much attention we give to them by daylight, we +are always helped or hindered by sight, so that the results escape +us. Yet here we use neither hand nor stick. How much may be learnt +by touch, without ever touching anything! + +I would have plenty of games in the dark! This suggestion is more +valuable than it seems at first sight. Men are naturally afraid +of the dark; so are some animals. [Footnote: This terror is very +noticeable during great eclipses of the sun.] Only a few men are +freed from this burden by knowledge, determination, and courage. +I have seen thinkers, unbelievers, philosophers, exceedingly brave +by daylight, tremble like women at the rustling of a leaf in the +dark. This terror is put down to nurses' tales; this is a mistake; +it has a natural cause. What is this cause? What makes the deaf +suspicious and the lower classes superstitious? Ignorance of the +things about us, and of what is taking place around us. [Footnote: +Another cause has been well explained by a philosopher, often quoted +in this work, a philosopher to whose wide views I am very greatly +indebted.] + +When under special conditions we cannot form a fair idea of distance, +when we can only judge things by the size of the angle or rather +of the image formed in our eyes, we cannot avoid being deceived +as to the size of these objects. Every one knows by experience how +when we are travelling at night we take a bush near at hand for a +great tree at a distance, and vice versa. In the same way, if the +objects were of a shape unknown to us, so that we could not tell +their size in that way, we should be equally mistaken with regard +to it. If a fly flew quickly past a few inches from our eyes, we +should think it was a distant bird; a horse standing still at a +distance from us in the midst of open country, in a position somewhat +like that of a sheep, would be taken for a large sheep, so long as +we did not perceive that it was a horse; but as soon as we recognise +what it is, it seems as large as a horse, and we at once correct +our former judgment. + +Whenever one finds oneself in unknown places at night where we +cannot judge of distance, and where we cannot recognise objects by +their shape on account of the darkness, we are in constant danger +of forming mistaken judgments as to the objects which present +themselves to our notice. Hence that terror, that kind of inward +fear experienced by most people on dark nights. This is foundation +for the supposed appearances of spectres, or gigantic and terrible +forms which so many people profess to have seen. They are generally +told that they imagined these things, yet they may really have seen +them, and it is quite possible they really saw what they say they +did see; for it will always be the case that when we can only +estimate the size of an object by the angle it forms in the eye, +that object will swell and grow as we approach it; and if the +spectator thought it several feet high when it was thirty or forty +feet away, it will seem very large indeed when it is a few feet +off; this must indeed astonish and alarm the spectator until he +touches it and perceives what it is, for as soon as he perceives +what it is, the object which seemed so gigantic will suddenly +shrink and assume its real size, but if we run away or are afraid +to approach, we shall certainly form no other idea of the thing +than the image formed in the eye, and we shall have really seen a +gigantic figure of alarming size and shape. There is, therefore, a +natural ground for the tendency to see ghosts, and these appearances +are not merely the creation of the imagination, as the men of +science would have us think.--Buffon, Nat. Hist. + +In the text I have tried to show that they are always partly the +creation of the imagination, and with regard to the cause explained +in this quotation, it is clear that the habit of walking by night +should teach us to distinguish those appearances which similarity +of form and diversity of distance lend to the objects seen in the +dark. For if the air is light enough for us to see the outlines +there must be more air between us and them when they are further +off, so that we ought to see them less distinctly when further +off, which should be enough, when we are used to it, to prevent the +error described by M. Buffon. [Whichever explanation you prefer, +my mode of procedure is still efficacious, and experience entirely +confirms it.] Accustomed to perceive things from a distance and to +calculate their effects, how can I help supposing, when I cannot +see, that there are hosts of creatures and all sorts of movements +all about me which may do me harm, and against which I cannot +protect myself? In vain do I know I am safe where I am; I am never +so sure of it as when I can actually see it, so that I have always +a cause for fear which did not exist in broad daylight. I know, +indeed, that a foreign body can scarcely act upon me without some +slight sound, and how intently I listen! At the least sound which +I cannot explain, the desire of self-preservation makes me picture +everything that would put me on my guard, and therefore everything +most calculated to alarm me. + +I am just as uneasy if I hear no sound, for I might be taken unawares +without a sound. I must picture things as they were before, as they +ought to be; I must see what I do not see. Thus driven to exercise +my imagination, it soon becomes my master, and what I did to reassure +myself only alarms me more. I hear a noise, it is a robber; I hear +nothing, it is a ghost. The watchfulness inspired by the instinct +of self-preservation only makes me more afraid. Everything that +ought to reassure me exists only for my reason, and the voice of +instinct is louder than that of reason. What is the good of thinking +there is nothing to be afraid of, since in that case there is +nothing we can do? + +The cause indicates the cure. In everything habit overpowers +imagination; it is only aroused by what is new. It is no longer +imagination, but memory which is concerned with what we see every +day, and that is the reason of the maxim, "Ab assuetis non fit +passio," for it is only at the flame of imagination that the passions +are kindled. Therefore do not argue with any one whom you want to +cure of the fear of darkness; take him often into dark places and +be assured this practice will be of more avail than all the arguments +of philosophy. The tiler on the roof does not know what it is to +be dizzy, and those who are used to the dark will not be afraid. + +There is another advantage to be gained from our games in the dark. +But if these games are to be a success I cannot speak too strongly +of the need for gaiety. Nothing is so gloomy as the dark: do not +shut your child up in a dungeon, let him laugh when he goes, into +a dark place, let him laugh when he comes out, so that the thought +of the game he is leaving and the games he will play next may protect +him from the fantastic imagination which might lay hold on him. + +There comes a stage in life beyond which we progress backwards. I +feel I have reached this stage. I am, so to speak, returning to a +past career. The approach of age makes us recall the happy days of +our childhood. As I grow old I become a child again, and I recall +more readily what I did at ten than at thirty. Reader, forgive me +if I sometimes draw my examples from my own experience. If this +book is to be well written, I must enjoy writing it. + +I was living in the country with a pastor called M. Lambercier. +My companion was a cousin richer than myself, who was regarded as +the heir to some property, while I, far from my father, was but a +poor orphan. My big cousin Bernard was unusually timid, especially +at night. I laughed at his fears, till M. Lambercier was tired of +my boasting, and determined to put my courage to the proof. One +autumn evening, when it was very dark, he gave me the church key, +and told me to go and fetch a Bible he had left in the pulpit. To +put me on my mettle he said something which made it impossible for +me to refuse. + +I set out without a light; if I had had one, it would perhaps have +been even worse. I had to pass through the graveyard; I crossed it +bravely, for as long as I was in the open air I was never afraid +of the dark. + +As I opened the door I heard a sort of echo in the roof; it sounded +like voices and it began to shake my Roman courage. Having opened +the door I tried to enter, but when I had gone a few steps I stopped. +At the sight of the profound darkness in which the vast building +lay I was seized with terror and my hair stood on end. I turned, +I went out through the door, and took to my heels. In the yard +I found a little dog, called Sultan, whose caresses reassured me. +Ashamed of my fears, I retraced my steps, trying to take Sultan +with me, but he refused to follow. Hurriedly I opened the door and +entered the church. I was hardly inside when terror again got hold +of me and so firmly that I lost my head, and though the pulpit was +on the right, as I very well knew, I sought it on the left, and +entangling myself among the benches I was completely lost. Unable +to find either pulpit or door, I fell into an indescribable state +of mind. At last I found the door and managed to get out of the +church and run away as I had done before, quite determined never +to enter the church again except in broad daylight. + +I returned to the house; on the doorstep I heard M. Lambercier +laughing, laughing, as I supposed, at me. Ashamed to face his laughter, +I was hesitating to open the door, when I heard Miss Lambercier, +who was anxious about me, tell the maid to get the lantern, and +M. Lambercier got ready to come and look for me, escorted by my +gallant cousin, who would have got all the credit for the expedition. +All at once my fears departed, and left me merely surprised at +my terror. I ran, I fairly flew, to the church; without losing my +way, without groping about, I reached the pulpit, took the Bible, +and ran down the steps. In three strides I was out of the church, +leaving the door open. Breathless, I entered the room and threw +the Bible on the table, frightened indeed, but throbbing with pride +that I had done it without the proposed assistance. + +You will ask if I am giving this anecdote as an example, and as +an illustration, of the mirth which I say should accompany these +games. Not so, but I give it as a proof that there is nothing so +well calculated to reassure any one who is afraid in the dark as to +hear sounds of laughter and talking in an adjoining room. Instead +of playing alone with your pupil in the evening, I would have you +get together a number of merry children; do not send them alone to +begin with, but several together, and do not venture to send any +one quite alone, until you are quite certain beforehand that he +will not be too frightened. + +I can picture nothing more amusing and more profitable than such +games, considering how little skill is required to organise them. +In a large room I should arrange a sort of labyrinth of tables, +armchairs, chairs, and screens. In the inextricable windings of +this labyrinth I should place some eight or ten sham boxes, and one +real box almost exactly like them, but well filled with sweets. I +should describe clearly and briefly the place where the right box +would be found. I should give instructions sufficient to enable +people more attentive and less excitable than children to find it. +[Footnote: To practise them in attention, only tell them things +which it is clearly to their present interest that they should +understand thoroughly; above all be brief, never say a word more than +necessary. But neither let your speech be obscure nor of doubtful +meaning.] Then having made the little competitors draw lots, I should +send first one and then another till the right box was found. I +should increase the difficulty of the task in proportion to their +skill. + +Picture to yourself a youthful Hercules returning, box in hand, quite +proud of his expedition. The box is placed on the table and opened +with great ceremony. I can hear the bursts of laughter and the +shouts of the merry party when, instead of the looked-for sweets, he +finds, neatly arranged on moss or cotton-wool, a beetle, a snail, +a bit of coal, a few acorns, a turnip, or some such thing. Another +time in a newly whitewashed room, a toy or some small article of +furniture would be hung on the wall and the children would have to +fetch it without touching the wall. When the child who fetches it +comes back, if he has failed ever so little to fulfil the conditions, +a dab of white on the brim of his cap, the tip of his shoe, the +flap of his coat or his sleeve, will betray his lack of skill. + +This is enough, or more than enough, to show the spirit of these +games. Do not read my book if you expect me to tell you everything. + +What great advantages would be possessed by a man so educated, +when compared with others. His feet are accustomed to tread firmly +in the dark, and his hands to touch lightly; they will guide him +safely in the thickest darkness. His imagination is busy with the +evening games of his childhood, and will find it difficult to turn +towards objects of alarm. If he thinks he hears laughter, it will +be the laughter of his former playfellows, not of frenzied spirits; +if he thinks there is a host of people, it will not be the witches' +sabbath, but the party in his tutor's study. Night only recalls +these cheerful memories, and it will never alarm him; it will +inspire delight rather than fear. He will be ready for a military +expedition at any hour, with or without his troop. He will enter +the camp of Saul, he will find his way, he will reach the king's +tent without waking any one, and he will return unobserved. Are the +steeds of Rhesus to be stolen, you may trust him. You will scarcely +find a Ulysses among men educated in any other fashion. + +I have known people who tried to train the children not to fear +the dark by startling them. This is a very bad plan; its effects +are just the opposite of those desired, and it only makes children +more timid. Neither reason nor habit can secure us from the fear +of a present danger whose degree and kind are unknown, nor from +the fear of surprises which we have often experienced. Yet how will +you make sure that you can preserve your pupil from such accidents? +I consider this the best advice to give him beforehand. I should +say to Emile, "This is a matter of self-defence, for the aggressor +does not let you know whether he means to hurt or frighten you, +and as the advantage is on his side you cannot even take refuge +in flight. Therefore seize boldly anything, whether man or beast, +which takes you unawares in the dark. Grasp it, squeeze it with all +your might; if it struggles, strike, and do not spare your blows; +and whatever he may say or do, do not let him go till you know +just who he is. The event will probably prove that you had little +to be afraid of, but this way of treating practical jokers would +naturally prevent their trying it again." + +Although touch is the sense oftenest used, its discrimination +remains, as I have already pointed out, coarser and more imperfect +than that of any other sense, because we always use sight along with +it; the eye perceives the thing first, and the mind almost always +judges without the hand. On the other hand, discrimination by touch +is the surest just because of its limitations; for extending only +as far as our hands can reach, it corrects the hasty judgments of +the other senses, which pounce upon objects scarcely perceived, +while what we learn by touch is learnt thoroughly. Moreover, touch, +when required, unites the force of our muscles to the action of +the nerves; we associate by simultaneous sensations our ideas of +temperature, size, and shape, to those of weight and density. Thus +touch is the sense which best teaches us the action of foreign +bodies upon ourselves, the sense which most directly supplies us +with the knowledge required for self-preservation. + +As the trained touch takes the place of sight, why should it not, +to some extent, take the place of hearing, since sounds set up, in +sonorous bodies, vibrations perceptible by touch? By placing the +hand on the body of a 'cello one can distinguish without the use +of eye or ear, merely by the way in which the wood vibrates and +trembles, whether the sound given out is sharp or flat, whether +it is drawn from the treble string or the bass. If our touch were +trained to note these differences, no doubt we might in time become +so sensitive as to hear a whole tune by means of our fingers. But +if we admit this, it is clear that one could easily speak to the +deaf by means of music; for tone and measure are no less capable +of regular combination than voice and articulation, so that they +might be used as the elements of speech. + +There are exercises by which the sense of touch is blunted and +deadened, and others which sharpen it and make it delicate and +discriminating. The former, which employ much movement and force +for the continued impression of hard bodies, make the skin hard +and thick, and deprive it of its natural sensitiveness. The latter +are those which give variety to this feeling, by slight and repeated +contact, so that the mind is attentive to constantly recurring +impressions, and readily learns to discern their variations. This +difference is clear in the use of musical instruments. The harsh and +painful touch of the 'cello, bass-viol, and even of the violin, +hardens the finger-tips, although it gives flexibility to the +fingers. The soft and smooth touch of the harpsichord makes the +fingers both flexible and sensitive. In this respect the harpsichord +is to be preferred. + +The skin protects the rest of the body, so it is very important +to harden it to the effects of the air that it may be able to bear +its changes. With regard to this I may say I would not have the +hand roughened by too servile application to the same kind of work, +nor should the skin of the hand become hardened so as to lose its +delicate sense of touch which keeps the body informed of what is +going on, and by the kind of contact sometimes makes us shudder in +different ways even in the dark. + +Why should my pupil be always compelled to wear the skin of an ox +under his foot? What harm would come of it if his own skin could +serve him at need as a sole. It is clear that a delicate skin +could never be of any use in this way, and may often do harm. The +Genevese, aroused at midnight by their enemies in the depth of +winter, seized their guns rather than their shoes. Who can tell +whether the town would have escaped capture if its citizens had +not been able to go barefoot? + +Let a man be always fore-armed against the unforeseen. Let Emile +run about barefoot all the year round, upstairs, downstairs, and +in the garden. Far from scolding him, I shall follow his example; +only I shall be careful to remove any broken glass. I shall soon +proceed to speak of work and manual occupations. Meanwhile, let him +learn to perform every exercise which encourages agility of body; +let him learn to hold himself easily and steadily in any position, +let him practise jumping and leaping, climbing trees and walls. +Let him always find his balance, and let his every movement and +gesture be regulated by the laws of weight, long before he learns +to explain them by the science of statics. By the way his foot is +planted on the ground, and his body supported on his leg, he ought +to know if he is holding himself well or ill. An easy carriage is +always graceful, and the steadiest positions are the most elegant. +If I were a dancing master I would refuse to play the monkey +tricks of Marcel, which are only fit for the stage where they are +performed; but instead of keeping my pupil busy with fancy steps, +I would take him to the foot of a cliff. There I would show him +how to hold himself, how to carry his body and head, how to place +first a foot then a hand, to follow lightly the steep, toilsome, +and rugged paths, to leap from point to point, either up or down. +He should emulate the mountain-goat, not the ballet dancer. + +As touch confines its operations to the man's immediate surroundings, +so sight extends its range beyond them; it is this which makes it +misleading; man sees half his horizon at a glance. In the midst of +this host of simultaneous impressions and the thoughts excited by +them, how can he fail now and then to make mistakes? Thus sight is +the least reliable of our senses, just because it has the widest +range; it functions long before our other senses, and its work is +too hasty and on too large a scale to be corrected by the rest. +Moreover, the very illusions of perspective are necessary if we are +to arrive at a knowledge of space and compare one part of space with +another. Without false appearances we should never see anything at +a distance; without the gradations of size and tone we could not +judge of distance, or rather distance would have no existence for +us. If two trees, one of which was a hundred paces from us and the +other ten, looked equally large and distinct, we should think they +were side by side. If we perceived the real dimensions of things, +we should know nothing of space; everything would seem close to +our eyes. + +The angle formed between any objects and our eye is the only means +by which our sight estimates their size and distance, and as this +angle is the simple effect of complex causes, the judgment we form +does not distinguish between the several causes; we are compelled +to be inaccurate. For how can I tell, by sight alone, whether +the angle at which an object appears to me smaller than another, +indicates that it is really smaller or that it is further off. + +Here we must just reverse our former plan. Instead of simplifying +the sensation, always reinforce it and verify it by means of another +sense. Subject the eye to the hand, and, so to speak, restrain the +precipitation of the former sense by the slower and more reasoned +pace of the latter. For want of this sort of practice our sight +measurements are very imperfect. We cannot correctly, and at +a glance, estimate height, length, breadth, and distance; and the +fact that engineers, surveyors, architects, masons, and painters +are generally quicker to see and better able to estimate distances +correctly, proves that the fault is not in our eyes, but in our +use of them. Their occupations give them the training we lack, +and they check the equivocal results of the angle of vision by its +accompanying experiences, which determine the relations of the two +causes of this angle for their eyes. + +Children will always do anything that keeps them moving freely. +There are countless ways of rousing their interest in measuring, +perceiving, and estimating distance. There is a very tall cherry +tree; how shall we gather the cherries? Will the ladder in the +barn be big enough? There is a wide stream; how shall we get to the +other side? Would one of the wooden planks in the yard reach from +bank to bank? From our windows we want to fish in the moat; how +many yards of line are required? I want to make a swing between two +trees; will two fathoms of cord be enough? They tell me our room +in the new house will be twenty-five feet square; do you think +it will be big enough for us? Will it be larger than this? We are +very hungry; here are two villages, which can we get to first for +our dinner? + +An idle, lazy child was to be taught to run. He had no liking for +this or any other exercise, though he was intended for the army. +Somehow or other he had got it into his head that a man of his rank +need know nothing and do nothing--that his birth would serve as a +substitute for arms and legs, as well as for every kind of virtue. +The skill of Chiron himself would have failed to make a fleet-footed +Achilles of this young gentleman. The difficulty was increased by +my determination to give him no kind of orders. I had renounced all +right to direct him by preaching, promises, threats, emulation, or +the desire to show off. How should I make him want to run without +saying anything? I might run myself, but he might not follow my +example, and this plan had other drawbacks. Moreover, I must find +some means of teaching him through this exercise, so as to train +mind and body to work together. This is how I, or rather how the +teacher who supplied me with this illustration, set about it. + +When I took him a walk of an afternoon I sometimes put in my pocket +a couple of cakes, of a kind he was very fond of; we each ate one +while we were out, and we came back well pleased with our outing. +One day he noticed I had three cakes; he could have easily eaten +six, so he ate his cake quickly and asked for the other. "No," +said I, "I could eat it myself, or we might divide it, but I would +rather see those two little boys run a race for it." I called them +to us, showed them the cake, and suggested that they should race +for it. They were delighted. The cake was placed on a large stone +which was to be the goal; the course was marked out, we sat down, +and at a given signal off flew the children! The victor seized the +cake and ate it without pity in the sight of the spectators and of +his defeated rival. + +The sport was better than the cake; but the lesson did not take +effect all at once, and produced no result. I was not discouraged, +nor did I hurry; teaching is a trade at which one must be able to +lose time and save it. Our walks were continued, sometimes we took +three cakes, sometimes four, and from time to time there were one +or two cakes for the racers. If the prize was not great, neither +was the ambition of the competitors. The winner was praised and +petted, and everything was done with much ceremony. To give room +to run and to add interest to the race I marked out a longer course +and admitted several fresh competitors. Scarcely had they entered +the lists than all the passers-by stopped to watch. They were +encouraged by shouting, cheering, and clapping. I sometimes saw my +little man trembling with excitement, jumping up and shouting when +one was about to reach or overtake another--to him these were the +Olympian games. + +However, the competitors did not always play fair, they got in +each other's way, or knocked one another down, or put stones on +the track. That led us to separate them and make them start from +different places at equal distances from the goal. You will soon +see the reason for this, for I must describe this important affair +at length. + +Tired of seeing his favourite cakes devoured before his eyes, the +young lord began to suspect that there was some use in being a +quick runner, and seeing that he had two legs of his own, he began +to practise running on the quiet. I took care to see nothing, but +I knew my stratagem had taken effect. When he thought he was good +enough (and I thought so too), he pretended to tease me to give +him the other cake. I refused; he persisted, and at last he said +angrily, "Well, put it on the stone and mark out the course, and +we shall see." "Very good," said I, laughing, "You will get a good +appetite, but you will not get the cake." Stung by my mockery, he +took heart, won the prize, all the more easily because I had marked +out a very short course and taken care that the best runner was out +of the way. It will be evident that, after the first step, I had +no difficulty in keeping him in training. Soon he took such a fancy +for this form of exercise that without any favour he was almost +certain to beat the little peasant boys at running, however long +the course. + +The advantage thus obtained led unexpectedly to another. So long +as he seldom won the prize, he ate it himself like his rivals, but +as he got used to victory he grew generous, and often shared it +with the defeated. That taught me a lesson in morals and I saw what +was the real root of generosity. + +While I continued to mark out a different starting place for each +competitor, he did not notice that I had made the distances unequal, +so that one of them, having farther to run to reach the goal, was +clearly at a disadvantage. But though I left the choice to my pupil +he did not know how to take advantage of it. Without thinking of +the distance, he always chose the smoothest path, so that I could +easily predict his choice, and could almost make him win or lose +the cake at my pleasure. I had more than one end in view in this +stratagem; but as my plan was to get him to notice the difference +himself, I tried to make him aware of it. Though he was generally +lazy and easy going, he was so eager in his sports and trusted me +so completely that I had great difficulty in making him see that +I was cheating him. When at last I managed to make him see it in +spite of his excitement, he was angry with me. "What have you to +complain of?" said I. "In a gift which I propose to give of my own +free will am not I master of the conditions? Who makes you run? +Did I promise to make the courses equal? Is not the choice yours? +Do not you see that I am favouring you, and that the inequality you +complain of is all to your advantage, if you knew how to use it?" +That was plain to him; and to choose he must observe more carefully. +At first he wanted to count the paces, but a child measures paces +slowly and inaccurately; moreover, I decided to have several races +on one day; and the game having become a sort of passion with +the child, he was sorry to waste in measuring the portion of time +intended for running. Such delays are not in accordance with a +child's impatience; he tried therefore to see better and to reckon +the distance more accurately at sight. It was now quite easy +to extend and develop this power. At length, after some months' +practice, and the correction of his errors, I so trained his power +of judging at sight that I had only to place an imaginary cake on +any distant object and his glance was nearly as accurate as the +surveyor's chain. + +Of all the senses, sight is that which we can least distinguish +from the judgments of the mind; as it takes a long time to learn +to see. It takes a long time to compare sight and touch, and to +train the former sense to give a true report of shape and distance. +Without touch, without progressive motion, the sharpest eyes in +the world could give us no idea of space. To the oyster the whole +world must seem a point, and it would seem nothing more to it even +if it had a human mind. It is only by walking, feeling, counting, +measuring the dimensions of things, that we learn to judge them +rightly; but, on the other hand, if we were always measuring, our +senses would trust to the instrument and would never gain confidence. +Nor must the child pass abruptly from measurement to judgment; he +must continue to compare the parts when he could not compare the +whole; he must substitute his estimated aliquot parts for exact +aliquot parts, and instead of always applying the measure by hand +he must get used to applying it by eye alone. I would, however, have +his first estimates tested by measurement, so that he may correct +his errors, and if there is a false impression left upon the senses +he may correct it by a better judgment. The same natural standards +of measurement are in use almost everywhere, the man's foot, the +extent of his outstretched arms, his height. When the child wants +to measure the height of a room, his tutor may serve as a measuring +rod; if he is estimating the height of a steeple let him measure +it by the house; if he wants to know how many leagues of road there +are, let him count the hours spent in walking along it. Above all, +do not do this for him; let him do it himself. + +One cannot learn to estimate the extent and size of bodies without +at the same time learning to know and even to copy their shape; for +at bottom this copying depends entirely on the laws of perspective, +and one cannot estimate distance without some feeling for these +laws. All children in the course of their endless imitation try to +draw; and I would have Emile cultivate this art; not so much for +art's sake, as to give him exactness of eye and flexibility of hand. +Generally speaking, it matters little whether he is acquainted +with this or that occupation, provided he gains clearness of +sense--perception and the good bodily habits which belong to the +exercise in question. So I shall take good care not to provide him +with a drawing master, who would only set him to copy copies and +draw from drawings. Nature should be his only teacher, and things +his only models. He should have the real thing before his eyes, not +its copy on paper. Let him draw a house from a house, a tree from +a tree, a man from a man; so that he may train himself to observe +objects and their appearance accurately and not to take false and +conventional copies for truth. I would even train him to draw only +from objects actually before him and not from memory, so that, +by repeated observation, their exact form may be impressed on his +imagination, for fear lest he should substitute absurd and fantastic +forms for the real truth of things, and lose his sense of proportion +and his taste for the beauties of nature. + +Of course I know that in this way he will make any number of daubs +before he produces anything recognisable, that it will be long +before he attains to the graceful outline and light touch of the +draughtsman; perhaps he will never have an eye for picturesque effect +or a good taste in drawing. On the other hand, he will certainly +get a truer eye, a surer hand, a knowledge of the real relations +of form and size between animals, plants, and natural objects, +together with a quicker sense of the effects of perspective. That +is just what I wanted, and my purpose is rather that he should +know things than copy them. I would rather he showed me a plant of +acanthus even if he drew a capital with less accuracy. + +Moreover, in this occupation as in others, I do not intend my pupil +to play by himself; I mean to make it pleasanter for him by always +sharing it with him. He shall have no other rival; but mine will be +a continual rivalry, and there will be no risk attaching to it; it +will give interest to his pursuits without awaking jealousy between +us. I shall follow his example and take up a pencil; at first +I shall use it as unskilfully as he. I should be an Apelles if I +did not set myself daubing. To begin with, I shall draw a man such +as lads draw on walls, a line for each arm, another for each leg, +with the fingers longer than the arm. Long after, one or other of +us will notice this lack of proportion; we shall observe that the +leg is thick, that this thickness varies, that the length of the arm +is proportionate to the body. In this improvement I shall either +go side by side with my pupil, or so little in advance that he will +always overtake me easily and sometimes get ahead of me. We shall +get brushes and paints, we shall try to copy the colours of things +and their whole appearance, not merely their shape. We shall colour +prints, we shall paint, we shall daub; but in all our daubing we +shall be searching out the secrets of nature, and whatever we do +shall be done under the eye of that master. + +We badly needed ornaments for our room, and now we have them ready +to our hand. I will have our drawings framed and covered with good +glass, so that no one will touch them, and thus seeing them where +we put them, each of us has a motive for taking care of his own. +I arrange them in order round the room, each drawing repeated some +twenty or thirty times, thus showing the author's progress in each +specimen, from the time when the house is merely a rude square, +till its front view, its side view, its proportions, its light and +shade are all exactly portrayed. These graduations will certainly +furnish us with pictures, a source of interest to ourselves and of +curiosity to others, which will spur us on to further emulation. +The first and roughest drawings I put in very smart gilt frames +to show them off; but as the copy becomes more accurate and the +drawing really good, I only give it a very plain dark frame; it +needs no other ornament than itself, and it would be a pity if the +frame distracted the attention which the picture itself deserves. +Thus we each aspire to a plain frame, and when we desire to pour +scorn on each other's drawings, we condemn them to a gilded frame. +Some day perhaps "the gilt frame" will become a proverb among us, +and we shall be surprised to find how many people show what they +are really made of by demanding a gilt frame. + +I have said already that geometry is beyond the child's reach; but +that is our own fault. We fail to perceive that their method is not +ours, that what is for us the art of reasoning, should be for them +the art of seeing. Instead of teaching them our way, we should do +better to adopt theirs, for our way of learning geometry is quite +as much a matter of imagination as of reasoning. When a proposition is +enunciated you must imagine the proof; that is, you must discover +on what proposition already learnt it depends, and of all the +possible deductions from that proposition you must choose just the +one required. + +In this way the closest reasoner, if he is not inventive, may find +himself at a loss. What is the result? Instead of making us discover +proofs, they are dictated to us; instead of teaching us to reason, +our memory only is employed. + +Draw accurate figures, combine them together, put them one upon +another, examine their relations, and you will discover the whole +of elementary geometry in passing from one observation to another, +without a word of definitions, problems, or any other form of +demonstration but super-position. I do not profess to teach Emile +geometry; he will teach me; I shall seek for relations, he will +find them, for I shall seek in such a fashion as to make him find. +For instance, instead of using a pair of compasses to draw a circle, +I shall draw it with a pencil at the end of bit of string attached +to a pivot. After that, when I want to compare the radii one with +another, Emile will laugh at me and show me that the same thread +at full stretch cannot have given distances of unequal length. If +I wish to measure an angle of 60 degrees I describe from the apex +of the angle, not an arc, but a complete circle, for with children +nothing must be taken for granted. I find that the part of the +circle contained between the two lines of the angle is the sixth +part of a circle. Then I describe another and larger circle from +the same centre, and I find the second arc is again the sixth part +of its circle. I describe a third concentric circle with a similar +result, and I continue with more and more circles till Emile, +shocked at my stupidity, shows me that every arc, large or small, +contained by the same angle will always be the sixth part of its +circle. Now we are ready to use the protractor. + +To prove that two adjacent angles are equal to two right angles +people describe a circle. On the contrary I would have Emile observe +the fact in a circle, and then I should say, "If we took away the +circle and left the straight lines, would the angles have changed +their size, etc.?" + +Exactness in the construction of figures is neglected; it is taken +for granted and stress is laid on the proof. With us, on the other +hand, there will be no question of proof. Our chief business will +be to draw very straight, accurate, and even lines, a perfect +square, a really round circle. To verify the exactness of a figure +we will test it by each of its sensible properties, and that will +give us a chance to discover fresh properties day by day. We will +fold the two semi-circles along the diameter, the two halves of +the square by the diagonal; he will compare our two figures to see +who has got the edges to fit most exactly, i.e., who has done it +best; we should argue whether this equal division would always be +possible in parallelograms, trapezes, etc. We shall sometimes try +to forecast the result of an experiment, to find reasons, etc. + +Geometry means to my scholar the successful use of the rule +and compass; he must not confuse it with drawing, in which these +instruments are not used. The rule and compass will be locked up, +so that he will not get into the way of messing about with them, +but we may sometimes take our figures with us when we go for a +walk, and talk over what we have done, or what we mean to do. + +I shall never forget seeing a young man at Turin, who had learnt as +a child the relations of contours and surfaces by having to choose +every day isoperimetric cakes among cakes of every geometrical +figure. The greedy little fellow had exhausted the art of Archimedes +to find which were the biggest. + +When the child flies a kite he is training eye and hand to accuracy; +when he whips a top, he is increasing his strength by using it, but +without learning anything. I have sometimes asked why children are +not given the same games of skill as men; tennis, mall, billiards, +archery, football, and musical instruments. I was told that some +of these are beyond their strength, that the child's senses are +not sufficiently developed for others. These do not strike me as +valid reasons; a child is not as tall as a man, but he wears the +same sort of coat; I do not want him to play with our cues at a +billiard-table three feet high; I do not want him knocking about +among our games, nor carrying one of our racquets in his little +hand; but let him play in a room whose windows have been protected; +at first let him only use soft balls, let his first racquets be +of wood, then of parchment, and lastly of gut, according to his +progress. You prefer the kite because it is less tiring and there +is no danger. You are doubly wrong. Kite-flying is a sport for +women, but every woman will run away from a swift ball. Their white +skins were not meant to be hardened by blows and their faces were +not made for bruises. But we men are made for strength; do you +think we can attain it without hardship, and what defence shall we +be able to make if we are attacked? People always play carelessly +in games where there is no danger. A falling kite hurts nobody, +but nothing makes the arm so supple as protecting the head, nothing +makes the sight so accurate as having to guard the eye. To dash +from one end of the room to another, to judge the rebound of a +ball before it touches the ground, to return it with strength and +accuracy, such games are not so much sports fit for a man, as sports +fit to make a man of him. + +The child's limbs, you say, are too tender. They are not so strong +as those of a man, but they are more supple. His arm is weak, still +it is an arm, and it should be used with due consideration as we +use other tools. Children have no skill in the use of their hands. +That is just why I want them to acquire skill; a man with as little +practice would be just as clumsy. We can only learn the use of our +limbs by using them. It is only by long experience that we learn to +make the best of ourselves, and this experience is the real object +of study to which we cannot apply ourselves too early. + +What is done can be done. Now there is nothing commoner than to find +nimble and skilful children whose limbs are as active as those of +a man. They may be seen at any fair, swinging, walking on their +hands, jumping, dancing on the tight rope. For many years past, +troops of children have attracted spectators to the ballets at the +Italian Comedy House. Who is there in Germany and Italy who has +not heard of the famous pantomime company of Nicolini? Has it ever +occurred to any one that the movements of these children were less +finished, their postures less graceful, their ears less true, their +dancing more clumsy than those of grown-up dancers? If at first +the fingers are thick, short, and awkward, the dimpled hands unable +to grasp anything, does this prevent many children from learning +to read and write at an age when others cannot even hold a pen +or pencil? All Paris still recalls the little English girl of ten +who did wonders on the harpsichord. I once saw a little fellow of +eight, the son of a magistrate, who was set like a statuette on +the table among the dishes, to play on a fiddle almost as big as +himself, and even artists were surprised at his execution. + +To my mind, these and many more examples prove that the supposed +incapacity of children for our games is imaginary, and that if they +are unsuccessful in some of them, it is for want of practice. + +You will tell me that with regard to the body I am falling into +the same mistake of precocious development which I found fault with +for the mind. The cases are very different: in the one, progress is +apparent only; in the other it is real. I have shown that children +have not the mental development they appear to have, while they +really do what they seem to do. Besides, we must never forget that +all this should be play, the easy and voluntary control of the +movements which nature demands of them, the art of varying their +games to make them pleasanter, without the least bit of constraint +to transform them into work; for what games do they play in which +I cannot find material for instruction for them? And even if I +could not do so, so long as they are amusing themselves harmlessly +and passing the time pleasantly, their progress in learning is not +yet of such great importance. But if one must be teaching them this +or that at every opportunity, it cannot be done without constraint, +vexation, or tedium. + +What I have said about the use of the two senses whose use is most +constant and most important, may serve as an example of how to +train the rest. Sight and touch are applied to bodies at rest and +bodies in motion, but as hearing is only affected by vibrations +of the air, only a body in motion can make a noise or sound; +if everything were at rest we should never hear. At night, when +we ourselves only move as we choose, we have nothing to fear but +moving bodies; hence we need a quick ear, and power to judge from +the sensations experienced whether the body which causes them is +large or small, far off or near, whether its movements are gentle +or violent. When once the air is set in motion, it is subject to +repercussions which produce echoes, these renew the sensations and +make us hear a loud or penetrating sound in another quarter. If you +put your ear to the ground you may hear the sound of men's voices +or horses' feet in a plain or valley much further off than when +you stand upright. + +As we have made a comparison between sight and touch, it will be +as well to do the same for hearing, and to find out which of the +two impressions starting simultaneously from a given body first +reaches the sense-organ. When you see the flash of a cannon, you +have still time to take cover; but when you hear the sound it is +too late, the ball is close to you. One can reckon the distance +of a thunderstorm by the interval between the lightning and the +thunder. Let the child learn all these facts, let him learn those +that are within his reach by experiment, and discover the rest +by induction; but I would far rather he knew nothing at all about +them, than that you should tell him. + +In the voice we have an organ answering to hearing; we have no +such organ answering to sight, and we do not repeat colours as we +repeat sounds. This supplies an additional means of cultivating the +ear by practising the active and passive organs one with the other. + +Man has three kinds of voice, the speaking or articulate voice, the +singing or melodious voice, and the pathetic or expressive voice, +which serves as the language of the passions, and gives life to +song and speech. The child has these three voices, just as the man +has them, but he does not know how to use them in combination. Like +us, he laughs, cries, laments, shrieks, and groans, but he does +not know how to combine these inflexions with speech or song. These +three voices find their best expression in perfect music. Children +are incapable of such music, and their singing lacks feeling. In +the same way their spoken language lacks expression; they shout, +but they do not speak with emphasis, and there is as little power +in their voice as there is emphasis in their speech. Our pupil's +speech will be plainer and simpler still, for his passions are still +asleep, and will not blend their tones with his. Do not, therefore, +set him to recite tragedy or comedy, nor try to teach declamation +so-called. He will have too much sense to give voice to things he +cannot understand, or expression to feelings he has never known. + +Teach him to speak plainly and distinctly, to articulate clearly, +to pronounce correctly and without affectation, to perceive and +imitate the right accent in prose and verse, and always to speak +loud enough to be heard, but without speaking too loud--a common +fault with school-children. Let there be no waste in anything. + +The same method applies to singing; make his voice smooth and true, +flexible and full, his ear alive to time and tune, but nothing more. +Descriptive and theatrical music is not suitable at his age----I +would rather he sang no words; if he must have words, I would try +to compose songs on purpose for him, songs interesting to a child, +and as simple as his own thoughts. + +You may perhaps suppose that as I am in no hurry to teach Emile to +read and write, I shall not want to teach him to read music. Let +us spare his brain the strain of excessive attention, and let us +be in no hurry to turn his mind towards conventional signs. I grant +you there seems to be a difficulty here, for if at first sight the +knowledge of notes seems no more necessary for singing than the +knowledge of letters for speaking, there is really this difference +between them: When we speak, we are expressing our own thoughts; +when we sing we are expressing the thoughts of others. Now in order +to express them we must read them. + +But at first we can listen to them instead of reading them, and a +song is better learnt by ear than by eye. Moreover, to learn music +thoroughly we must make songs as well as sing them, and the two +processes must be studied together, or we shall never have any +real knowledge of music. First give your young musician practice +in very regular, well-cadenced phrases; then let him connect these +phrases with the very simplest modulations; then show him their +relation one to another by correct accent, which can be done by a +fit choice of cadences and rests. On no account give him anything +unusual, or anything that requires pathos or expression. A simple, +tuneful air, always based on the common chords of the key, with its +bass so clearly indicated that it is easily felt and accompanied, +for to train his voice and ear he should always sing with the +harpsichord. + +We articulate the notes we sing the better to distinguish them; +hence the custom of sol-faing with certain syllables. To tell the +keys one from another they must have names and fixed intervals; hence +the names of the intervals, and also the letters of the alphabet +attached to the keys of the clavier and the notes of the scale. C +and A indicate fixed sounds, invariable and always rendered by the +same keys; Ut and La are different. Ut is always the dominant of +a major scale, or the leading-note of a minor scale. La is always +the dominant of a minor scale or the sixth of a major scale. Thus +the letters indicate fixed terms in our system of music, and the +syllables indicate terms homologous to the similar relations in +different keys. The letters show the keys on the piano, and the +syllables the degrees in the scale. French musicians have made +a strange muddle of this. They have confused the meaning of the +syllables with that of the letters, and while they have unnecessarily +given us two sets of symbols for the keys of the piano, they have +left none for the chords of the scales; so that Ut and C are always +the same for them; this is not and ought not to be; if so, what +is the use of C? Their method of sol-faing is, therefore, extremely +and needlessly difficult, neither does it give any clear idea +to the mind; since, by this method, Ut and Me, for example, may +mean either a major third, a minor third, an augmented third, or +a diminished third. What a strange thing that the country which +produces the finest books about music should be the very country +where it is hardest to learn music! + +Let us adopt a simpler and clearer plan with our pupil; let him have +only two scales whose relations remain unchanged, and indicated by +the same symbols. Whether he sings or plays, let him learn to fix +his scale on one of the twelve tones which may serve as a base, and +whether he modulates in D, C, or G, let the close be always Ut or +La, according to the scale. In this way he will understand what you +mean, and the essential relations for correct singing and playing +will always be present in his mind; his execution will be better +and his progress quicker. There is nothing funnier than what the +French call "natural sol-faing;" it consists in removing the real +meaning of things and putting in their place other meanings which +only distract us. There is nothing more natural than sol-faing by +transposition, when the scale is transposed. But I have said enough, +and more than enough, about music; teach it as you please, so long +as it is nothing but play. + +We are now thoroughly acquainted with the condition of foreign +bodies in relation to our own, their weight, form, colour, density, +size, distance, temperature, stability, or motion. We have learnt +which of them to approach or avoid, how to set about overcoming +their resistance or to resist them so as to prevent ourselves from +injury; but this is not enough. Our own body is constantly wasting +and as constantly requires to be renewed. Although we have the +power of changing other substances into our own, our choice is not +a matter of indifference. Everything is not food for man, and what +may be food for him is not all equally suitable; it depends on +his racial constitution, the country he lives in, his individual +temperament, and the way of living which his condition demands. + +If we had to wait till experience taught us to know and choose fit +food for ourselves, we should die of hunger or poison; but a kindly +providence which has made pleasure the means of self-preservation +to sentient beings teaches us through our palate what is suitable +for our stomach. In a state of nature there is no better doctor +than a man's own appetite, and no doubt in a state of nature man +could find the most palateable food the most wholesome. + +Nor is this all. Our Maker provides, not only for those needs he +has created, but for those we create for ourselves; and it is to +keep the balance between our wants and our needs that he has caused +our tastes to change and vary with our way of living. The further +we are from a state of nature, the more we lose our natural tastes; +or rather, habit becomes a second nature, and so completely replaces +our real nature, that we have lost all knowledge of it. + +From this it follows that the most natural tastes should be the +simplest, for those are more easily changed; but when they are +sharpened and stimulated by our fancies they assume a form which +is incapable of modification. The man who so far has not adapted +himself to one country can learn the ways of any country whatsoever; +but the man who has adopted the habits of one particular country +can never shake them off. + +This seems to be true of all our senses, especially of taste. Our +first food is milk; we only become accustomed by degrees to strong +flavours; at first we dislike them. Fruit, vegetables, herbs, and +then fried meat without salt or seasoning, formed the feasts of +primitive man. When the savage tastes wine for the first time, he +makes a grimace and spits it out; and even among ourselves a man who +has not tasted fermented liquors before twenty cannot get used to +them; we should all be sober if we did not have wine when we were +children. Indeed, the simpler our tastes are, the more general they +are; made dishes are those most frequently disliked. Did you ever +meet with any one who disliked bread or water? Here is the finger +of nature, this then is our rule. Preserve the child's primitive +tastes as long as possible; let his food be plain and simple, let +strong flavours be unknown to his palate, and do not let his diet +be too uniform. + +I am not asking, for the present, whether this way of living is +healthier or no; that is not what I have in view. It is enough for +me to know that my choice is more in accordance with nature, and +that it can be more readily adapted to other conditions. In my +opinion, those who say children should be accustomed to the food +they will have when they are grown up are mistaken. Why should +their food be the same when their way of living is so different? +A man worn out by labour, anxiety, and pain needs tasty foods to +give fresh vigour to his brain; a child fresh from his games, a +child whose body is growing, needs plentiful food which will supply +more chyle. Moreover the grown man has already a settled profession, +occupation, and home, but who can tell what Fate holds in store +for the child? Let us not give him so fixed a bent in any direction +that he cannot change it if required without hardship. Do not bring +him up so that he would die of hunger in a foreign land if he does +not take a French cook about with him; do not let him say at some +future time that France is the only country where the food is fit +to eat. By the way, that is a strange way of praising one's country. +On the other hand, I myself should say that the French are the only +people who do not know what good food is, since they require such +a special art to make their dishes eatable. + +Of all our different senses, we are usually most affected by taste. +Thus it concerns us more nearly to judge aright of what will +actually become part of ourselves, than of that which will merely +form part of our environment. Many things are matters of indifference +to touch, hearing, and sight; but taste is affected by almost +everything. Moreover the activity of this sense is wholly physical +and material; of all the senses, it alone makes no appeal to the +imagination, or at least, imagination plays a smaller part in its +sensations; while imitation and imagination often bring morality +into the impressions of the other senses. Thus, speaking generally, +soft and pleasure-loving minds, passionate and truly sensitive +dispositions, which are easily stirred by the other senses, are +usually indifferent to this. From this very fact, which apparently +places taste below our other senses and makes our inclination towards +it the more despicable, I draw just the opposite conclusion--that +the best way to lead children is by the mouth. Greediness is a better +motive than vanity; for the former is a natural appetite directly +dependent on the senses, while the latter is the outcome of +convention, it is the slave of human caprice and liable to every +kind of abuse. Believe me the child will cease to care about his +food only too soon, and when his heart is too busy, his palate will +be idle. When he is grown up greediness will be expelled by a host +of stronger passions, while vanity will only be stimulated by them; +for this latter passion feeds upon the rest till at length they +are all swallowed up in it. I have sometimes studied those men who +pay great attention to good eating, men whose first waking thought +is--What shall we have to eat to-day? men who describe their dinner +with as much detail as Polybius describes a combat. I have found +these so-called men were only children of forty, without strength +or vigour--fruges consumere nati. Gluttony is the vice of feeble +minds. The gourmand has his brains in his palate, he can do nothing +but eat; he is so stupid and incapable that the table is the only +place for him, and dishes are the only things he knows anything +about. Let us leave him to this business without regret; it is +better for him and for us. + +It is a small mind that fears lest greediness should take root +in the child who is fit for something better. The child thinks of +nothing but his food, the youth pays no heed to it at all; every +kind of food is good, and we have other things to attend to. Yet +I would not have you use the low motive unwisely. I would not have +you trust to dainties rather than to the honour which is the reward +of a good deed. But childhood is, or ought to be, a time of play +and merry sports, and I do not see why the rewards of purely bodily +exercises should not be material and sensible rewards. If a little +lad in Majorca sees a basket on the tree-top and brings it down +with his sling, is it not fair that he should get something by this, +and a good breakfast should repair the strength spent in getting +it. If a young Spartan, facing the risk of a hundred stripes, slips +skilfully into the kitchen, and steals a live fox cub, carries it +off in his garment, and is scratched, bitten till the blood comes, +and for shame lest he should be caught the child allows his bowels +to be torn out without a movement or a cry, is it not fair that he +should keep his spoils, that he should eat his prey after it has +eaten him? A good meal should never be a reward; but why should it +not be sometimes the result of efforts made to get it. Emile does +not consider the cake I put on the stone as a reward for good running; +he knows that the only way to get the cake is to get there first. + +This does not contradict my previous rules about simple food; for +to tempt a child's appetite you need not stimulate it, you need +only satisfy it; and the commonest things will do this if you do +not attempt to refine children's taste. Their perpetual hunger, +the result of their need for growth, will be the best sauce. Fruit, +milk, a piece of cake just a little better than ordinary bread, and +above all the art of dispensing these things prudently, by these +means you may lead a host of children to the world's end, without +on the one hand giving them a taste for strong flavours, nor on +the other hand letting them get tired of their food. + +The indifference of children towards meat is one proof that the +taste for meat is unnatural; their preference is for vegetable +foods, such as milk, pastry, fruit, etc. Beware of changing this +natural taste and making children flesh-eaters, if not for their +health's sake, for the sake of their character; for how can one +explain away the fact that great meat-eaters are usually fiercer +and more cruel than other men; this has been recognised at all +times and in all places. The English are noted for their cruelty +[Footnote: I am aware that the English make a boast of their +humanity and of the kindly disposition of their race, which they +call "good-natured people;" but in vain do they proclaim this fact; +no one else says it of them.] while the Gaures are the gentlest +of men. [Footnote: The Banians, who abstain from flesh even more +completely than the Gaures, are almost as gentle as the Gaures +themselves, but as their morality is less pure and their form of +worship less reasonable they are not such good men.] All savages +are cruel, and it is not their customs that tend in this direction; +their cruelty is the result of their food. They go to war as to the +chase, and treat men as they would treat bears. Indeed in England +butchers are not allowed to give evidence in a court of law, no +more can surgeons. [Footnote: One of the English translators of my +book has pointed out my mistake, and both of them have corrected +it. Butchers and surgeons are allowed to give evidence in the law +courts, but butchers may not serve on juries in criminal cases, +though surgeons are allowed to do so.] Great criminals prepare +themselves for murder by drinking blood. Homer makes his flesh-eating +Cyclops a terrible man, while his Lotus-eaters are so delightful +that those who went to trade with them forgot even their own country +to dwell among them. + +"You ask me," said Plutarch, "why Pythagoras abstained from eating +the flesh of beasts, but I ask you, what courage must have been +needed by the first man who raised to his lips the flesh of the +slain, who broke with his teeth the bones of a dying beast, who had +dead bodies, corpses, placed before him and swallowed down limbs +which a few moments ago were bleating, bellowing, walking, and seeing? +How could his hand plunge the knife into the heart of a sentient +creature, how could his eyes look on murder, how could he behold +a poor helpless animal bled to death, scorched, and dismembered? +how can he bear the sight of this quivering flesh? does not the +very smell of it turn his stomach? is he not repelled, disgusted, +horror-struck, when he has to handle the blood from these wounds, +and to cleanse his fingers from the dark and viscous bloodstains? + + "The scorched skins wriggled upon the ground, + The shrinking flesh bellowed upon the spit. + Man cannot eat them without a shudder; + He seems to hear their cries within his breast. + +"Thus must he have felt the first time he did despite to nature and +made this horrible meal; the first time he hungered for the living +creature, and desired to feed upon the beast which was still +grazing; when he bade them slay, dismember, and cut up the sheep +which licked his hands. It is those who began these cruel feasts, +not those who abandon them, who should cause surprise, and there +were excuses for those primitive men, excuses which we have not, +and the absence of such excuses multiplies our barbarity a hundredfold. + +"'Mortals, beloved of the gods,' says this primitive man, 'compare +our times with yours; see how happy you are, and how wretched were +we. The earth, newly formed, the air heavy with moisture, were +not yet subjected to the rule of the seasons. Three-fourths of the +surface of the globe was flooded by the ever-shifting channels of +rivers uncertain of their course, and covered with pools, lakes, +and bottomless morasses. The remaining quarter was covered with +woods and barren forests. The earth yielded no good fruit, we had +no instruments of tillage, we did not even know the use of them, +and the time of harvest never came for those who had sown nothing. +Thus hunger was always in our midst. In winter, mosses and the +bark of trees were our common food. A few green roots of dogs-bit +or heather were a feast, and when men found beech-mast, nuts, or +acorns, they danced for joy round the beech or oak, to the sound +of some rude song, while they called the earth their mother and +their nurse. This was their only festival, their only sport; all +the rest of man's life was spent in sorrow, pain, and hunger. + +"'At length, when the bare and naked earth no longer offered us any +food, we were compelled in self-defence to outrage nature, and to +feed upon our companions in distress, rather than perish with them. +But you, oh, cruel men! who forces you to shed blood? Behold the +wealth of good things about you, the fruits yielded by the earth, +the wealth of field and vineyard; the animals give their milk for +your drink and their fleece for your clothing. What more do you +ask? What madness compels you to commit such murders, when you +have already more than you can eat or drink? Why do you slander +our mother earth, and accuse her of denying you food? Why do you +sin against Ceres, the inventor of the sacred laws, and against the +gracious Bacchus, the comforter of man, as if their lavish gifts +were not enough to preserve mankind? Have you the heart to mingle +their sweet fruits with the bones upon your table, to eat with the +milk the blood of the beasts which gave it? The lions and panthers, +wild beasts as you call them, are driven to follow their natural +instinct, and they kill other beasts that they may live. But, +a hundredfold fiercer than they, you fight against your instincts +without cause, and abandon yourselves to the most cruel pleasures. +The animals you eat are not those who devour others; you do not eat +the carnivorous beasts, you take them as your pattern. You only +hunger for the sweet and gentle creatures which harm no one, which +follow you, serve you, and are devoured by you as the reward of +their service. + +"'O unnatural murderer! if you persist in the assertion that nature +has made you to devour your fellow-creatures, beings of flesh and +blood, living and feeling like yourself, stifle if you can that +horror with which nature makes you regard these horrible feasts; +slay the animals yourself, slay them, I say, with your own hands, +without knife or mallet; tear them with your nails like the lion +and the bear, take this ox and rend him in pieces, plunge your +claws into his hide; eat this lamb while it is yet alive, devour +its warm flesh, drink its soul with its blood. You shudder! you dare +not feel the living throbbing flesh between your teeth? Ruthless +man; you begin by slaying the animal and then you devour it, as +if to slay it twice. It is not enough. You turn against the dead +flesh, it revolts you, it must be transformed by fire, boiled and +roasted, seasoned and disguised with drugs; you must have butchers, +cooks, turnspits, men who will rid the murder of its horrors, who +will dress the dead bodies so that the taste deceived by these +disguises will not reject what is strange to it, and will feast on +corpses, the very sight of which would sicken you.'" + +Although this quotation is irrelevant, I cannot resist the temptation +to transcribe it, and I think few of my readers will resent it. + +In conclusion, whatever food you give your children, provided you +accustom them to nothing but plain and simple dishes, let them eat +and run and play as much as they want; you may be sure they will +never eat too much and will never have indigestion; but if you keep +them hungry half their time, when they do contrive to evade your +vigilance, they will take advantage of it as far as they can; they +will eat till they are sick, they will gorge themselves till they +can eat no more. Our appetite is only excessive because we try to +impose on it rules other than those of nature, opposing, controlling, +prescribing, adding, or substracting; the scales are always in our +hands, but the scales are the measure of our caprices not of our +stomachs. I return to my usual illustration; among peasants the +cupboard and the apple-loft are always left open, and indigestion +is unknown alike to children and grown-up people. + +If, however, it happened that a child were too great an eater, +though, under my system, I think it is impossible, he is so easily +distracted by his favourite games that one might easily starve him +without his knowing it. How is it that teachers have failed to use +such a safe and easy weapon. Herodotus records that the Lydians, +[Footnote: The ancient historians are full of opinions which may be +useful, even if the facts which they present are false. But we do +not know how to make any real use of history. Criticism and erudition +are our only care; as if it mattered more that a statement were +true or false than that we should be able to get a useful lesson +from it. A wise man should consider history a tissue of fables whose +morals are well adapted to the human heart.] under the pressure of +great scarcity, decided to invent sports and other amusements with +which to cheat their hunger, and they passed whole days without +thought of food. Your learned teachers may have read this passage +time after time without seeing how it might be applied to children. +One of these teachers will probably tell me that a child does not +like to leave his dinner for his lessons. You are right, sir--I +was not thinking of that sort of sport. + +The sense of smell is to taste what sight is to touch; it goes +before it and gives it warning that it will be affected by this or +that substance; and it inclines it to seek or shun this experience +according to the impressions received beforehand. I have been told +that savages receive impressions quite different from ours, and +that they have quite different ideas with regard to pleasant or +unpleasant odours. I can well believe it. Odours alone are slight +sensations; they affect the imagination rather than the senses, +and they work mainly through the anticipations they arouse. This +being so, and the tastes of savages being so unlike the taste of +civilised men, they should lead them to form very different ideas +with regard to flavours and therefore with regard to the odours +which announce them. A Tartar must enjoy the smell of a haunch of +putrid horseflesh, much as a sportsman enjoys a very high partridge. +Our idle sensations, such as the scents wafted from the flower +beds, must pass unnoticed among men who walk too much to care for +strolling in a garden, and do not work enough to find pleasure in +repose. Hungry men would find little pleasure in scents which did +not proclaim the approach of food. + +Smell is the sense of the imagination; as it gives tone to the nerves +it must have a great effect on the brain; that is why it revives +us for the time, but eventually causes exhaustion. Its effects +on love are pretty generally recognised. The sweet perfumes of a +dressing-room are not so slight a snare as you may fancy them, and +I hardly know whether to congratulate or condole with that wise +and somewhat insensible person whose senses are never stirred by +the scent of the flowers his mistress wears in her bosom. + +Hence the sense of smell should not be over-active in early +childhood; the imagination, as yet unstirred by changing passions, +is scarcely susceptible of emotion, and we have not enough experience +to discern beforehand from one sense the promise of another. This +view is confirmed by observation, and it is certain that the sense +of smell is dull and almost blunted in most children. Not that their +sensations are less acute than those of grown-up people, but that +there is no idea associated with them; they do not easily experience +pleasure or pain, and are not flattered or hurt as we are. Without +going beyond my system, and without recourse to comparative +anatomy, I think we can easily see why women are generally fonder +of perfumes than men. + +It is said that from early childhood the Redskins of Canada, train +their sense of smell to such a degree of subtlety that, although +they have dogs, they do not condescend to use them in hunting--they +are their own dogs. Indeed I believe that if children were trained +to scent their dinner as a dog scents game, their sense of smell +might be nearly as perfect; but I see no very real advantage to be +derived from this sense, except by teaching the child to observe +the relation between smell and taste. Nature has taken care to +compel us to learn these relations. She has made the exercise of +the latter sense practically inseparable from that of the former, +by placing their organs close together, and by providing, in the +mouth, a direct pathway between them, so that we taste nothing +without smelling it too. Only I would not have these natural +relations disturbed in order to deceive the child, e.g.; to conceal +the taste of medicine with an aromatic odour, for the discord +between the senses is too great for deception, the more active +sense overpowers the other, the medicine is just as distasteful, +and this disagreeable association extends to every sensation experienced +at the time; so the slightest of these sensations recalls the rest +to his imagination and a very pleasant perfume is for him only a +nasty smell; thus our foolish precautions increase the sum total +of his unpleasant sensations at the cost of his pleasant sensations. + +In the following books I have still to speak of the training of a +sort of sixth sense, called common-sense, not so much because it is +common to all men, but because it results from the well-regulated +use of the other five, and teaches the nature of things by the +sum-total of their external aspects. So this sixth sense has no +special organ, it has its seat in the brain, and its sensations +which are purely internal are called percepts or ideas. The number +of these ideas is the measure of our knowledge; exactness of thought +depends on their clearness and precision; the art of comparing +them one with another is called human reason. Thus what I call the +reasoning of the senses, or the reasoning of the child, consists +in the formation of simple ideas through the associated experience +of several sensations; what I call the reasoning of the intellect, +consists in the formation, of complex ideas through the association +of several simple ideas. + +If my method is indeed that of nature, and if I am not mistaken in +the application of that method, we have led our pupil through the +region of sensation to the bounds of the child's reasoning; the +first step we take beyond these bounds must be the step of a man. +But before we make this fresh advance, let us glance back for +a moment at the path we have hitherto followed. Every age, every +station in life, has a perfection, a ripeness, of its own. We have +often heard the phrase "a grown man;" but we will consider "a grown +child." This will be a new experience and none the less pleasing. + +The life of finite creatures is so poor and narrow that the +mere sight of what is arouses no emotion. It is fancy which decks +reality, and if imagination does not lend its charm to that which +touches our senses, our barren pleasure is confined to the senses +alone, while the heart remains cold. The earth adorned with +the treasures of autumn displays a wealth of colour which the eye +admires; but this admiration fails to move us, it springs rather +from thought than from feeling. In spring the country is almost +bare and leafless, the trees give no shade, the grass has hardly +begun to grow, yet the heart is touched by the sight. In this new +birth of nature, we feel the revival of our own life; the memories +of past pleasures surround us; tears of delight, those companions +of pleasure ever ready to accompany a pleasing sentiment, tremble +on our eyelids. Animated, lively, and delightful though the vintage +may be, we behold it without a tear. + +And why is this? Because imagination adds to the sight of spring +the image of the seasons which are yet to come; the eye sees the +tender shoot, the mind's eye beholds its flowers, fruit, and foliage, +and even the mysteries they may conceal. It blends successive stages +into one moment's experience; we see things, not so much as they +will be, but as we would have them be, for imagination has only to +take her choice. In autumn, on the other hand, we only behold the +present; if we wish to look forward to spring, winter bars the way, +and our shivering imagination dies away among its frost and snow. + +This is the source of the charm we find in beholding the beauties +of childhood, rather than the perfection of manhood. When do we +really delight in beholding a man? When the memory of his deeds +leads us to look back over his life and his youth is renewed in +our eyes. If we are reduced to viewing him as he is, or to picturing +him as he will be in old age, the thought of declining years destroys +all our pleasure. There is no pleasure in seeing a man hastening +to his grave; the image of death makes all hideous. + +But when I think of a child of ten or twelve, strong, healthy, +well-grown for his age, only pleasant thoughts are called up, whether +of the present or the future. I see him keen, eager, and full of +life, free from gnawing cares and painful forebodings, absorbed +in this present state, and delighting in a fullness of life which +seems to extend beyond himself. I look forward to a time when he +will use his daily increasing sense, intelligence and vigour, those +growing powers of which he continually gives fresh proof. I watch +the child with delight, I picture to myself the man with even +greater pleasure. His eager life seems to stir my own pulses, I +seem to live his life and in his vigour I renew my own. + +The hour strikes, the scene is changed. All of a sudden his eye +grows dim, his mirth has fled. Farewell mirth, farewell untrammelled +sports in which he delighted. A stern, angry man takes him by the +hand, saying gravely, "Come with me, sir," and he is led away. As +they are entering the room, I catch a glimpse of books. Books, what +dull food for a child of his age! The poor child allows himself to +be dragged away; he casts a sorrowful look on all about him, and +departs in silence, his eyes swollen with the tears he dare not +shed, and his heart bursting with the sighs he dare not utter. + +You who have no such cause for fear, you for whom no period of life +is a time of weariness and tedium, you who welcome days without +care and nights without impatience, you who only reckon time by +your pleasures, come, my happy kindly pupil, and console us for +the departure of that miserable creature. Come! Here he is and at +his approach I feel a thrill of delight which I see he shares. It +is his friend, his comrade, who meets him; when he sees me he knows +very well that he will not be long without amusement; we are never +dependent on each other, but we are always on good terms, and we +are never so happy as when together. + +His face, his bearing, his expression, speak of confidence and +contentment; health shines in his countenance, his firm step speaks +of strength; his colour, delicate but not sickly, has nothing of +softness or effeminacy. Sun and wind have already set the honourable +stamp of manhood on his countenance; his rounded muscles already +begin to show some signs of growing individuality; his eyes, as yet +unlighted by the flame of feeling, have at least all their native +calm; They have not been darkened by prolonged sorrow, nor are his +cheeks furrowed by ceaseless tears. Behold in his quick and certain +movements the natural vigour of his age and the confidence of +independence. His manner is free and open, but without a trace of +insolence or vanity; his head which has not been bent over books +does not fall upon his breast; there is no need to say, "Hold your +head up," he will neither hang his head for shame or fear. + +Make room for him, gentlemen, in your midst; question him boldly; +have no fear of importunity, chatter, or impertinent questions. You +need not be afraid that he will take possession of you and expect +you to devote yourself entirely to him, so that you cannot get rid +of him. + +Neither need you look for compliments from him; nor will he tell +you what I have taught him to say; expect nothing from him but +the plain, simple truth, without addition or ornament and without +vanity. He will tell you the wrong things he has done and thought +as readily as the right, without troubling himself in the least as +to the effect of his words upon you; he will use speech with all +the simplicity of its first beginnings. + +We love to augur well of our children, and we are continually +regretting the flood of folly which overwhelms the hopes we would +fain have rested on some chance phrase. If my scholar rarely gives +me cause for such prophecies, neither will he give me cause for +such regrets, for he never says a useless word, and does not exhaust +himself by chattering when he knows there is no one to listen to +him. His ideas are few but precise, he knows nothing by rote but +much by experience. If he reads our books worse than other children, +he reads far better in the book of nature; his thoughts are not in +his tongue but in his brain; he has less memory and more judgment; +he can only speak one language, but he understands what he is +saying, and if his speech is not so good as that of other children +his deeds are better. + +He does not know the meaning of habit, routine, and custom; what +he did yesterday has no control over what he is doing to-day; he +follows no rule, submits to no authority, copies no pattern, and +only acts or speaks as he pleases. So do not expect set speeches +or studied manners from him, but just the faithful expression of +his thoughts and the conduct that springs from his inclinations. +[Footnote: Habit owes its charm to man's natural idleness, and +this idleness grows upon us if indulged; it is easier to do what we +have already done, there is a beaten path which is easily followed. +Thus we may observe that habit is very strong in the aged and in +the indolent, and very weak in the young and active. The rule of +habit is only good for feeble hearts, and it makes them more and +more feeble day by day. The only useful habit for children is to +be accustomed to submit without difficulty to necessity, and the +only useful habit for man is to submit without difficulty to the +rule of reason. Every other habit is a vice.] + +You will find he has a few moral ideas concerning his present state +and none concerning manhood; what use could he make of them, for +the child is not, as yet, an active member of society. Speak to +him of freedom, of property, or even of what is usually done; he +may understand you so far; he knows why his things are his own, +and why other things are not his, and nothing more. Speak to him +of duty or obedience; he will not know what you are talking about; +bid him do something and he will pay no attention; but say to him, +"If you will give me this pleasure, I will repay it when required," +and he will hasten to give you satisfaction, for he asks nothing +better than to extend his domain, to acquire rights over you, +which will, he knows, be respected. Maybe he is not sorry to have +a place of his own, to be reckoned of some account; but if he has +formed this latter idea, he has already left the realms of nature, +and you have failed to bar the gates of vanity. + +For his own part, should he need help, he will ask it readily of +the first person he meets. He will ask it of a king as readily as +of his servant; all men are equals in his eyes. From his way of +asking you will see he knows you owe him nothing, that he is asking +a favour. He knows too that humanity moves you to grant this favour; +his words are few and simple. His voice, his look, his gesture are +those of a being equally familiar with compliance and refusal. It +is neither the crawling, servile submission of the slave, nor the +imperious tone of the master, it is a modest confidence in mankind; +it is the noble and touching gentleness of a creature, free, yet +sensitive and feeble, who asks aid of a being, free, but strong +and kindly. If you grant his request he will not thank you, but +he will feel he has incurred a debt. If you refuse he will neither +complain nor insist; he knows it is useless; he will not say, +"They refused to help me," but "It was impossible," and as I have +already said, we do not rebel against necessity when once we have +perceived it. + +Leave him to himself and watch his actions without speaking, consider +what he is doing and how he sets about it. He does not require to +convince himself that he is free, so he never acts thoughtlessly +and merely to show that he can do what he likes; does he not know +that he is always his own master? He is quick, alert, and ready; +his movements are eager as befits his age, but you will not find +one which has no end in view. Whatever he wants, he will never +attempt what is beyond his powers, for he has learnt by experience +what those powers are; his means will always be adapted to the end +in view, and he will rarely attempt anything without the certainty +of success; his eye is keen and true; he will not be so stupid as +to go and ask other people about what he sees; he will examine it +on his own account, and before he asks he will try every means at +his disposal to discover what he wants to know for himself. If he +lights upon some unexpected difficulty, he will be less upset than +others; if there is danger he will be less afraid. His imagination +is still asleep and nothing has been done to arouse it; he only +sees what is really there, and rates the danger at its true worth; +so he never loses his head. He does not rebel against necessity, +her hand is too heavy upon him; he has borne her yoke all his life +long, he is well used to it; he is always ready for anything. + +Work or play are all one to him, his games are his work; he knows +no difference. He brings to everything the cheerfulness of interest, +the charm of freedom, and he shows the bent of his own mind and +the extent of his knowledge. Is there anything better worth seeing, +anything more touching or more delightful, than a pretty child, +with merry, cheerful glance, easy contented manner, open smiling +countenance, playing at the most important things, or working at +the lightest amusements? + +Would you now judge him by comparison? Set him among other children +and leave him to himself. You will soon see which has made most +progress, which comes nearer to the perfection of childhood. Among +all the children in the town there is none more skilful and none +so strong. Among young peasants he is their equal in strength and +their superior in skill. In everything within a child's grasp he +judges, reasons, and shows a forethought beyond the rest. Is it +a matter of action, running, jumping, or shifting things, raising +weights or estimating distance, inventing games, carrying off +prizes; you might say, "Nature obeys his word," so easily does he +bend all things to his will. He is made to lead, to rule his fellows; +talent and experience take the place of right and authority. In any +garb, under any name, he will still be first; everywhere he will +rule the rest, they will always feel his superiority, he will be +master without knowing it, and they will serve him unawares. + +He has reached the perfection of childhood; he has lived the life +of a child; his progress has not been bought at the price of his +happiness, he has gained both. While he has acquired all the wisdom +of a child, he has been as free and happy as his health permits. +If the Reaper Death should cut him off and rob us of our hopes, +we need not bewail alike his life and death, we shall not have the +added grief of knowing that we caused him pain; we will say, "His +childhood, at least, was happy; we have robbed him of nothing that +nature gave him." + +The chief drawback to this early education is that it is only +appreciated by the wise; to vulgar eyes the child so carefully +educated is nothing but a rough little boy. A tutor thinks rather +of the advantage to himself than to his pupil; he makes a point of +showing that there has been no time wasted; he provides his pupil +with goods which can be readily displayed in the shop window, +accomplishments which can be shown off at will; no matter whether +they are useful, provided they are easily seen. Without choice or +discrimination he loads his memory with a pack of rubbish. If the +child is to be examined he is set to display his wares; he spreads +them out, satisfies those who behold them, packs up his bundle and +goes his way. My pupil is poorer, he has no bundle to display, he +has only himself to show. Now neither child nor man can be read +at a glance. Where are the observers who can at once discern the +characteristics of this child? There are such people, but they are +few and far between; among a thousand fathers you will scarcely +find one. + +Too many questions are tedious and revolting to most of us and +especially to children. After a few minutes their attention flags, +they cease to listen to your everlasting questions and reply at +random. This way of testing them is pedantic and useless; a chance +word will often show their sense and intelligence better than much +talking, but take care that the answer is neither a matter of chance +nor yet learnt by heart. A man must needs have a good judgment if +he is to estimate the judgment of a child. + +I heard the late Lord Hyde tell the following story about one of his +friends. He had returned from Italy after a three years' absence, +and was anxious to test the progress of his son, a child of nine +or ten. One evening he took a walk with the child and his tutor +across a level space where the schoolboys were flying their kites. +As they went, the father said to his son, "Where is the kite that +casts this shadow?" Without hesitating and without glancing upwards +the child replied, "Over the high road." "And indeed," said Lord +Hyde, "the high road was between us and the sun." At these words, +the father kissed his child, and having finished his examination +he departed. The next day he sent the tutor the papers settling +an annuity on him in addition to his salary. + +What a father! and what a promising child! The question is exactly +adapted to the child's age, the answer is perfectly simple; but +see what precision it implies in the child's judgment. Thus did +the pupil of Aristotle master the famous steed which no squire had +ever been able to tame. + + + + +BOOK III + +The whole course of man's life up to adolescence is a period of +weakness; yet there comes a time during these early years when the +child's strength overtakes the demands upon it, when the growing +creature, though absolutely weak, is relatively strong. His needs +are not fully developed and his present strength is more than enough +for them. He would be a very feeble man, but he is a strong child. + +What is the cause of man's weakness? It is to be found in +the disproportion between his strength and his desires. It is our +passions that make us weak, for our natural strength is not enough +for their satisfaction. To limit our desires comes to the same +thing, therefore, as to increase our strength. When we can do more +than we want, we have strength enough and to spare, we are really +strong. This is the third stage of childhood, the stage with which +I am about to deal. I still speak of childhood for want of a better +word; for our scholar is approaching adolescence, though he has +not yet reached the age of puberty. + +About twelve or thirteen the child's strength increases far more +rapidly than his needs. The strongest and fiercest of the passions +is still unknown, his physical development is still imperfect and +seems to await the call of the will. He is scarcely aware of extremes +of heat and cold and braves them with impunity. He needs no coat, +his blood is warm; no spices, hunger is his sauce, no food comes +amiss at this age; if he is sleepy he stretches himself on the +ground and goes to sleep; he finds all he needs within his reach; +he is not tormented by any imaginary wants; he cares nothing what +others think; his desires are not beyond his grasp; not only is +he self-sufficing, but for the first and last time in his life he +has more strength than he needs. + +I know beforehand what you will say. You will not assert that the +child has more needs than I attribute to him, but you will deny +his strength. You forget that I am speaking of my own pupil, not +of those puppets who walk with difficulty from one room to another, +who toil indoors and carry bundles of paper. Manly strength, you say, +appears only with manhood; the vital spirits, distilled in their +proper vessels and spreading through the whole body, can alone make +the muscles firm, sensitive, tense, and springy, can alone cause +real strength. This is the philosophy of the study; I appeal to +that of experience. In the country districts, I see big lads hoeing, +digging, guiding the plough, filling the wine-cask, driving the +cart, like their fathers; you would take them for grown men if +their voices did not betray them. Even in our towns, iron-workers', +tool makers', and blacksmiths' lads are almost as strong as their +masters and would be scarcely less skilful had their training +begun earlier. If there is a difference, and I do not deny that +there is, it is, I repeat, much less than the difference between +the stormy passions of the man and the few wants of the child. +Moreover, it is not merely a question of bodily strength, but more +especially of strength of mind, which reinforces and directs the +bodily strength. + +This interval in which the strength of the individual is in excess +of his wants is, as I have said, relatively though not absolutely +the time of greatest strength. It is the most precious time in his +life; it comes but once; it is very short, all too short, as you +will see when you consider the importance of using it aright. + +He has, therefore, a surplus of strength and capacity which he will +never have again. What use shall he make of it? He will strive to +use it in tasks which will help at need. He will, so to speak, cast +his present surplus into the storehouse of the future; the vigorous +child will make provision for the feeble man; but he will not store +his goods where thieves may break in, nor in barns which are not +his own. To store them aright, they must be in the hands and the +head, they must be stored within himself. This is the time for +work, instruction, and inquiry. And note that this is no arbitrary +choice of mine, it is the way of nature herself. + +Human intelligence is finite, and not only can no man know everything, +he cannot even acquire all the scanty knowledge of others. Since the +contrary of every false proposition is a truth, there are as many +truths as falsehoods. We must, therefore, choose what to teach +as well as when to teach it. Some of the information within our +reach is false, some is useless, some merely serves to puff up its +possessor. The small store which really contributes to our welfare +alone deserves the study of a wise man, and therefore of a child +whom one would have wise. He must know not merely what is, but what +is useful. + +From this small stock we must also deduct those truths which require +a full grown mind for their understanding, those which suppose a +knowledge of man's relations to his fellow-men--a knowledge which +no child can acquire; these things, although in themselves true, lead +an inexperienced mind into mistakes with regard to other matters. + +We are now confined to a circle, small indeed compared with the +whole of human thought, but this circle is still a vast sphere when +measured by the child's mind. Dark places of the human understanding, +what rash hand shall dare to raise your veil? What pitfalls does +our so-called science prepare for the miserable child. Would you +guide him along this dangerous path and draw the veil from the +face of nature? Stay your hand. First make sure that neither he +nor you will become dizzy. Beware of the specious charms of error +and the intoxicating fumes of pride. Keep this truth ever before +you--Ignorance never did any one any harm, error alone is fatal, +and we do not lose our way through ignorance but through self-confidence. + +His progress in geometry may serve as a test and a true measure of +the growth of his intelligence, but as soon as he can distinguish +between what is useful and what is useless, much skill and discretion +are required to lead him towards theoretical studies. For example, +would you have him find a mean proportional between two lines, +contrive that he should require to find a square equal to a given +rectangle; if two mean proportionals are required, you must first +contrive to interest him in the doubling of the cube. See how we +are gradually approaching the moral ideas which distinguish between +good and evil. Hitherto we have known no law but necessity, now +we are considering what is useful; we shall soon come to what is +fitting and right. + +Man's diverse powers are stirred by the same instinct. The bodily +activity, which seeks an outlet for its energies, is succeeded by +the mental activity which seeks for knowledge. Children are first +restless, then curious; and this curiosity, rightly directed, is +the means of development for the age with which we are dealing. +Always distinguish between natural and acquired tendencies. There +is a zeal for learning which has no other foundation than a wish +to appear learned, and there is another which springs from man's +natural curiosity about all things far or near which may affect +himself. The innate desire for comfort and the impossibility +of its complete satisfaction impel him to the endless search for +fresh means of contributing to its satisfaction. This is the first +principle of curiosity; a principle natural to the human heart, +though its growth is proportional to the development of our feeling +and knowledge. If a man of science were left on a desert island +with his books and instruments and knowing that he must spend the +rest of his life there, he would scarcely trouble himself about the +solar system, the laws of attraction, or the differential calculus. +He might never even open a book again; but he would never rest till +he had explored the furthest corner of his island, however large +it might be. Let us therefore omit from our early studies such +knowledge as has no natural attraction for us, and confine ourselves +to such things as instinct impels us to study. + +Our island is this earth; and the most striking object we behold +is the sun. As soon as we pass beyond our immediate surroundings, +one or both of these must meet our eye. Thus the philosophy of +most savage races is mainly directed to imaginary divisions of the +earth or to the divinity of the sun. + +What a sudden change you will say. Just now we were concerned with +what touches ourselves, with our immediate environment, and all +at once we are exploring the round world and leaping to the bounds +of the universe. This change is the result of our growing strength +and of the natural bent of the mind. While we were weak and feeble, +self-preservation concentrated our attention on ourselves; now that +we are strong and powerful, the desire for a wider sphere carries +us beyond ourselves as far as our eyes can reach. But as the +intellectual world is still unknown to us, our thoughts are bounded +by the visible horizon, and our understanding only develops within +the limits of our vision. + +Let us transform our sensations into ideas, but do not let us jump +all at once from the objects of sense to objects of thought. The +latter are attained by means of the former. Let the senses be the +only guide for the first workings of reason. No book but the world, +no teaching but that of fact. The child who reads ceases to think, +he only reads. He is acquiring words not knowledge. + +Teach your scholar to observe the phenomena of nature; you will +soon rouse his curiosity, but if you would have it grow, do not be +in too great a hurry to satisfy this curiosity. Put the problems +before him and let him solve them himself. Let him know nothing +because you have told him, but because he has learnt it for himself. +Let him not be taught science, let him discover it. If ever you +substitute authority for reason he will cease to reason; he will +be a mere plaything of other people's thoughts. + +You wish to teach this child geography and you provide him with +globes, spheres, and maps. What elaborate preparations! What is +the use of all these symbols; why not begin by showing him the real +thing so that he may at least know what you are talking about? + +One fine evening we are walking in a suitable place where the wide +horizon gives us a full view of the setting sun, and we note the +objects which mark the place where it sets. Next morning we return +to the same place for a breath of fresh air before sun-rise. We +see the rays of light which announce the sun's approach; the glow +increases, the east seems afire, and long before the sun appears +the light leads us to expect its return. Every moment you expect to +see it. There it is at last! A shining point appears like a flash +of lightning and soon fills the whole space; the veil of darkness +rolls away, man perceives his dwelling place in fresh beauty. +During the night the grass has assumed a fresher green; in the +light of early dawn, and gilded by the first rays of the sun, it +seems covered with a shining network of dew reflecting the light +and colour. The birds raise their chorus of praise to greet the +Father of life, not one of them is mute; their gentle warbling is +softer than by day, it expresses the langour of a peaceful waking. +All these produce an impression of freshness which seems to reach +the very soul. It is a brief hour of enchantment which no man can +resist; a sight so grand, so fair, so delicious, that none can +behold it unmoved. + +Fired with this enthusiasm, the master wishes to impart it to the +child. He expects to rouse his emotion by drawing attention to his +own. Mere folly! The splendour of nature lives in man's heart; to +be seen, it must be felt. The child sees the objects themselves, but +does not perceive their relations, and cannot hear their harmony. +It needs knowledge he has not yet acquired, feelings he has not yet +experienced, to receive the complex impression which results from +all these separate sensations. If he has not wandered over arid +plains, if his feet have not been scorched by the burning sands +of the desert, if he has not breathed the hot and oppressive air +reflected from the glowing rocks, how shall he delight in the fresh +air of a fine morning. The scent of flowers, the beauty of foliage, +the moistness of the dew, the soft turf beneath his feet, how shall +all these delight his senses. How shall the song of the birds arouse +voluptuous emotion if love and pleasure are still unknown to him? +How shall he behold with rapture the birth of this fair day, if +his imagination cannot paint the joys it may bring in its track? +How can he feel the beauty of nature, while the hand that formed +it is unknown? + +Never tell the child what he cannot understand: no descriptions, no +eloquence, no figures of speech, no poetry. The time has not come +for feeling or taste. Continue to be clear and cold; the time will +come only too soon when you must adopt another tone. + +Brought up in the spirit of our maxims, accustomed to make his own +tools and not to appeal to others until he has tried and failed, he +will examine everything he sees carefully and in silence. He thinks +rather than questions. Be content, therefore, to show him things at +a fit season; then, when you see that his curiosity is thoroughly +aroused, put some brief question which will set him trying to +discover the answer. + +On the present occasion when you and he have carefully observed +the rising sun, when you have called his attention to the mountains +and other objects visible from the same spot, after he has chattered +freely about them, keep quiet for a few minutes as if lost in +thought and then say, "I think the sun set over there last night; +it rose here this morning. How can that be?" Say no more; if he +asks questions, do not answer them; talk of something else. Let +him alone, and be sure he will think about it. + +To train a child to be really attentive so that he may be really +impressed by any truth of experience, he must spend anxious days +before he discovers that truth. If he does not learn enough in this +way, there is another way of drawing his attention to the matter. +Turn the question about. If he does not know how the sun gets from +the place where it sets to where it rises, he knows at least how +it travels from sunrise to sunset, his eyes teach him that. Use the +second question to throw light on the first; either your pupil is +a regular dunce or the analogy is too clear to be missed. This is +his first lesson in cosmography. + +As we always advance slowly from one sensible idea to another, and +as we give time enough to each for him to become really familiar +with it before we go on to another, and lastly as we never force +our scholar's attention, we are still a long way from a knowledge +of the course of the sun or the shape of the earth; but as all +the apparent movements of the celestial bodies depend on the same +principle, and the first observation leads on to all the rest, less +effort is needed, though more time, to proceed from the diurnal +revolution to the calculation of eclipses, than to get a thorough +understanding of day and night. + +Since the sun revolves round the earth it describes a circle, and +every circle must have a centre; that we know already. This centre +is invisible, it is in the middle of the earth, but we can mark +out two opposite points on the earth's surface which correspond to +it. A skewer passed through the three points and prolonged to the +sky at either end would represent the earth's axis and the sun's +daily course. A round teetotum revolving on its point represents +the sky turning on its axis, the two points of the teetotum are the +two poles; the child will be delighted to find one of them, and I +show him the tail of the Little bear. Here is a another game for +the dark. Little by little we get to know the stars, and from this +comes a wish to know the planets and observe the constellations. + +We saw the sun rise at midsummer, we shall see it rise at Christmas +or some other fine winter's day; for you know we are no lie-a-beds +and we enjoy the cold. I take care to make this second observation +in the same place as the first, and if skilfully lead up to, one +or other will certainly exclaim, "What a funny thing! The sun is +not rising in the same place; here are our landmarks, but it is +rising over there. So there is the summer east and the winter east, +etc." Young teacher, you are on the right track. These examples +should show you how to teach the sphere without any difficulty, +taking the earth for the earth and the sun for the sun. + +As a general rule--never substitute the symbol for the thing +signified, unless it is impossible to show the thing itself; for +the child's attention is so taken up with the symbol that he will +forget what it signifies. + +I consider the armillary sphere a clumsy disproportioned bit of +apparatus. The confused circles and the strange figures described +on it suggest witchcraft and frighten the child. The earth is too +small, the circles too large and too numerous, some of them, the +colures, for instance, are quite useless, and the thickness of the +pasteboard gives them an appearance of solidity so that they are +taken for circular masses having a real existence, and when you +tell the child that these are imaginary circles, he does not know +what he is looking at and is none the wiser. + +We are unable to put ourselves in the child's place, we fail to enter +into his thoughts, we invest him with our own ideas, and while we +are following our own chain of reasoning, we merely fill his head +with errors and absurdities. + +Should the method of studying science be analytic or synthetic? +People dispute over this question, but it is not always necessary +to choose between them. Sometimes the same experiments allow one +to use both analysis and synthesis, and thus to guide the child +by the method of instruction when he fancies he is only analysing. +Then, by using both at once, each method confirms the results of the +other. Starting from opposite ends, without thinking of following +the same road, he will unexpectedly reach their meeting place and +this will be a delightful surprise. For example, I would begin +geography at both ends and add to the study of the earth's revolution +the measurement of its divisions, beginning at home. While the +child is studying the sphere and is thus transported to the heavens, +bring him back to the divisions of the globe and show him his own +home. + +His geography will begin with the town he lives in and his father's +country house, then the places between them, the rivers near them, +and then the sun's aspect and how to find one's way by its aid. +This is the meeting place. Let him make his own map, a very simple +map, at first containing only two places; others may be added from +time to time, as he is able to estimate their distance and position. +You see at once what a good start we have given him by making his +eye his compass. + +No doubt he will require some guidance in spite of this, but very +little, and that little without his knowing it. If he goes wrong +let him alone, do not correct his mistakes; hold your tongue till +he finds them out for himself and corrects them, or at most arrange +something, as opportunity offers, which may show him his mistakes. +If he never makes mistakes he will never learn anything thoroughly. +Moreover, what he needs is not an exact knowledge of local +topography, but how to find out for himself. No matter whether he +carries maps in his head provided he understands what they mean, and +has a clear idea of the art of making them. See what a difference +there is already between the knowledge of your scholars and the +ignorance of mine. They learn maps, he makes them. Here are fresh +ornaments for his room. + +Remember that this is the essential point in my method--Do not +teach the child many things, but never to let him form inaccurate or +confused ideas. I care not if he knows nothing provided he is not +mistaken, and I only acquaint him with truths to guard him against +the errors he might put in their place. Reason and judgment come +slowly, prejudices flock to us in crowds, and from these he must be +protected. But if you make science itself your object, you embark +on an unfathomable and shoreless ocean, an ocean strewn with reefs +from which you will never return. When I see a man in love with +knowledge, yielding to its charms and flitting from one branch +to another unable to stay his steps, he seems to me like a child +gathering shells on the sea-shore, now picking them up, then throwing +them aside for others which he sees beyond them, then taking them +again, till overwhelmed by their number and unable to choose between +them, he flings them all away and returns empty handed. + +Time was long during early childhood; we only tried to pass our +time for fear of using it ill; now it is the other way; we have not +time enough for all that would be of use. The passions, remember, +are drawing near, and when they knock at the door your scholar will +have no ear for anything else. The peaceful age of intelligence is +so short, it flies so swiftly, there is so much to be done, that +it is madness to try to make your child learned. It is not your +business to teach him the various sciences, but to give him a taste +for them and methods of learning them when this taste is more mature. +That is assuredly a fundamental principle of all good education. + +This is also the time to train him gradually to prolonged attention +to a given object; but this attention should never be the result +of constraint, but of interest or desire; you must be very careful +that it is not too much for his strength, and that it is not carried +to the point of tedium. Watch him, therefore, and whatever happens, +stop before he is tired, for it matters little what he learns; it +does matter that he should do nothing against his will. + +If he asks questions let your answers be enough to whet his curiosity +but not enough to satisfy it; above all, when you find him talking +at random and overwhelming you with silly questions instead of +asking for information, at once refuse to answer; for it is clear +that he no longer cares about the matter in hand, but wants to make +you a slave to his questions. Consider his motives rather than his +words. This warning, which was scarcely needed before, becomes of +supreme importance when the child begins to reason. + +There is a series of abstract truths by means of which all the +sciences are related to common principles and are developed each +in its turn. This relationship is the method of the philosophers. +We are not concerned with it at present. There is quite another +method by which every concrete example suggests another and always +points to the next in the series. This succession, which stimulates +the curiosity and so arouses the attention required by every object +in turn, is the order followed by most men, and it is the right +order for all children. To take our bearings so as to make our +maps we must find meridians. Two points of intersection between +the equal shadows morning and evening supply an excellent meridian +for a thirteen-year-old astronomer. But these meridians disappear, +it takes time to trace them, and you are obliged to work in one +place. So much trouble and attention will at last become irksome. +We foresaw this and are ready for it. + +Again I must enter into minute and detailed explanations. I hear +my readers murmur, but I am prepared to meet their disapproval; +I will not sacrifice the most important part of this book to your +impatience. You may think me as long-winded as you please; I have +my own opinion as to your complaints. + +Long ago my pupil and I remarked that some substances such as amber, +glass, and wax, when well rubbed, attracted straws, while others +did not. We accidentally discover a substance which has a more +unusual property, that of attracting filings or other small particles +of iron from a distance and without rubbing. How much time do we +devote to this game to the exclusion of everything else! At last +we discover that this property is communicated to the iron itself, +which is, so to speak, endowed with life. We go to the fair one +day [Footnote: I could not help laughing when I read an elaborate +criticism of this little tale by M. de Formy. "This conjuror," +says he, "who is afraid of a child's competition and preaches to +his tutor is the sort of person we meet with in the world in which +Emile and such as he are living." This witty M. de Formy could +not guess that this little scene was arranged beforehand, and that +the juggler was taught his part in it; indeed I did not state this +fact. But I have said again and again that I was not writing for +people who expected to be told everything.] and a conjuror has +a wax duck floating in a basin of water, and he makes it follow a +bit of bread. We are greatly surprised, but we do not call him a +wizard, never having heard of such persons. As we are continually +observing effects whose causes are unknown to us, we are in no hurry +to make up our minds, and we remain in ignorance till we find an +opportunity of learning. + +When we get home we discuss the duck till we try to imitate it. +We take a needle thoroughly magnetised, we imbed it in white wax, +shaped as far as possible like a duck, with the needle running +through the body, so that its eye forms the beak. We put the duck +in water and put the end of a key near its beak, and you will +readily understand our delight when we find that our duck follows +the key just as the duck at the fair followed the bit of bread. +Another time we may note the direction assumed by the duck when +left in the basin; for the present we are wholly occupied with our +work and we want nothing more. + +The same evening we return to the fair with some bread specially +prepared in our pockets, and as soon as the conjuror has performed +his trick, my little doctor, who can scarcely sit still, exclaims, +"The trick is quite easy; I can do it myself." "Do it then." He +at once takes the bread with a bit of iron hidden in it from his +pocket; his heart throbs as he approaches the table and holds out +the bread, his hand trembles with excitement. The duck approaches +and follows his hand. The child cries out and jumps for joy. The +applause, the shouts of the crowd, are too much for him, he is +beside himself. The conjuror, though disappointed, embraces him, +congratulates him, begs the honour of his company on the following +day, and promises to collect a still greater crowd to applaud his +skill. My young scientist is very proud of himself and is beginning +to chatter, but I check him at once and take him home overwhelmed +with praise. + +The child counts the minutes till to-morrow with absurd anxiety. +He invites every one he meets, he wants all mankind to behold his +glory; he can scarcely wait till the appointed hour. He hurries to +the place; the hall is full already; as he enters his young heart +swells with pride. Other tricks are to come first. The conjuror +surpasses himself and does the most surprising things. The child +sees none of these; he wriggles, perspires, and hardly breathes; +the time is spent in fingering with a trembling hand the bit of +bread in his pocket. His turn comes at last; the master announces +it to the audience with all ceremony; he goes up looking somewhat +shamefaced and takes out his bit of bread. Oh fleeting joys of human +life! the duck, so tame yesterday, is quite wild to-day; instead +of offering its beak it turns tail and swims away; it avoids the +bread and the hand that holds it as carefully as it followed them +yesterday. After many vain attempts accompanied by derisive shouts +from the audience the child complains that he is being cheated, +that is not the same duck, and he defies the conjuror to attract +it. + +The conjuror, without further words, takes a bit of bread and +offers it to the duck, which at once follows it and comes to the +hand which holds it. The child takes the same bit of bread with +no better success; the duck mocks his efforts and swims round the +basin. Overwhelmed with confusion he abandons the attempt, ashamed +to face the crowd any longer. Then the conjuror takes the bit of +bread the child brought with him and uses it as successfully as +his own. He takes out the bit of iron before the audience--another +laugh at our expense--then with this same bread he attracts the +duck as before. He repeats the experiment with a piece of bread +cut by a third person in full view of the audience. He does it with +his glove, with his finger-tip. Finally he goes into the middle of +the room and in the emphatic tones used by such persons he declares +that his duck will obey his voice as readily as his hand; he speaks +and the duck obeys; he bids him go to the right and he goes, to come +back again and he comes. The movement is as ready as the command. +The growing applause completes our discomfiture. We slip away +unnoticed and shut ourselves up in our room, without relating our +successes to everybody as we had expected. + +Next day there is a knock at the door. When I open it there is the +conjuror, who makes a modest complaint with regard to our conduct. +What had he done that we should try to discredit his tricks and deprive +him of his livelihood? What is there so wonderful in attracting a +duck that we should purchase this honour at the price of an honest +man's living? "My word, gentlemen! had I any other trade by which +I could earn a living I would not pride myself on this. You may +well believe that a man who has spent his life at this miserable +trade knows more about it than you who only give your spare time to +it. If I did not show you my best tricks at first, it was because +one must not be so foolish as to display all one knows at once. I +always take care to keep my best tricks for emergencies; and I have +plenty more to prevent young folks from meddling. However, I have +come, gentlemen, in all kindness, to show you the trick that gave +you so much trouble; I only beg you not to use it to my hurt, and +to be more discreet in future." He then shows us his apparatus, +and to our great surprise we find it is merely a strong magnet in +the hand of a boy concealed under the table. The man puts up his +things, and after we have offered our thanks and apologies, we try +to give him something. He refuses it. "No, gentlemen," says he, "I +owe you no gratitude and I will not accept your gift. I leave you +in my debt in spite of all, and that is my only revenge. Generosity +may be found among all sorts of people, and I earn my pay by doing +my tricks not by teaching them." + +As he is going he blames me out-right. "I can make excuses for the +child," he says, "he sinned in ignorance. But you, sir, should know +better. Why did you let him do it? As you are living together and +you are older than he, you should look after him and give him good +advice. Your experience should be his guide. When he is grown up +he will reproach, not only himself, but you, for the faults of his +youth." + +When he is gone we are greatly downcast. I blame myself for my +easy-going ways. I promise the child that another time I will put +his interests first and warn him against faults before he falls into +them, for the time is coming when our relations will be changed, +when the severity of the master must give way to the friendliness +of the comrade; this change must come gradually, you must look +ahead, and very far ahead. + +We go to the fair again the next day to see the trick whose secret +we know. We approach our Socrates, the conjuror, with profound +respect, we scarcely dare to look him in the face. He overwhelms +us with politeness, gives us the best places, and heaps coals of +fire on our heads. He goes through his performance as usual, but +he lingers affectionately over the duck, and often glances proudly +in our direction. We are in the secret, but we do not tell. If my +pupil did but open his mouth he would be worthy of death. + +There is more meaning than you suspect in this detailed illustration. +How many lessons in one! How mortifying are the results of a first +impulse towards vanity! Young tutor, watch this first impulse +carefully. If you can use it to bring about shame and disgrace, +you may be sure it will not recur for many a day. What a fuss you +will say. Just so; and all to provide a compass which will enable +us to dispense with a meridian! + +Having learnt that a magnet acts through other bodies, our next +business is to construct a bit of apparatus similar to that shown +us. A bare table, a shallow bowl placed on it and filled with water, +a duck rather better finished than the first, and so on. We often +watch the thing and at last we notice that the duck, when at rest, +always turns the same way. We follow up this observation; we examine +the direction, we find that it is from south to north. Enough! we +have found our compass or its equivalent; the study of physics is +begun. + +There are various regions of the earth, and these regions differ +in temperature. The variation is more evident as we approach the +poles; all bodies expand with heat and contract with cold; this +is best measured in liquids and best of all in spirits; hence the +thermometer. The wind strikes the face, then the air is a body, +a fluid; we feel it though we cannot see it. I invert a glass in +water; the water will not fill it unless you leave a passage for +the escape of the air; so air is capable of resistance. Plunge the +glass further in the water; the water will encroach on the air-space +without filling it entirely; so air yields somewhat to pressure. +A ball filled with compressed air bounces better than one filled +with anything else; so air is elastic. Raise your arm horizontally +from the water when you are lying in your bath; you will feel a +terrible weight on it; so air is a heavy body. By establishing an +equilibrium between air and other fluids its weight can be measured, +hence the barometer, the siphon, the air-gun, and the air-pump. All +the laws of statics and hydrostatics are discovered by such rough +experiments. For none of these would I take the child into a physical +cabinet; I dislike that array of instruments and apparatus. The +scientific atmosphere destroys science. Either the child is +frightened by these instruments or his attention, which should be +fixed on their effects, is distracted by their appearance. + +We shall make all our apparatus ourselves, and I would not make it +beforehand, but having caught a glimpse of the experiment by chance +we mean to invent step by step an instrument for its verification. +I would rather our apparatus was somewhat clumsy and imperfect, +but our ideas clear as to what the apparatus ought to be, and the +results to be obtained by means of it. For my first lesson in statics, +instead of fetching a balance, I lay a stick across the back of a +chair, I measure the two parts when it is balanced; add equal or +unequal weights to either end; by pulling or pushing it as required, +I find at last that equilibrium is the result of a reciprocal +proportion between the amount of the weights and the length of +the levers. Thus my little physicist is ready to rectify a balance +before ever he sees one. + +Undoubtedly the notions of things thus acquired for oneself +are clearer and much more convincing than those acquired from the +teaching of others; and not only is our reason not accustomed to a +slavish submission to authority, but we develop greater ingenuity +in discovering relations, connecting ideas and inventing apparatus, +than when we merely accept what is given us and allow our minds to +be enfeebled by indifference, like the body of a man whose servants +always wait on him, dress him and put on his shoes, whose horse +carries him, till he loses the use of his limbs. Boileau used to +boast that he had taught Racine the art of rhyming with difficulty. +Among the many short cuts to science, we badly need some one to +teach us the art of learning with difficulty. + +The most obvious advantage of these slow and laborious inquiries +is this: the scholar, while engaged in speculative studies, is +actively using his body, gaining suppleness of limb, and training +his hands to labour so that he will be able to make them useful +when he is a man. Too much apparatus, designed to guide us in our +experiments and to supplement the exactness of our senses, makes +us neglect to use those senses. The theodolite makes it unnecessary +to estimate the size of angles; the eye which used to judge distances +with much precision, trusts to the chain for its measurements; the +steel yard dispenses with the need of judging weight by the hand +as I used to do. The more ingenious our apparatus, the coarser and +more unskilful are our senses. We surround ourselves with tools +and fail to use those with which nature has provided every one of +us. + +But when we devote to the making of these instruments the skill +which did instead of them, when for their construction we use the +intelligence which enabled us to dispense with them, this is gain +not loss, we add art to nature, we gain ingenuity without loss of +skill. If instead of making a child stick to his books I employ +him in a workshop, his hands work for the development of his mind. +While he fancies himself a workman he is becoming a philosopher. +Moreover, this exercise has other advantages of which I shall speak +later; and you will see how, through philosophy in sport, one may +rise to the real duties of man. + +I have said already that purely theoretical science is hardly +suitable for children, even for children approaching adolescence; +but without going far into theoretical physics, take care that all +their experiments are connected together by some chain of reasoning, +so that they may follow an orderly sequence in the mind, and may +be recalled at need; for it is very difficult to remember isolated +facts or arguments, when there is no cue for their recall. + +In your inquiry into the laws of nature always begin with the +commonest and most conspicuous phenomena, and train your scholar +not to accept these phenomena as causes but as facts. I take a +stone and pretend to place it in the air; I open my hand, the stone +falls. I see Emile watching my action and I say, "Why does this +stone fall?" + +What child will hesitate over this question? None, not even Emile, +unless I have taken great pains to teach him not to answer. Every +one will say, "The stone falls because it is heavy." "And what do +you mean by heavy?" "That which falls." "So the stone falls because +it falls?" Here is a poser for my little philosopher. This is his +first lesson in systematic physics, and whether he learns physics +or no it is a good lesson in common-sense. + +As the child develops in intelligence other important considerations +require us to be still more careful in our choice of his occupations. +As soon as he has sufficient self-knowledge to understand what +constitutes his well-being, as soon as he can grasp such far-reaching +relations as to judge what is good for him and what is not, then +he is able to discern the difference between work and play, and +to consider the latter merely as relaxation. The objects of real +utility may be introduced into his studies and may lead him to more +prolonged attention than he gave to his games. The ever-recurring +law of necessity soon teaches a man to do what he does not like, +so as to avert evils which he would dislike still more. Such is +the use of foresight, and this foresight, well or ill used, is the +source of all the wisdom or the wretchedness of mankind. + +Every one desires happiness, but to secure it he must know what +happiness is. For the natural man happiness is as simple as his +life; it consists in the absence of pain; health, freedom, the +necessaries of life are its elements. The happiness of the moral man +is another matter, but it does not concern us at present. I cannot +repeat too often that it is only objects which can be perceived +by the senses which can have any interest for children, especially +children whose vanity has not been stimulated nor their minds +corrupted by social conventions. + +As soon as they foresee their needs before they feel them, their +intelligence has made a great step forward, they are beginning to +know the value of time. They must then be trained to devote this +time to useful purposes, but this usefulness should be such as +they can readily perceive and should be within the reach of their +age and experience. What concerns the moral order and the customs +of society should not yet be given them, for they are not in a +condition to understand it. It is folly to expect them to attend +to things vaguely described as good for them, when they do not know +what this good is, things which they are assured will be to their +advantage when they are grown up, though for the present they take +no interest in this so-called advantage, which they are unable to +understand. + +Let the child do nothing because he is told; nothing is good for +him but what he recognises as good. When you are always urging him +beyond his present understanding, you think you are exercising a +foresight which you really lack. To provide him with useless tools +which he may never require, you deprive him of man's most useful +tool--common-sense. You would have him docile as a child; he will +be a credulous dupe when he grows up. You are always saying, "What +I ask is for your good, though you cannot understand it. What does +it matter to me whether you do it or not; my efforts are entirely +on your account." All these fine speeches with which you hope to +make him good, are preparing the way, so that the visionary, the +tempter, the charlatan, the rascal, and every kind of fool may +catch him in his snare or draw him into his folly. + +A man must know many things which seem useless to a child, but +need the child learn, or can he indeed learn, all that the man must +know? Try to teach the child what is of use to a child and you +will find that it takes all his time. Why urge him to the studies +of an age he may never reach, to the neglect of those studies which +meet his present needs? "But," you ask, "will it not be too late +to learn what he ought to know when the time comes to use it?" +I cannot tell; but this I do know, it is impossible to teach it +sooner, for our real teachers are experience and emotion, and man +will never learn what befits a man except under its own conditions. +A child knows he must become a man; all the ideas he may have as +to man's estate are so many opportunities for his instruction, but +he should remain in complete ignorance of those ideas which are +beyond his grasp. My whole book is one continued argument in support +of this fundamental principle of education. + +As soon as we have contrived to give our pupil an idea of the +word "Useful," we have got an additional means of controlling him, +for this word makes a great impression on him, provided that its +meaning for him is a meaning relative to his own age, and provided +he clearly sees its relation to his own well-being. This word makes +no impression on your scholars because you have taken no pains to +give it a meaning they can understand, and because other people +always undertake to supply their needs so that they never require +to think for themselves, and do not know what utility is. + +"What is the use of that?" In future this is the sacred formula, +the formula by which he and I test every action of our lives. This +is the question with which I invariably answer all his questions; +it serves to check the stream of foolish and tiresome questions with +which children weary those about them. These incessant questions +produce no result, and their object is rather to get a hold over +you than to gain any real advantage. A pupil, who has been really +taught only to want to know what is useful, questions like Socrates; +he never asks a question without a reason for it, for he knows he +will be required to give his reason before he gets an answer. + +See what a powerful instrument I have put into your hands for use +with your pupil. As he does not know the reason for anything you +can reduce him to silence almost at will; and what advantages do +your knowledge and experience give you to show him the usefulness +of what you suggest. For, make no mistake about it, when you put +this question to him, you are teaching him to put it to you, and +you must expect that whatever you suggest to him in the future he +will follow your own example and ask, "What is the use of this?" + +Perhaps this is the greatest of the tutor's difficulties. If you +merely try to put the child off when he asks a question, and if +you give him a single reason he is not able to understand, if he +finds that you reason according to your own ideas, not his, he will +think what you tell him is good for you but not for him; you will +lose his confidence and all your labour is thrown away. But what +master will stop short and confess his faults to his pupil? We +all make it a rule never to own to the faults we really have. Now +I would make it a rule to admit even the faults I have not, if I +could not make my reasons clear to him; as my conduct will always +be intelligible to him, he will never doubt me and I shall gain +more credit by confessing my imaginary faults than those who conceal +their real defects. + +In the first place do not forget that it is rarely your business +to suggest what he ought to learn; it is for him to want to learn, +to seek and to find it. You should put it within his reach, you +should skilfully awaken the desire and supply him with means for +its satisfaction. So your questions should be few and well-chosen, +and as he will always have more questions to put to you than you +to him, you will always have the advantage and will be able to ask +all the oftener, "What is the use of that question?" Moreover, as +it matters little what he learns provided he understands it and +knows how to use it, as soon as you cannot give him a suitable +explanation give him none at all. Do not hesitate to say, "I have +no good answer to give you; I was wrong, let us drop the subject." +If your teaching was really ill-chosen there is no harm in dropping +it altogether; if it was not, with a little care you will soon find +an opportunity of making its use apparent to him. + +I do not like verbal explanations. Young people pay little heed to +them, nor do they remember them. Things! Things! I cannot repeat it +too often. We lay too much stress upon words; we teachers babble, +and our scholars follow our example. + +Suppose we are studying the course of the sun and the way to find +our bearings, when all at once Emile interrupts me with the question, +"What is the use of that?" what a fine lecture I might give, how +many things I might take occasion to teach him in reply to his +question, especially if there is any one there. I might speak of the +advantages of travel, the value of commerce, the special products +of different lands and the peculiar customs of different nations, +the use of the calendar, the way to reckon the seasons for agriculture, +the art of navigation, how to steer our course at sea, how to find +our way without knowing exactly where we are. Politics, natural +history, astronomy, even morals and international law are involved +in my explanation, so as to give my pupil some idea of all these +sciences and a great wish to learn them. When I have finished I +shall have shown myself a regular pedant, I shall have made a great +display of learning, and not one single idea has he understood. +He is longing to ask me again, "What is the use of taking one's +bearings?" but he dare not for fear of vexing me. He finds it pays +best to pretend to listen to what he is forced to hear. This is +the practical result of our fine systems of education. + +But Emile is educated in a simpler fashion. We take so much pains +to teach him a difficult idea that he will have heard nothing of +all this. At the first word he does not understand, he will run +away, he will prance about the room, and leave me to speechify by +myself. Let us seek a more commonplace explanation; my scientific +learning is of no use to him. + +We were observing the position of the forest to the north of +Montmorency when he interrupted me with the usual question, "What +is the use of that?" "You are right," I said. "Let us take time to +think it over, and if we find it is no use we will drop it, for we +only want useful games." We find something else to do and geography +is put aside for the day. + +Next morning I suggest a walk before breakfast; there is nothing +he would like better; children are always ready to run about, and +he is a good walker. We climb up to the forest, we wander through +its clearings and lose ourselves; we have no idea where we are, +and when we want to retrace our steps we cannot find the way. Time +passes, we are hot and hungry; hurrying vainly this way and that we +find nothing but woods, quarries, plains, not a landmark to guide +us. Very hot, very tired, very hungry, we only get further astray. +At last we sit down to rest and to consider our position. I assume +that Emile has been educated like an ordinary child. He does not +think, he begins to cry; he has no idea we are close to Montmorency, +which is hidden from our view by a mere thicket; but this thicket +is a forest to him, a man of his size is buried among bushes. After +a few minutes' silence I begin anxiously---- + +JEAN JACQUES. My dear Emile, what shall we do get out? + +EMILE. I am sure I do not know. I am tired, I am hungry, I am +thirsty. I cannot go any further. + +JEAN JACQUES. Do you suppose I am any better off? I would cry too +if I could make my breakfast off tears. Crying is no use, we must +look about us. Let us see your watch; what time is it? + +EMILE. It is noon and I am so hungry! + +JEAN JACQUES. Just so; it is noon and I am so hungry too. + +EMILE. You must be very hungry indeed. + +JEAN JACQUES. Unluckily my dinner won't come to find me. It is +twelve o'clock. This time yesterday we were observing the position +of the forest from Montmorency. If only we could see the position +of Montmorency from the forest. + +EMILE. But yesterday we could see the forest, and here we cannot +see the town. + +JEAN JACQUES. That is just it. If we could only find it without +seeing it. + +EMILE. Oh! my dear friend! + +JEAN JACQUES. Did not we say the forest was... + +EMILE. North of Montmorency. + +JEAN JACQUES. Then Montmorency must lie... + +EMILE. South of the forest. + +JEAN JACQUES. We know how to find the north at midday. + +EMILE. Yes, by the direction of the shadows. + +JEAN JACQUES. But the south? + +EMILE. What shall we do? + +JEAN JACQUES. The south is opposite the north. + +EMILE. That is true; we need only find the opposite of the shadows. +That is the south! That is the south! Montmorency must be over +there! Let us look for it there! + +JEAN JACQUES. Perhaps you are right; let us follow this path through +the wood. + +EMILE. (Clapping his hands.) Oh, I can see Montmorency! there it +is, quite plain, just in front of us! Come to luncheon, come to +dinner, make haste! Astronomy is some use after all. + +Be sure that he thinks this if he does not say it; no matter which, +provided I do not say it myself. He will certainly never forget +this day's lesson as long as he lives, while if I had only led him +to think of all this at home, my lecture would have been forgotten +the next day. Teach by doing whenever you can, and only fall back +upon words when doing is out of the question. + +The reader will not expect me to have such a poor opinion of +him as to supply him with an example of every kind of study; but, +whatever is taught, I cannot too strongly urge the tutor to adapt +his instances to the capacity of his scholar; for once more I repeat +the risk is not in what he does not know, but in what he thinks he +knows. + +I remember how I once tried to give a child a taste for chemistry. +After showing him several metallic precipitates, I explained how +ink was made. I told him how its blackness was merely the result of +fine particles of iron separated from the vitriol and precipitated +by an alkaline solution. In the midst of my learned explanation +the little rascal pulled me up short with the question I myself had +taught him. I was greatly puzzled. After a few moments' thought +I decided what to do. I sent for some wine from the cellar of our +landlord, and some very cheap wine from a wine-merchant. I took a +small [Footnote: Before giving any explanation to a child a little +bit of apparatus serves to fix his attention.] flask of an alkaline +solution, and placing two glasses before me filled with the two +sorts of wine, I said. + +Food and drink are adulterated to make them seem better than +they really are. These adulterations deceive both the eye and the +palate, but they are unwholesome and make the adulterated article +even worse than before in spite of its fine appearance. + +All sorts of drinks are adulterated, and wine more than others; +for the fraud is more difficult to detect, and more profitable to +the fraudulent person. + +Sour wine is adulterated with litharge; litharge is a preparation +of lead. Lead in combination with acids forms a sweet salt which +corrects the harsh taste of the sour wine, but it is poisonous. So +before we drink wine of doubtful quality we should be able to tell +if there is lead in it. This is how I should do it. + +Wine contains not merely an inflammable spirit as you have seen +from the brandy made from it; it also contains an acid as you know +from the vinegar made from it. + +This acid has an affinity for metals, it combines with them and +forms salts, such as iron-rust, which is only iron dissolved by the +acid in air or water, or such as verdegris, which is only copper +dissolved in vinegar. + +But this acid has a still greater affinity for alkalis than for +metals, so that when we add alkalis to the above-mentioned salts, +the acid sets free the metal with which it had combined, and combines +with the alkali. + +Then the metal, set free by the acid which held it in solution, is +precipitated and the liquid becomes opaque. + +If then there is litharge in either of these glasses of wine, the +acid holds the litharge in solution. When I pour into it an alkaline +solution, the acid will be forced to set the lead free in order +to combine with the alkali. The lead, no longer held in solution, +will reappear, the liquor will become thick, and after a time the +lead will be deposited at the bottom of the glass. + +If there is no lead [Footnote: The wine sold by retail dealers in +Paris is rarely free from lead, though some of it does not contain +litharge, for the counters are covered with lead and when the wine +is poured into the measures and some of it spilt upon the counter +and the measures left standing on the counter, some of the lead +is always dissolved. It is strange that so obvious and dangerous +an abuse should be tolerated by the police. But indeed well-to-do +people, who rarely drink these wines, are not likely to be poisoned +by them.] nor other metal in the wine the alkali will slowly +[Footnote: The vegetable acid is very gentle in its action. If it +were a mineral acid and less diluted, the combination would not +take place without effervescence.] combine with the acid, all will +remain clear and there will be no precipitate. + +Then I poured my alkaline solution first into one glass and then +into the other. The wine from our own house remained clear and +unclouded, the other at once became turbid, and an hour later the +lead might be plainly seen, precipitated at the bottom of the glass. + +"This," said I, "is a pure natural wine and fit to drink; the +other is adulterated and poisonous. You wanted to know the use of +knowing how to make ink. If you can make ink you can find out what +wines are adulterated." + +I was very well pleased with my illustration, but I found it made +little impression on my pupil. When I had time to think about it I +saw I had been a fool, for not only was it impossible for a child +of twelve to follow my explanations, but the usefulness of the +experiment did not appeal to him; he had tasted both glasses of +wine and found them both good, so he attached no meaning to the word +"adulterated" which I thought I had explained so nicely. Indeed, +the other words, "unwholesome" and "poison," had no meaning whatever +for him; he was in the same condition as the boy who told the story +of Philip and his doctor. It is the condition of all children. + +The relation of causes and effects whose connection is unknown +to us, good and ill of which we have no idea, the needs we have +never felt, have no existence for us. It is impossible to interest +ourselves in them sufficiently to make us do anything connected +with them. At fifteen we become aware of the happiness of a good +man, as at thirty we become aware of the glory of Paradise. If +we had no clear idea of either we should make no effort for their +attainment; and even if we had a clear idea of them, we should make +little or no effort unless we desired them and unless we felt we +were made for them. It is easy to convince a child that what you +wish to teach him is useful, but it is useless to convince if you +cannot also persuade. Pure reason may lead us to approve or censure, +but it is feeling which leads to action, and how shall we care +about that which does not concern us? + +Never show a child what he cannot see. Since mankind is almost +unknown to him, and since you cannot make a man of him, bring the +man down to the level of the child. While you are thinking what +will be useful to him when he is older, talk to him of what he +knows he can use now. Moreover, as soon as he begins to reason let +there be no comparison with other children, no rivalry, no competition, +not even in running races. I would far rather he did not learn +anything than have him learn it through jealousy or self-conceit. +Year by year I shall just note the progress he had made, I shall +compare the results with those of the following year, I shall say, +"You have grown so much; that is the ditch you jumped, the weight +you carried, the distance you flung a pebble, the race you ran +without stopping to take breath, etc.; let us see what you can do +now." + +In this way he is stimulated to further effort without jealousy. +He wants to excel himself as he ought to do; I see no reason why +he should not emulate his own performances. + +I hate books; they only teach us to talk about things we know +nothing about. Hermes, they say, engraved the elements of science +on pillars lest a deluge should destroy them. Had he imprinted +them on men's hearts they would have been preserved by tradition. +Well-trained minds are the pillars on which human knowledge is most +deeply engraved. + +Is there no way of correlating so many lessons scattered through +so many books, no way of focussing them on some common object, easy +to see, interesting to follow, and stimulating even to a child? +Could we but discover a state in which all man's needs appear in +such a way as to appeal to the child's mind, a state in which the +ways of providing for these needs are as easily developed, the +simple and stirring portrayal of this state should form the earliest +training of the child's imagination. + +Eager philosopher, I see your own imagination at work. Spare yourself +the trouble; this state is already known, it is described, with +due respect to you, far better than you could describe it, at least +with greater truth and simplicity. Since we must have books, there +is one book which, to my thinking, supplies the best treatise on +an education according to nature. This is the first book Emile will +read; for a long time it will form his whole library, and it will +always retain an honoured place. It will be the text to which all +our talks about natural science are but the commentary. It will +serve to test our progress towards a right judgment, and it will +always be read with delight, so long as our taste is unspoilt. What +is this wonderful book? Is it Aristotle? Pliny? Buffon? No; it is +Robinson Crusoe. + +Robinson Crusoe on his island, deprived of the help of his +fellow-men, without the means of carrying on the various arts, yet +finding food, preserving his life, and procuring a certain amount +of comfort; this is the thing to interest people of all ages, and +it can be made attractive to children in all sorts of ways. We shall +thus make a reality of that desert island which formerly served as +an illustration. The condition, I confess, is not that of a social +being, nor is it in all probability Emile's own condition, but he +should use it as a standard of comparison for all other conditions. +The surest way to raise him above prejudice and to base his judgments +on the true relations of things, is to put him in the place of a +solitary man, and to judge all things as they would be judged by +such a man in relation to their own utility. + +This novel, stripped of irrelevant matter, begins with Robinson's +shipwreck on his island, and ends with the coming of the ship which +bears him from it, and it will furnish Emile with material, both +for work and play, during the whole period we are considering. +His head should be full of it, he should always be busy with his +castle, his goats, his plantations. Let him learn in detail, not +from books but from things, all that is necessary in such a case. +Let him think he is Robinson himself; let him see himself clad in +skins, wearing a tall cap, a great cutlass, all the grotesque get-up +of Robinson Crusoe, even to the umbrella which he will scarcely +need. He should anxiously consider what steps to take; will this +or that be wanting. He should examine his hero's conduct; has he +omitted nothing; is there nothing he could have done better? He +should carefully note his mistakes, so as not to fall into them +himself in similar circumstances, for you may be sure he will plan +out just such a settlement for himself. This is the genuine castle +in the air of this happy age, when the child knows no other happiness +but food and freedom. + +What a motive will this infatuation supply in the hands of a skilful +teacher who has aroused it for the purpose of using it. The child +who wants to build a storehouse on his desert island will be more +eager to learn than the master to teach. He will want to know all +sorts of useful things and nothing else; you will need the curb as +well as the spur. Make haste, therefore, to establish him on his +island while this is all he needs to make him happy; for the day is +at hand, when, if he must still live on his island, he will not be +content to live alone, when even the companionship of Man Friday, +who is almost disregarded now, will not long suffice. + +The exercise of the natural arts, which may be carried on by +one man alone, leads on to the industrial arts which call for the +cooperation of many hands. The former may be carried on by hermits, +by savages, but the others can only arise in a society, and they +make society necessary. So long as only bodily needs are recognised +man is self-sufficing; with superfluity comes the need for division +and distribution of labour, for though one man working alone can +earn a man's living, one hundred men working together can earn the +living of two hundred. As soon as some men are idle, others must +work to make up for their idleness. + +Your main object should be to keep out of your scholar's way all +idea of such social relations as he cannot understand, but when +the development of knowledge compels you to show him the mutual +dependence of mankind, instead of showing him its moral side, turn +all his attention at first towards industry and the mechanical arts +which make men useful to one another. While you take him from one +workshop to another, let him try his hand at every trade you show +him, and do not let him leave it till he has thoroughly learnt why +everything is done, or at least everything that has attracted his +attention. With this aim you should take a share in his work and +set him an example. Be yourself the apprentice that he may become +a master; you may expect him to learn more in one hour's work than +he would retain after a whole day's explanation. + +The value set by the general public on the various arts is in +inverse ratio to their real utility. They are even valued directly +according to their uselessness. This might be expected. The most useful +arts are the worst paid, for the number of workmen is regulated by +the demand, and the work which everybody requires must necessarily be +paid at a rate which puts it within the reach of the poor. On the +other hand, those great people who are called artists, not artisans, +who labour only for the rich and idle, put a fancy price on their +trifles; and as the real value of this vain labour is purely +imaginary, the price itself adds to their market value, and they +are valued according to their costliness. The rich think so much +of these things, not because they are useful, but because they are +beyond the reach of the poor. Nolo habere bona, nisi quibus populus +inviderit. + +What will become of your pupils if you let them acquire this foolish +prejudice, if you share it yourself? If, for instance, they see you +show more politeness in a jeweller's shop than in a locksmith's. +What idea will they form of the true worth of the arts and the real +value of things when they see, on the one hand, a fancy price and, +on the other, the price of real utility, and that the more a thing +costs the less it is worth? As soon as you let them get hold of +these ideas, you may give up all attempt at further education; in +spite of you they will be like all the other scholars--you have +wasted fourteen years. + +Emile, bent on furnishing his island, will look at things from another +point of view. Robinson would have thought more of a toolmaker's +shop than all Saide's trifles put together. He would have reckoned +the toolmaker a very worthy man, and Saide little more than a +charlatan. + +"My son will have to take the world as he finds it, he will not +live among the wise but among fools; he must therefore be acquainted +with their follies, since they must be led by this means. A real +knowledge of things may be a good thing in itself, but the knowledge +of men and their opinions is better, for in human society man is +the chief tool of man, and the wisest man is he who best knows the +use of this tool. What is the good of teaching children an imaginary +system, just the opposite of the established order of things, among +which they will have to live? First teach them wisdom, then show +them the follies of mankind." + +These are the specious maxims by which fathers, who mistake them for +prudence, strive to make their children the slaves of the prejudices +in which they are educated, and the puppets of the senseless crowd, +which they hope to make subservient to their passions. How much +must be known before we attain to a knowledge of man. This is the +final study of the philosopher, and you expect to make it the first +lesson of the child! Before teaching him our sentiments, first +teach him to judge of their worth. Do you perceive folly when you +mistake it for wisdom? To be wise we must discern between good and +evil. How can your child know men, when he can neither judge of +their judgments nor unravel their mistakes? It is a misfortune to +know what they think, without knowing whether their thoughts are +true or false. First teach him things as they really are, afterwards +you will teach him how they appear to us. He will then be able to +make a comparison between popular ideas and truth, and be able to +rise above the vulgar crowd; for you are unaware of the prejudices +you adopt, and you do not lead a nation when you are like it. But +if you begin to teach the opinions of other people before you teach +how to judge of their worth, of one thing you may be sure, your +pupil will adopt those opinions whatever you may do, and you will +not succeed in uprooting them. I am therefore convinced that to +make a young man judge rightly, you must form his judgment rather +than teach him your own. + +So far you see I have not spoken to my pupil about men; he would +have too much sense to listen to me. His relations to other people +are as yet not sufficiently apparent to him to enable him to judge +others by himself. The only person he knows is himself, and his +knowledge of himself is very imperfect. But if he forms few opinions +about others, those opinions are correct. He knows nothing of +another's place, but he knows his own and keeps to it. I have bound +him with the strong cord of necessity, instead of social laws, which +are beyond his knowledge. He is still little more than a body; let +us treat him as such. + +Every substance in nature and every work of man must be judged +in relation to his own use, his own safety, his own preservation, +his own comfort. Thus he should value iron far more than gold, and +glass than diamonds; in the same way he has far more respect for a +shoemaker or a mason than for a Lempereur, a Le Blanc, or all the +jewellers in Europe. In his eyes a confectioner is a really great +man, and he would give the whole academy of sciences for the smallest +pastrycook in Lombard Street. Goldsmiths, engravers, gilders, and +embroiderers, he considers lazy people, who play at quite useless +games. He does not even think much of a clockmaker. The happy +child enjoys Time without being a slave to it; he uses it, but he +does not know its value. The freedom from passion which makes every +day alike to him, makes any means of measuring time unnecessary. +When I assumed that Emile had a watch, [Footnote: When our hearts +are abandoned to the sway of passion, then it is that we need +a measure of time. The wise man's watch is his equable temper and +his peaceful heart. He is always punctual, and he always knows the +time.] just as I assumed that he cried, it was a commonplace Emile +that I chose to serve my purpose and make myself understood. The +real Emile, a child so different from the rest, would not serve as +an illustration for anything. + +There is an order no less natural and even more accurate, by which +the arts are valued according to bonds of necessity which connect +them; the highest class consists of the most independent, the +lowest of those most dependent on others. This classification, +which suggests important considerations on the order of society in +general, is like the preceding one in that it is subject to the same +inversion in popular estimation, so that the use of raw material +is the work of the lowest and worst paid trades, while the oftener +the material changes hands, the more the work rises in price and +in honour. I do not ask whether industry is really greater and more +deserving of reward when engaged in the delicate arts which give +the final shape to these materials, than in the labour which first +gave them to man's use; but this I say, that in everything the +art which is most generally useful and necessary, is undoubtedly +that which most deserves esteem, and that art which requires the +least help from others, is more worthy of honour than those which +are dependent on other arts, since it is freer and more nearly +independent. These are the true laws of value in the arts; all +others are arbitrary and dependent on popular prejudice. + +Agriculture is the earliest and most honourable of arts; metal work +I put next, then carpentry, and so on. This is the order in which +the child will put them, if he has not been spoilt by vulgar +prejudices. What valuable considerations Emile will derive from +his Robinson in such matters. What will he think when he sees the +arts only brought to perfection by sub-division, by the infinite +multiplication of tools. He will say, "All those people are as +silly as they are ingenious; one would think they were afraid to +use their eyes and their hands, they invent so many tools instead. +To carry on one trade they become the slaves of many others; every +single workman needs a whole town. My friend and I try to gain +skill; we only make tools we can take about with us; these people, +who are so proud of their talents in Paris, would be no use at all +on our island; they would have to become apprentices." + +Reader, do not stay to watch the bodily exercises and manual skill +of our pupil, but consider the bent we are giving to his childish +curiosity; consider his common-sense, his inventive spirit, his +foresight; consider what a head he will have on his shoulders. He +will want to know all about everything he sees or does, to learn +the why and the wherefore of it; from tool to tool he will go back +to the first beginning, taking nothing for granted; he will decline +to learn anything that requires previous knowledge which he has not +acquired. If he sees a spring made he will want to know how they +got the steel from the mine; if he sees the pieces of a chest put +together, he will want to know how the tree was out down; when at +work he will say of each tool, "If I had not got this, how could +I make one like it, or how could I get along without it?" + +It is, however, difficult to avoid another error. When the master +is very fond of certain occupations, he is apt to assume that +the child shares his tastes; beware lest you are carried away by +the interest of your work, while the child is bored by it, but is +afraid to show it. The child must come first, and you must devote +yourself entirely to him. Watch him, study him constantly, without +his knowing it; consider his feelings beforehand, and provide against +those which are undesirable, keep him occupied in such a way that +he not only feels the usefulness of the thing, but takes a pleasure +in understanding the purpose which his work will serve. + +The solidarity of the arts consists in the exchange of industry, +that of commerce in the exchange of commodities, that of banks in +the exchange of money or securities. All these ideas hang together, +and their foundation has already been laid in early childhood +with the help of Robert the gardener. All we have now to do is to +substitute general ideas for particular, and to enlarge these ideas +by means of numerous examples, so as to make the child understand +the game of business itself, brought home to him by means of +particular instances of natural history with regard to the special +products of each country, by particular instances of the arts and +sciences which concern navigation and the difficulties of transport, +greater or less in proportion to the distance between places, the +position of land, seas, rivers, etc. + +There can be no society without exchange, no exchange without a +common standard of measurement, no common standard of measurement +without equality. Hence the first law of every society is some +conventional equality either in men or things. + +Conventional equality between men, a very different thing from +natural equality, leads to the necessity for positive law, i.e., +government and kings. A child's political knowledge should be clear +and restricted; he should know nothing of government in general, +beyond what concerns the rights of property, of which he has already +some idea. + +Conventional equality between things has led to the invention of +money, for money is only one term in a comparison between the values +of different sorts of things; and in this sense money is the real +bond of society; but anything may be money; in former days it was +cattle; shells are used among many tribes at the present day; Sparta +used iron; Sweden, leather; while we use gold and silver. + +Metals, being easier to carry, have generally been chosen as the +middle term of every exchange, and these metals have been made into +coin to save the trouble of continual weighing and measuring, for +the stamp on the coin is merely evidence that the coin is of given +weight; and the sole right of coining money is vested in the ruler +because he alone has the right to demand the recognition of his +authority by the whole nation. + +The stupidest person can perceive the use of money when it is +explained in this way. It is difficult to make a direct comparison +between various things, for instance, between cloth and corn; +but when we find a common measure, in money, it is easy for the +manufacturer and the farmer to estimate the value of the goods +they wish to exchange in terms of this common measure. If a given +quantity of cloth is worth a given some of money, and a given +quantity of corn is worth the same sum of money, then the seller, +receiving the corn in exchange for his cloth, makes a fair bargain. +Thus by means of money it becomes possible to compare the values +of goods of various kinds. + +Be content with this, and do not touch upon the moral effects of +this institution. In everything you must show clearly the use before +the abuse. If you attempt to teach children how the sign has led +to the neglect of the thing signified, how money is the source of +all the false ideas of society, how countries rich in silver must +be poor in everything else, you will be treating these children +as philosophers, and not only as philosophers but as wise men, for +you are professing to teach them what very few philosophers have +grasped. + +What a wealth of interesting objects, towards which the curiosity +of our pupil may be directed without ever quitting the real +and material relations he can understand, and without permitting +the formation of a single idea beyond his grasp! The teacher's +art consists in this: To turn the child's attention from trivial +details and to guide his thoughts continually towards relations of +importance which he will one day need to know, that he may judge +rightly of good and evil in human society. The teacher must be +able to adapt the conversation with which he amuses his pupil to +the turn already given to his mind. A problem which another child +would never heed will torment Emile half a year. + +We are going to dine with wealthy people; when we get there +everything is ready for a feast, many guests, many servants, many +dishes, dainty and elegant china. There is something intoxicating +in all these preparations for pleasure and festivity when you are +not used to them. I see how they will affect my young pupil. While +dinner is going on, while course follows course, and conversation +is loud around us, I whisper in his ear, "How many hands do you +suppose the things on this table passed through before they got +here?" What a crowd of ideas is called up by these few words. In +a moment the mists of excitement have rolled away. He is thinking, +considering, calculating, and anxious. The child is philosophising, +while philosophers, excited by wine or perhaps by female society, +are babbling like children. If he asks questions I decline to answer +and put him off to another day. He becomes impatient, he forgets +to eat and drink, he longs to get away from table and talk as he +pleases. What an object of curiosity, what a text for instruction. +Nothing has so far succeeded in corrupting his healthy reason; +what will he think of luxury when he finds that every quarter of +the globe has been ransacked, that some 2,000,000 men have laboured +for years, that many lives have perhaps been sacrificed, and all +to furnish him with fine clothes to be worn at midday and laid by +in the wardrobe at night. + +Be sure you observe what private conclusions he draws from all his +observations. If you have watched him less carefully than I suppose, +his thoughts may be tempted in another direction; he may consider +himself a person of great importance in the world, when he sees so +much labour concentrated on the preparation of his dinner. If you +suspect his thoughts will take this direction you can easily prevent +it, or at any rate promptly efface the false impression. As yet +he can only appropriate things by personal enjoyment, he can only +judge of their fitness or unfitness by their outward effects. +Compare a plain rustic meal, preceded by exercise, seasoned by +hunger, freedom, and delight, with this magnificent but tedious +repast. This will suffice to make him realise that he has got no +real advantage from the splendour of the feast, that his stomach +was as well satisfied when he left the table of the peasant, as +when he left the table of the banker; from neither had he gained +anything he could really call his own. + +Just fancy what a tutor might say to him on such an occasion. +Consider the two dinners and decide for yourself which gave you +most pleasure, which seemed the merriest, at which did you eat +and drink most heartily, which was the least tedious and required +least change of courses? Yet note the difference--this black bread +you so enjoy is made from the peasant's own harvest; his wine is +dark in colour and of a common kind, but wholesome and refreshing; +it was made in his own vineyard; the cloth is made of his own +hemp, spun and woven in the winter by his wife and daughters and +the maid; no hands but theirs have touched the food. His world is +bounded by the nearest mill and the next market. How far did you +enjoy all that the produce of distant lands and the service of +many people had prepared for you at the other dinner? If you did +not get a better meal, what good did this wealth do you? how much +of it was made for you? Had you been the master of the house, the +tutor might say, it would have been of still less use to you; for +the anxiety of displaying your enjoyment before the eyes of others +would have robbed you of it; the pains would be yours, the pleasure +theirs. + +This may be a very fine speech, but it would be thrown away upon +Emile, as he cannot understand it, and he does not accept second-hand +opinions. Speak more simply to him. After these two experiences, +say to him some day, "Where shall we have our dinner to-day? Where +that mountain of silver covered three quarters of the table and +those beds of artificial flowers on looking glass were served with +the dessert, where those smart ladies treated you as a toy and +pretended you said what you did not mean; or in that village two +leagues away, with those good people who were so pleased to see +us and gave us such delicious cream?" Emile will not hesitate; he +is not vain and he is no chatterbox; he cannot endure constraint, +and he does not care for fine dishes; but he is always ready for a +run in the country and is very fond of good fruit and vegetables, +sweet cream and kindly people. [Footnote: This taste, which I assume +my pupil to have acquired, is a natural result of his education. +Moreover, he has nothing foppish or affected about him, so that the +ladies take little notice of him and he is less petted than other +children; therefore he does not care for them, and is less spoilt +by their company; he is not yet of an age to feel its charm. I +have taken care not to teach him to kiss their hands, to pay them +compliments, or even to be more polite to them than to men. It is +my constant rule to ask nothing from him but what he can understand, +and there is no good reason why a child should treat one sex +differently from the other.] On our way, the thought will occur +to him, "All those people who laboured to prepare that grand feast +were either wasting their time or they have no idea how to enjoy +themselves." + +My example may be right for one child and wrong for the rest. If +you enter into their way of looking at things you will know how to +vary your instances as required; the choice depends on the study +of the individual temperament, and this study in turn depends on +the opportunities which occur to show this temperament. You will +not suppose that, in the three or four years at our disposal, even +the most gifted child can get an idea of all the arts and sciences, +sufficient to enable him to study them for himself when he is +older; but by bringing before him what he needs to know, we enable +him to develop his own tastes, his own talents, to take the first +step towards the object which appeals to his individuality and to +show us the road we must open up to aid the work of nature. + +There is another advantage of these trains of limited but exact +bits of knowledge; he learns by their connection and interdependence +how to rank them in his own estimation and to be on his guard +against those prejudices, common to most men, which draw them towards +the gifts they themselves cultivate and away from those they have +neglected. The man who clearly sees the whole, sees where each part +should be; the man who sees one part clearly and knows it thoroughly +may be a learned man, but the former is a wise man, and you remember +it is wisdom rather than knowledge that we hope to acquire. + +However that may be, my method does not depend on my examples; it +depends on the amount of a man's powers at different ages, and the +choice of occupations adapted to those powers. I think it would be +easy to find a method which appeared to give better results, but +if it were less suited to the type, sex, and age of the scholar, +I doubt whether the results would really be as good. + +At the beginning of this second period we took advantage of the fact +that our strength was more than enough for our needs, to enable us +to get outside ourselves. We have ranged the heavens and measured +the earth; we have sought out the laws of nature; we have explored +the whole of our island. Now let us return to ourselves, let us +unconsciously approach our own dwelling. We are happy indeed if we +do not find it already occupied by the dreaded foe, who is preparing +to seize it. + +What remains to be done when we have observed all that lies around +us? We must turn to our own use all that we can get, we must increase +our comfort by means of our curiosity. Hitherto we have provided +ourselves with tools of all kinds, not knowing which we require. +Perhaps those we do not want will be useful to others, and perhaps +we may need theirs. Thus we discover the use of exchange; but for +this we must know each other's needs, what tools other people use, +what they can offer in exchange. Given ten men, each of them has +ten different requirements. To get what he needs for himself each +must work at ten different trades; but considering our different +talents, one will do better at this trade, another at that. Each +of them, fitted for one thing, will work at all, and will be badly +served. Let us form these ten men into a society, and let each +devote himself to the trade for which he is best adapted, and let +him work at it for himself and for the rest. Each will reap the +advantage of the others' talents, just as if they were his own; by +practice each will perfect his own talent, and thus all the ten, +well provided for, will still have something to spare for others. +This is the plain foundation of all our institutions. It is not +my aim to examine its results here; I have done so in another book +(Discours sur l'inegalite). + +According to this principle, any one who wanted to consider himself as +an isolated individual, self-sufficing and independent of others, +could only be utterly wretched. He could not even continue to +exist, for finding the whole earth appropriated by others while he +had only himself, how could he get the means of subsistence? When +we leave the state of nature we compel others to do the same; no one +can remain in a state of nature in spite of his fellow-creatures, +and to try to remain in it when it is no longer practicable, would +really be to leave it, for self-preservation is nature's first law. + +Thus the idea of social relations is gradually developed in the +child's mind, before he can really be an active member of human +society. Emile sees that to get tools for his own use, other people +must have theirs, and that he can get in exchange what he needs and +they possess. I easily bring him to feel the need of such exchange +and to take advantage of it. + +"Sir, I must live," said a miserable writer of lampoons to the +minister who reproved him for his infamous trade. "I do not see the +necessity," replied the great man coldly. This answer, excellent +from the minister, would have been barbarous and untrue in any +other mouth. Every man must live; this argument, which appeals to +every one with more or less force in proportion to his humanity, +strikes me as unanswerable when applied to oneself. Since our dislike +of death is the strongest of those aversions nature has implanted +in us, it follows that everything is permissible to the man who has +no other means of living. The principles, which teach the good man +to count his life a little thing and to sacrifice it at duty's +call, are far removed from this primitive simplicity. Happy +are those nations where one can be good without effort, and just +without conscious virtue. If in this world there is any condition +so miserable that one cannot live without wrong-doing, where the +citizen is driven into evil, you should hang, not the criminal, +but those who drove him into crime. + +As soon as Emile knows what life is, my first care will be to +teach him to preserve his life. Hitherto I have made no distinction +of condition, rank, station, or fortune; nor shall I distinguish +between them in the future, since man is the same in every station; +the rich man's stomach is no bigger than the poor man's, nor is +his digestion any better; the master's arm is neither longer nor +stronger than the slave's; a great man is no taller than one of +the people, and indeed the natural needs are the same to all, and +the means of satisfying them should be equally within the reach of +all. Fit a man's education to his real self, not to what is no +part of him. Do you not see that in striving to fit him merely for +one station, you are unfitting him for anything else, so that some +caprice of Fortune may make your work really harmful to him? What +could be more absurd than a nobleman in rags, who carries with him +into his poverty the prejudices of his birth? What is more despicable +than a rich man fallen into poverty, who recalls the scorn with +which he himself regarded the poor, and feels that he has sunk to +the lowest depth of degradation? The one may become a professional +thief, the other a cringing servant, with this fine saying, "I must +live." + +You reckon on the present order of society, without considering +that this order is itself subject to inscrutable changes, and that +you can neither foresee nor provide against the revolution which +may affect your children. The great become small, the rich poor, +the king a commoner. Does fate strike so seldom that you can count +on immunity from her blows? The crisis is approaching, and we are +on the edge of a revolution. [Footnote: In my opinion it is impossible +that the great kingdoms of Europe should last much longer. Each of +them has had its period of splendour, after which it must inevitably +decline. I have my own opinions as to the special applications of +this general statement, but this is not the place to enter into +details, and they are only too evident to everybody.] Who can +answer for your fate? What man has made, man may destroy. Nature's +characters alone are ineffaceable, and nature makes neither the +prince, the rich man, nor the nobleman. This satrap whom you have +educated for greatness, what will become of him in his degradation? +This farmer of the taxes who can only live on gold, what will +he do in poverty? This haughty fool who cannot use his own hands, +who prides himself on what is not really his, what will he do when +he is stripped of all? In that day, happy will he be who can give +up the rank which is no longer his, and be still a man in Fate's +despite. Let men praise as they will that conquered monarch who +like a madman would be buried beneath the fragments of his throne; +I behold him with scorn; to me he is merely a crown, and when that +is gone he is nothing. But he who loses his crown and lives without +it, is more than a king; from the rank of a king, which may be held +by a coward, a villain, or madman, he rises to the rank of a man, +a position few can fill. Thus he triumphs over Fortune, he dares +to look her in the face; he depends on himself alone, and when he +has nothing left to show but himself he is not a nonentity, he is +somebody. Better a thousandfold the king of Corinth a schoolmaster +at Syracuse, than a wretched Tarquin, unable to be anything but +a king, or the heir of the ruler of three kingdoms, the sport of +all who would scorn his poverty, wandering from court to court in +search of help, and finding nothing but insults, for want of knowing +any trade but one which he can no longer practise. + +The man and the citizen, whoever he may be, has no property to invest +in society but himself, all his other goods belong to society in +spite of himself, and when a man is rich, either he does not enjoy +his wealth, or the public enjoys it too; in the first case he robs +others as well as himself; in the second he gives them nothing. +Thus his debt to society is still unpaid, while he only pays with +his property. "But my father was serving society while he was +acquiring his wealth." Just so; he paid his own debt, not yours. +You owe more to others than if you had been born with nothing, +since you were born under favourable conditions. It is not fair +that what one man has done for society should pay another's debt, +for since every man owes all that he is, he can only pay his own +debt, and no father can transmit to his son any right to be of no +use to mankind. "But," you say, "this is just what he does when he +leaves me his wealth, the reward of his labour." The man who eats +in idleness what he has not himself earned, is a thief, and in +my eyes, the man who lives on an income paid him by the state for +doing nothing, differs little from a highwayman who lives on those +who travel his way. Outside the pale of society, the solitary, owing +nothing to any man, may live as he pleases, but in society either +he lives at the cost of others, or he owes them in labour the cost +of his keep; there is no exception to this rule. Man in society is +bound to work; rich or poor, weak or strong, every idler is a thief. + +Now of all the pursuits by which a man may earn his living, the +nearest to a state of nature is manual labour; of all stations that +of the artisan is least dependent on Fortune. The artisan depends +on his labour alone, he is a free man while the ploughman is a +slave; for the latter depends on his field where the crops may be +destroyed by others. An enemy, a prince, a powerful neighbour, or +a law-suit may deprive him of his field; through this field he may +be harassed in all sorts of ways. But if the artisan is ill-treated +his goods are soon packed and he takes himself off. Yet agriculture +is the earliest, the most honest of trades, and more useful than +all the rest, and therefore more honourable for those who practise +it. I do not say to Emile, "Study agriculture," he is already +familiar with it. He is acquainted with every kind of rural labour, +it was his first occupation, and he returns to it continually. So +I say to him, "Cultivate your father's lands, but if you lose this +inheritance, or if you have none to lose, what will you do? Learn +a trade." + +"A trade for my son! My son a working man! What are you thinking +of, sir?" Madam, my thoughts are wiser than yours; you want to make +him fit for nothing but a lord, a marquis, or a prince; and some +day he may be less than nothing. I want to give him a rank which +he cannot lose, a rank which will always do him honour; I want to +raise him to the status of a man, and, whatever you may say, he +will have fewer equals in that rank than in your own. + +The letter killeth, the spirit giveth life. Learning a trade matters +less than overcoming the prejudices he despises. You will never be +reduced to earning your livelihood; so much the worse for you. No +matter; work for honour, not for need: stoop to the position of a +working man, to rise above your own. To conquer Fortune and everything +else, begin by independence. To rule through public opinion, begin +by ruling over it. + +Remember I demand no talent, only a trade, a genuine trade, a mere +mechanical art, in which the hands work harder than the head, a +trade which does not lead to fortune but makes you independent of +her. In households far removed from all danger of want I have known +fathers carry prudence to such a point as to provide their children +not only with ordinary teaching but with knowledge by means of which +they could get a living if anything happened. These far-sighted +parents thought they were doing a great thing. It is nothing, for +the resources they fancy they have secured depend on that very +fortune of which they would make their children independent; so +that unless they found themselves in circumstances fitted for the +display of their talents, they would die of hunger as if they had +none. + +As soon as it is a question of influence and intrigue you may as +well use these means to keep yourself in plenty, as to acquire, +in the depths of poverty, the means of returning to your former +position. If you cultivate the arts which depend on the artist's +reputation, if you fit yourself for posts which are only obtained +by favour, how will that help you when, rightly disgusted with +the world, you scorn the steps by which you must climb. You have +studied politics and state-craft, so far so good; but how will you +use this knowledge, if you cannot gain the ear of the ministers, +the favourites, or the officials? if you have not the secret of +winning their favour, if they fail to find you a rogue to their +taste? You are an architect or a painter; well and good; but your +talents must be displayed. Do you suppose you can exhibit in the +salon without further ado? That is not the way to set about it. +Lay aside the rule and the pencil, take a cab and drive from door +to door; there is the road to fame. Now you must know that the +doors of the great are guarded by porters and flunkeys, who only +understand one language, and their ears are in their palms. If +you wish to teach what you have learned, geography, mathematics, +languages, music, drawing, even to find pupils, you must have friends +who will sing your praises. Learning, remember, gains more credit +than skill, and with no trade but your own none will believe in +your skill. See how little you can depend on these fine "Resources," +and how many other resources are required before you can use what +you have got. And what will become of you in your degradation? +Misfortune will make you worse rather than better. More than ever +the sport of public opinion, how will you rise above the prejudices +on which your fate depends? How will you despise the vices and +the baseness from which you get your living? You were dependent on +wealth, now you are dependent on the wealthy; you are still a slave +and a poor man into the bargain. Poverty without freedom, can a +man sink lower than this! + +But if instead of this recondite learning adapted to feed the mind, +not the body, you have recourse, at need, to your hands and your +handiwork, there is no call for deceit, your trade is ready when +required. Honour and honesty will not stand in the way of your +living. You need no longer cringe and lie to the great, nor creep +and crawl before rogues, a despicable flatterer of both, a borrower +or a thief, for there is little to choose between them when you +are penniless. Other people's opinions are no concern of yours, +you need not pay court to any one, there is no fool to flatter, +no flunkey to bribe, no woman to win over. Let rogues conduct the +affairs of state; in your lowly rank you can still be an honest +man and yet get a living. You walk into the first workshop of your +trade. "Master, I want work." "Comrade, take your place and work." +Before dinner-time you have earned your dinner. If you are sober +and industrious, before the week is out you will have earned your +keep for another week; you will have lived in freedom, health, +truth, industry, and righteousness. Time is not wasted when it +brings these returns. + +Emile shall learn a trade. "An honest trade, at least," you say. +What do you mean by honest? Is not every useful trade honest? I +would not make an embroiderer, a gilder, a polisher of him, like +Locke's young gentleman. Neither would I make him a musician, an +actor, or an author.[Footnote: You are an author yourself, you will +reply. Yes, for my sins; and my ill deeds, which I think I have +fully expiated, are no reason why others should be like me. I do not +write to excuse my faults, but to prevent my readers from copying +them.] With the exception of these and others like them, let him +choose his own trade, I do not mean to interfere with his choice. +I would rather have him a shoemaker than a poet, I would rather he +paved streets than painted flowers on china. "But," you will say, +"policemen, spies, and hangmen are useful people." There would be +no use for them if it were not for the government. But let that +pass. I was wrong. It is not enough to choose an honest trade, +it must be a trade which does not develop detestable qualities in +the mind, qualities incompatible with humanity. To return to our +original expression, "Let us choose an honest trade," but let us +remember there can be no honesty without usefulness. + +A famous writer of this century, whose books are full of great +schemes and narrow views, was under a vow, like the other priests +of his communion, not to take a wife. Finding himself more scrupulous +than others with regard to his neighbour's wife, he decided, so +they say, to employ pretty servants, and so did his best to repair +the wrong done to the race by his rash promise. He thought it the +duty of a citizen to breed children for the state, and he made +his children artisans. As soon as they were old enough they were +taught whatever trade they chose; only idle or useless trades were +excluded, such as that of the wigmaker who is never necessary, and +may any day cease to be required, so long as nature does not get +tired of providing us with hair. + +This spirit shall guide our choice of trade for Emile, or rather, +not our choice but his; for the maxims he has imbibed make him +despise useless things, and he will never be content to waste his +time on vain labours; his trade must be of use to Robinson on his +island. + +When we review with the child the productions of art and nature, +when we stimulate his curiosity and follow its lead, we have great +opportunities of studying his tastes and inclinations, and perceiving +the first spark of genius, if he has any decided talent in any +direction. You must, however, be on your guard against the common +error which mistakes the effects of environment for the ardour of +genius, or imagines there is a decided bent towards any one of the +arts, when there is nothing more than that spirit of emulation, +common to men and monkeys, which impels them instinctively to do +what they see others doing, without knowing why. The world is full +of artisans, and still fuller of artists, who have no native gift +for their calling, into which they were driven in early childhood, +either through the conventional ideas of other people, or because +those about them were deceived by an appearance of zeal, which +would have led them to take to any other art they saw practised. One +hears a drum and fancies he is a general; another sees a building +and wants to be an architect. Every one is drawn towards the trade +he sees before him if he thinks it is held in honour. + +I once knew a footman who watched his master drawing and painting +and took it into his head to become a designer and artist. He seized +a pencil which he only abandoned for a paint-brush, to which he +stuck for the rest of his days. Without teaching or rules of art +he began to draw everything he saw. Three whole years were devoted +to these daubs, from which nothing but his duties could stir him, +nor was he discouraged by the small progress resulting from his +very mediocre talents. I have seen him spend the whole of a broiling +summer in a little ante-room towards the south, a room where one +was suffocated merely passing through it; there he was, seated +or rather nailed all day to his chair, before a globe, drawing it +again and again and yet again, with invincible obstinacy till he +had reproduced the rounded surface to his own satisfaction. At last +with his master's help and under the guidance of an artist he got +so far as to abandon his livery and live by his brush. Perseverance +does instead of talent up to a certain point; he got so far, +but no further. This honest lad's perseverance and ambition are +praiseworthy; he will always be respected for his industry and +steadfastness of purpose, but his paintings will always be third-rate. +Who would not have been deceived by his zeal and taken it for real +talent! There is all the difference in the world between a liking +and an aptitude. To make sure of real genius or real taste in a child +calls for more accurate observations than is generally suspected, +for the child displays his wishes not his capacity, and we judge by +the former instead of considering the latter. I wish some trustworthy +person would give us a treatise on the art of child-study. This +art is well worth studying, but neither parents nor teachers have +mastered its elements. + +Perhaps we are laying too much stress on the choice of a trade; as +it is a manual occupation, Emile's choice is no great matter, and +his apprenticeship is more than half accomplished already, through +the exercises which have hitherto occupied him. What would you have +him do? He is ready for anything. He can handle the spade and hoe, +he can use the lathe, hammer, plane, or file; he is already familiar +with these tools which are common to many trades. He only needs +to acquire sufficient skill in the use of any one of them to rival +the speed, the familiarity, and the diligence of good workmen, and +he will have a great advantage over them in suppleness of body and +limb, so that he can easily take any position and can continue any +kind of movements without effort. Moreover his senses are acute +and well-practised, he knows the principles of the various trades; +to work like a master of his craft he only needs experience, and +experience comes with practice. To which of these trades which are +open to us will he give sufficient time to make himself master of +it? That is the whole question. + +Give a man a trade befitting his sex, to a young man a trade befitting +his age. Sedentary indoor employments, which make the body tender +and effeminate, are neither pleasing nor suitable. No lad ever +wanted to be a tailor. It takes some art to attract a man to this +woman's work.[Footnote: There were no tailors among the ancients; +men's clothes were made at home by the women.] The same hand cannot +hold the needle and the sword. If I were king I would only allow +needlework and dressmaking to be done by women and cripples who are +obliged to work at such trades. If eunuchs were required I think +the Easterns were very foolish to make them on purpose. Why not +take those provided by nature, that crowd of base persons without +natural feeling? There would be enough and to spare. The weak, +feeble, timid man is condemned by nature to a sedentary life, he +is fit to live among women or in their fashion. Let him adopt one +of their trades if he likes; and if there must be eunuchs let them +take those men who dishonour their sex by adopting trades unworthy +of it. Their choice proclaims a blunder on the part of nature; +correct it one way or other, you will do no harm. + +An unhealthy trade I forbid to my pupil, but not a difficult or +dangerous one. He will exercise himself in strength and courage; +such trades are for men not women, who claim no share in them. Are +not men ashamed to poach upon the women's trades? + + "Luctantur paucae, comedunt coliphia paucae. + Vos lanam trahitis, calathisque peracta refertis + Vellera."--Juven. Sat. II. V. 55. + +Women are not seen in shops in Italy, and to persons accustomed +to the streets of England and France nothing could look gloomier. +When I saw drapers selling ladies ribbons, pompons, net, and chenille, +I thought these delicate ornaments very absurd in the coarse hands +fit to blow the bellows and strike the anvil. I said to myself, "In +this country women should set up as steel-polishers and armourers." +Let each make and sell the weapons of his or her own sex; knowledge +is acquired through use. + +I know I have said too much for my agreeable contemporaries, but +I sometimes let myself be carried away by my argument. If any one +is ashamed to be seen wearing a leathern apron or handling a plane, +I think him a mere slave of public opinion, ready to blush for what +is right when people poke fun at it. But let us yield to parents' +prejudices so long as they do not hurt the children. To honour +trades we are not obliged to practise every one of them, so long +as we do not think them beneath us. When the choice is ours and +we are under no compulsion, why not choose the pleasanter, more +attractive and more suitable trade. Metal work is useful, more +useful, perhaps, than the rest, but unless for some special reason +Emile shall not be a blacksmith, a locksmith nor an iron-worker. +I do not want to see him a Cyclops at the forge. Neither would I +have him a mason, still less a shoemaker. All trades must be carried +on, but when the choice is ours, cleanliness should be taken into +account; this is not a matter of class prejudice, our senses are our +guides. In conclusion, I do not like those stupid trades in which +the workmen mechanically perform the same action without pause +and almost without mental effort. Weaving, stocking-knitting, +stone-cutting; why employ intelligent men on such work? it is merely +one machine employed on another. + +All things considered, the trade I should choose for my pupil, +among the trades he likes, is that of a carpenter. It is clean and +useful; it may be carried on at home; it gives enough exercise; it +calls for skill and industry, and while fashioning articles for +everyday use, there is scope for elegance and taste. If your pupil's +talents happened to take a scientific turn, I should not blame you +if you gave him a trade in accordance with his tastes, for instance, +he might learn to make mathematical instruments, glasses, telescopes, +etc. + +When Emile learns his trade I shall learn it too. I am convinced he +will never learn anything thoroughly unless we learn it together. +So we shall both serve our apprenticeship, and we do not mean to +be treated as gentlemen, but as real apprentices who are not there +for fun; why should not we actually be apprenticed? Peter the Great +was a ship's carpenter and drummer to his own troops; was not that +prince at least your equal in birth and merit? You understand this +is addressed not to Emile but to you--to you, whoever you may be. + +Unluckily we cannot spend the whole of our time at the workshop. +We are not only 'prentice-carpenters but 'prentice-men--a trade +whose apprenticeship is longer and more exacting than the rest. +What shall we do? Shall we take a master to teach us the use of the +plane and engage him by the hour like the dancing-master? In that +case we should be not apprentices but students, and our ambition is +not merely to learn carpentry but to be carpenters. Once or twice +a week I think we should spend the whole day at our master's; we +should get up when he does, we should be at our work before him, +we should take our meals with him, work under his orders, and after +having had the honour of supping at his table we may if we please +return to sleep upon our own hard beds. This is the way to learn +several trades at once, to learn to do manual work without neglecting +our apprenticeship to life. + +Let us do what is right without ostentation; let us not fall into +vanity through our efforts to resist it. To pride ourselves on +our victory over prejudice is to succumb to prejudice. It is said +that in accordance with an old custom of the Ottomans, the sultan +is obliged to work with his hands, and, as every one knows, the +handiwork of a king is a masterpiece. So he royally distributes +his masterpieces among the great lords of the Porte and the price +paid is in accordance with the rank of the workman. It is not +this so-called abuse to which I object; on the contrary, it is an +advantage, and by compelling the lords to share with him the spoils +of the people it is so much the less necessary for the prince to +plunder the people himself. Despotism needs some such relaxation, +and without it that hateful rule could not last. + +The real evil in such a custom is the idea it gives that poor man +of his own worth. Like King Midas he sees all things turn to gold +at his touch, but he does not see the ass' ears growing. Let us +keep Emile's hands from money lest he should become an ass, let +him take the work but not the wages. Never let his work be judged +by any standard but that of the work of a master. Let it be judged +as work, not because it is his. If anything is well done, I say, +"That is a good piece of work," but do not ask who did it. If he +is pleased and proud and says, "I did it," answer indifferently, +"No matter who did it, it is well done." + +Good mother, be on your guard against the deceptions prepared for +you. If your son knows many things, distrust his knowledge; if he +is unlucky enough to be rich and educated in Paris he is ruined. +As long as there are clever artists he will have every talent, +but apart from his masters he will have none. In Paris a rich man +knows everything, it is the poor who are ignorant. Our capital +is full of amateurs, especially women, who do their work as M. +Gillaume invents his colours. Among the men I know three striking +exceptions, among the women I know no exceptions, and I doubt if +there are any. In a general way a man becomes an artist and a judge +of art as he becomes a Doctor of Laws and a magistrate. + +If then it is once admitted that it is a fine thing to have a trade, +your children would soon have one without learning it. They would +become postmasters like the councillors of Zurich. Let us have no +such ceremonies for Emile; let it be the real thing not the sham. +Do not say what he knows, let him learn in silence. Let him make +his masterpiece, but not be hailed as master; let him be a workman +not in name but in deed. + +If I have made my meaning clear you ought to realise how bodily +exercise and manual work unconsciously arouse thought and reflexion +in my pupil, and counteract the idleness which might result from +his indifference to men's judgments, and his freedom from passion. +He must work like a peasant and think like a philosopher, if he is +not to be as idle as a savage. The great secret of education is to +use exercise of mind and body as relaxation one to the other. + +But beware of anticipating teaching which demands more maturity of +mind. Emile will not long be a workman before he discovers those +social inequalities he had not previously observed. He will want +to question me in turn on the maxims I have given him, maxims he +is able to understand. When he derives everything from me, when +he is so nearly in the position of the poor, he will want to know +why I am so far removed from it. All of a sudden he may put scathing +questions to me. "You are rich, you tell me, and I see you are. A +rich man owes his work to the community like the rest because he +is a man. What are you doing for the community?" What would a fine +tutor say to that? I do not know. He would perhaps be foolish enough +to talk to the child of the care he bestows upon him. The workshop +will get me out of the difficulty. "My dear Emile that is a very +good question; I will undertake to answer for myself, when you can +answer for yourself to your own satisfaction. Meanwhile I will take +care to give what I can spare to you and to the poor, and to make +a table or a bench every week, so as not to be quite useless." + +We have come back to ourselves. Having entered into possession of +himself, our child is now ready to cease to be a child. He is more +than ever conscious of the necessity which makes him dependent on +things. After exercising his body and his senses you have exercised +his mind and his judgment. Finally we have joined together the +use of his limbs and his faculties. We have made him a worker and +a thinker; we have now to make him loving and tender-hearted, to +perfect reason through feeling. But before we enter on this new +order of things, let us cast an eye over the stage we are leaving +behind us, and perceive as clearly as we can how far we have got. + +At first our pupil had merely sensations, now he has ideas; he +could only feel, now he reasons. For from the comparison of many +successive or simultaneous sensations and the judgment arrived +at with regard to them, there springs a sort of mixed or complex +sensation which I call an idea. + +The way in which ideas are formed gives a character to the human +mind. The mind which derives its ideas from real relations is +thorough; the mind which relies on apparent relations is superficial. +He who sees relations as they are has an exact mind; he who fails +to estimate them aright has an inaccurate mind; he who concocts +imaginary relations, which have no real existence, is a madman; he +who does not perceive any relation at all is an imbecile. Clever +men are distinguished from others by their greater or less aptitude +for the comparison of ideas and the discovery of relations between +them. + +Simple ideas consist merely of sensations compared one with another. +Simple sensations involve judgments, as do the complex sensations +which I call simple ideas. In the sensation the judgment is purely +passive; it affirms that I feel what I feel. In the percept or idea +the judgment is active; it connects, compares, it discriminates +between relations not perceived by the senses. That is the whole +difference; but it is a great difference. Nature never deceives +us; we deceive ourselves. + +I see some one giving an ice-cream to an eight-year-old child; he +does not know what it is and puts the spoon in his mouth. Struck +by the cold he cries out, "Oh, it burns!" He feels a very keen +sensation, and the heat of the fire is the keenest sensation he +knows, so he thinks that is what he feels. Yet he is mistaken; cold +hurts, but it does not burn; and these two sensations are different, +for persons with more experience do not confuse them. So it is not +the sensation that is wrong, but the judgment formed with regard +to it. + +It is just the same with those who see a mirror or some optical +instrument for the first time, or enter a deep cellar in the depths +of winter or at midsummer, or dip a very hot or cold hand into tepid +water, or roll a little ball between two crossed fingers. If they +are content to say what they really feel, their judgment, being +purely passive, cannot go wrong; but when they judge according to +appearances, their judgment is active; it compares and establishes +by induction relations which are not really perceived. Then these +inductions may or may not be mistaken. Experience is required to +correct or prevent error. + +Show your pupil the clouds at night passing between himself and the +moon; he will think the moon is moving in the opposite direction +and that the clouds are stationary. He will think this through +a hasty induction, because he generally sees small objects moving +and larger ones at rest, and the clouds seems larger than the moon, +whose distance is beyond his reckoning. When he watches the shore +from a moving boat he falls into the opposite mistake and thinks +the earth is moving because he does not feel the motion of the +boat and considers it along with the sea or river as one motionless +whole, of which the shore, which appears to move, forms no part. + +The first time a child sees a stick half immersed in water he thinks +he sees a broken stick; the sensation is true and would not cease +to be true even if he knew the reason of this appearance. So if +you ask him what he sees, he replies, "A broken stick," for he is +quite sure he is experiencing this sensation. But when deceived +by his judgment he goes further and, after saying he sees a broken +stick, he affirms that it really is broken he says what is not true. +Why? Because he becomes active and judges no longer by observation +but by induction, he affirms what he does not perceive, i.e., +that the judgment he receives through one of his senses would be +confirmed by another. + +Since all our errors arise in our judgment, it is clear, that had +we no need for judgment, we should not need to learn; we should +never be liable to mistakes, we should be happier in our ignorance +than we can be in our knowledge. Who can deny that a vast number +of things are known to the learned, which the unlearned will never +know? Are the learned any nearer truth? Not so, the further they go +the further they get from truth, for their pride in their judgment +increases faster than their progress in knowledge, so that for +every truth they acquire they draw a hundred mistaken conclusions. +Every one knows that the learned societies of Europe are mere schools +of falsehood, and there are assuredly more mistaken notions in the +Academy of Sciences than in a whole tribe of American Indians. + +The more we know, the more mistakes we make; therefore ignorance +is the only way to escape error. Form no judgments and you will +never be mistaken. This is the teaching both of nature and reason. +We come into direct contact with very few things, and these are very +readily perceived; the rest we regard with profound indifference. +A savage will not turn his head to watch the working of the finest +machinery or all the wonders of electricity. "What does that matter +to me?" is the common saying of the ignorant; it is the fittest +phrase for the wise. + +Unluckily this phrase will no longer serve our turn. Everything +matters to us, as we are dependent on everything, and our curiosity +naturally increases with our needs. This is why I attribute much +curiosity to the man of science and none to the savage. The latter +needs no help from anybody; the former requires every one, and +admirers most of all. + +You will tell me I am going beyond nature. I think not. She +chooses her instruments and orders them, not according to fancy, +but necessity. Now a man's needs vary with his circumstances. There +is all the difference in the world between a natural man living in +a state of nature, and a natural man living in society. Emile is +no savage to be banished to the desert, he is a savage who has to +live in the town. He must know how to get his living in a town, +how to use its inhabitants, and how to live among them, if not of +them. + +In the midst of so many new relations and dependent on them, he +must reason whether he wants to or no. Let us therefore teach him +to reason correctly. + +The best way of learning to reason aright is that which tends to +simplify our experiences, or to enable us to dispense with them +altogether without falling into error. Hence it follows that we must +learn to confirm the experiences of each sense by itself, without +recourse to any other, though we have been in the habit of verifying +the experience of one sense by that of another. Then each of our +sensations will become an idea, and this idea will always correspond +to the truth. This is the sort of knowledge I have tried to accumulate +during this third phase of man's life. + +This method of procedure demands a patience and circumspection +which few teachers possess; without them the scholar will never +learn to reason. For example, if you hasten to take the stick out +of the water when the child is deceived by its appearance, you may +perhaps undeceive him, but what have you taught him? Nothing more +than he would soon have learnt for himself. That is not the right +thing to do. You have not got to teach him truths so much as to +show him how to set about discovering them for himself. To teach +him better you must not be in such a hurry to correct his mistakes. +Let us take Emile and myself as an illustration. + +To begin with, any child educated in the usual way could not fail +to answer the second of my imaginary questions in the affirmative. +He will say, "That is certainly a broken stick." I very much doubt +whether Emile will give the same reply. He sees no reason for +knowing everything or pretending to know it; he is never in a hurry +to draw conclusions. He only reasons from evidence and on this +occasion he has not got the evidence. He knows how appearances +deceive us, if only through perspective. + +Moreover, he knows by experience that there is always a reason for +my slightest questions, though he may not see it at once; so he has +not got into the habit of giving silly answers; on the contrary, +he is on his guard, he considers things carefully and attentively +before answering. He never gives me an answer unless he is satisfied +with it himself, and he is hard to please. Lastly we neither of +us take any pride in merely knowing a thing, but only in avoiding +mistakes. We should be more ashamed to deceive ourselves with bad +reasoning, than to find no explanation at all. There is no phrase +so appropriate to us, or so often on our lips, as, "I do not know;" +neither of us are ashamed to use it. But whether he gives the silly +answer or whether he avoids it by our convenient phrase "I do not +know," my answer is the same. "Let us examine it." + +This stick immersed half way in the water is fixed in an upright +position. To know if it is broken, how many things must be done +before we take it out of the water or even touch it. + +1. First we walk round it, and we see that the broken part follows +us. So it is only our eye that changes it; looks do not make things +move. + +2. We look straight down on that end of the stick which is above +the water, the stick is no longer bent, [Footnote: I have since +found by more exact experiment that this is not the case. Refraction +acts in a circle, and the stick appears larger at the end which is +in the water, but this makes no difference to the strength of the +argument, and the conclusion is correct.] the end near our eye +exactly hides the other end. Has our eye set the stick straight? + +3. We stir the surface of the water; we see the stick break into +several pieces, it moves in zigzags and follows the ripples of the +water. Can the motion we gave the water suffice to break, soften, +or melt the stick like this? + +4. We draw the water off, and little by little we see the stick +straightening itself as the water sinks. Is not this more than +enough to clear up the business and to discover refraction? So it +is not true that our eyes deceive us, for nothing more has been +required to correct the mistakes attributed to it. + +Suppose the child were stupid enough not to perceive the result of +these experiments, then you must call touch to the help of sight. +Instead of taking the stick out of the water, leave it where it is +and let the child pass his hand along it from end to end; he will +feel no angle, therefore the stick is not broken. + +You will tell me this is not mere judgment but formal reasoning. +Just so; but do not you see that as soon as the mind has got any +ideas at all, every judgment is a process of reasoning? So that +as soon as we compare one sensation with another, we are beginning +to reason. The art of judging and the art of reasoning are one and +the same. + +Emile will never learn dioptrics unless he learns with this stick. +He will not have dissected insects nor counted the spots on the +sun; he will not know what you mean by a microscope or a telescope. +Your learned pupils will laugh at his ignorance and rightly, I intend +him to invent these instruments before he uses them, and you will +expect that to take some time. + +This is the spirit of my whole method at this stage. If the child +rolls a little ball between two crossed fingers and thinks he feels +two balls, I shall not let him look until he is convinced there is +only one. + +This explanation will suffice, I hope, to show plainly the progress +made by my pupil hitherto and the route followed by him. But perhaps +the number of things I have brought to his notice alarms you. I +shall crush his mind beneath this weight of knowledge. Not so, I am +rather teaching him to be ignorant of things than to know them. I +am showing him the path of science, easy indeed, but long, far-reaching +and slow to follow. I am taking him a few steps along this path, +but I do not allow him to go far. + +Compelled to learn for himself, he uses his own reason not that of +others, for there must be no submission to authority if you would +have no submission to convention. Most of our errors are due to +others more than ourselves. This continual exercise should develop +a vigour of mind like that acquired by the body through labour and +weariness. Another advantage is that his progress is in proportion +to his strength, neither mind nor body carries more than it can +bear. When the understanding lays hold of things before they are +stored in the memory, what is drawn from that store is his own; +while we are in danger of never finding anything of our own in a +memory over-burdened with undigested knowledge. + +Emile knows little, but what he knows is really his own; he has no +half-knowledge. Among the few things he knows and knows thoroughly +this is the most valuable, that there are many things he does not +know now but may know some day, many more that other men know but +he will never know, and an infinite number which nobody will ever +know. He is large-minded, not through knowledge, but through +the power of acquiring it; he is open-minded, intelligent, ready +for anything, and, as Montaigne says, capable of learning if not +learned. I am content if he knows the "Wherefore" of his actions +and the "Why" of his beliefs. For once more my object is not to +supply him with exact knowledge, but the means of getting it when +required, to teach him to value it at its true worth, and to love +truth above all things. By this method progress is slow but sure, +and we never need to retrace our steps. + +Emile's knowledge is confined to nature and things. The very name +of history is unknown to him, along with metaphysics and morals. He +knows the essential relations between men and things, but nothing +of the moral relations between man and man. He has little power of +generalisation, he has no skill in abstraction. He perceives that +certain qualities are common to certain things, without reasoning +about these qualities themselves. He is acquainted with the +abstract idea of space by the help of his geometrical figures; he +is acquainted with the abstract idea of quantity by the help of +his algebraical symbols. These figures and signs are the supports +on which these ideas may be said to rest, the supports on which his +senses repose. He does not attempt to know the nature of things, +but only to know things in so far as they affect himself. He only +judges what is outside himself in relation to himself, and his +judgment is exact and certain. Caprice and prejudice have no part +in it. He values most the things which are of use to himself, and +as he never departs from this standard of values, he owes nothing +to prejudice. + +Emile is industrious, temperate, patient, stedfast, and full of +courage. His imagination is still asleep, so he has no exaggerated +ideas of danger; the few ills he feels he knows how to endure in +patience, because he has not learnt to rebel against fate. As to +death, he knows not what it means; but accustomed as he is to submit +without resistance to the law of necessity, he will die, if die he +must, without a groan and without a struggle; that is as much as +we can demand of nature, in that hour which we all abhor. To live +in freedom, and to be independent of human affairs, is the best +way to learn how to die. + +In a word Emile is possessed of all that portion of virtue which +concerns himself. To acquire the social virtues he only needs a +knowledge of the relations which make those virtues necessary; he +only lacks knowledge which he is quite ready to receive. + +He thinks not of others but of himself, and prefers that others +should do the same. He makes no claim upon them, and acknowledges +no debt to them. He is alone in the midst of human society, he +depends on himself alone, for he is all that a boy can be at his +age. He has no errors, or at least only such as are inevitable; +he has no vices, or only those from which no man can escape. His +body is healthy, his limbs are supple, his mind is accurate and +unprejudiced, his heart is free and untroubled by passion. Pride, +the earliest and the most natural of passions, has scarcely shown +itself. Without disturbing the peace of others, he has passed +his life contented, happy, and free, so far as nature allows. Do +you think that the earlier years of a child, who has reached his +fifteenth year in this condition, have been wasted? + + + + +BOOK IV + +How swiftly life passes here below! The first quarter of it is gone +before we know how to use it; the last quarter finds us incapable +of enjoying life. At first we do not know how to live; and when +we know how to live it is too late. In the interval between these +two useless extremes we waste three-fourths of our time sleeping, +working, sorrowing, enduring restraint and every kind of suffering. +Life is short, not so much because of the short time it lasts, but +because we are allowed scarcely any time to enjoy it. In vain is +there a long interval between the hour of death and that of birth; +life is still too short, if this interval is not well spent. + +We are born, so to speak, twice over; born into existence, and born +into life; born a human being, and born a man. Those who regard woman +as an imperfect man are no doubt mistaken, but they have external +resemblance on their side. Up to the age of puberty children of +both sexes have little to distinguish them to the eye, the same +face and form, the same complexion and voice, everything is the +same; girls are children and boys are children; one name is enough +for creatures so closely resembling one another. Males whose development +is arrested preserve this resemblance all their lives; they are +always big children; and women who never lose this resemblance seem +in many respects never to be more than children. + +But, speaking generally, man is not meant to remain a child. He +leaves childhood behind him at the time ordained by nature; and this +critical moment, short enough in itself, has far-reaching consequences. + +As the roaring of the waves precedes the tempest, so the murmur +of rising passions announces this tumultuous change; a suppressed +excitement warns us of the approaching danger. A change of temper, +frequent outbreaks of anger, a perpetual stirring of the mind, +make the child almost ungovernable. He becomes deaf to the voice +he used to obey; he is a lion in a fever; he distrusts his keeper +and refuses to be controlled. + +With the moral symptoms of a changing temper there are perceptible +changes in appearance. His countenance develops and takes the stamp +of his character; the soft and sparse down upon his cheeks becomes +darker and stiffer. His voice grows hoarse or rather he loses it +altogether. He is neither a child nor a man and cannot speak like +either of them. His eyes, those organs of the soul which till +now were dumb, find speech and meaning; a kindling fire illumines +them, there is still a sacred innocence in their ever brightening +glance, but they have lost their first meaningless expression; he +is already aware that they can say too much; he is beginning to +learn to lower his eyes and blush, he is becoming sensitive, though +he does not know what it is that he feels; he is uneasy without +knowing why. All this may happen gradually and give you time enough; +but if his keenness becomes impatience, his eagerness madness, if +he is angry and sorry all in a moment, if he weeps without cause, +if in the presence of objects which are beginning to be a source +of danger his pulse quickens and his eyes sparkle, if he trembles +when a woman's hand touches his, if he is troubled or timid in her +presence, O Ulysses, wise Ulysses! have a care! The passages you +closed with so much pains are open; the winds are unloosed; keep +your hand upon the helm or all is lost. + +This is the second birth I spoke of; then it is that man really +enters upon life; henceforth no human passion is a stranger to him. +Our efforts so far have been child's play, now they are of the +greatest importance. This period when education is usually finished +is just the time to begin; but to explain this new plan properly, +let us take up our story where we left it. + +Our passions are the chief means of self-preservation; to try to +destroy them is therefore as absurd as it is useless; this would +be to overcome nature, to reshape God's handiwork. If God bade +man annihilate the passions he has given him, God would bid him be +and not be; He would contradict himself. He has never given such a +foolish commandment, there is nothing like it written on the heart +of man, and what God will have a man do, He does not leave to the +words of another man. He speaks Himself; His words are written in +the secret heart. + +Now I consider those who would prevent the birth of the passions +almost as foolish as those who would destroy them, and those who +think this has been my object hitherto are greatly mistaken. + +But should we reason rightly, if from the fact that passions +are natural to man, we inferred that all the passions we feel in +ourselves and behold in others are natural? Their source, indeed, +is natural; but they have been swollen by a thousand other streams; +they are a great river which is constantly growing, one in which +we can scarcely find a single drop of the original stream. Our +natural passions are few in number; they are the means to freedom, +they tend to self-preservation. All those which enslave and destroy +us have another source; nature does not bestow them on us; we seize +on them in her despite. + +The origin of our passions, the root and spring of all the rest, +the only one which is born with man, which never leaves him as long +as he lives, is self-love; this passion is primitive, instinctive, +it precedes all the rest, which are in a sense only modifications +of it. In this sense, if you like, they are all natural. But most +of these modifications are the result of external influences, +without which they would never occur, and such modifications, far +from being advantageous to us, are harmful. They change the original +purpose and work against its end; then it is that man finds himself +outside nature and at strife with himself. + +Self-love is always good, always in accordance with the order of +nature. The preservation of our own life is specially entrusted to +each one of us, and our first care is, and must be, to watch over +our own life; and how can we continually watch over it, if we do +not take the greatest interest in it? + +Self-preservation requires, therefore, that we shall love ourselves; +we must love ourselves above everything, and it follows directly +from this that we love what contributes to our preservation. Every +child becomes fond of its nurse; Romulus must have loved the she-wolf +who suckled him. At first this attachment is quite unconscious; the +individual is attracted to that which contributes to his welfare and +repelled by that which is harmful; this is merely blind instinct. +What transforms this instinct into feeling, the liking into love, +the aversion into hatred, is the evident intention of helping +or hurting us. We do not become passionately attached to objects +without feeling, which only follow the direction given them; but +those from which we expect benefit or injury from their internal +disposition, from their will, those we see acting freely for or +against us, inspire us with like feelings to those they exhibit +towards us. Something does us good, we seek after it; but we love +the person who does us good; something harms us and we shrink from +it, but we hate the person who tries to hurt us. + +The child's first sentiment is self-love, his second, which is +derived from it, is love of those about him; for in his present +state of weakness he is only aware of people through the help and +attention received from them. At first his affection for his nurse +and his governess is mere habit. He seeks them because he needs +them and because he is happy when they are there; it is rather +perception than kindly feeling. It takes a long time to discover +not merely that they are useful to him, but that they desire to be +useful to him, and then it is that he begins to love them. + +So a child is naturally disposed to kindly feeling because he +sees that every one about him is inclined to help him, and from +this experience he gets the habit of a kindly feeling towards his +species; but with the expansion of his relations, his needs, his +dependence, active or passive, the consciousness of his relations +to others is awakened, and leads to the sense of duties and +preferences. Then the child becomes masterful, jealous, deceitful, +and vindictive. If he is not compelled to obedience, when he does +not see the usefulness of what he is told to do, he attributes it +to caprice, to an intention of tormenting him, and he rebels. If +people give in to him, as soon as anything opposes him he regards +it as rebellion, as a determination to resist him; he beats the chair +or table for disobeying him. Self-love, which concerns itself only +with ourselves, is content to satisfy our own needs; but selfishness, +which is always comparing self with others, is never satisfied and +never can be; for this feeling, which prefers ourselves to others, +requires that they should prefer us to themselves, which is impossible. +Thus the tender and gentle passions spring from self-love, while +the hateful and angry passions spring from selfishness. So it is +the fewness of his needs, the narrow limits within which he can +compare himself with others, that makes a man really good; what +makes him really bad is a multiplicity of needs and dependence on +the opinions of others. It is easy to see how we can apply this +principle and guide every passion of children and men towards +good or evil. True, man cannot always live alone, and it will be +hard therefore to remain good; and this difficulty will increase +of necessity as his relations with others are extended. For this +reason, above all, the dangers of social life demand that the +necessary skill and care shall be devoted to guarding the human +heart against the depravity which springs from fresh needs. + +Man's proper study is that of his relation to his environment. So +long as he only knows that environment through his physical nature, +he should study himself in relation to things; this is the business +of his childhood; when he begins to be aware of his moral nature, +he should study himself in relation to his fellow-men; this is the +business of his whole life, and we have now reached the time when +that study should be begun. + +As soon as a man needs a companion he is no longer an isolated +creature, his heart is no longer alone. All his relations with his +species, all the affections of his heart, come into being along +with this. His first passion soon arouses the rest. + +The direction of the instinct is uncertain. One sex is attracted +by the other; that is the impulse of nature. Choice, preferences, +individual likings, are the work of reason, prejudice, and habit; +time and knowledge are required to make us capable of love; we do +not love without reasoning or prefer without comparison. These judgments +are none the less real, although they are formed unconsciously. +True love, whatever you may say, will always be held in honour +by mankind; for although its impulses lead us astray, although it +does not bar the door of the heart to certain detestable qualities, +although it even gives rise to these, yet it always presupposes +certain worthy characteristics, without which we should be incapable +of love. This choice, which is supposed to be contrary to reason, +really springs from reason. We say Love is blind because his eyes +are better than ours, and he perceives relations which we cannot +discern. All women would be alike to a man who had no idea of virtue +or beauty, and the first comer would always be the most charming. +Love does not spring from nature, far from it; it is the curb and +law of her desires; it is love that makes one sex indifferent to +the other, the loved one alone excepted. + +We wish to inspire the preference we feel; love must be mutual. +To be loved we must be worthy of love; to be preferred we must be +more worthy than the rest, at least in the eyes of our beloved. +Hence we begin to look around among our fellows; we begin to compare +ourselves with them, there is emulation, rivalry, and jealousy. +A heart full to overflowing loves to make itself known; from the +need of a mistress there soon springs the need of a friend. He who +feels how sweet it is to be loved, desires to be loved by everybody; +and there could be no preferences if there were not many that +fail to find satisfaction. With love and friendship there begin +dissensions, enmity, and hatred. I behold deference to other +people's opinions enthroned among all these divers passions, and +foolish mortals, enslaved by her power, base their very existence +merely on what other people think. + +Expand these ideas and you will see where we get that form of +selfishness which we call natural selfishness, and how selfishness +ceases to be a simple feeling and becomes pride in great minds, vanity +in little ones, and in both feeds continually at our neighbour's +cost. Passions of this kind, not having any germ in the child's +heart, cannot spring up in it of themselves; it is we who sow the +seeds, and they never take root unless by our fault. Not so with +the young man; they will find an entrance in spite of us. It is +therefore time to change our methods. + +Let us begin with some considerations of importance with regard to +the critical stage under discussion. The change from childhood to +puberty is not so clearly determined by nature but that it varies +according to individual temperament and racial conditions. Everybody +knows the differences which have been observed with regard to this +between hot and cold countries, and every one sees that ardent +temperaments mature earlier than others; but we may be mistaken as +to the causes, and we may often attribute to physical causes what +is really due to moral: this is one of the commonest errors in +the philosophy of our times. The teaching of nature comes slowly; +man's lessons are mostly premature. In the former case, the senses +kindle the imagination, in the latter the imagination kindles the +senses; it gives them a precocious activity which cannot fail to +enervate the individual and, in the long run, the race. It is a more +general and more trustworthy fact than that of climatic influences, +that puberty and sexual power is always more precocious among +educated and civilised races, than among the ignorant and barbarous. +[Footnote: "In towns," says M. Buffon, "and among the well-to-do +classes, children accustomed to plentiful and nourishing food sooner +reach this state; in the country and among the poor, children are +more backward, because of their poor and scanty food." I admit the +fact but not the explanation, for in the districts where the food +of the villagers is plentiful and good, as in the Valais and even +in some of the mountain districts of Italy, such as Friuli, the +age of puberty for both sexes is quite as much later than in the +heart of the towns, where, in order to gratify their vanity, people +are often extremely parsimonious in the matter of food, and where +most people, in the words of the proverb, have a velvet coat and +an empty belly. It is astonishing to find in these mountainous +regions big lads as strong as a man with shrill voices and smooth +chins, and tall girls, well developed in other respects, without +any trace of the periodic functions of their sex. This difference +is, in my opinion, solely due to the fact that in the simplicity of +their manners the imagination remains calm and peaceful, and does +not stir the blood till much later, and thus their temperament +is much less precocious.] Children are preternaturally quick to +discern immoral habits under the cloak of decency with which they +are concealed. The prim speech imposed upon them, the lessons +in good behaviour, the veil of mystery you profess to hang before +their eyes, serve but to stimulate their curiosity. It is plain, +from the way you set about it, that they are meant to learn what +you profess to conceal; and of all you teach them this is most +quickly assimilated. + +Consult experience and you will find how far this foolish method +hastens the work of nature and ruins the character. This is one of +the chief causes of physical degeneration in our towns. The young +people, prematurely exhausted, remain small, puny, and misshapen, +they grow old instead of growing up, like a vine forced to bear +fruit in spring, which fades and dies before autumn. + +To know how far a happy ignorance may prolong the innocence of +children, you must live among rude and simple people. It is a sight +both touching and amusing to see both sexes, left to the protection +of their own hearts, continuing the sports of childhood in the +flower of youth and beauty, showing by their very familiarity the +purity of their pleasures. When at length those delightful young +people marry, they bestow on each other the first fruits of their +person, and are all the dearer therefore. Swarms of strong and healthy +children are the pledges of a union which nothing can change, and +the fruit of the virtue of their early years. + +If the age at which a man becomes conscious of his sex is deferred +as much by the effects of education as by the action of nature, +it follows that this age may be hastened or retarded according to +the way in which the child is brought up; and if the body gains +or loses strength in proportion as its development is accelerated +or retarded, it also follows that the more we try to retard it +the stronger and more vigorous will the young man be. I am still +speaking of purely physical consequences; you will soon see that +this is not all. + +From these considerations I arrive at the solution of the question +so often discussed--Should we enlighten children at an early period +as to the objects of their curiosity, or is it better to put them +off with decent shams? I think we need do neither. In the first +place, this curiosity will not arise unless we give it a chance. +We must therefore take care not to give it an opportunity. In the +next place, questions one is not obliged to answer do not compel us +to deceive those who ask them; it is better to bid the child hold +his tongue than to tell him a lie. He will not be greatly surprised +at this treatment if you have already accustomed him to it in matters +of no importance. Lastly, if you decide to answer his questions, +let it be with the greatest plainness, without mystery or confusion, +without a smile. It is much less dangerous to satisfy a child's +curiosity than to stimulate it. + +Let your answers be always grave, brief, decided, and without trace +of hesitation. I need not add that they should be true. We cannot +teach children the danger of telling lies to men without realising, +on the man's part, the danger of telling lies to children. A single +untruth on the part of the master will destroy the results of his +education. + +Complete ignorance with regard to certain matters is perhaps the +best thing for children; but let them learn very early what it is +impossible to conceal from them permanently. Either their curiosity +must never be aroused, or it must be satisfied before the age when +it becomes a source of danger. Your conduct towards your pupil +in this respect depends greatly on his individual circumstances, +the society in which he moves, the position in which he may find +himself, etc. Nothing must be left to chance; and if you are not +sure of keeping him in ignorance of the difference between the +sexes till he is sixteen, take care you teach him before he is ten. + +I do not like people to be too fastidious in speaking with children, +nor should they go out of their way to avoid calling a spade a +spade; they are always found out if they do. Good manners in this +respect are always perfectly simple; but an imagination soiled by +vice makes the ear over-sensitive and compels us to be constantly +refining our expressions. Plain words do not matter; it is lascivious +ideas which must be avoided. + +Although modesty is natural to man, it is not natural to children. +Modesty only begins with the knowledge of evil; and how should +children without this knowledge of evil have the feeling which +results from it? To give them lessons in modesty and good conduct +is to teach them that there are things shameful and wicked, and to +give them a secret wish to know what these things are. Sooner or +later they will find out, and the first spark which touches the +imagination will certainly hasten the awakening of the senses. +Blushes are the sign of guilt; true innocence is ashamed of nothing. + +Children have not the same desires as men; but they are subject +like them to the same disagreeable needs which offend the senses, +and by this means they may receive the same lessons in propriety. +Follow the mind of nature which has located in the same place +the organs of secret pleasures and those of disgusting needs; she +teaches us the same precautions at different ages, sometimes by means +of one idea and sometimes by another; to the man through modesty, +to the child through cleanliness. + +I can only find one satisfactory way of preserving the child's +innocence, to surround him by those who respect and love him. +Without this all our efforts to keep him in ignorance fail sooner +or later; a smile, a wink, a careless gesture tells him all we +sought to hide; it is enough to teach him to perceive that there +is something we want to hide from him. The delicate phrases and +expressions employed by persons of politeness assume a knowledge +which children ought not to possess, and they are quite out of +place with them, but when we truly respect the child's innocence we +easily find in talking to him the simple phrases which befit him. +There is a certain directness of speech which is suitable and +pleasing to innocence; this is the right tone to adopt in order +to turn the child from dangerous curiosity. By speaking simply to +him about everything you do not let him suspect there is anything +left unsaid. By connecting coarse words with the unpleasant ideas +which belong to them, you quench the first spark of imagination; +you do not forbid the child to say these words or to form these +ideas; but without his knowing it you make him unwilling to recall +them. And how much confusion is spared to those who speaking from +the heart always say the right thing, and say it as they themselves +have felt it! + +"Where do little children come from?" This is an embarrassing question, +which occurs very naturally to children, one which foolishly or +wisely answered may decide their health and their morals for life. +The quickest way for a mother to escape from it without deceiving +her son is to tell him to hold his tongue. That will serve its turn +if he has always been accustomed to it in matters of no importance, +and if he does not suspect some mystery from this new way of +speaking. But the mother rarely stops there. "It is the married +people's secret," she will say, "little boys should not be so +curious." That is all very well so far as the mother is concerned, +but she may be sure that the little boy, piqued by her scornful +manner, will not rest till he has found out the married people's +secret, which will very soon be the case. + +Let me tell you a very different answer which I heard given to +the same question, one which made all the more impression on me, +coming, as it did, from a woman, modest in speech and behaviour, +but one who was able on occasion, for the welfare of her child +and for the cause of virtue, to cast aside the false fear of blame +and the silly jests of the foolish. Not long before the child had +passed a small stone which had torn the passage, but the trouble +was over and forgotten. "Mamma," said the eager child, "where do +little children come from?" "My child," replied his mother without +hesitation, "women pass them with pains that sometimes cost their +life." Let fools laugh and silly people be shocked; but let the +wise inquire if it is possible to find a wiser answer and one which +would better serve its purpose. + +In the first place the thought of a need of nature with which +the child is well acquainted turns his thoughts from the idea +of a mysterious process. The accompanying ideas of pain and death +cover it with a veil of sadness which deadens the imagination and +suppresses curiosity; everything leads the mind to the results, not +the causes, of child-birth. This is the information to which this +answer leads. If the repugnance inspired by this answer should +permit the child to inquire further, his thoughts are turned to the +infirmities of human nature, disgusting things, images of pain. +What chance is there for any stimulation of desire in such a +conversation? And yet you see there is no departure from truth, no +need to deceive the scholar in order to teach him. + +Your children read; in the course of their reading they meet +with things they would never have known without reading. Are they +students, their imagination is stimulated and quickened in the +silence of the study. Do they move in the world of society, they hear +a strange jargon, they see conduct which makes a great impression +on them; they have been told so continually that they are men that +in everything men do in their presence they at once try to find +how that will suit themselves; the conduct of others must indeed +serve as their pattern when the opinions of others are their law. +Servants, dependent on them, and therefore anxious to please them, +flatter them at the expense of their morals; giggling governesses +say things to the four-year-old child which the most shameless +woman would not dare to say to them at fifteen. They soon forget +what they said, but the child has not forgotten what he heard. +Loose conversation prepares the way for licentious conduct; the +child is debauched by the cunning lacquey, and the secret of the +one guarantees the secret of the other. + +The child brought up in accordance with his age is alone. He knows +no attachment but that of habit, he loves his sister like his watch, +and his friend like his dog. He is unconscious of his sex and his +species; men and women are alike unknown; he does not connect their +sayings and doings with himself, he neither sees nor hears, or he +pays no heed to them; he is no more concerned with their talk than +their actions; he has nothing to do with it. This is no artificial +error induced by our method, it is the ignorance of nature. The +time is at hand when that same nature will take care to enlighten +her pupil, and then only does she make him capable of profiting +by the lessons without danger. This is our principle; the details +of its rules are outside my subject; and the means I suggest with +regard to other matters will still serve to illustrate this. + +Do you wish to establish law and order among the rising passions, +prolong the period of their development, so that they may have time +to find their proper place as they arise. Then they are controlled +by nature herself, not by man; your task is merely to leave it +in her hands. If your pupil were alone, you would have nothing to +do; but everything about him enflames his imagination. He is swept +along on the torrent of conventional ideas; to rescue him you must +urge him in the opposite direction. Imagination must be curbed +by feeling and reason must silence the voice of conventionality. +Sensibility is the source of all the passions, imagination determines +their course. Every creature who is aware of his relations must +be disturbed by changes in these relations and when he imagines +or fancies he imagines others better adapted to his nature. It is +the errors of the imagination which transmute into vices the passions +of finite beings, of angels even, if indeed they have passions; for +they must needs know the nature of every creature to realise what +relations are best adapted to themselves. + +This is the sum of human wisdom with regard to the use of +the passions. First, to be conscious of the true relations of man +both in the species and the individual; second, to control all the +affections in accordance with these relations. + +But is man in a position to control his affections according to +such and such relations? No doubt he is, if he is able to fix his +imagination on this or that object, or to form this or that habit. +Moreover, we are not so much concerned with what a man can do for +himself, as with what we can do for our pupil through our choice +of the circumstances in which he shall be placed. To show the means +by which he may be kept in the path of nature is to show plainly +enough how he might stray from that path. + +So long as his consciousness is confined to himself there is no +morality in his actions; it is only when it begins to extend beyond +himself that he forms first the sentiments and then the ideas of +good and ill, which make him indeed a man, and an integral part of +his species. To begin with we must therefore confine our observations +to this point. + +These observations are difficult to make, for we must reject the +examples before our eyes, and seek out those in which the successive +developments follow the order of nature. + +A child sophisticated, polished, and civilised, who is only awaiting +the power to put into practice the precocious instruction he has +received, is never mistaken with regard to the time when this power +is acquired. Far from awaiting it, he accelerates it; he stirs his +blood to a premature ferment; he knows what should be the object +of his desires long before those desires are experienced. It is +not nature which stimulates him; it is he who forces the hand of +nature; she has nothing to teach him when he becomes a man; he was +a man in thought long before he was a man in reality. + +The true course of nature is slower and more gradual. Little by +little the blood grows warmer, the faculties expand, the character +is formed. The wise workman who directs the process is careful +to perfect every tool before he puts it to use; the first desires +are preceded by a long period of unrest, they are deceived by a +prolonged ignorance, they know not what they want. The blood ferments +and bubbles; overflowing vitality seeks to extend its sphere. The +eye grows brighter and surveys others, we begin to be interested +in those about us, we begin to feel that we are not meant to live +alone; thus the heart is thrown open to human affection, and becomes +capable of attachment. + +The first sentiment of which the well-trained youth is capable is +not love but friendship. The first work of his rising imagination +is to make known to him his fellows; the species affects him before +the sex. Here is another advantage to be gained from prolonged +innocence; you may take advantage of his dawning sensibility to sow +the first seeds of humanity in the heart of the young adolescent. +This advantage is all the greater because this is the only time in +his life when such efforts may be really successful. + +I have always observed that young men, corrupted in early youth +and addicted to women and debauchery, are inhuman and cruel; their +passionate temperament makes them impatient, vindictive, and angry; +their imagination fixed on one object only, refuses all others; +mercy and pity are alike unknown to them; they would have sacrificed +father, mother, the whole world, to the least of their pleasures. +A young man, on the other hand, brought up in happy innocence, is +drawn by the first stirrings of nature to the tender and affectionate +passions; his warm heart is touched by the sufferings of his +fellow-creatures; he trembles with delight when he meets his comrade, +his arms can embrace tenderly, his eyes can shed tears of pity; he +learns to be sorry for offending others through his shame at causing +annoyance. If the eager warmth of his blood makes him quick, hasty, +and passionate, a moment later you see all his natural kindness of +heart in the eagerness of his repentance; he weeps, he groans over +the wound he has given; he would atone for the blood he has shed +with his own; his anger dies away, his pride abases itself before +the consciousness of his wrong-doing. Is he the injured party, in +the height of his fury an excuse, a word, disarms him; he forgives +the wrongs of others as whole-heartedly as he repairs his own. +Adolescence is not the age of hatred or vengeance; it is the age of +pity, mercy, and generosity. Yes, I maintain, and I am not afraid +of the testimony of experience, a youth of good birth, one who has +preserved his innocence up to the age of twenty, is at that age +the best, the most generous, the most loving, and the most lovable +of men. You never heard such a thing; I can well believe that +philosophers such as you, brought up among the corruption of the +public schools, are unaware of it. + +Man's weakness makes him sociable. Our common sufferings draw our +hearts to our fellow-creatures; we should have no duties to mankind +if we were not men. Every affection is a sign of insufficiency; +if each of us had no need of others, we should hardly think of +associating with them. So our frail happiness has its roots in our +weakness. A really happy man is a hermit; God only enjoys absolute +happiness; but which of us has any idea what that means? If +any imperfect creature were self-sufficing, what would he have to +enjoy? To our thinking he would be wretched and alone. I do not +understand how one who has need of nothing could love anything, +nor do I understand how he who loves nothing can be happy. + +Hence it follows that we are drawn towards our fellow-creatures +less by our feeling for their joys than for their sorrows; for in +them we discern more plainly a nature like our own, and a pledge +of their affection for us. If our common needs create a bond +of interest our common sufferings create a bond of affection. The +sight of a happy man arouses in others envy rather than love, we +are ready to accuse him of usurping a right which is not his, of +seeking happiness for himself alone, and our selfishness suffers +an additional pang in the thought that this man has no need of us. +But who does not pity the wretch when he beholds his sufferings? +who would not deliver him from his woes if a wish could do it? +Imagination puts us more readily in the place of the miserable man +than of the happy man; we feel that the one condition touches us +more nearly than the other. Pity is sweet, because, when we put +ourselves in the place of one who suffers, we are aware, nevertheless, +of the pleasure of not suffering like him. Envy is bitter, because +the sight of a happy man, far from putting the envious in his place, +inspires him with regret that he is not there. The one seems to +exempt us from the pains he suffers, the other seems to deprive us +of the good things he enjoys. + +Do you desire to stimulate and nourish the first stirrings of +awakening sensibility in the heart of a young man, do you desire +to incline his disposition towards kindly deed and thought, do +not cause the seeds of pride, vanity, and envy to spring up in him +through the misleading picture of the happiness of mankind; do not +show him to begin with the pomp of courts, the pride of palaces, +the delights of pageants; do not take him into society and into +brilliant assemblies; do not show him the outside of society till +you have made him capable of estimating it at its true worth. +To show him the world before he is acquainted with men, is not to +train him, but to corrupt him; not to teach, but to mislead. + +By nature men are neither kings, nobles, courtiers, nor millionaires. +All men are born poor and naked, all are liable to the sorrows of +life, its disappointments, its ills, its needs, its suffering of +every kind; and all are condemned at length to die. This is what +it really means to be a man, this is what no mortal can escape. +Begin then with the study of the essentials of humanity, that which +really constitutes mankind. + +At sixteen the adolescent knows what it is to suffer, for he himself +has suffered; but he scarcely realises that others suffer too; to +see without feeling is not knowledge, and as I have said again and +again the child who does not picture the feelings of others knows +no ills but his own; but when his imagination is kindled by the +first beginnings of growing sensibility, he begins to perceive +himself in his fellow-creatures, to be touched by their cries, to +suffer in their sufferings. It is at this time that the sorrowful +picture of suffering humanity should stir his heart with the first +touch of pity he has ever known. + +If it is not easy to discover this opportunity in your scholars, +whose fault is it? You taught them so soon to play at feeling, you +taught them so early its language, that speaking continually in +the same strain they turn your lessons against yourself, and give +you no chance of discovering when they cease to lie, and begin to +feel what they say. But look at Emile; I have led him up to this +age, and he has neither felt nor pretended to feel. He has never +said, "I love you dearly," till he knew what it was to love; he has +never been taught what expression to assume when he enters the room +of his father, his mother, or his sick tutor; he has not learnt the +art of affecting a sorrow he does not feel. He has never pretended +to weep for the death of any one, for he does not know what it is +to die. There is the same insensibility in his heart as in his +manners. Indifferent, like every child, to every one but himself, +he takes no interest in any one; his only peculiarity is that he +will not pretend to take such an interest; he is less deceitful +than others. + +Emile having thought little about creatures of feeling will be a +long time before he knows what is meant by pain and death. Groans +and cries will begin to stir his compassion, he will turn away his +eyes at the sight of blood; the convulsions of a dying animal will +cause him I know not what anguish before he knows the source of +these impulses. If he were still stupid and barbarous he would not +feel them; if he were more learned he would recognise their source; +he has compared ideas too frequently already to be insensible, but +not enough to know what he feels. + +So pity is born, the first relative sentiment which touches the +human heart according to the order of nature. To become sensitive +and pitiful the child must know that he has fellow-creatures who +suffer as he has suffered, who feel the pains he has felt, and +others which he can form some idea of, being capable of feeling +them himself. Indeed, how can we let ourselves be stirred by pity +unless we go beyond ourselves, and identify ourselves with the +suffering animal, by leaving, so to speak, our own nature and taking +his. We only suffer so far as we suppose he suffers; the suffering +is not ours but his. So no one becomes sensitive till his imagination +is aroused and begins to carry him outside himself. + +What should we do to stimulate and nourish this growing sensibility, +to direct it, and to follow its natural bent? Should we not present +to the young man objects on which the expansive force of his heart +may take effect, objects which dilate it, which extend it to other +creatures, which take him outside himself? should we not carefully +remove everything that narrows, concentrates, and strengthens the +power of the human self? that is to say, in other words, we should +arouse in him kindness, goodness, pity, and beneficence, all the +gentle and attractive passions which are naturally pleasing to man; +those passions prevent the growth of envy, covetousness, hatred, +all the repulsive and cruel passions which make our sensibility +not merely a cipher but a minus quantity, passions which are the +curse of those who feel them. + +I think I can sum up the whole of the preceding reflections in two +or three maxims, definite, straightforward, and easy to understand. + +FIRST MAXIM.--It is not in human nature to put ourselves in the place +of those who are happier than ourselves, but only in the place of +those who can claim our pity. + +If you find exceptions to this rule, they are more apparent than +real. Thus we do not put ourselves in the place of the rich or great +when we become fond of them; even when our affection is real, we +only appropriate to ourselves a part of their welfare. Sometimes +we love the rich man in the midst of misfortunes; but so long as he +prospers he has no real friend, except the man who is not deceived +by appearances, who pities rather than envies him in spite of his +prosperity. + +The happiness belonging to certain states of life appeals to us; +take, for instance, the life of a shepherd in the country. The charm +of seeing these good people so happy is not poisoned by envy; we +are genuinely interested in them. Why is this? Because we feel we +can descend into this state of peace and innocence and enjoy the +same happiness; it is an alternative which only calls up pleasant +thoughts, so long as the wish is as good as the deed. It is always +pleasant to examine our stores, to contemplate our own wealth, even +when we do not mean to spend it. + +From this we see that to incline a young man to humanity you must +not make him admire the brilliant lot of others; you must show +him life in its sorrowful aspects and arouse his fears. Thus it +becomes clear that he must force his own way to happiness, without +interfering with the happiness of others. + +SECOND MAXIM.--We never pity another's woes unless we know we may +suffer in like manner ourselves. + + "Non ignara mali, miseris succurrere disco."--Virgil. + +I know nothing go fine, so full of meaning, so touching, so true +as these words. + +Why have kings no pity on their people? Because they never expect +to be ordinary men. Why are the rich so hard on the poor? Because +they have no fear of becoming poor. Why do the nobles look down +upon the people? Because a nobleman will never be one of the lower +classes. Why are the Turks generally kinder and more hospitable +than ourselves? Because, under their wholly arbitrary system of +government, the rank and wealth of individuals are always uncertain +and precarious, so that they do not regard poverty and degradation +as conditions with which they have no concern; to-morrow, any one +may himself be in the same position as those on whom he bestows +alms to-day. This thought, which occurs again and again in eastern +romances, lends them a certain tenderness which is not to be found +in our pretentious and harsh morality. + +So do not train your pupil to look down from the height of his glory +upon the sufferings of the unfortunate, the labours of the wretched, +and do not hope to teach him to pity them while he considers them +as far removed from himself. Make him thoroughly aware of the fact +that the fate of these unhappy persons may one day be his own, that +his feet are standing on the edge of the abyss, into which he may +be plunged at any moment by a thousand unexpected irresistible +misfortunes. Teach him to put no trust in birth, health, or riches; +show him all the changes of fortune; find him examples--there are +only too many of them--in which men of higher rank than himself +have sunk below the condition of these wretched ones. Whether by +their own fault or another's is for the present no concern of ours; +does he indeed know the meaning of the word fault? Never interfere +with the order in which he acquires knowledge, and teach him only +through the means within his reach; it needs no great learning +to perceive that all the prudence of mankind cannot make certain +whether he will be alive or dead in an hour's time, whether +before nightfall he will not be grinding his teeth in the pangs of +nephritis, whether a month hence he will be rich or poor, whether +in a year's time he may not be rowing an Algerian galley under the +lash of the slave-driver. Above all do not teach him this, like +his catechism, in cold blood; let him see and feel the calamities +which overtake men; surprise and startle his imagination with the +perils which lurk continually about a man's path; let him see the +pitfalls all about him, and when he hears you speak of them, let +him cling more closely to you for fear lest he should fall. "You +will make him timid and cowardly," do you say? We shall see; let +us make him kindly to begin with, that is what matters most. + +THIRD MAXIM.--The pity we feel for others is proportionate, not +to the amount of the evil, but to the feelings we attribute to the +sufferers. + +We only pity the wretched so far as we think they feel the need of +pity. The bodily effect of our sufferings is less than one would +suppose; it is memory that prolongs the pain, imagination which +projects it into the future, and makes us really to be pitied. +This is, I think, one of the reasons why we are more callous to +the sufferings of animals than of men, although a fellow-feeling +ought to make us identify ourselves equally with either. We scarcely +pity the cart-horse in his shed, for we do not suppose that while +he is eating his hay he is thinking of the blows he has received +and the labours in store for him. Neither do we pity the sheep +grazing in the field, though we know it is about to be slaughtered, +for we believe it knows nothing of the fate in store for it. In +this way we also become callous to the fate of our fellow-men, and +the rich console themselves for the harm done by them to the poor, +by the assumption that the poor are too stupid to feel. I usually +judge of the value any one puts on the welfare of his fellow-creatures +by what he seems to think of them. We naturally think lightly of +the happiness of those we despise. It need not surprise you that +politicians speak so scornfully of the people, and philosophers +profess to think mankind so wicked. + +The people are mankind; those who do not belong to the people are +so few in number that they are not worth counting. Man is the same +in every station of life; if that be so, those ranks to which most +men belong deserve most honour. All distinctions of rank fade away +before the eyes of a thoughtful person; he sees the same passions, +the same feelings in the noble and the guttersnipe; there is merely +a slight difference in speech, and more or less artificiality +of tone; and if there is indeed any essential difference between +them, the disadvantage is all on the side of those who are more +sophisticated. The people show themselves as they are, and they are +not attractive; but the fashionable world is compelled to adopt a +disguise; we should be horrified if we saw it as it really is. + +There is, so our wiseacres tell us, the same amount of happiness +and sorrow in every station. This saying is as deadly in its effects +as it is incapable of proof; if all are equally happy why should +I trouble myself about any one? Let every one stay where he is; +leave the slave to be ill-treated, the sick man to suffer, and +the wretched to perish; they have nothing to gain by any change in +their condition. You enumerate the sorrows of the rich, and show the +vanity of his empty pleasures; what barefaced sophistry! The rich +man's sufferings do not come from his position, but from himself +alone when he abuses it. He is not to be pitied were he indeed +more miserable than the poor, for his ills are of his own making, +and he could be happy if he chose. But the sufferings of the poor +man come from external things, from the hardships fate has imposed +upon him. No amount of habit can accustom him to the bodily ills +of fatigue, exhaustion, and hunger. Neither head nor heart can serve +to free him from the sufferings of his condition. How is Epictetus +the better for knowing beforehand that his master will break his +leg for him; does he do it any the less? He has to endure not only +the pain itself but the pains of anticipation. If the people were +as wise as we assume them to be stupid, how could they be other +than they are? Observe persons of this class; you will see that, +with a different way of speaking, they have as much intelligence +and more common-sense than yourself. Have respect then for your +species; remember that it consists essentially of the people, that +if all the kings and all the philosophers were removed they would +scarcely be missed, and things would go on none the worse. In a word, +teach your pupil to love all men, even those who fail to appreciate +him; act in such way that he is not a member of any class, but +takes his place in all alike: speak in his hearing of the human +race with tenderness, and even with pity, but never with scorn. +You are a man; do not dishonour mankind. + +It is by these ways and others like them--how different from the +beaten paths--that we must reach the heart of the young adolescent, +and stimulate in him the first impulses of nature; we must develop +that heart and open its doors to his fellow-creatures, and there +must be as little self-interest as possible mixed up with these +impulses; above all, no vanity, no emulation, no boasting, none of +those sentiments which force us to compare ourselves with others; +for such comparisons are never made without arousing some measure +of hatred against those who dispute our claim to the first place, +were it only in our own estimation. Then we must be either blind +or angry, a bad man or a fool; let us try to avoid this dilemma. +Sooner or later these dangerous passions will appear, so you tell +me, in spite of us. I do not deny it. There is a time and place +for everything; I am only saying that we should not help to arouse +these passions. + +This is the spirit of the method to be laid down. In this case examples +and illustrations are useless, for here we find the beginning of +the countless differences of character, and every example I gave +would possibly apply to only one case in a hundred thousand. It is +at this age that the clever teacher begins his real business, as +a student and a philosopher who knows how to probe the heart and +strives to guide it aright. While the young man has not learnt to +pretend, while he does not even know the meaning of pretence, you +see by his look, his manner, his gestures, the impression he has +received from any object presented to him; you read in his countenance +every impulse of his heart; by watching his expression you learn +to protect his impulses and actually to control them. + +It has been commonly observed that blood, wounds, cries and groans, +the preparations for painful operations, and everything which directs +the senses towards things connected with suffering, are usually the +first to make an impression on all men. The idea of destruction, a +more complex matter, does not have so great an effect; the thought +of death affects us later and less forcibly, for no one knows from +his own experience what it is to die; you must have seen corpses +to feel the agonies of the dying. But when once this idea is +established in the mind, there is no spectacle more dreadful in our +eyes, whether because of the idea of complete destruction which it +arouses through our senses, or because we know that this moment must +come for each one of us and we feel ourselves all the more keenly +affected by a situation from which we know there is no escape. + +These various impressions differ in manner and in degree, according to +the individual character of each one of us and his former habits, +but they are universal and no one is altogether free from them. +There are other impressions less universal and of a later growth, +impressions most suited to sensitive souls, such impressions as we +receive from moral suffering, inward grief, the sufferings of the +mind, depression, and sadness. There are men who can be touched by +nothing but groans and tears; the suppressed sobs of a heart labouring +under sorrow would never win a sigh; the sight of a downcast visage, a +pale and gloomy countenance, eyes which can weep no longer, would +never draw a tear from them. The sufferings of the mind are as +nothing to them; they weigh them, their own mind feels nothing; +expect nothing from such persons but inflexible severity, harshness, +cruelty. They may be just and upright, but not merciful, generous, +or pitiful. They may, I say, be just, if a man can indeed be just +without being merciful. + +But do not be in a hurry to judge young people by this standard, +more especially those who have been educated rightly, who have no +idea of the moral sufferings they have never had to endure; for +once again they can only pity the ills they know, and this apparent +insensibility is soon transformed into pity when they begin to feel +that there are in human life a thousand ills of which they know +nothing. As for Emile, if in childhood he was distinguished by +simplicity and good sense, in his youth he will show a warm and +tender heart; for the reality of the feelings depends to a great +extent on the accuracy of the ideas. + +But why call him hither? More than one reader will reproach me +no doubt for departing from my first intention and forgetting the +lasting happiness I promised my pupil. The sorrowful, the dying, +such sights of pain and woe, what happiness, what delight is this +for a young heart on the threshold of life? His gloomy tutor, who +proposed to give him such a pleasant education, only introduces him +to life that he may suffer. This is what they will say, but what +care I? I promised to make him happy, not to make him seem happy. +Am I to blame if, deceived as usual by the outward appearances, +you take them for the reality? + +Let us take two young men at the close of their early education, +and let them enter the world by opposite doors. The one mounts at +once to Olympus, and moves in the smartest society; he is taken +to court, he is presented in the houses of the great, of the rich, +of the pretty women. I assume that he is everywhere made much of, +and I do not regard too closely the effect of this reception on his +reason; I assume it can stand it. Pleasures fly before him, every +day provides him with fresh amusements; he flings himself into +everything with an eagerness which carries you away. You find him +busy, eager, and curious; his first wonder makes a great impression +on you; you think him happy; but behold the state of his heart; +you think he is rejoicing, I think he suffers. + +What does he see when first he opens his eyes? all sorts of so-called +pleasures, hitherto unknown. Most of these pleasures are only for +a moment within his reach, and seem to show themselves only to +inspire regret for their loss. Does he wander through a palace; +you see by his uneasy curiosity that he is asking why his father's +house is not like it. Every question shows you that he is comparing +himself all the time with the owner of this grand place. And all +the mortification arising from this comparison at once revolts and +stimulates his vanity. If he meets a young man better dressed than +himself, I find him secretly complaining of his parents' meanness. +If he is better dressed than another, he suffers because the latter +is his superior in birth or in intellect, and all his gold lace is +put to shame by a plain cloth coat. Does he shine unrivalled in +some assembly, does he stand on tiptoe that they may see him better, +who is there who does not secretly desire to humble the pride and +vanity of the young fop? Everybody is in league against him; the +disquieting glances of a solemn man, the biting phrases of some +satirical person, do not fail to reach him, and if it were only +one man who despised him, the scorn of that one would poison in a +moment the applause of the rest. + +Let us grant him everything, let us not grudge him charm and worth; +let him be well-made, witty, and attractive; the women will run +after him; but by pursuing him before he is in love with them, +they will inspire rage rather than love; he will have successes, +but neither rapture nor passion to enjoy them. As his desires are +always anticipated; they never have time to spring up among his +pleasures, so he only feels the tedium of restraint. Even before +he knows it he is disgusted and satiated with the sex formed to +be the delight of his own; if he continues its pursuit it is only +through vanity, and even should he really be devoted to women, he +will not be the only brilliant, the only attractive young man, nor +will he always find his mistresses prodigies of fidelity. + +I say nothing of the vexation, the deceit, the crimes, and the +remorse of all kinds, inseparable from such a life. We know that +experience of the world disgusts us with it; I am speaking only of +the drawbacks belonging to youthful illusions. + +Hitherto the young man has lived in the bosom of his family and his +friends, and has been the sole object of their care; what a change +to enter all at once into a region where he counts for so little; to +find himself plunged into another sphere, he who has been so long +the centre of his own. What insults, what humiliation, must he endure, +before he loses among strangers the ideas of his own importance +which have been formed and nourished among his own people! As +a child everything gave way to him, everybody flocked to him; as +a young man he must give place to every one, or if he preserves +ever so little of his former airs, what harsh lessons will bring +him to himself! Accustomed to get everything he wants without any +difficulty, his wants are many, and he feels continual privations. +He is tempted by everything that flatters him; what others have, +he must have too; he covets everything, he envies every one, he +would always be master. He is devoured by vanity, his young heart +is enflamed by unbridled passions, jealousy and hatred among the +rest; all these violent passions burst out at once; their sting +rankles in him in the busy world, they return with him at night, he +comes back dissatisfied with himself, with others; he falls asleep +among a thousand foolish schemes disturbed by a thousand fancies, +and his pride shows him even in his dreams those fancied pleasures; +he is tormented by a desire which will never be satisfied. So much +for your pupil; let us turn to mine. + +If the first thing to make an impression on him is something +sorrowful his first return to himself is a feeling of pleasure. +When he sees how many ills he has escaped he thinks he is happier +than he fancied. He shares the suffering of his fellow-creatures, +but he shares it of his own free will and finds pleasure in it. +He enjoys at once the pity he feels for their woes and the joy of +being exempt from them; he feels in himself that state of vigour +which projects us beyond ourselves, and bids us carry elsewhere +the superfluous activity of our well-being. To pity another's woes +we must indeed know them, but we need not feel them. When we have +suffered, when we are in fear of suffering, we pity those who +suffer; but when we suffer ourselves, we pity none but ourselves. +But if all of us, being subject ourselves to the ills of life, only +bestow upon others the sensibility we do not actually require for +ourselves, it follows that pity must be a very pleasant feeling, +since it speaks on our behalf; and, on the other hand, a hard-hearted +man is always unhappy, since the state of his heart leaves him no +superfluous sensibility to bestow on the sufferings of others. + +We are too apt to judge of happiness by appearances; we suppose it +is to be found in the most unlikely places, we seek for it where +it cannot possibly be; mirth is a very doubtful indication of its +presence. A merry man is often a wretch who is trying to deceive +others and distract himself. The men who are jovial, friendly, +and contented at their club are almost always gloomy grumblers at +home, and their servants have to pay for the amusement they give +among their friends. True contentment is neither merry nor noisy; +we are jealous of so sweet a sentiment, when we enjoy it we think +about it, we delight in it for fear it should escape us. A really +happy man says little and laughs little; he hugs his happiness, so +to speak, to his heart. Noisy games, violent delight, conceal the +disappointment of satiety. But melancholy is the friend of pleasure; +tears and pity attend our sweetest enjoyment, and great joys call +for tears rather than laughter. + +If at first the number and variety of our amusements seem to +contribute to our happiness, if at first the even tenor of a quiet +life seems tedious, when we look at it more closely we discover +that the pleasantest habit of mind consists in a moderate enjoyment +which leaves little scope for desire and aversion. The unrest of +passion causes curiosity and fickleness; the emptiness of noisy +pleasures causes weariness. We never weary of our state when we +know none more delightful. Savages suffer less than other men from +curiosity and from tedium; everything is the same to them--themselves, +not their possessions--and they are never weary. + +The man of the world almost always wears a mask. He is scarcely +ever himself and is almost a stranger to himself; he is ill at ease +when he is forced into his own company. Not what he is, but what +he seems, is all he cares for. + +I cannot help picturing in the countenance of the young man +I have just spoken of an indefinable but unpleasant impertinence, +smoothness, and affectation, which is repulsive to a plain man, +and in the countenance of my own pupil a simple and interesting +expression which indicates the real contentment and the calm +of his mind; an expression which inspires respect and confidence, +and seems only to await the establishment of friendly relations +to bestow his own confidence in return. It is thought that the +expression is merely the development of certain features designed +by nature. For my own part I think that over and above this +development a man's face is shaped, all unconsciously, by the +frequent and habitual influence of certain affections of the heart. +These affections are shown on the face, there is nothing more +certain; and when they become habitual, they must surely leave lasting +traces. This is why I think the expression shows the character, and +that we can sometimes read one another without seeking mysterious +explanations in powers we do not possess. + +A child has only two distinct feelings, joy and sorrow; he laughs +or he cries; he knows no middle course, and he is constantly passing +from one extreme to the other. On account of these perpetual changes +there is no lasting impression on the face, and no expression; but +when the child is older and more sensitive, his feelings are keener +or more permanent, and these deeper impressions leave traces more +difficult to erase; and the habitual state of the feelings has an +effect on the features which in course of time becomes ineffaceable. +Still it is not uncommon to meet with men whose expression varies +with their age. I have met with several, and I have always found +that those whom I could observe and follow had also changed their +habitual temper. This one observation thoroughly confirmed would +seem to me decisive, and it is not out of place in a treatise on +education, where it is a matter of importance, that we should learn +to judge the feelings of the heart by external signs. + +I do not know whether my young man will be any the less amiable +for not having learnt to copy conventional manners and to feign +sentiments which are not his own; that does not concern me at +present, I only know he will be more affectionate; and I find it +difficult to believe that he, who cares for nobody but himself, +can so far disguise his true feelings as to please as readily as he +who finds fresh happiness for himself in his affection for others. +But with regard to this feeling of happiness, I think I have said +enough already for the guidance of any sensible reader, and to show +that I have not contradicted myself. + +I return to my system, and I say, when the critical age approaches, +present to young people spectacles which restrain rather than +excite them; put off their dawning imagination with objects which, +far from inflaming their senses, put a check to their activity. +Remove them from great cities, where the flaunting attire and the +boldness of the women hasten and anticipate the teaching of nature, +where everything presents to their view pleasures of which they +should know nothing till they are of an age to choose for themselves. +Bring them back to their early home, where rural simplicity allows +the passions of their age to develop more slowly; or if their taste +for the arts keeps them in town, guard them by means of this very +taste from a dangerous idleness. Choose carefully their company, +their occupations, and their pleasures; show them nothing but +modest and pathetic pictures which are touching but not seductive, +and nourish their sensibility without stimulating their senses. +Remember also, that the danger of excess is not confined to any one +place, and that immoderate passions always do irreparable damage. +You need not make your pupil a sick-nurse or a Brother of Pity; you +need not distress him by the perpetual sight of pain and suffering; +you need not take him from one hospital to another, from the gallows +to the prison. He must be softened, not hardened, by the sight of +human misery. When we have seen a sight it ceases to impress us, +use is second nature, what is always before our eyes no longer +appeals to the imagination, and it is only through the imagination +that we can feel the sorrows of others; this is why priests and +doctors who are always beholding death and suffering become so +hardened. Let your pupil therefore know something of the lot of +man and the woes of his fellow-creatures, but let him not see them +too often. A single thing, carefully selected and shown at the right +time, will fill him with pity and set him thinking for a month. His +opinion about anything depends not so much on what he sees, but on +how it reacts on himself; and his lasting impression of any object +depends less on the object itself than on the point of view from +which he regards it. Thus by a sparing use of examples, lessons, +and pictures, you may blunt the sting of sense and delay nature +while following her own lead. + +As he acquires knowledge, choose what ideas he shall attach to it; +as his passions awake, select scenes calculated to repress them. +A veteran, as distinguished for his character as for his courage, +once told me that in early youth his father, a sensible man but +extremely pious, observed that through his growing sensibility he +was attracted by women, and spared no pains to restrain him; but at +last when, in spite of all his care, his son was about to escape +from his control, he decided to take him to a hospital, and, +without telling him what to expect, he introduced him into a room +where a number of wretched creatures were expiating, under a terrible +treatment, the vices which had brought them into this plight. This +hideous and revolting spectacle sickened the young man. "Miserable +libertine," said his father vehemently, "begone; follow your vile +tastes; you will soon be only too glad to be admitted to this ward, +and a victim to the most shameful sufferings, you will compel your +father to thank God when you are dead." + +These few words, together with the striking spectacle he beheld, +made an impression on the young man which could never be effaced. +Compelled by his profession to pass his youth in garrison, +he preferred to face all the jests of his comrades rather than to +share their evil ways. "I have been a man," he said to me, "I have +had my weaknesses, but even to the present day the sight of a harlot +inspires me with horror." Say little to your pupil, but choose +time, place, and people; then rely on concrete examples for your +teaching, and be sure it will take effect. + +The way childhood is spent is no great matter; the evil which may +find its way is not irremediable, and the good which may spring +up might come later. But it is not so in those early years when +a youth really begins to live. This time is never long enough for +what there is to be done, and its importance demands unceasing +attention; this is why I lay so much stress on the art of prolonging +it. One of the best rules of good farming is to keep things back as +much as possible. Let your progress also be slow and sure; prevent +the youth from becoming a man all at once. While the body is growing +the spirits destined to give vigour to the blood and strength to +the muscles are in process of formation and elaboration. If you turn +them into another channel, and permit that strength which should +have gone to the perfecting of one person to go to the making of +another, both remain in a state of weakness and the work of nature +is unfinished. The workings of the mind, in their turn, are affected +by this change, and the mind, as sickly as the body, functions +languidly and feebly. Length and strength of limb are not the same +thing as courage or genius, and I grant that strength of mind does +not always accompany strength of body, when the means of connection +between the two are otherwise faulty. But however well planned +they may be, they will always work feebly if for motive power they +depend upon an exhausted, impoverished supply of blood, deprived +of the substance which gives strength and elasticity to all the +springs of the machinery. There is generally more vigour of mind +to be found among men whose early years have been preserved from +precocious vice, than among those whose evil living has begun at the +earliest opportunity; and this is no doubt the reason why nations +whose morals are pure are generally superior in sense and courage +to those whose morals are bad. The latter shine only through I +know not what small and trifling qualities, which they call wit, +sagacity, cunning; but those great and noble features of goodness +and reason, by which a man is distinguished and honoured through +good deeds, virtues, really useful efforts, are scarcely to be +found except among the nations whose morals are pure. + +Teachers complain that the energy of this age makes their pupils +unruly; I see that it is so, but are not they themselves to blame? +When once they have let this energy flow through the channel of the +senses, do they not know that they cannot change its course? Will +the long and dreary sermons of the pedant efface from the mind of +his scholar the thoughts of pleasure when once they have found an +entrance; will they banish from his heart the desires by which it +is tormented; will they chill the heat of a passion whose meaning +the scholar realises? Will not the pupil be roused to anger by the +obstacles opposed to the only kind of happiness of which he has +any notion? And in the harsh law imposed upon him before he can +understand it, what will he see but the caprice and hatred of a +man who is trying to torment him? Is it strange that he rebels and +hates you too? + +I know very well that if one is easy-going one may be tolerated, +and one may keep up a show of authority. But I fail to see the use +of an authority over the pupil which is only maintained by fomenting +the vices it ought to repress; it is like attempting to soothe a +fiery steed by making it leap over a precipice. + +Far from being a hindrance to education, this enthusiasm of +adolescence is its crown and coping-stone; this it is that gives +you a hold on the youth's heart when he is no longer weaker than +you. His first affections are the reins by which you control his +movements; he was free, and now I behold him in your power. So long +as he loved nothing, he was independent of everything but himself +and his own necessities; as soon as he loves, he is dependent on +his affections. Thus the first ties which unite him to his species +are already formed. When you direct his increasing sensibility in +this direction, do not expect that it will at once include all men, +and that the word "mankind" will have any meaning for him. Not so; +this sensibility will at first confine itself to those like himself, +and these will not be strangers to him, but those he knows, those +whom habit has made dear to him or necessary to him, those who are +evidently thinking and feeling as he does, those whom he perceives +to be exposed to the pains he has endured, those who enjoy the +pleasures he has enjoyed; in a word, those who are so like himself +that he is the more disposed to self-love. It is only after long +training, after much consideration as to his own feelings and the +feelings he observes in others, that he will be able to generalise +his individual notions under the abstract idea of humanity, and +add to his individual affections those which may identify him with +the race. + +When he becomes capable of affection, he becomes aware of the +affection of others, [Footnote: Affection may be unrequited; not +so friendship. Friendship is a bargain, a contract like any other; +though a bargain more sacred than the rest. The word "friend" has +no other correlation. Any man who is not the friend of his friend +is undoubtedly a rascal; for one can only obtain friendship by +giving it, or pretending to give it.] and he is on the lookout for +the signs of that affection. Do you not see how you will acquire a +fresh hold on him? What bands have you bound about his heart while +he was yet unaware of them! What will he feel, when he beholds +himself and sees what you have done for him; when he can compare +himself with other youths, and other tutors with you! I say, "When +he sees it," but beware lest you tell him of it; if you tell him +he will not perceive it. If you claim his obedience in return for +the care bestowed upon him, he will think you have over-reached him; +he will see that while you profess to have cared for him without +reward, you meant to saddle him with a debt and to bind him to +a bargain which he never made. In vain you will add that what you +demand is for his own good; you demand it, and you demand it in +virtue of what you have done without his consent. When a man down +on his luck accepts the shilling which the sergeant professes to +give him, and finds he has enlisted without knowing what he was +about, you protest against the injustice; is it not still more unjust +to demand from your pupil the price of care which he has not even +accepted! + +Ingratitude would be rarer if kindness were less often the investment +of a usurer. We love those who have done us a kindness; what a +natural feeling! Ingratitude is not to be found in the heart of man, +but self-interest is there; those who are ungrateful for benefits +received are fewer than those who do a kindness for their own ends. +If you sell me your gifts, I will haggle over the price; but if +you pretend to give, in order to sell later on at your own price, +you are guilty of fraud; it is the free gift which is beyond price. +The heart is a law to itself; if you try to bind it, you lose it; +give it its liberty, and you make it your own. + +When the fisherman baits his line, the fish come round him without +suspicion; but when they are caught on the hook concealed in the +bait, they feel the line tighten and they try to escape. Is the +fisherman a benefactor? Is the fish ungrateful? Do we find a man +forgotten by his benefactor, unmindful of that benefactor? On the +contrary, he delights to speak of him, he cannot think of him without +emotion; if he gets a chance of showing him, by some unexpected +service, that he remembers what he did for him, how delighted +he is to satisfy his gratitude; what a pleasure it is to earn the +gratitude of his benefactor. How delightful to say, "It is my turn +now." This is indeed the teaching of nature; a good deed never +caused ingratitude. + +If therefore gratitude is a natural feeling, and you do not destroy +its effects by your blunders, be sure your pupil, as he begins to +understand the value of your care for him, will be grateful for +it, provided you have not put a price upon it; and this will give +you an authority over his heart which nothing can overthrow. But +beware of losing this advantage before it is really yours, beware +of insisting on your own importance. Boast of your services and +they become intolerable; forget them and they will not be forgotten. +Until the time comes to treat him as a man let there be no question +of his duty to you, but his duty to himself. Let him have his +freedom if you would make him docile; hide yourself so that he may +seek you; raise his heart to the noble sentiment of gratitude by +only speaking of his own interest. Until he was able to understand +I would not have him told that what was done was for his good; he +would only have understood such words to mean that you were dependent +on him and he would merely have made you his servant. But now that +he is beginning to feel what love is, he also knows what a tender +affection may bind a man to what he loves; and in the zeal which +keeps you busy on his account, he now sees not the bonds of a slave, +but the affection of a friend. Now there is nothing which carries +so much weight with the human heart as the voice of friendship +recognised as such, for we know that it never speaks but for our +good. We may think our friend is mistaken, but we never believe +he is deceiving us. We may reject his advice now and then, but we +never scorn it. + +We have reached the moral order at last; we have just taken the +second step towards manhood. If this were the place for it, I would +try to show how the first impulses of the heart give rise to the +first stirrings of conscience, and how from the feelings of love +and hatred spring the first notions of good and evil. I would show +that justice and kindness are no mere abstract terms, no mere moral +conceptions framed by the understanding, but true affections of the +heart enlightened by reason, the natural outcome of our primitive +affections; that by reason alone, unaided by conscience, we cannot +establish any natural law, and that all natural right is a vain +dream if it does not rest upon some instinctive need of the human +heart. [Footnote: The precept "Do unto others as you would have +them do unto you" has no true foundation but that of conscience +and feeling; for what valid reason is there why I, being myself, +should do what I would do if I were some one else, especially when +I am morally certain I never shall find myself in exactly the same +case; and who will answer for it that if I faithfully follow out +this maxim, I shall get others to follow it with regard to me? The +wicked takes advantage both of the uprightness of the just and of +his own injustice; he will gladly have everybody just but himself. +This bargain, whatever you may say, is not greatly to the advantage +of the just. But if the enthusiasm of an overflowing heart identifies +me with my fellow-creature, if I feel, so to speak, that I will not +let him suffer lest I should suffer too, I care for him because I +care for myself, and the reason of the precept is found in nature +herself, which inspires me with the desire for my own welfare +wherever I may be. From this I conclude that it is false to say that +the precepts of natural law are based on reason only; they have a +firmer and more solid foundation. The love of others springing from +self-love, is the source of human justice. The whole of morality is +summed up in the gospel in this summary of the law.] But I do not +think it is my business at present to prepare treatises on metaphysics +and morals, nor courses of study of any kind whatsoever; it is +enough if I indicate the order and development of our feelings and +our knowledge in relation to our growth. Others will perhaps work +out what I have here merely indicated. + +Hitherto my Emile has thought only of himself, so his first glance +at his equals leads him to compare himself with them; and the first +feeling excited by this comparison is the desire to be first. It +is here that self-love is transformed into selfishness, and this is +the starting point of all the passions which spring from selfishness. +But to determine whether the passions by which his life will be +governed shall be humane and gentle or harsh and cruel, whether +they shall be the passions of benevolence and pity or those of envy +and covetousness, we must know what he believes his place among men +to be, and what sort of obstacles he expects to have to overcome +in order to attain to the position he seeks. + +To guide him in this inquiry, after we have shown him men by means +of the accidents common to the species, we must now show him them +by means of their differences. This is the time for estimating +inequality natural and civil, and for the scheme of the whole social +order. + +Society must be studied in the individual and the individual in +society; those who desire to treat politics and morals apart from +one another will never understand either. By confining ourselves +at first to the primitive relations, we see how men should be +influenced by them and what passions should spring from them; we +see that it is in proportion to the development of these passions +that a man's relations with others expand or contract. It is not so +much strength of arm as moderation of spirit which makes men free +and independent. The man whose wants are few is dependent on but +few people, but those who constantly confound our vain desires +with our bodily needs, those who have made these needs the basis +of human society, are continually mistaking effects for causes, +and they have only confused themselves by their own reasoning. + +Since it is impossible in the state of nature that the difference +between man and man should be great enough to make one dependent +on another, there is in fact in this state of nature an actual and +indestructible equality. In the civil state there is a vain and +chimerical equality of right; the means intended for its maintenance, +themselves serve to destroy it; and the power of the community, +added to the power of the strongest for the oppression of the +weak, disturbs the sort of equilibrium which nature has established +between them. [Footnote: The universal spirit of the laws of every +country is always to take the part of the strong against the weak, +and the part of him who has against him who has not; this defect +is inevitable, and there is no exception to it.] From this first +contradiction spring all the other contradictions between the real +and the apparent, which are to be found in the civil order. The many +will always be sacrificed to the few, the common weal to private +interest; those specious words--justice and subordination--will +always serve as the tools of violence and the weapons of injustice; +hence it follows that the higher classes which claim to be useful +to the rest are really only seeking their own welfare at the expense +of others; from this we may judge how much consideration is due to +them according to right and justice. It remains to be seen if the +rank to which they have attained is more favourable to their own +happiness to know what opinion each one of us should form with regard +to his own lot. This is the study with which we are now concerned; +but to do it thoroughly we must begin with a knowledge of the human +heart. + +If it were only a question of showing young people man in his mask, +there would be no need to point him out, and he would always be +before their eyes; but since the mask is not the man, and since +they must not be led away by its specious appearance, when you paint +men for your scholar, paint them as they are, not that he may hate +them, but that he may pity them and have no wish to be like them. +In my opinion that is the most reasonable view a man can hold with +regard to his fellow-men. + +With this object in view we must take the opposite way from that +hitherto followed, and instruct the youth rather through the experience +of others than through his own. If men deceive him he will hate +them; but, if, while they treat him with respect, he sees them +deceiving each other, he will pity them. "The spectacle of the +world," said Pythagoras, "is like the Olympic games; some are buying +and selling and think only of their gains; others take an active +part and strive for glory; others, and these not the worst, are +content to be lookers-on." + +I would have you so choose the company of a youth that he should +think well of those among whom he lives, and I would have you so +teach him to know the world that he should think ill of all that +takes place in it. Let him know that man is by nature good, let +him feel it, let him judge his neighbour by himself; but let him +see how men are depraved and perverted by society; let him find the +source of all their vices in their preconceived opinions; let him +be disposed to respect the individual, but to despise the multitude; +let him see that all men wear almost the same mask, but let him +also know that some faces are fairer than the mask that conceals +them. + +It must be admitted that this method has its drawbacks, and it is +not easy to carry it out; for if he becomes too soon engrossed in +watching other people, if you train him to mark too closely the +actions of others, you will make him spiteful and satirical, quick +and decided in his judgments of others; he will find a hateful +pleasure in seeking bad motives, and will fail to see the good even +in that which is really good. He will, at least, get used to the +sight of vice, he will behold the wicked without horror, just as we +get used to seeing the wretched without pity. Soon the perversity +of mankind will be not so much a warning as an excuse; he will say, +"Man is made so," and he will have no wish to be different from +the rest. + +But if you wish to teach him theoretically to make him acquainted, +not only with the heart of man, but also with the application of +the external causes which turn our inclinations into vices; when +you thus transport him all at once from the objects of sense to the +objects of reason, you employ a system of metaphysics which he is +not in a position to understand; you fall back into the error, so +carefully avoided hitherto, of giving him lessons which are like +lessons, of substituting in his mind the experience and the authority +of the master for his own experience and the development of his +own reason. + +To remove these two obstacles at once, and to bring the human heart +within his reach without risk of spoiling his own, I would show +him men from afar, in other times or in other places, so that he +may behold the scene but cannot take part in it. This is the time +for history; with its help he will read the hearts of men without +any lessons in philosophy; with its help he will view them as a +mere spectator, dispassionate and without prejudice; he will view +them as their judge, not as their accomplice or their accuser. + +To know men you must behold their actions. In society we hear them +talk; they show their words and hide their deeds; but in history +the veil is drawn aside, and they are judged by their deeds. Their +sayings even help us to understand them; for comparing what they +say and what they do, we see not only what they are but what they +would appear; the more they disguise themselves the more thoroughly +they stand revealed. + +Unluckily this study has its dangers, its drawbacks of several +kinds. It is difficult to adopt a point of view which will enable +one to judge one's fellow-creatures fairly. It is one of the chief +defects of history to paint men's evil deeds rather than their +good ones; it is revolutions and catastrophes that make history +interesting; so long as a nation grows and prospers quietly in +the tranquillity of a peaceful government, history says nothing; +she only begins to speak of nations when, no longer able to be +self-sufficing, they interfere with their neighbours' business, or +allow their neighbours to interfere with their own; history only +makes them famous when they are on the downward path; all our +histories begin where they ought to end. We have very accurate +accounts of declining nations; what we lack is the history of those +nations which are multiplying; they are so happy and so good that +history has nothing to tell us of them; and we see indeed in our +own times that the most successful governments are least talked +of. We only hear what is bad; the good is scarcely mentioned. Only +the wicked become famous, the good are forgotten or laughed to +scorn, and thus history, like philosophy, is for ever slandering +mankind. + +Moreover, it is inevitable that the facts described in history +should not give an exact picture of what really happened; they are +transformed in the brain of the historian, they are moulded by his +interests and coloured by his prejudices. Who can place the reader +precisely in a position to see the event as it really happened? +Ignorance or partiality disguises everything. What a different +impression may be given merely by expanding or contracting the +circumstances of the case without altering a single historical +incident. The same object may be seen from several points of view, +and it will hardly seem the same thing, yet there has been no +change except in the eye that beholds it. Do you indeed do honour +to truth when what you tell me is a genuine fact, but you make it +appear something quite different? A tree more or less, a rock to +the right or to the left, a cloud of dust raised by the wind, how +often have these decided the result of a battle without any one +knowing it? Does that prevent history from telling you the cause +of defeat or victory with as much assurance as if she had been +on the spot? But what are the facts to me, while I am ignorant of +their causes, and what lessons can I draw from an event, whose true +cause is unknown to me? The historian indeed gives me a reason, but +he invents it; and criticism itself, of which we hear so much, is +only the art of guessing, the art of choosing from among several +lies, the lie that is most like truth. + +Have you ever read Cleopatra or Cassandra or any books of the kind? +The author selects some well-known event, he then adapts it to his +purpose, adorns it with details of his own invention, with people +who never existed, with imaginary portraits; thus he piles fiction +on fiction to lend a charm to his story. I see little difference +between such romances and your histories, unless it is that the +novelist draws more on his own imagination, while the historian +slavishly copies what another has imagined; I will also admit, if +you please, that the novelist has some moral purpose good or bad, +about which the historian scarcely concerns himself. + +You will tell me that accuracy in history is of less interest than +a true picture of men and manners; provided the human heart is +truly portrayed, it matters little that events should be accurately +recorded; for after all you say, what does it matter to us what +happened two thousand years ago? You are right if the portraits are +indeed truly given according to nature; but if the model is to be +found for the most part in the historian's imagination, are you not +falling into the very error you intended to avoid, and surrendering +to the authority of the historian what you would not yield to +the authority of the teacher? If my pupil is merely to see fancy +pictures, I would rather draw them myself; they will, at least, be +better suited to him. + +The worst historians for a youth are those who give their opinions. +Facts! Facts! and let him decide for himself; this is how he will +learn to know mankind. If he is always directed by the opinion of +the author, he is only seeing through the eyes of another person, +and when those ayes are no longer at his disposal he can see nothing. + +I leave modern history on one side, not only because it has no +character and all our people are alike, but because our historians, +wholly taken up with effect, think of nothing but highly coloured +portraits, which often represent nothing. [Footnote: Take, for +instance, Guicciardini, Streda, Solis, Machiavelli, and sometimes +even De Thou himself. Vertot is almost the only one who knows +how to describe without giving fancy portraits.] The old historians +generally give fewer portraits and bring more intelligence +and common-sense to their judgments; but even among them there is +plenty of scope for choice, and you must not begin with the wisest +but with the simplest. I would not put Polybius or Sallust into +the hands of a youth; Tacitus is the author of the old, young men +cannot understand him; you must learn to see in human actions the +simplest features of the heart of man before you try to sound its +depths. You must be able to read facts clearly before you begin +to study maxims. Philosophy in the form of maxims is only fit for +the experienced. Youth should never deal with the general, all +its teaching should deal with individual instances. + +To my mind Thucydides is the true model of historians. He relates +facts without giving his opinion; but he omits no circumstance +adapted to make us judge for ourselves. He puts everything that he +relates before his reader; far from interposing between the facts +and the readers, he conceals himself; we seem not to read but to +see. Unfortunately he speaks of nothing but war, and in his stories +we only see the least instructive part of the world, that is to +say the battles. The virtues and defects of the Retreat of the Ten +Thousand and the Commentaries of Caesar are almost the same. The +kindly Herodotus, without portraits, without maxims, yet flowing, +simple, full of details calculated to delight and interest in the +highest degree, would be perhaps the best historian if these very +details did not often degenerate into childish folly, better adapted +to spoil the taste of youth than to form it; we need discretion +before we can read him. I say nothing of Livy, his turn will come; +but he is a statesman, a rhetorician, he is everything which is +unsuitable for a youth. + +History in general is lacking because it only takes note of striking +and clearly marked facts which may be fixed by names, places, +and dates; but the slow evolution of these facts, which cannot be +definitely noted in this way, still remains unknown. We often find +in some battle, lost or won, the ostensible cause of a revolution +which was inevitable before this battle took place. War only makes +manifest events already determined by moral causes, which few +historians can perceive. + +The philosophic spirit has turned the thoughts of many of the +historians of our times in this direction; but I doubt whether +truth has profited by their labours. The rage for systems has got +possession of all alike, no one seeks to see things as they are, +but only as they agree with his system. + +Add to all these considerations the fact that history shows us +actions rather than men, because she only seizes men at certain +chosen times in full dress; she only portrays the statesman when +he is prepared to be seen; she does not follow him to his home, to +his study, among his family and his friends; she only shows him in +state; it is his clothes rather than himself that she describes. + +I would prefer to begin the study of the human heart with reading +the lives of individuals; for then the man hides himself in vain, +the historian follows him everywhere; he never gives him a moment's +grace nor any corner where he can escape the piercing eye of the +spectator; and when he thinks he is concealing himself, then it is +that the writer shows him up most plainly. + +"Those who write lives," says Montaigne, "in so far as they delight +more in ideas than in events, more in that which comes from within +than in that which comes from without, these are the writers I +prefer; for this reason Plutarch is in every way the man for me." + +It is true that the genius of men in groups or nations is very +different from the character of the individual man, and that we +have a very imperfect knowledge of the human heart if we do not +also examine it in crowds; but it is none the less true that to +judge of men we must study the individual man, and that he who had +a perfect knowledge of the inclinations of each individual might +foresee all their combined effects in the body of the nation. + +We must go back again to the ancients, for the reasons already +stated, and also because all the details common and familiar, but +true and characteristic, are banished by modern stylists, so that +men are as much tricked out by our modern authors in their private +life as in public. Propriety, no less strict in literature than +in life, no longer permits us to say anything in public which we +might not do in public; and as we may only show the man dressed up +for his part, we never see a man in our books any more than we do +on the stage. The lives of kings may be written a hundred times, +but to no purpose; we shall never have another Suetonius. + +The excellence of Plutarch consists in these very details which +we are no longer permitted to describe. With inimitable grace he +paints the great man in little things; and he is so happy in the +choice of his instances that a word, a smile, a gesture, will often +suffice to indicate the nature of his hero. With a jest Hannibal +cheers his frightened soldiers, and leads them laughing to the +battle which will lay Italy at his feet; Agesilaus riding on a +stick makes me love the conqueror of the great king; Caesar passing +through a poor village and chatting with his friends unconsciously +betrays the traitor who professed that he only wished to be Pompey's +equal. Alexander swallows a draught without a word--it is the +finest moment in his life; Aristides writes his own name on the +shell and so justifies his title; Philopoemen, his mantle laid aside, +chops firewood in the kitchen of his host. This is the true art of +portraiture. Our disposition does not show itself in our features, +nor our character in our great deeds; it is trifles that show what +we really are. What is done in public is either too commonplace +or too artificial, and our modern authors are almost too grand to +tell us anything else. + +M. de Turenne was undoubtedly one of the greatest men of the last +century. They have had the courage to make his life interesting by +the little details which make us know and love him; but how many +details have they felt obliged to omit which might have made us +know and love him better still? I will only quote one which I have +on good authority, one which Plutarch would never have omitted, and +one which Ramsai would never have inserted had he been acquainted +with it. + +On a hot summer's day Viscount Turenne in a little white vest and +nightcap was standing at the window of his antechamber; one of +his men came up and, misled by the dress, took him for one of the +kitchen lads whom he knew. He crept up behind him and smacked him +with no light hand. The man he struck turned round hastily. The valet +saw it was his master and trembled at the sight of his face. He +fell on his knees in desperation. "Sir, I thought it was George." +"Well, even if it was George," exclaimed Turenne rubbing the injured +part, "you need not have struck so hard." You do not dare to say +this, you miserable writers! Remain for ever without humanity and +without feeling; steel your hard hearts in your vile propriety, make +yourselves contemptible through your high-mightiness. But as for +you, dear youth, when you read this anecdote, when you are touched +by all the kindliness displayed even on the impulse of the moment, +read also the littleness of this great man when it was a question +of his name and birth. Remember it was this very Turenne who always +professed to yield precedence to his nephew, so that all men might +see that this child was the head of a royal house. Look on this +picture and on that, love nature, despise popular prejudice, and +know the man as he was. + +There are few people able to realise what an effect such reading, +carefully directed, will have upon the unspoilt mind of a youth. +Weighed down by books from our earliest childhood, accustomed to +read without thinking, what we read strikes us even less, because +we already bear in ourselves the passions and prejudices with which +history and the lives of men are filled; all that they do strikes +us as only natural, for we ourselves are unnatural and we judge +others by ourselves. But imagine my Emile, who has been carefully +guarded for eighteen years with the sole object of preserving a +right judgment and a healthy heart, imagine him when the curtain +goes up casting his eyes for the first time upon the world's stage; +or rather picture him behind the scenes watching the actors don +their costumes, and counting the cords and pulleys which deceive +with their feigned shows the eyes of the spectators. His first +surprise will soon give place to feelings of shame and scorn of his +fellow-man; he will be indignant at the sight of the whole human +race deceiving itself and stooping to this childish folly; he will +grieve to see his brothers tearing each other limb from limb for +a mere dream, and transforming themselves into wild beasts because +they could not be content to be men. + +Given the natural disposition of the pupil, there is no doubt that +if the master exercises any sort of prudence or discretion in +his choice of reading, however little he may put him in the way +of reflecting on the subject-matter, this exercise will serve as +a course in practical philosophy, a philosophy better understood +and more thoroughly mastered than all the empty speculations with +which the brains of lads are muddled in our schools. After following +the romantic schemes of Pyrrhus, Cineas asks him what real good he +would gain by the conquest of the world, which he can never enjoy +without such great sufferings; this only arouses in us a passing +interest as a smart saying; but Emile will think it a very wise +thought, one which had already occurred to himself, and one which +he will never forget, because there is no hostile prejudice in +his mind to prevent it sinking in. When he reads more of the life +of this madman, he will find that all his great plans resulted in +his death at the hands of a woman, and instead of admiring this +pinchbeck heroism, what will he see in the exploits of this great +captain and the schemes of this great statesman but so many steps +towards that unlucky tile which was to bring life and schemes alike +to a shameful death? + +All conquerors have not been killed; all usurpers have not failed +in their plans; to minds imbued with vulgar prejudices many of them +will seem happy, but he who looks below the surface and reckons +men's happiness by the condition of their hearts will perceive +their wretchedness even in the midst of their successes; he will +see them panting after advancement and never attaining their prize, +he will find them like those inexperienced travellers among the +Alps, who think that every height they see is the last, who reach +its summit only to find to their disappointment there are loftier +peaks beyond. + +Augustus, when he had subdued his fellow-citizens and destroyed +his rivals, reigned for forty years over the greatest empire that +ever existed; but all this vast power could not hinder him from +beating his head against the walls, and filling his palace with his +groans as he cried to Varus to restore his slaughtered legions. If +he had conquered all his foes what good would his empty triumphs +have done him, when troubles of every kind beset his path, when +his life was threatened by his dearest friends, and when he had to +mourn the disgrace or death of all near and dear to him? The wretched +man desired to rule the world and failed to rule his own household. +What was the result of this neglect? He beheld his nephew, his +adopted child, his son-in-law, perish in the flower of youth, his +grandson reduced to eat the stuffing of his mattress to prolong +his wretched existence for a few hours; his daughter and his +granddaughter, after they had covered him with infamy, died, the +one of hunger and want on a desert island, the other in prison by +the hand of a common archer. He himself, the last survivor of his +unhappy house, found himself compelled by his own wife to acknowledge +a monster as his heir. Such was the fate of the master of the world, +so famous for his glory and his good fortune. I cannot believe that +any one of those who admire his glory and fortune would accept them +at the same price. + +I have taken ambition as my example, but the play of every human +passion offers similar lessons to any one who will study history +to make himself wise and good at the expense of those who went +before. The time is drawing near when the teaching of the life +of Anthony will appeal more forcibly to the youth than the life +of Augustus. Emile will scarcely know where he is among the many +strange sights in his new studies; but he will know beforehand how +to avoid the illusion of passions before they arise, and seeing how +in all ages they have blinded men's eyes, he will be forewarned of +the way in which they may one day blind his own should he abandon +himself to them. [Footnote: It is always prejudice which stirs +up passion in our heart. He who only sees what really exists and +only values what he knows, rarely becomes angry. The errors of +our judgment produce the warmth of our desires.] These lessons, I +know, are unsuited to him, perhaps at need they may prove scanty +and ill-timed; but remember they are not the lessons I wished to +draw from this study. To begin with, I had quite another end in +view; and indeed, if this purpose is unfulfilled, the teacher will +be to blame. + +Remember that, as soon as selfishness has developed, the self +in its relations to others is always with us, and the youth never +observes others without coming back to himself and comparing himself +with them. From the way young men are taught to study history I +see that they are transformed, so to speak, into the people they +behold, that you strive to make a Cicero, a Trajan, or an Alexander +of them, to discourage them when they are themselves again, to +make every one regret that he is merely himself. There are certain +advantages in this plan which I do not deny; but, so far as Emile +is concerned, should it happen at any time when he is making these +comparisons that he wishes to be any one but himself--were it +Socrates or Cato--I have failed entirely; he who begins to regard +himself as a stranger will soon forget himself altogether. + +It is not philosophers who know most about men; they only view them +through the preconceived ideas of philosophy, and I know no one so +prejudiced as philosophers. A savage would judge us more sanely. +The philosopher is aware of his own vices, he is indignant at ours, +and he says to himself, "We are all bad alike;" the savage beholds +us unmoved and says, "You are mad." He is right, for no one does +evil for evil's sake. My pupil is that savage, with this difference: +Emile has thought more, he has compared ideas, seen our errors at +close quarters, he is more on his guard against himself, and only +judges of what he knows. + +It is our own passions that excite us against the passions of +others; it is our self-interest which makes us hate the wicked; +if they did us no harm we should pity rather than hate them. We +should readily forgive their vices if we could perceive how their +own heart punishes those vices. We are aware of the offence, but we +do not see the punishment; the advantages are plain, the penalty is +hidden. The man who thinks he is enjoying the fruits of his vices +is no less tormented by them than if they had not been successful; the +object is different, the anxiety is the same; in vain he displays +his good fortune and hides his heart; in spite of himself his +conduct betrays him; but to discern this, our own heart must be +utterly unlike his. + +We are led astray by those passions which we share; we are disgusted +by those that militate against our own interests; and with a want +of logic due to these very passions, we blame in others what we fain +would imitate. Aversion and self-deception are inevitable when we +are forced to endure at another's hands what we ourselves would do +in his place. + +What then is required for the proper study of men? A great wish +to know men, great impartiality of judgment, a heart sufficiently +sensitive to understand every human passion, and calm enough to +be free from passion. If there is any time in our life when this +study is likely to be appreciated, it is this that I have chosen +for Emile; before this time men would have been strangers to him; +later on he would have been like them. Convention, the effects of +which he already perceives, has not yet made him its slave, the +passions, whose consequences he realises, have not yet stirred his +heart. He is a man; he takes an interest in his brethren; he is +a just man and he judges his peers. Now it is certain that if he +judges them rightly he will not want to change places with any one +of them, for the goal of all their anxious efforts is the result +of prejudices which he does not share, and that goal seems to him +a mere dream. For his own part, he has all he wants within his +reach. How should he be dependent on any one when he is self-sufficing +and free from prejudice? Strong arms, good health, [Footnote: I +think I may fairly reckon health and strength among the advantages +he has obtained by his education, or rather among the gifts of +nature which his education has preserved for him.] moderation, few +needs, together with the means to satisfy those needs, are his. +He has been brought up in complete liberty and servitude is the +greatest ill he understands. He pities these miserable kings, the +slaves of all who obey them; he pities these false prophets fettered +by their empty fame; he pities these rich fools, martyrs to their +own pomp; he pities these ostentatious voluptuaries, who spend their +life in deadly dullness that they may seem to enjoy its pleasures. +He would pity the very foe who harmed him, for he would discern his +wretchedness beneath his cloak of spite. He would say to himself, +"This man has yielded to his desire to hurt me, and this need of +his places him at my mercy." + +One step more and our goal is attained. Selfishness is a dangerous +tool though a useful one; it often wounds the hand that uses it, +and it rarely does good unmixed with evil. When Emile considers his +place among men, when he finds himself so fortunately situated, he +will be tempted to give credit to his own reason for the work of +yours, and to attribute to his own deserts what is really the result +of his good fortune. He will say to himself, "I am wise and other +men are fools." He will pity and despise them and will congratulate +himself all the more heartily; and as he knows he is happier than +they, he will think his deserts are greater. This is the fault we +have most to fear, for it is the most difficult to eradicate. If +he remained in this state of mind, he would have profited little +by all our care; and if I had to choose, I hardly know whether I +would not rather choose the illusions of prejudice than those of +pride. + +Great men are under no illusion with respect to their superiority; +they see it and know it, but they are none the less modest. The +more they have, the better they know what they lack. They are less +vain of their superiority over us than ashamed by the consciousness +of their weakness, and among the good things they really possess, +they are too wise to pride themselves on a gift which is none of +their getting. The good man may be proud of his virtue for it is +his own, but what cause for pride has the man of intellect? What +has Racine done that he is not Pradon, and Boileau that he is not +Cotin? + +The circumstances with which we are concerned are quite different. +Let us keep to the common level. I assumed that my pupil had neither +surpassing genius nor a defective understanding. I chose him of an +ordinary mind to show what education could do for man. Exceptions +defy all rules. If, therefore, as a result of my care, Emile +prefers his way of living, seeing, and feeling to that of others, +he is right; but if he thinks because of this that he is nobler +and better born than they, he is wrong; he is deceiving himself; +he must be undeceived, or rather let us prevent the mistake, lest +it be too late to correct it. + +Provided a man is not mad, he can be cured of any folly but vanity; +there is no cure for this but experience, if indeed there is any +cure for it at all; when it first appears we can at least prevent +its further growth. But do not on this account waste your breath +on empty arguments to prove to the youth that he is like other men +and subject to the same weaknesses. Make him feel it or he will +never know it. This is another instance of an exception to my own +rules; I must voluntarily expose my pupil to every accident which +may convince him that he is no wiser than we. The adventure with +the conjurer will be repeated again and again in different ways; I +shall let flatterers take advantage of him; if rash comrades draw +him into some perilous adventure, I will let him run the risk; +if he falls into the hands of sharpers at the card-table, I will +abandon him to them as their dupe.[Footnote: Moreover our pupil +will be little tempted by this snare; he has so many amusements +about him, he has never been bored in his life, and he scarcely knows +the use of money. As children have been led by these two motives, +self-interest and vanity, rogues and courtesans use the same means +to get hold of them later. When you see their greediness encouraged +by prizes and rewards, when you find their public performances +at ten years old applauded at school or college, you see too how +at twenty they will be induced to leave their purse in a gambling +hell and their health in a worse place. You may safely wager that +the sharpest boy in the class will become the greatest gambler and +debauchee. Now the means which have not been employed in childhood +have not the same effect in youth. But we must bear in mind +my constant plan and take the thing at its worst. First I try to +prevent the vice; then I assume its existence in order to correct +it.] I will let them flatter him, pluck him, and rob him; and when +having sucked him dry they turn and mock him, I will even thank +them to his face for the lessons they have been good enough to give +him. The only snares from which I will guard him with my utmost +care are the wiles of wanton women. The only precaution I shall take +will be to share all the dangers I let him run, and all the insults +I let him receive. I will bear everything in silence, without a +murmur or reproach, without a word to him, and be sure that if this +wise conduct is faithfully adhered to, what he sees me endure on +his account will make more impression on his heart than what he +himself suffers. + +I cannot refrain at this point from drawing attention to the sham +dignity of tutors, who foolishly pretend to be wise, who discourage +their pupils by always professing to treat them as children, and +by emphasising the difference between themselves and their scholars +in everything they do. Far from damping their youthful spirits in +this fashion, spare no effort to stimulate their courage; that they +may become your equals, treat them as such already, and if they +cannot rise to your level, do not scruple to come down to theirs +without being ashamed of it. Remember that your honour is no longer +in your own keeping but in your pupil's. Share his faults that +you may correct them, bear his disgrace that you may wipe it out; +follow the example of that brave Roman who, unable to rally his +fleeing soldiers, placed himself at their head, exclaiming, "They +do not flee, they follow their captain!" Did this dishonour him? +Not so; by sacrificing his glory he increased it. The power of +duty, the beauty of virtue, compel our respect in spite of all our +foolish prejudices. If I received a blow in the course of my duties +to Emile, far from avenging it I would boast of it; and I doubt +whether there is in the whole world a man so vile as to respect me +any the less on this account. + +I do not intend the pupil to suppose his master to be as ignorant, +or as liable to be led astray, as he is himself. This idea is +all very well for a child who can neither see nor compare things, +who thinks everything is within his reach, and only bestows his +confidence on those who know how to come down to his level. But a +youth of Emile's age and sense is no longer so foolish as to make +this mistake, and it would not be desirable that he should. The +confidence he ought to have in his tutor is of another kind; it +should rest on the authority of reason, and on superior knowledge, +advantages which the young man is capable of appreciating while +he perceives how useful they are to himself. Long experience has +convinced him that his tutor loves him, that he is a wise and good +man who desires his happiness and knows how to procure it. He ought +to know that it is to his own advantage to listen to his advice. +But if the master lets himself be taken in like the disciple, he +will lose his right to expect deference from him, and to give him +instruction. Still less should the pupil suppose that his master +is purposely letting him fall into snares or preparing pitfalls for +his inexperience. How can we avoid these two difficulties? Choose +the best and most natural means; be frank and straightforward like +himself; warn him of the dangers to which he is exposed, point them +out plainly and sensibly, without exaggeration, without temper, +without pedantic display, and above all without giving your opinions +in the form of orders, until they have become such, and until this +imperious tone is absolutely necessary. Should he still be obstinate as +he often will be, leave him free to follow his own choice, follow +him, copy his example, and that cheerfully and frankly; if possible +fling yourself into things, amuse yourself as much as he does. If +the consequences become too serious, you are at hand to prevent +them; and yet when this young man has beheld your foresight and your +kindliness, will he not be at once struck by the one and touched +by the other? All his faults are but so many hands with which +he himself provides you to restrain him at need. Now under these +circumstances the great art of the master consists in controlling +events and directing his exhortations so that he may know beforehand +when the youth will give in, and when he will refuse to do so, +so that all around him he may encompass him with the lessons of +experience, and yet never let him run too great a risk. + +Warn him of his faults before he commits them; do not blame him +when once they are committed; you would only stir his self-love to +mutiny. We learn nothing from a lesson we detest. I know nothing +more foolish than the phrase, "I told you so." The best way to make +him remember what you told him is to seem to have forgotten it. Go +further than this, and when you find him ashamed of having refused +to believe you, gently smooth away the shame with kindly words. He +will indeed hold you dear when he sees how you forget yourself on +his account, and how you console him instead of reproaching him. +But if you increase his annoyance by your reproaches he will hate +you, and will make it a rule never to heed you, as if to show you +that he does not agree with you as to the value of your opinion. + +The turn you give to your consolation may itself be a lesson +to him, and all the more because he does not suspect it. When you +tell him, for example, that many other people have made the same +mistakes, this is not what he was expecting; you are administering +correction under the guise of pity; for when one thinks oneself +better than other people it is a very mortifying excuse to console +oneself by their example; it means that we must realise that the +most we can say is that they are no better than we. + +The time of faults is the time for fables. When we blame the guilty +under the cover of a story we instruct without offending him; and +he then understands that the story is not untrue by means of the +truth he finds in its application to himself. The child who has +never been deceived by flattery understands nothing of the fable I +recently examined; but the rash youth who has just become the dupe +of a flatterer perceives only too readily that the crow was a fool. +Thus he acquires a maxim from the fact, and the experience he would +soon have forgotten is engraved on his mind by means of the fable. +There is no knowledge of morals which cannot be acquired through our +own experience or that of others. When there is danger, instead of +letting him try the experiment himself, we have recourse to history. +When the risk is comparatively slight, it is just as well that +the youth should be exposed to it; then by means of the apologue +the special cases with which the young man is now acquainted are +transformed into maxims. + +It is not, however, my intention that these maxims should be +explained, nor even formulated. Nothing is so foolish and unwise +as the moral at the end of most of the fables; as if the moral +was not, or ought not to be so clear in the fable itself that the +reader cannot fail to perceive it. Why then add the moral at the end, +and go deprive him of the pleasure of discovering it for himself. +The art of teaching consists in making the pupil wish to learn. +But if the pupil is to wish to learn, his mind must not remain in +such a passive state with regard to what you tell him that there +is really nothing for him to do but listen to you. The master's +vanity must always give way to the scholars; he must be able +to say, I understand, I see it, I am getting at it, I am learning +something. One of the things which makes the Pantaloon in the +Italian comedies so wearisome is the pains taken by him to explain +to the audience the platitudes they understand only too well already. +We must always be intelligible, but we need not say all there is +to be said. If you talk much you will say little, for at last no +one will listen to you. What is the sense of the four lines at the +end of La Fontaine's fable of the frog who puffed herself up. Is +he afraid we should not understand it? Does this great painter need +to write the names beneath the things he has painted? His morals, +far from generalising, restrict the lesson to some extent to the +examples given, and prevent our applying them to others. Before I +put the fables of this inimitable author into the hands of a youth, +I should like to cut out all the conclusions with which he strives +to explain what he has just said so clearly and pleasantly. If +your pupil does not understand the fable without the explanation, +he will not understand it with it. + +Moreover, the fables would require to be arranged in a more didactic +order, one more in agreement with the feelings and knowledge of +the young adolescent. Can you imagine anything so foolish as to +follow the mere numerical order of the book without regard to our +requirements or our opportunities. First the grasshopper, then the +crow, then the frog, then the two mules, etc. I am sick of these +two mules; I remember seeing a child who was being educated for +finance; they never let him alone, but were always insisting on the +profession he was to follow; they made him read this fable, learn +it, say it, repeat it again and again without finding in it the +slightest argument against his future calling. Not only have I +never found children make any real use of the fables they learn, +but I have never found anybody who took the trouble to see that +they made such a use of them. The study claims to be instruction +in morals; but the real aim of mother and child is nothing but to +set a whole party watching the child while he recites his fables; +when he is too old to recite them and old enough to make use of +them, they are altogether forgotten. Only men, I repeat, can learn +from fables, and Emile is now old enough to begin. + +I do not mean to tell you everything, so I only indicate the paths +which diverge from the right way, so that you may know how to avoid +them. If you follow the road I have marked out for you, I think +your pupil will buy his knowledge of mankind and his knowledge of +himself in the cheapest market; you will enable him to behold the +tricks of fortune without envying the lot of her favourites, and +to be content with himself without thinking himself better than +others. You have begun by making him an actor that he may learn to +be one of the audience; you must continue your task, for from the +theatre things are what they seem, from the stage they seem what +they are. For the general effect we must get a distant view, for +the details we must observe more closely. But how can a young man +take part in the business of life? What right has he to be initiated +into its dark secrets? His interests are confined within the limits +of his own pleasures, he has no power over others, it is much the +same as if he had no power at all. Man is the cheapest commodity +on the market, and among all our important rights of property, the +rights of the individual are always considered last of all. + +When I see the studies of young men at the period of their greatest +activity confined to purely speculative matters, while later on +they are suddenly plunged, without any sort of experience, into +the world of men and affairs, it strikes me as contrary alike to +reason and to nature, and I cease to be surprised that so few men +know what to do. How strange a choice to teach us so many useless +things, while the art of doing is never touched upon! They profess +to fit us for society, and we are taught as if each of us were +to live a life of contemplation in a solitary cell, or to discuss +theories with persons whom they did not concern. You think you +are teaching your scholars how to live, and you teach them certain +bodily contortions and certain forms of words without meaning. +I, too, have taught Emile how to live; for I have taught him to +enjoy his own society and, more than that, to earn his own bread. +But this is not enough. To live in the world he must know how to +get on with other people, he must know what forces move them, he +must calculate the action and re-action of self-interest in civil +society, he must estimate the results so accurately that he will +rarely fail in his undertakings, or he will at least have tried +in the best possible way. The law does not allow young people to +manage their own affairs nor to dispose of their own property; but +what would be the use of these precautions if they never gained any +experience until they were of age. They would have gained nothing +by the delay, and would have no more experience at five-and-twenty +than at fifteen. No doubt we must take precautions, so that a youth, +blinded by ignorance or misled by passion, may not hurt himself; +but at any age there are opportunities when deeds of kindness and +of care for the weak may be performed under the direction of a wise +man, on behalf of the unfortunate who need help. + +Mothers and nurses grow fond of children because of the care they +lavish on them; the practice of social virtues touches the very +heart with the love of humanity; by doing good we become good; and +I know no surer way to this end. Keep your pupil busy with the good +deeds that are within his power, let the cause of the poor be his +own, let him help them not merely with his money, but with his +service; let him work for them, protect them, let his person and +his time be at their disposal; let him be their agent; he will +never all his life long have a more honourable office. How many of +the oppressed, who have never got a hearing, will obtain justice +when he demands it for them with that courage and firmness which +the practice of virtue inspires; when he makes his way into the +presence of the rich and great, when he goes, if need be, to the +footstool of the king himself, to plead the cause of the wretched, +the cause of those who find all doors closed to them by their poverty, +those who are so afraid of being punished for their misfortunes +that they do not dare to complain? + +But shall we make of Emile a knight-errant, a redresser of wrongs, +a paladin? Shall he thrust himself into public life, play the sage +and the defender of the laws before the great, before the magistrates, +before the king? Shall he lay petitions before the judges and plead +in the law courts? That I cannot say. The nature of things is not +changed by terms of mockery and scorn. He will do all that he knows +to be useful and good. He will do nothing more, and he knows that +nothing is useful and good for him which is unbefitting his age. +He knows that his first duty is to himself; that young men should +distrust themselves; that they should act circumspectly; that they +should show respect to those older than themselves, reticence and +discretion in talking without cause, modesty in things indifferent, but +courage in well doing, and boldness to speak the truth. Such were +those illustrious Romans who, having been admitted into public life, +spent their days in bringing criminals to justice and in protecting +the innocent, without any motives beyond those of learning, and of +the furtherance of justice and of the protection of right conduct. + +Emile is not fond of noise or quarrelling, not only among men, but +among animals. [Footnote: "But what will he do if any one seeks a +quarrel with him?" My answer is that no one will ever quarrel with +him, he will never lend himself to such a thing. But, indeed, you +continue, who can be safe from a blow, or an insult from a bully, +a drunkard, a bravo, who for the joy of killing his man begins by +dishonouring him? That is another matter. The life and honour of +the citizens should not be at the mercy of a bully, a drunkard, or +a bravo, and one can no more insure oneself against such an accident +than against a falling tile. A blow given, or a lie in the teeth, +if he submit to them, have social consequences which no wisdom +can prevent and no tribunal can avenge. The weakness of the laws, +therefore, so far restores a man's independence; he is the sole +magistrate and judge between the offender and himself, the sole +interpreter and administrator of natural law. Justice is his due, +and he alone can obtain it, and in such a case there is no government +on earth so foolish as to punish him for so doing. I do not say he +must fight; that is absurd; I say justice is his due, and he alone +can dispense it. If I were king, I promise you that in my kingdom +no one would ever strike a man or call him a liar, and yet I would +do without all those useless laws against duels; the means are +simple and require no law courts. However that may be, Emile knows +what is due to himself in such a case, and the example due from +him to the safety of men of honour. The strongest of men cannot +prevent insult, but he can take good care that his adversary has +no opportunity to boast of that insult.] He will never set two dogs +to fight, he will never set a dog to chase a cat. This peaceful +spirit is one of the results of his education, which has never +stimulated self-love or a high opinion of himself, and so has +not encouraged him to seek his pleasure in domination and in the +sufferings of others. The sight of suffering makes him suffer too; +this is a natural feeling. It is one of the after effects of vanity +that hardens a young man and makes him take a delight in seeing the +torments of a living and feeling creature; it makes him consider +himself beyond the reach of similar sufferings through his superior +wisdom or virtue. He who is beyond the reach of vanity cannot fall +into the vice which results from vanity. So Emile loves peace. +He is delighted at the sight of happiness, and if he can help to +bring it about, this is an additional reason for sharing it. I do +not assume that when he sees the unhappy he will merely feel for +them that barren and cruel pity which is content to pity the ills +it can heal. His kindness is active and teaches him much he would +have learnt far more slowly, or he would never have learnt at all, +if his heart had been harder. If he finds his comrades at strife, +he tries to reconcile them; if he sees the afflicted, he inquires +as to the cause of their sufferings; if he meets two men who hate +each other, he wants to know the reason of their enmity; if he finds +one who is down-trodden groaning under the oppression of the rich +and powerful, he tries to discover by what means he can counteract +this oppression, and in the interest he takes with regard to all +these unhappy persons, the means of removing their sufferings are +never out of his sight. What use shall we make of this disposition +so that it may re-act in a way suited to his age? Let us direct +his efforts and his knowledge, and use his zeal to increase them. + +I am never weary of repeating: let all the lessons of young people +take the form of doing rather than talking; let them learn nothing +from books which they can learn from experience. How absurd to +attempt to give them practice in speaking when they have nothing +to say, to expect to make them feel, at their school desks, the +vigour of the language of passion and all the force of the arts +of persuasion when they have nothing and nobody to persuade! All +the rules of rhetoric are mere waste of words to those who do not +know how to use them for their own purposes. How does it concern +a schoolboy to know how Hannibal encouraged his soldiers to cross +the Alps? If instead of these grand speeches you showed him how to +induce his prefect to give him a holiday, you may be sure he would +pay more attention to your rules. + +If I wanted to teach rhetoric to a youth whose passions were as +yet undeveloped, I would draw his attention continually to things +that would stir his passions, and I would discuss with him how +he should talk to people so as to get them to regard his wishes +favourably. But Emile is not in a condition so favourable to the +art of oratory. Concerned mainly with his physical well-being, +he has less need of others than they of him; and having nothing to +ask of others on his own account, what he wants to persuade them +to do does not affect him sufficiently to awake any very strong +feeling. From this it follows that his language will be on the +whole simple and literal. He usually speaks to the point and only +to make himself understood. He is not sententious, for he has +not learnt to generalise; he does not speak in figures, for he is +rarely impassioned. + +Yet this is not because he is altogether cold and phlegmatic, +neither his age, his character, nor his tastes permit of this. In +the fire of adolescence the life-giving spirits, retained in the +blood and distilled again and again, inspire his young heart with +a warmth which glows in his eye, a warmth which is felt in his +words and perceived in his actions. The lofty feeling with which +he is inspired gives him strength and nobility; imbued with tender +love for mankind his words betray the thoughts of his heart; +I know not how it is, but there is more charm in his open-hearted +generosity than in the artificial eloquence of others; or rather +this eloquence of his is the only true eloquence, for he has only +to show what he feels to make others share his feelings. + +The more I think of it the more convinced I am that by thus +translating our kindly impulses into action, by drawing from our +good or ill success conclusions as to their cause, we shall find +that there is little useful knowledge that cannot be imparted to a +youth; and that together with such true learning as may be got at +college he will learn a science of more importance than all the rest +together, the application of what he has learned to the purposes +of life. Taking such an interest in his fellow-creatures, it is +impossible that he should fail to learn very quickly how to note +and weigh their actions, their tastes, their pleasures, and to +estimate generally at their true value what may increase or diminish +the happiness of men; he should do this better than those who care +for nobody and never do anything for any one. The feelings of those +who are always occupied with their own concerns are too keenly +affected for them to judge wisely of things. They consider everything +as it affects themselves, they form their ideas of good and ill +solely on their own experience, their minds are filled with all +sorts of absurd prejudices, and anything which affects their own +advantage ever so little, seems an upheaval of the universe. + +Extend self-love to others and it is transformed into virtue, +a virtue which has its root in the heart of every one of us. The +less the object of our care is directly dependent on ourselves, the +less we have to fear from the illusion of self-interest; the more +general this interest becomes, the juster it is; and the love of +the human race is nothing but the love of justice within us. If +therefore we desire Emile to be a lover of truth, if we desire that +he should indeed perceive it, let us keep him far from self-interest +in all his business. The more care he bestows upon the happiness of +others the wiser and better he is, and the fewer mistakes he will +make between good and evil; but never allow him any blind preference +founded merely on personal predilection or unfair prejudice. Why +should he harm one person to serve another? What does it matter to +him who has the greater share of happiness, providing he promotes +the happiness of all? Apart from self-interest this care for the +general well-being is the first concern of the wise man, for each +of us forms part of the human race and not part of any individual +member of that race. + +To prevent pity degenerating into weakness we must generalise it +and extend it to mankind. Then we only yield to it when it is in +accordance with justice, since justice is of all the virtues that +which contributes most to the common good. Reason and self-love +compel us to love mankind even more than our neighbour, and to pity +the wicked is to be very cruel to other men. + +Moreover, you must bear in mind that all these means employed to +project my pupil beyond himself have also a distinct relation to +himself; since they not only cause him inward delight, but I am +also endeavouring to instruct him, while I am making him kindly +disposed towards others. + +First I showed the means employed, now I will show the result. What +wide prospects do I perceive unfolding themselves before his mind! +What noble feelings stifle the lesser passions in his heart! What +clearness of judgment, what accuracy in reasoning, do I see developing +from the inclinations we have cultivated, from the experience which +concentrates the desires of a great heart within the narrow bounds +of possibility, so that a man superior to others can come down to +their level if he cannot raise them to his own! True principles +of justice, true types of beauty, all moral relations between man +and man, all ideas of order, these are engraved on his understanding; +he sees the right place for everything and the causes which drive +it from that place; he sees what may do good, and what hinders it. +Without having felt the passions of mankind, he knows the illusions +they produce and their mode of action. + +I proceed along the path which the force of circumstances compels +me to tread, but I do not insist that my readers shall follow me. +Long ago they have made up their minds that I am wandering in the +land of chimeras, while for my part I think they are dwelling in +the country of prejudice. When I wander so far from popular beliefs +I do not cease to bear them in mind; I examine them, I consider +them, not that I may follow them or shun them, but that I may weigh +them in the balance of reason. Whenever reason compels me to abandon +these popular beliefs, I know by experience that my readers will +not follow my example; I know that they will persist in refusing +to go beyond what they can see, and that they will take the youth +I am describing for the creation of my fanciful imagination, merely +because he is unlike the youths with whom they compare him; they +forget that he must needs be different, because he has been brought +up in a totally different fashion; he has been influenced by wholly +different feelings, instructed in a wholly different manner, so +that it would be far stranger if he were like your pupils than if +he were what I have supposed. He is a man of nature's making, not +man's. No wonder men find him strange. + +When I began this work I took for granted nothing but what could be +observed as readily by others as by myself; for our starting-point, +the birth of man, is the same for all; but the further we go, while +I am seeking to cultivate nature and you are seeking to deprave +it, the further apart we find ourselves. At six years old my pupil +was not so very unlike yours, whom you had not yet had time to +disfigure; now there is nothing in common between them; and when +they reach the age of manhood, which is now approaching, they will +show themselves utterly different from each other, unless all my pains +have been thrown away. There may not be so very great a difference +in the amount of knowledge they possess, but there is all the +difference in the world in the kind of knowledge. You are amazed +to find that the one has noble sentiments of which the others have +not the smallest germ, but remember that the latter are already +philosophers and theologians while Emile does not even know what +is meant by a philosopher and has scarcely heard the name of God. + +But if you come and tell me, "There are no such young men, young +people are not made that way; they have this passion or that, they +do this or that," it is as if you denied that a pear tree could +ever be a tall tree because the pear trees in our gardens are all +dwarfs. + +I beg these critics who are so ready with their blame to consider +that I am as well acquainted as they are with everything they say, +that I have probably given more thought to it, and that, as I have +no private end to serve in getting them to agree with me, I have +a right to demand that they should at least take time to find out +where I am mistaken. Let them thoroughly examine the nature of +man, let them follow the earliest growth of the heart in any given +circumstances, so as to see what a difference education may make in +the individual; then let them compare my method of education with +the results I ascribe to it; and let them tell me where my reasoning +is unsound, and I shall have no answer to give them. + +It is this that makes me speak so strongly, and as I think with +good excuse: I have not pledged myself to any system, I depend as +little as possible on arguments, and I trust to what I myself have +observed. I do not base my ideas on what I have imagined, but on +what I have seen. It is true that I have not confined my observations +within the walls of any one town, nor to a single class of people; +but having compared men of every class and every nation which +I have been able to observe in the course of a life spent in this +pursuit, I have discarded as artificial what belonged to one nation +and not to another, to one rank and not to another; and I have +regarded as proper to mankind what was common to all, at any age, +in any station, and in any nation whatsoever. + +Now if in accordance with this method you follow from infancy the +course of a youth who has not been shaped to any special mould, one +who depends as little as possible on authority and the opinions of +others, which will he most resemble, my pupil or yours? It seems +to me that this is the question you must answer if you would know +if I am mistaken. + +It is not easy for a man to begin to think; but when once he has +begun he will never leave off. Once a thinker, always a thinker, +and the understanding once practised in reflection will never rest. +You may therefore think that I do too much or too little; that +the human mind is not by nature so quick to unfold; and that after +having given it opportunities it has not got, I keep it too long +confined within a circle of ideas which it ought to have outgrown. + +But remember, in the first place, that when I want to train +a natural man, I do not want to make him a savage and to send him +back to the woods, but that living in the whirl of social life +it is enough that he should not let himself be carried away by +the passions and prejudices of men; let him see with his eyes and +feel with his heart, let him own no sway but that of reason. Under +these conditions it is plain that many things will strike him; +the oft-recurring feelings which affect him, the different ways of +satisfying his real needs, must give him many ideas he would not +otherwise have acquired or would only have acquired much later. +The natural progress of the mind is quickened but not reversed. +The same man who would remain stupid in the forests should become +wise and reasonable in towns, if he were merely a spectator in +them. Nothing is better fitted to make one wise than the sight of +follies we do not share, and even if we share them, we still learn, +provided we are not the dupe of our follies and provided we do not +bring to them the same mistakes as the others. + +Consider also that while our faculties are confined to the things of +sense, we offer scarcely any hold to the abstractions of philosophy +or to purely intellectual ideas. To attain to these we require +either to free ourselves from the body to which we are so strongly +bound, or to proceed step by step in a slow and gradual course, +or else to leap across the intervening space with a gigantic bound +of which no child is capable, one for which grown men even require +many steps hewn on purpose for them; but I find it very difficult +to see how you propose to construct such steps. + +The Incomprehensible embraces all, he gives its motion to the +earth, and shapes the system of all creatures, but our eyes cannot +see him nor can our hands search him out, he evades the efforts +of our senses; we behold the work, but the workman is hidden from +our eyes. It is no small matter to know that he exists, and when +we have got so far, and when we ask. What is he? Where is he? our +mind is overwhelmed, we lose ourselves, we know not what to think. + +Locke would have us begin with the study of spirits and go on to +that of bodies. This is the method of superstition, prejudice, and +error; it is not the method of nature, nor even that of well-ordered +reason; it is to learn to see by shutting our eyes. We must have +studied bodies long enough before we can form any true idea of +spirits, or even suspect that there are such beings. The contrary +practice merely puts materialism on a firmer footing. + +Since our senses are the first instruments to our learning, corporeal +and sensible bodies are the only bodies we directly apprehend. The +word "spirit" has no meaning for any one who has not philosophised. +To the unlearned and to the child a spirit is merely a body. Do +they not fancy that spirits groan, speak, fight, and make noises? +Now you must own that spirits with arms and voices are very like +bodies. This is why every nation on the face of the earth, not even +excepting the Jews, have made to themselves idols. We, ourselves, +with our words, Spirit, Trinity, Persons, are for the most part quite +anthropomorphic. I admit that we are taught that God is everywhere; +but we also believe that there is air everywhere, at least in our +atmosphere; and the word Spirit meant originally nothing more than +breath and wind. Once you teach people to say what they do not +understand, it is easy enough to get them to say anything you like. + +The perception of our action upon other bodies must have first +induced us to suppose that their action upon us was effected in +like manner. Thus man began by thinking that all things whose action +affected him were alive. He did not recognise the limits of their +powers, and he therefore supposed that they were boundless; as +soon as he had supplied them with bodies they became his gods. In +the earliest times men went in terror of everything and everything +in nature seemed alive. The idea of matter was developed as slowly +as that of spirit, for the former is itself an abstraction. + +Thus the universe was peopled with gods like themselves. The stars, +the winds and the mountains, rivers, trees, and towns, their very +dwellings, each had its soul, its god, its life. The teraphim of +Laban, the manitos of savages, the fetishes of the negroes, every +work of nature and of man, were the first gods of mortals; polytheism +was their first religion and idolatry their earliest form of worship. +The idea of one God was beyond their grasp, till little by little +they formed general ideas, and they rose to the idea of a first +cause and gave meaning to the word "substance," which is at bottom +the greatest of abstractions. So every child who believes in God +is of necessity an idolater or at least he regards the Deity as a +man, and when once the imagination has perceived God, it is very +seldom that the understanding conceives him. Locke's order leads +us into this same mistake. + +Having arrived, I know not how, at the idea of substance, it is +clear that to allow of a single substance it must be assumed that +this substance is endowed with incompatible and mutually exclusive +properties, such as thought and size, one of which is by its nature +divisible and the other wholly incapable of division. Moreover it +is assumed that thought or, if you prefer it, feeling is a primitive +quality inseparable from the substance to which it belongs, that +its relation to the substance is like the relation between substance +and size. Hence it is inferred that beings who lose one of these +attributes lose the substance to which it belongs, and that death +is, therefore, but a separation of substances, and that those +beings in whom the two attributes are found are composed of the +two substances to which those two qualities belong. + +But consider what a gulf there still is between the idea of two +substances and that of the divine nature, between the incomprehensible +idea of the influence of our soul upon our body and the idea of the +influence of God upon every living creature. The ideas of creation, +destruction, ubiquity, eternity, almighty power, those of the divine +attributes--these are all ideas so confused and obscure that few +men succeed in grasping them; yet there is nothing obscure about +them to the common people, because they do not understand them in +the least; how then should they present themselves in full force, +that is to say in all their obscurity, to the young mind which is +still occupied with the first working of the senses, and fails to +realise anything but what it handles? In vain do the abysses of +the Infinite open around us, a child does not know the meaning of +fear; his weak eyes cannot gauge their depths. To children everything +is infinite, they cannot assign limits to anything; not that their +measure is so large, but because their understanding is so small. +I have even noticed that they place the infinite rather below than +above the dimensions known to them. They judge a distance to be +immense rather by their feet than by their eyes; infinity is bounded +for them, not so much by what they can see, but how far they can +go. If you talk to them of the power of God, they will think he +is nearly as strong as their father. As their own knowledge is in +everything the standard by which they judge of what is possible, +they always picture what is described to them as rather smaller +than what they know. Such are the natural reasonings of an ignorant +and feeble mind. Ajax was afraid to measure his strength against +Achilles, yet he challenged Jupiter to combat, for he knew Achilles +and did not know Jupiter. A Swiss peasant thought himself the +richest man alive; when they tried to explain to him what a king +was, he asked with pride, "Has the king got a hundred cows on the +high pastures?" + +I am aware that many of my readers will be surprised to find me +tracing the course of my scholar through his early years without +speaking to him of religion. At fifteen he will not even know that +he has a soul, at eighteen even he may not be ready to learn about +it. For if he learns about it too soon, there is the risk of his +never really knowing anything about it. + +If I had to depict the most heart-breaking stupidity, I would paint +a pedant teaching children the catechism; if I wanted to drive +a child crazy I would set him to explain what he learned in his +catechism. You will reply that as most of the Christian doctrines +are mysteries, you must wait, not merely till the child is a man, +but till the man is dead, before the human mind will understand +those doctrines. To that I reply, that there are mysteries which +the heart of man can neither conceive nor believe, and I see no +use in teaching them to children, unless you want to make liars of +them. Moreover, I assert that to admit that there are mysteries, +you must at least realise that they are incomprehensible, and +children are not even capable of this conception! At an age when +everything is mysterious, there are no mysteries properly so-called. + +"We must believe in God if we would be saved." This doctrine wrongly +understood is the root of bloodthirsty intolerance and the cause of +all the futile teaching which strikes a deadly blow at human reason +by training it to cheat itself with mere words. No doubt there is +not a moment to be lost if we would deserve eternal salvation; but +if the repetition of certain words suffices to obtain it, I do not +see why we should not people heaven with starlings and magpies as +well as with children. + +The obligation of faith assumes the possibility of belief. +The philosopher who does not believe is wrong, for he misuses the +reason he has cultivated, and he is able to understand the truths +he rejects. But the child who professes the Christian faith--what +does he believe? Just what he understands; and he understands so +little of what he is made to repeat that if you tell him to say +just the opposite he will be quite ready to do it. The faith of +children and the faith of many men is a matter of geography. Will +they be rewarded for having been born in Rome rather than in Mecca? +One is told that Mahomet is the prophet of God and he says, "Mahomet +is the prophet of God." The other is told that Mahomet is a rogue +and he says, "Mahomet is a rogue." Either of them would have said +just the opposite had he stood in the other's shoes. When they are +so much alike to begin with, can the one be consigned to Paradise +and the other to Hell? When a child says he believes in God, it is +not God he believes in, but Peter or James who told him that there +is something called God, and he believes it after the fashion of +Euripides-- + +"O Jupiter, of whom I know nothing but thy name." + +[Footnote: Plutarch. It is thus that the tragedy of Menalippus +originally began, but the clamour of the Athenians compelled +Euripides to change these opening lines.] + +We hold that no child who dies before the age of reason will be +deprived of everlasting happiness; the Catholics believe the same +of all children who have been baptised, even though they have never +heard of God. There are, therefore, circumstances in which one can +be saved without belief in God, and these circumstances occur in +the case of children or madmen when the human mind is incapable of +the operations necessary to perceive the Godhead. The only difference +I see between you and me is that you profess that children of seven +years old are able to do this and I do not think them ready for it +at fifteen. Whether I am right or wrong depends, not on an article +of the creed, but on a simple observation in natural history. + +From the same principle it is plain that any man having reached +old age without faith in God will not, therefore, be deprived of +God's presence in another life if his blindness was not wilful; +and I maintain that it is not always wilful. You admit that it is +so in the case of lunatics deprived by disease of their spiritual +faculties, but not of their manhood, and therefore still entitled +to the goodness of their Creator. Why then should we not admit it +in the case of those brought up from infancy in seclusion, those +who have led the life of a savage and are without the knowledge that +comes from intercourse with other men. [Footnote: For the natural +condition of the human mind and its slow development, cf. the first +part of the Discours sur Inegalite.] For it is clearly impossible +that such a savage could ever raise his thoughts to the knowledge +of the true God. Reason tells that man should only be punished +for his wilful faults, and that invincible ignorance can never +be imputed to him as a crime. Hence it follows that in the sight +of the Eternal Justice every man who would believe if he had the +necessary knowledge is counted a believer, and that there will be +no unbelievers to be punished except those who have closed their +hearts against the truth. + +Let us beware of proclaiming the truth to those who cannot as yet +comprehend it, for to do so is to try to inculcate error. It would +be better to have no idea at all of the Divinity than to have +mean, grotesque, harmful, and unworthy ideas; to fail to perceive +the Divine is a lesser evil than to insult it. The worthy Plutarch +says, "I would rather men said, 'There is no such person as Plutarch,' +than that they should say, 'Plutarch is unjust, envious, jealous, +and such a tyrant that he demands more than can be performed.'" + +The chief harm which results from the monstrous ideas of God which +are instilled into the minds of children is that they last all their +life long, and as men they understand no more of God than they did +as children. In Switzerland I once saw a good and pious mother who +was so convinced of the truth of this maxim that she refused to +teach her son religion when he was a little child for fear lest he +should be satisfied with this crude teaching and neglect a better +teaching when he reached the age of reason. This child never heard +the name of God pronounced except with reverence and devotion, +and as soon as he attempted to say the word he was told to hold +his tongue, as if the subject were too sublime and great for him. +This reticence aroused his curiosity and his self-love; he looked +forward to the time when he would know this mystery so carefully +hidden from him. The less they spoke of God to him, the less he was +himself permitted to speak of God, the more he thought about Him; +this child beheld God everywhere. What I should most dread as the +result of this unwise affectation of mystery is this: by over-stimulating +the youth's imagination you may turn his head, and make him at the +best a fanatic rather than a believer. + +But we need fear nothing of the sort for Emile, who always declines +to pay attention to what is beyond his reach, and listens with +profound indifference to things he does not understand. There are +so many things of which he is accustomed to say, "That is no concern +of mine," that one more or less makes little difference to him; +and when he does begin to perplex himself with these great matters, +it is because the natural growth of his knowledge is turning his +thoughts that way. + +We have seen the road by which the cultivated human mind approaches +these mysteries, and I am ready to admit that it would not attain +to them naturally, even in the bosom of society, till a much later +age. But as there are in this same society inevitable causes which +hasten the development of the passions, if we did not also hasten +the development of the knowledge which controls these passions +we should indeed depart from the path of nature and disturb her +equilibrium. When we can no longer restrain a precocious development +in one direction we must promote a corresponding development in +another direction, so that the order of nature may not be inverted, +and so that things should progress together, not separately, so +that the man, complete at every moment of his life, may never find +himself at one stage in one of his faculties and at another stage +in another faculty. + +What a difficulty do I see before me! A difficulty all the greater +because it depends less on actual facts than on the cowardice of +those who dare not look the difficulty in the face. Let us at least +venture to state our problem. A child should always be brought up +in his father's religion; he is always given plain proofs that this +religion, whatever it may be, is the only true religion, that all +others are ridiculous and absurd. The force of the argument depends +entirely on the country in which it is put forward. Let a Turk, +who thinks Christianity so absurd at Constantinople, come to Paris +and see what they think of Mahomet. It is in matters of religion +more than in anything else that prejudice is triumphant. But when +we who profess to shake off its yoke entirely, we who refuse to yield +any homage to authority, decline to teach Emile anything which he +could not learn for himself in any country, what religion shall +we give him, to what sect shall this child of nature belong? The +answer strikes me as quite easy. We will not attach him to any sect, +but we will give him the means to choose for himself according to +the right use of his own reason. + + Incedo per ignes + Suppositos cineri doloso.--Horace, lib. ii. ode I. + +No matter! Thus far zeal and prudence have taken the place of +caution. I hope that these guardians will not fail me now. Reader, +do not fear lest I should take precautions unworthy of a lover of +truth; I shall never forget my motto, but I distrust my own judgment +all too easily. Instead of telling you what I think myself, I will +tell you the thoughts of one whose opinions carry more weight than +mine. I guarantee the truth of the facts I am about to relate; +they actually happened to the author whose writings I am about to +transcribe; it is for you to judge whether we can draw from them +any considerations bearing on the matter in hand. I do not offer +you my own idea or another's as your rule; I merely present them +for your examination. + +Thirty years ago there was a young man in an Italian town; he was +an exile from his native land and found himself reduced to the depths +of poverty. He had been born a Calvinist, but the consequences of +his own folly had made him a fugitive in a strange land; he had +no money and he changed his religion for a morsel of bread. There +was a hostel for proselytes in that town to which he gained admission. +The study of controversy inspired doubts he had never felt before, +and he made acquaintance with evil hitherto unsuspected by him; he +heard strange doctrines and he met with morals still stranger to +him; he beheld this evil conduct and nearly fell a victim to it. +He longed to escape, but he was locked up; he complained, but his +complaints were unheeded; at the mercy of his tyrants, he found +himself treated as a criminal because he would not share their +crimes. The anger kindled in a young and untried heart by the first +experience of violence and injustice may be realised by those who +have themselves experienced it. Tears of anger flowed from his +eyes, he was wild with rage; he prayed to heaven and to man, and +his prayers were unheard; he spoke to every one and no one listened +to him. He saw no one but the vilest servants under the control +of the wretch who insulted him, or accomplices in the same crime +who laughed at his resistance and encouraged him to follow their +example. He would have been ruined had not a worthy priest visited +the hostel on some matter of business. He found an opportunity +of consulting him secretly. The priest was poor and in need of +help himself, but the victim had more need of his assistance, and +he did not hesitate to help him to escape at the risk of making a +dangerous enemy. + +Having escaped from vice to return to poverty, the young +man struggled vainly against fate: for a moment he thought he had +gained the victory. At the first gleam of good fortune his woes and +his protector were alike forgotten. He was soon punished for this +ingratitude; all his hopes vanished; youth indeed was on his side, +but his romantic ideas spoiled everything. He had neither talent +nor skill to make his way easily, he could neither be commonplace +nor wicked, he expected so much that he got nothing. When he had +sunk to his former poverty, when he was without food or shelter +and ready to die of hunger, he remembered his benefactor. + +He went back to him, found him, and was kindly welcomed; the sight of +him reminded the priest of a good deed he had done; such a memory +always rejoices the heart. This man was by nature humane and +pitiful; he felt the sufferings of others through his own, and his +heart had not been hardened by prosperity; in a word, the lessons +of wisdom and an enlightened virtue had reinforced his natural +kindness of heart. He welcomed the young man, found him a lodging, +and recommended him; he shared with him his living which was barely +enough for two. He did more, he instructed him, consoled him, and +taught him the difficult art of bearing adversity in patience. You +prejudiced people, would you have expected to find all this in a +priest and in Italy? + +This worthy priest was a poor Savoyard clergyman who had offended +his bishop by some youthful fault; he had crossed the Alps to find +a position which he could not obtain in his own country. He lacked +neither wit nor learning, and with his interesting countenance +he had met with patrons who found him a place in the household of +one of the ministers, as tutor to his son. He preferred poverty to +dependence, and he did not know how to get on with the great. He +did not stay long with this minister, and when he departed he took +with him his good opinion; and as he lived a good life and gained +the hearts of everybody, he was glad to be forgiven by his bishop +and to obtain from him a small parish among the mountains, where he +might pass the rest of his life. This was the limit of his ambition. + +He was attracted by the young fugitive and he questioned him closely. +He saw that ill-fortune had already seared his heart, that scorn +and disgrace had overthrown his courage, and that his pride, +transformed into bitterness and spite, led him to see nothing in +the harshness and injustice of men but their evil disposition and +the vanity of all virtue. He had seen that religion was but a mask +for selfishness, and its holy services but a screen for hypocrisy; +he had found in the subtleties of empty disputations heaven and +hell awarded as prizes for mere words; he had seen the sublime and +primitive idea of Divinity disfigured by the vain fancies of men; +and when, as he thought, faith in God required him to renounce +the reason God himself had given him, he held in equal scorn our +foolish imaginings and the object with which they are concerned. +With no knowledge of things as they are, without any idea of their +origins, he was immersed in his stubborn ignorance and utterly +despised those who thought they knew more than himself. + +The neglect of all religion soon leads to the neglect of a man's +duties. The heart of this young libertine was already far on this +road. Yet his was not a bad nature, though incredulity and misery +were gradually stifling his natural disposition and dragging him +down to ruin; they were leading him into the conduct of a rascal +and the morals of an atheist. + +The almost inevitable evil was not actually consummated. The young +man was not ignorant, his education had not been neglected. He was +at that happy age when the pulse beats strongly and the heart is +warm, but is not yet enslaved by the madness of the senses. His heart +had not lost its elasticity. A native modesty, a timid disposition +restrained him, and prolonged for him that period during which +you watch your pupil so carefully. The hateful example of brutal +depravity, of vice without any charm, had not merely failed to +quicken his imagination, it had deadened it. For a long time disgust +rather than virtue preserved his innocence, which would only succumb +to more seductive charms. + +The priest saw the danger and the way of escape. He was not discouraged +by difficulties, he took a pleasure in his task; he determined to +complete it and to restore to virtue the victim he had snatched +from vice. He set about it cautiously; the beauty of the motive +gave him courage and inspired him with means worthy of his zeal. +Whatever might be the result, his pains would not be wasted. We +are always successful when our sole aim is to do good. + +He began to win the confidence of the proselyte by not asking any +price for his kindness, by not intruding himself upon him, by not +preaching at him, by always coming down to his level, and treating +him as an equal. It was, so I think, a touching sight to see a +serious person becoming the comrade of a young scamp, and virtue +putting up with the speech of licence in order to triumph over it +more completely. When the young fool came to him with his silly +confidences and opened his heart to him, the priest listened and +set him at his ease; without giving his approval to what was bad, +he took an interest in everything; no tactless reproof checked his +chatter or closed his heart; the pleasure which he thought was given +by his conversation increased his pleasure in telling everything; +thus he made his general confession without knowing he was confessing +anything. + +After he had made a thorough study of his feelings and disposition, +the priest saw plainly that, although he was not ignorant for his +age, he had forgotten everything that he most needed to know, and +that the disgrace which fortune had brought upon him had stifled in +him all real sense of good and evil. There is a stage of degradation +which robs the soul of its life; and the inner voice cannot be +heard by one whose whole mind is bent on getting food. To protect +the unlucky youth from the moral death which threatened him, he +began to revive his self-love and his good opinion of himself. He +showed him a happier future in the right use of his talents; he +revived the generous warmth of his heart by stories of the noble +deeds of others; by rousing his admiration for the doers of these +deeds he revived his desire to do like deeds himself. To draw him +gradually from his idle and wandering life, he made him copy out +extracts from well-chosen books; he pretended to want these extracts, +and so nourished in him the noble feeling of gratitude. He taught +him indirectly through these books, and thus he made him sufficiently +regain his good opinion of himself so that he would no longer think +himself good for nothing, and would not make himself despicable in +his own eyes. + +A trifling incident will show how this kindly man tried, unknown +to him, to raise the heart of his disciple out of its degradation, +without seeming to think of teaching. The priest was so well known +for his uprightness and his discretion, that many people preferred +to entrust their alms to him, rather than to the wealthy clergy of +the town. One day some one had given him some money to distribute +among the poor, and the young man was mean enough to ask for some +of it on the score of poverty. "No," said he, "we are brothers, +you belong to me and I must not touch the money entrusted to me." +Then he gave him the sum he had asked for out of his own pocket. +Lessons of this sort seldom fail to make an impression on the heart +of young people who are not wholly corrupt. + +I am weary of speaking in the third person, and the precaution is +unnecessary; for you are well aware, my dear friend, that I myself +was this unhappy fugitive; I think I am so far removed from the +disorders of my youth that I may venture to confess them, and the +hand which rescued me well deserves that I should at least do honour +to its goodness at the cost of some slight shame. + +What struck me most was to see in the private life of my worthy +master, virtue without hypocrisy, humanity without weakness, speech +always plain and straightforward, and conduct in accordance with +this speech. I never saw him trouble himself whether those whom he +assisted went to vespers or confession, whether they fasted at the +appointed seasons and went without meat; nor did he impose upon them +any other like conditions, without which you might die of hunger +before you could hope for any help from the devout. + +Far from displaying before him the zeal of a new convert, I was +encouraged by these observations and I made no secret of my way of +thinking, nor did he seem to be shocked by it. Sometimes I would +say to myself, he overlooks my indifference to the religion I have +adopted because he sees I am equally indifferent to the religion +in which I was brought up; he knows that my scorn for religion is +not confined to one sect. But what could I think when I sometimes +heard him give his approval to doctrines contrary to those of the +Roman Catholic Church, and apparently having but a poor opinion of +its ceremonies. I should have thought him a Protestant in disguise +if I had not beheld him so faithful to those very customs which he +seemed to value so lightly; but I knew he fulfilled his priestly +duties as carefully in private as in public, and I knew not what +to think of these apparent contradictions. Except for the fault +which had formerly brought about his disgrace, a fault which he +had only partially overcome, his life was exemplary, his conduct +beyond reproach, his conversation honest and discreet. While I lived +on very friendly terms with him, I learnt day by day to respect +him more; and when he had completely won my heart by such great +kindness, I awaited with eager curiosity the time when I should +learn what was the principle on which the uniformity of this strange +life was based. + +This opportunity was a long time coming. Before taking his disciple +into his confidence, he tried to get the seeds of reason and kindness +which he had sown in my heart to germinate. The most difficult +fault to overcome in me was a certain haughty misanthropy, a certain +bitterness against the rich and successful, as if their wealth +and happiness had been gained at my own expense, and as if their +supposed happiness had been unjustly taken from my own. The foolish +vanity of youth, which kicks against the pricks of humiliation, +made me only too much inclined to this angry temper; and the +self-respect, which my mentor strove to revive, led to pride, which +made men still more vile in my eyes, and only added scorn to my +hatred. + +Without directly attacking this pride, he prevented it from +developing into hardness of heart; and without depriving me of my +self-esteem, he made me less scornful of my neighbours. By continually +drawing my attention from the empty show, and directing it to the +genuine sufferings concealed by it, he taught me to deplore the +faults of my fellows and feel for their sufferings, to pity rather +than envy them. Touched with compassion towards human weaknesses +through the profound conviction of his own failings, he viewed +all men as the victims of their own vices and those of others; he +beheld the poor groaning under the tyranny of the rich, and the +rich under the tyranny of their own prejudices. "Believe me," said +he, "our illusions, far from concealing our woes, only increase them +by giving value to what is in itself valueless, in making us aware +of all sorts of fancied privations which we should not otherwise +feel. Peace of heart consists in despising everything that might +disturb that peace; the man who clings most closely to life is the +man who can least enjoy it; and the man who most eagerly desires +happiness is always most miserable." + +"What gloomy ideas!" I exclaimed bitterly. "If we must deny ourselves +everything, we might as well never have been born; and if we must +despise even happiness itself who can be happy?" "I am," replied +the priest one day, in a tone which made a great impression on me. +"You happy! So little favoured by fortune, so poor, an exile and +persecuted, you are happy! How have you contrived to be happy?" +"My child," he answered, "I will gladly tell you." + +Thereupon he explained that, having heard my confessions, he would +confess to me. "I will open my whole heart to yours," he said, +embracing me. "You will see me, if not as I am, at least as I +seem to myself. When you have heard my whole confession of faith, +when you really know the condition of my heart, you will know why +I think myself happy, and if you think as I do, you will know how +to be happy too. But these explanations are not the affair of a +moment, it will take time to show you all my ideas about the lot +of man and the true value of life; let us choose a fitting time and +a place where we may continue this conversation without interruption." + +I showed him how eager I was to hear him. The meeting was fixed +for the very next morning. It was summer time; we rose at daybreak. +He took me out of the town on to a high hill above the river Po, +whose course we beheld as it flowed between its fertile banks; in +the distance the landscape was crowned by the vast chain of the +Alps; the beams of the rising sun already touched the plains and +cast across the fields long shadows of trees, hillocks, and houses, +and enriched with a thousand gleams of light the fairest picture +which the human eye can see. You would have thought that nature +was displaying all her splendour before our eyes to furnish a text +for our conversation. After contemplating this scene for a space +in silence, the man of peace spoke to me. + +THE CREED OF A SAVOYARD PRIEST + +My child, do not look to me for learned speeches or profound +arguments. I am no great philosopher, nor do I desire to be one. +I have, however, a certain amount of common-sense and a constant +devotion to truth. I have no wish to argue with you nor even to +convince you; it is enough for me to show you, in all simplicity of +heart, what I really think. Consult your own heart while I speak; +that is all I ask. If I am mistaken, I am honestly mistaken, and +therefore my error will not be counted to me as a crime; if you, +too, are honestly mistaken, there is no great harm done. If I am +right, we are both endowed with reason, we have both the same motive +for listening to the voice of reason. Why should not you think as +I do? + +By birth I was a peasant and poor; to till the ground was my portion; +but my parents thought it a finer thing that I should learn to get +my living as a priest and they found means to send me to college. +I am quite sure that neither my parents nor I had any idea of +seeking after what was good, useful, or true; we only sought what +was wanted to get me ordained. I learned what was taught me, I +said what I was told to say, I promised all that was required, and +I became a priest. But I soon discovered that when I promised not +to be a man, I had promised more than I could perform. + +Conscience, they tell us, is the creature of prejudice, but I know +from experience that conscience persists in following the order +of nature in spite of all the laws of man. In vain is this or that +forbidden; remorse makes her voice heard but feebly when what we +do is permitted by well-ordered nature, and still more when we are +doing her bidding. My good youth, nature has not yet appealed to +your senses; may you long remain in this happy state when her voice +is the voice of innocence. Remember that to anticipate her teaching +is to offend more deeply against her than to resist her teaching; +you must first learn to resist, that you may know when to yield +without wrong-doing. + +From my youth up I had reverenced the married state as the first +and most sacred institution of nature. Having renounced the right +to marry, I was resolved not to profane the sanctity of marriage; +for in spite of my education and reading I had always led a simple +and regular life, and my mind had preserved the innocence of its +natural instincts; these instincts had not been obscured by worldly +wisdom, while my poverty kept me remote from the temptations dictated +by the sophistry of vice. + +This very resolution proved my ruin. My respect for marriage led +to the discovery of my misconduct. The scandal must be expiated; +I was arrested, suspended, and dismissed; I was the victim of +my scruples rather than of my incontinence, and I had reason to +believe, from the reproaches which accompanied my disgrace, that +one can often escape punishment by being guilty of a worse fault. + +A thoughtful mind soon learns from such experiences. I found my +former ideas of justice, honesty, and every duty of man overturned +by these painful events, and day by day I was losing my hold on +one or another of the opinions I had accepted. What was left was +not enough to form a body of ideas which could stand alone, and +I felt that the evidence on which my principles rested was being +weakened; at last I knew not what to think, and I came to the same +conclusion as yourself, but with this difference: My lack of faith +was the slow growth of manhood, attained with great difficulty, +and all the harder to uproot. + +I was in that state of doubt and uncertainty which Descartes +considers essential to the search for truth. It is a state which +cannot continue, it is disquieting and painful; only vicious +tendencies and an idle heart can keep us in that state. My heart +was not so corrupt as to delight in it, and there is nothing which +so maintains the habit of thinking as being better pleased with +oneself than with one's lot. + +I pondered, therefore, on the sad fate of mortals, adrift upon this +sea of human opinions, without compass or rudder, and abandoned +to their stormy passions with no guide but an inexperienced pilot +who does not know whence he comes or whither he is going. I said +to myself, "I love truth, I seek her, and cannot find her. Show +me truth and I will hold her fast; why does she hide her face from +the eager heart that would fain worship her?" + +Although I have often experienced worse sufferings, I have never +led a life so uniformly distressing as this period of unrest and +anxiety, when I wandered incessantly from one doubt to another, +gaining nothing from my prolonged meditations but uncertainty, +darkness, and contradiction with regard to the source of my being +and the rule of my duties. + +I cannot understand how any one can be a sceptic sincerely and on +principle. Either such philosophers do not exist or they are the +most miserable of men. Doubt with regard to what we ought to know +is a condition too violent for the human mind; it cannot long be +endured; in spite of itself the mind decides one way or another, +and it prefers to be deceived rather than to believe nothing. + +My perplexity was increased by the fact that I had been brought +up in a church which decides everything and permits no doubts, so +that having rejected one article of faith I was forced to reject +the rest; as I could not accept absurd decisions, I was deprived of +those which were not absurd. When I was told to believe everything, +I could believe nothing, and I knew not where to stop. + +I consulted the philosophers, I searched their books and examined +their various theories; I found them all alike proud, assertive, +dogmatic, professing, even in their so-called scepticism, to know +everything, proving nothing, scoffing at each other. This last +trait, which was common to all of them, struck me as the only point +in which they were right. Braggarts in attack, they are weaklings +in defence. Weigh their arguments, they are all destructive; count +their voices, every one speaks for himself; they are only agreed in +arguing with each other. I could find no way out of my uncertainty +by listening to them. + +I suppose this prodigious diversity of opinion is caused, in the +first place, by the weakness of the human intellect; and, in the +second, by pride. We have no means of measuring this vast machine, +we are unable to calculate its workings; we know neither its guiding +principles nor its final purpose; we do not know ourselves, we know +neither our nature nor the spirit that moves us; we scarcely know +whether man is one or many; we are surrounded by impenetrable +mysteries. These mysteries are beyond the region of sense, we think +we can penetrate them by the light of reason, but we fall back on +our imagination. Through this imagined world each forces a way for +himself which he holds to be right; none can tell whether his path +will lead him to the goal. Yet we long to know and understand it +all. The one thing we do not know is the limit of the knowable. We +prefer to trust to chance and to believe what is not true, rather +than to own that not one of us can see what really is. A fragment +of some vast whole whose bounds are beyond our gaze, a fragment +abandoned by its Creator to our foolish quarrels, we are vain +enough to want to determine the nature of that whole and our own +relations with regard to it. + +If the philosophers were in a position to declare the truth, which +of them would care to do so? Every one of them knows that his own +system rests on no surer foundations than the rest, but he maintains +it because it is his own. There is not one of them who, if he chanced +to discover the difference between truth and falsehood, would not +prefer his own lie to the truth which another had discovered. Where +is the philosopher who would not deceive the whole world for his +own glory? If he can rise above the crowd, if he can excel his +rivals, what more does he want? Among believers he is an atheist; +among atheists he would be a believer. + +The first thing I learned from these considerations was to restrict +my inquiries to what directly concerned myself, to rest in profound +ignorance of everything else, and not even to trouble myself to +doubt anything beyond what I required to know. + +I also realised that the philosophers, far from ridding me of my +vain doubts, only multiplied the doubts that tormented me and failed +to remove any one of them. So I chose another guide and said, "Let +me follow the Inner Light; it will not lead me so far astray as +others have done, or if it does it will be my own fault, and I shall +not go so far wrong if I follow my own illusions as if I trusted +to their deceits." + +I then went over in my mind the various opinions which I had held +in the course of my life, and I saw that although no one of them was +plain enough to gain immediate belief, some were more probable than +others, and my inward consent was given or withheld in proportion +to this improbability. Having discovered this, I made an unprejudiced +comparison of all these different ideas, and I perceived that the +first and most general of them was also the simplest and the most +reasonable, and that it would have been accepted by every one if only +it had been last instead of first. Imagine all your philosophers, +ancient and modern, having exhausted their strange systems of force, +chance, fate, necessity, atoms, a living world, animated matter, +and every variety of materialism. Then comes the illustrious Clarke +who gives light to the world and proclaims the Being of beings +and the Giver of things. What universal admiration, what unanimous +applause would have greeted this new system--a system so great, so +illuminating, and so simple. Other systems are full of absurdities; +this system seems to me to contain fewer things which are beyond +the understanding of the human mind. I said to myself, "Every +system has its insoluble problems, for the finite mind of man is +too small to deal with them; these difficulties are therefore no +final arguments, against any system. But what a difference there +is between the direct evidence on which these systems are based! +Should we not prefer that theory which alone explains all the facts, +when it is no more difficult than the rest?" + +Bearing thus within my heart the love of truth as my only philosophy, +and as my only method a clear and simple rule which dispensed with +the need for vain and subtle arguments, I returned with the help +of this rule to the examination of such knowledge as concerned +myself; I was resolved to admit as self-evident all that I could +not honestly refuse to believe, and to admit as true all that seemed +to follow directly from this; all the rest I determined to leave +undecided, neither accepting nor rejecting it, nor yet troubling +myself to clear up difficulties which did not lead to any practical +ends. + +But who am I? What right have I to decide? What is it that determines +my judgments? If they are inevitable, if they are the results of the +impressions I receive, I am wasting my strength in such inquiries; +they would be made or not without any interference of mine. I must +therefore first turn my eyes upon myself to acquaint myself with the +instrument I desire to use, and to discover how far it is reliable. + +I exist, and I have senses through which I receive impressions. +This is the first truth that strikes me and I am forced to accept +it. Have I any independent knowledge of my existence, or am I only +aware of it through my sensations? This is my first difficulty, and +so far I cannot solve it. For I continually experience sensations, +either directly or indirectly through memory, so how can I know if +the feeling of self is something beyond these sensations or if it +can exist independently of them? + +My sensations take place in myself, for they make me aware of my +own existence; but their cause is outside me, for they affect me +whether I have any reason for them or not, and they are produced +or destroyed independently of me. So I clearly perceive that my +sensation, which is within me, and its cause or its object, which +is outside me, are different things. + +Thus, not only do I exist, but other entities exist also, that is +to say, the objects of my sensations; and even if these objects +are merely ideas, still these ideas are not me. + +But everything outside myself, everything which acts upon my senses, +I call matter, and all the particles of matter which I suppose to be +united into separate entities I call bodies. Thus all the disputes +of the idealists and the realists have no meaning for me; their +distinctions between the appearance and the reality of bodies are +wholly fanciful. + +I am now as convinced of the existence of the universe as of +my own. I next consider the objects of my sensations, and I find +that I have the power of comparing them, so I perceive that I am +endowed with an active force of which I was not previously aware. + +To perceive is to feel; to compare is to judge; to judge and to feel +are not the same. Through sensation objects present themselves to +me separately and singly as they are in nature; by comparing them +I rearrange them, I shift them so to speak, I place one upon another +to decide whether they are alike or different, or more generally +to find out their relations. To my mind, the distinctive faculty of +an active or intelligent being is the power of understanding this +word "is." I seek in vain in the merely sensitive entity that +intelligent force which compares and judges; I can find no trace of +it in its nature. This passive entity will be aware of each object +separately, it will even be aware of the whole formed by the two +together, but having no power to place them side by side it can +never compare them, it can never form a judgment with regard to +them. + +To see two things at once is not to see their relations nor to judge +of their differences; to perceive several objects, one beyond the +other, is not to relate them. I may have at the same moment an idea +of a big stick and a little stick without comparing them, without +judging that one is less than the other, just as I can see my whole +hand without counting my fingers. [Footnote: M. de le Cordamines' +narratives tell of a people who only know how to count up to three. +Yet the men of this nation, having hands, have often seen their +fingers without learning to count up to five.] These comparative +ideas, 'greater', 'smaller', together with number ideas of 'one', +'two', etc. are certainly not sensations, although my mind only +produces them when my sensations occur. + +We are told that a sensitive being distinguishes sensations from each +other by the inherent differences in the sensations; this requires +explanation. When the sensations are different, the sensitive +being distinguishes them by their differences; when they are alike, +he distinguishes them because he is aware of them one beyond the +other. Otherwise, how could he distinguish between two equal objects +simultaneously experienced? He would necessarily confound the two +objects and take them for one object, especially under a system +which professed that the representative sensations of space have +no extension. + +When we become aware of the two sensations to be compared, their +impression is made, each object is perceived, both are perceived, +but for all that their relation is not perceived. If the judgment +of this relation were merely a sensation, and came to me solely +from the object itself, my judgments would never be mistaken, for +it is never untrue that I feel what I feel. + +Why then am I mistaken as to the relation between these two sticks, +especially when they are not parallel? Why, for example, do I say +the small stick is a third of the large, when it is only a quarter? +Why is the picture, which is the sensation, unlike its model which +is the object? It is because I am active when I judge, because +the operation of comparison is at fault; because my understanding, +which judges of relations, mingles its errors with the truth of +sensations, which only reveal to me things. + +Add to this a consideration which will, I feel sure, appeal to +you when you have thought about it: it is this--If we were purely +passive in the use of our senses, there would be no communication +between them; it would be impossible to know that the body we are +touching and the thing we are looking at is the same. Either we +should never perceive anything outside ourselves, or there would +be for us five substances perceptible by the senses, whose identity +we should have no means of perceiving. + +This power of my mind which brings my sensations together and +compares them may be called by any name; let it be called attention, +meditation, reflection, or what you will; it is still true that +it is in me and not in things, that it is I alone who produce it, +though I only produce it when I receive an impression from things. +Though I am compelled to feel or not to feel, I am free to examine +more or less what I feel. + +Being now, so to speak, sure of myself, I begin to look at things +outside myself, and I behold myself with a sort of shudder flung +at random into this vast universe, plunged as it were into the vast +number of entities, knowing nothing of what they are in themselves +or in relation to me. I study them, I observe them; and the first +object which suggests itself for comparison with them is myself. + +All that I perceive through the senses is matter, and I deduce +all the essential properties of matter from the sensible qualities +which make me perceive it, qualities which are inseparable from it. +I see it sometimes in motion, sometimes at rest, [Footnote: This +repose is, if you prefer it, merely relative; but as we perceive +more or less of motion, we may plainly conceive one of two extremes, +which is rest; and we conceive it so clearly that we are even +disposed to take for absolute rest what is only relative. But it +is not true that motion is of the essence of matter, if matter may +be conceived of as at rest.] hence I infer that neither motion nor +rest is essential to it, but motion, being an action, is the result +of a cause of which rest is only the absence. When, therefore, +there is nothing acting upon matter it does not move, and for the +very reason that rest and motion are indifferent to it, its natural +state is a state of rest. + +I perceive two sorts of motions of bodies, acquired motion and +spontaneous or voluntary motion. In the first the cause is external +to the body moved, in the second it is within. I shall not conclude +from that that the motion, say of a watch, is spontaneous, for if no +external cause operated upon the spring it would run down and the +watch would cease to go. For the same reason I should not admit +that the movements of fluids are spontaneous, neither should I +attribute spontaneous motion to fire which causes their fluidity. +[Footnote: Chemists regard phlogiston or the element of fire as +diffused, motionless, and stagnant in the compounds of which it +forms part, until external forces set it free, collect it and set +it in motion, and change it into fire.] + +You ask me if the movements of animals are spontaneous; my answer +is, "I cannot tell," but analogy points that way. You ask me again, +how do I know that there are spontaneous movements? I tell you, "I +know it because I feel them." I want to move my arm and I move it +without any other immediate cause of the movement but my own will. +In vain would any one try to argue me out of this feeling, it is +stronger than any proofs; you might as well try to convince me that +I do not exist. + +If there were no spontaneity in men's actions, nor in anything +that happens on this earth, it would be all the more difficult to +imagine a first cause for all motion. For my own part, I feel myself +so thoroughly convinced that the natural state of matter is a state +of rest, and that it has no power of action in itself, that when +I see a body in motion I at once assume that it is either a living +body or that this motion has been imparted to it. My mind declines +to accept in any way the idea of inorganic matter moving of its +own accord, or giving rise to any action. + +Yet this visible universe consists of matter, matter diffused and +dead, [Footnote: I have tried hard to grasp the idea of a living +molecule, but in vain. The idea of matter feeling without any senses +seems to me unintelligible and self-contradictory. To accept or +reject this idea one must first understand it, and I confess that +so far I have not succeeded.] matter which has none of the cohesion, +the organisation, the common feeling of the parts of a living body, +for it is certain that we who are parts have no consciousness of +the whole. This same universe is in motion, and in its movements, +ordered, uniform, and subject to fixed laws, it has none of that +freedom which appears in the spontaneous movements of men and +animals. So the world is not some huge animal which moves of its +own accord; its movements are therefore due to some external cause, +a cause which I cannot perceive, but the inner voice makes this +cause so apparent to me that I cannot watch the course of the +sun without imagining a force which drives it, and when the earth +revolves I think I see the hand that sets it in motion. + +If I must accept general laws whose essential relation to matter +is unperceived by me, how much further have I got? These laws, not +being real things, not being substances, have therefore some other +basis unknown to me. Experiment and observation have acquainted us +with the laws of motion; these laws determine the results without +showing their causes; they are quite inadequate to explain the +system of the world and the course of the universe. With the help +of dice Descartes made heaven and earth; but he could not set his +dice in motion, nor start the action of his centrifugal force without +the help of rotation. Newton discovered the law of gravitation; but +gravitation alone would soon reduce the universe to a motionless +mass; he was compelled to add a projectile force to account for +the elliptical course of the celestial bodies; let Newton show us +the hand that launched the planets in the tangent of their orbits. + +The first causes of motion are not to be found in matter; matter +receives and transmits motion, but does not produce it. The more +I observe the action and reaction of the forces of nature playing +on one another, the more I see that we must always go back from one +effect to another, till we arrive at a first cause in some will; +for to assume an infinite succession of causes is to assume that +there is no first cause. In a word, no motion which is not caused +by another motion can take place, except by a spontaneous, voluntary +action; inanimate bodies have no action but motion, and there is +no real action without will. This is my first principle. I believe, +therefore, that there is a will which sets the universe in motion +and gives life to nature. This is my first dogma, or the first +article of my creed. + +How does a will produce a physical and corporeal action? I cannot +tell, but I perceive that it does so in myself; I will to do +something and I do it; I will to move my body and it moves, but +if an inanimate body, when at rest, should begin to move itself, +the thing is incomprehensible and without precedent. The will is +known to me in its action, not in its nature. I know this will as +a cause of motion, but to conceive of matter as producing motion +is clearly to conceive of an effect without a cause, which is not +to conceive at all. + +It is no more possible for me to conceive how my will moves my body +than to conceive how my sensations affect my mind. I do not even +know why one of these mysteries has seemed less inexplicable than the +other. For my own part, whether I am active or passive, the means +of union of the two substances seem to me absolutely incomprehensible. +It is very strange that people make this very incomprehensibility a +step towards the compounding of the two substances, as if operations +so different in kind were more easily explained in one case than +in two. + +The doctrine I have just laid down is indeed obscure; but at least +it suggests a meaning and there is nothing in it repugnant to reason +or experience; can we say as much of materialism? Is it not plain +that if motion is essential to matter it would be inseparable from +it, it would always be present in it in the same degree, always +present in every particle of matter, always the same in each +particle of matter, it would not be capable of transmission, it +could neither increase nor diminish, nor could we ever conceive of +matter at rest. When you tell me that motion is not essential to +matter but necessary to it, you try to cheat me with words which +would be easier to refute if there was a little more sense in them. +For either the motion of matter arises from the matter itself and +is therefore essential to it; or it arises from an external cause +and is not necessary to the matter, because the motive cause acts +upon it; we have got back to our original difficulty. + +The chief source of human error is to be found in general and abstract +ideas; the jargon of metaphysics has never led to the discovery of +any single truth, and it has filled philosophy with absurdities of +which we are ashamed as soon as we strip them of their long words. +Tell me, my friend, when they talk to you of a blind force diffused +throughout nature, do they present any real idea to your mind? They +think they are saying something by these vague expressions--universal +force, essential motion--but they are saying nothing at all. The idea +of motion is nothing more than the idea of transference from place +to place; there is no motion without direction; for no individual +can move all ways at once. In what direction then does matter move +of necessity? Has the whole body of matter a uniform motion, or +has each atom its own motion? According to the first idea the whole +universe must form a solid and indivisible mass; according to the +second it can only form a diffused and incoherent fluid, which +would make the union of any two atoms impossible. What direction +shall be taken by this motion common to all matter? Shall it be +in a straight line, in a circle, or from above downwards, to the +right or to the left? If each molecule has its own direction, what +are the causes of all these directions and all these differences? +If every molecule or atom only revolved on its own axis, nothing +would ever leave its place and there would be no transmitted motion, +and even then this circular movement would require to follow some +direction. To set matter in motion by an abstraction is to utter +words without meaning, and to attribute to matter a given direction +is to assume a determining cause. The more examples I take, the +more causes I have to explain, without ever finding a common agent +which controls them. Far from being able to picture to myself an +entire absence of order in the fortuitous concurrence of elements, +I cannot even imagine such a strife, and the chaos of the universe +is less conceivable to me than its harmony. I can understand that +the mechanism of the universe may not be intelligible to the human +mind, but when a man sets to work to explain it, he must say what +men can understand. + +If matter in motion points me to a will, matter in motion according +to fixed laws points me to an intelligence; that is the second article +of my creed. To act, to compare, to choose, are the operations of +an active, thinking being; so this being exists. Where do you find +him existing, you will say? Not merely in the revolving heavens, +nor in the sun which gives us light, not in myself alone, but in +the sheep that grazes, the bird that flies, the stone that falls, +and the leaf blown by the wind. + +I judge of the order of the world, although I know nothing of its +purpose, for to judge of this order it is enough for me to compare +the parts one with another, to study their co-operation, their +relations, and to observe their united action. I know not why the +universe exists, but I see continually how it is changed; I never +fail to perceive the close connection by which the entities of +which it consists lend their aid one to another. I am like a man +who sees the works of a watch for the first time; he is never weary +of admiring the mechanism, though he does not know the use of the +instrument and has never seen its face. I do not know what this is +for, says he, but I see that each part of it is fitted to the rest, +I admire the workman in the details of his work, and I am quite +certain that all these wheels only work together in this fashion +for some common end which I cannot perceive. + +Let us compare the special ends, the means, the ordered relations +of every kind, then let us listen to the inner voice of feeling; +what healthy mind can reject its evidence? Unless the eyes are +blinded by prejudices, can they fail to see that the visible order +of the universe proclaims a supreme intelligence? What sophisms +must be brought together before we fail to understand the harmony +of existence and the wonderful co-operation of every part for the +maintenance of the rest? Say what you will of combinations and +probabilities; what do you gain by reducing me to silence if you +cannot gain my consent? And how can you rob me of the spontaneous +feeling which, in spite of myself, continually gives you the lie? +If organised bodies had come together fortuitously in all sorts of +ways before assuming settled forms, if stomachs are made without +mouths, feet without heads, hands without arms, imperfect organs of +every kind which died because they could not preserve their life, +why do none of these imperfect attempts now meet our eyes; why has +nature at length prescribed laws to herself which she did not at +first recognise? I must not be surprised if that which is possible +should happen, and if the improbability of the event is compensated +for by the number of the attempts. I grant this; yet if any one +told me that printed characters scattered broadcast had produced +the Aeneid all complete, I would not condescend to take a single +step to verify this falsehood. You will tell me I am forgetting the +multitude of attempts. But how many such attempts must I assume to +bring the combination within the bounds of probability? For my own +part the only possible assumption is that the chances are infinity +to one that the product is not the work of chance. In addition to +this, chance combinations yield nothing but products of the same +nature as the elements combined, so that life and organisation will +not be produced by a flow of atoms, and a chemist when making his +compounds will never give them thought and feeling in his crucible. +[Footnote: Could one believe, if one had not seen it, that human +absurdity could go so far? Amatus Lusitanus asserts that he saw a +little man an inch long enclosed in a glass, which Julius Camillus, +like a second Prometheus, had made by alchemy. Paracelsis (De +natura rerum) teaches the method of making these tiny men, and he +maintains that the pygmies, fauns, satyrs, and nymphs have been made +by chemistry. Indeed I cannot see that there is anything more to +be done, to establish the possibility of these facts, unless it +is to assert that organic matter resists the heat of fire and that +its molecules can preserve their life in the hottest furnace.] + +I was surprised and almost shocked when I read Neuwentit. How +could this man desire to make a book out of the wonders of nature, +wonders which show the wisdom of the author of nature? His book would +have been as large as the world itself before he had exhausted his +subject, and as soon as we attempt to give details, that greatest +wonder of all, the concord and harmony of the whole, escapes us. +The mere generation of living organic bodies is the despair of the +human mind; the insurmountable barrier raised by nature between the +various species, so that they should not mix with one another, is +the clearest proof of her intention. She is not content to have +established order, she has taken adequate measures to prevent the +disturbance of that order. + +There is not a being in the universe which may not be regarded as +in some respects the common centre of all, around which they are +grouped, so that they are all reciprocally end and means in relation +to each other. The mind is confused and lost amid these innumerable +relations, not one of which is itself confused or lost in the +crowd. What absurd assumptions are required to deduce all this +harmony from the blind mechanism of matter set in motion by chance! +In vain do those who deny the unity of intention manifested in the +relations of all the parts of this great whole, in vain do they +conceal their nonsense under abstractions, co-ordinations, general +principles, symbolic expressions; whatever they do I find it +impossible to conceive of a system of entities so firmly ordered +unless I believe in an intelligence that orders them. It is not in +my power to believe that passive and dead matter can have brought +forth living and feeling beings, that blind chance has brought +forth intelligent beings, that that which does not think has brought +forth thinking beings. + +I believe, therefore, that the world is governed by a wise and +powerful will; I see it or rather I feel it, and it is a great +thing to know this. But has this same world always existed, or has +it been created? Is there one source of all things? Are there two +or many? What is their nature? I know not; and what concern is it +of mine? When these things become of importance to me I will try +to learn them; till then I abjure these idle speculations, which may +trouble my peace, but cannot affect my conduct nor be comprehended +by my reason. + +Recollect that I am not preaching my own opinion but explaining +it. Whether matter is eternal or created, whether its origin is +passive or not, it is still certain that the whole is one, and that +it proclaims a single intelligence; for I see nothing that is not +part of the same ordered system, nothing which does not co-operate +to the same end, namely, the conservation of all within the +established order. This being who wills and can perform his will, +this being active through his own power, this being, whoever he may +be, who moves the universe and orders all things, is what I call +God. To this name I add the ideas of intelligence, power, will, +which I have brought together, and that of kindness which is their +necessary consequence; but for all this I know no more of the being +to which I ascribe them. He hides himself alike from my senses +and my understanding; the more I think of him, the more perplexed +I am; I know full well that he exists, and that he exists of himself +alone; I know that my existence depends on his, and that everything +I know depends upon him also. I see God everywhere in his works; +I feel him within myself; I behold him all around me; but if I try +to ponder him himself, if I try to find out where he is, what he +is, what is his substance, he escapes me and my troubled spirit +finds nothing. + +Convinced of my unfitness, I shall never argue about the nature of +God unless I am driven to it by the feeling of his relations with +myself. Such reasonings are always rash; a wise man should venture +on them with trembling, he should be certain that he can never +sound their abysses; for the most insolent attitude towards God is +not to abstain from thinking of him, but to think evil of him. + +After the discovery of such of his attributes as enable me to conceive +of his existence, I return to myself, and I try to discover what is +my place in the order of things which he governs, and I can myself +examine. At once, and beyond possibility of doubt, I discover my +species; for by my own will and the instruments I can control to +carry out my will, I have more power to act upon all bodies about +me, either to make use of or to avoid their action at my pleasure, +than any of them has power to act upon me against my will by mere +physical impulsion; and through my intelligence I am the only one +who can examine all the rest. What being here below, except man, +can observe others, measure, calculate, forecast their motions, +their effects, and unite, so to speak, the feeling of a common +existence with that of his individual existence? What is there so +absurd in the thought that all things are made for me, when I alone +can relate all things to myself? + +It is true, therefore, that man is lord of the earth on which he +dwells; for not only does he tame all the beasts, not only does he +control its elements through his industry; but he alone knows how +to control it; by contemplation he takes possession of the stars +which he cannot approach. Show me any other creature on earth who +can make a fire and who can behold with admiration the sun. What! +can I observe and know all creatures and their relations; can +I feel what is meant by order, beauty, and virtue; can I consider +the universe and raise myself towards the hand that guides it; can +I love good and perform it; and should I then liken myself to the +beasts? Wretched soul, it is your gloomy philosophy which makes +you like the beasts; or rather in vain do you seek to degrade +yourself; your genius belies your principles, your kindly heart +belies your doctrines, and even the abuse of your powers proves +their excellence in your own despite. + +For myself, I am not pledged to the support of any system. I am a +plain and honest man, one who is not carried away by party spirit, +one who has no ambition to be head of a sect; I am content with +the place where God has set me; I see nothing, next to God himself, +which is better than my species; and if I had to choose my place in +the order of creation, what more could I choose than to be a man! + +I am not puffed up by this thought, I am deeply moved by it; for +this state was no choice of mine, it was not due to the deserts +of a creature who as yet did not exist. Can I behold myself thus +distinguished without congratulating myself on this post of honour, +without blessing the hand which bestowed it? The first return to +self has given birth to a feeling of gratitude and thankfulness +to the author of my species, and this feeling calls forth my first +homage to the beneficent Godhead. I worship his Almighty power and +my heart acknowledges his mercies. Is it not a natural consequence +of our self-love to honour our protector and to love our benefactor? + +But when, in my desire to discover my own place within my species, +I consider its different ranks and the men who fill them, where am +I now? What a sight meets my eyes! Where is now the order I perceived? +Nature showed me a scene of harmony and proportion; the human race +shows me nothing but confusion and disorder. The elements agree +together; men are in a state of chaos. The beasts are happy; their +king alone is wretched. O Wisdom, where are thy laws? O Providence, +is this thy rule over the world? Merciful God, where is thy Power? +I behold the earth, and there is evil upon it. + +Would you believe it, dear friend, from these gloomy thoughts and +apparent contradictions, there was shaped in my mind the sublime +idea of the soul, which all my seeking had hitherto failed to +discover? While I meditated upon man's nature, I seemed to discover +two distinct principles in it; one of them raised him to the study +of the eternal truths, to the love of justice, and of true morality, +to the regions of the world of thought, which the wise delight to +contemplate; the other led him downwards to himself, made him the +slave of his senses, of the passions which are their instruments, +and thus opposed everything suggested to him by the former principle. +When I felt myself carried away, distracted by these conflicting +motives, I said, No; man is not one; I will and I will not; I feel +myself at once a slave and a free man; I perceive what is right, I +love it, and I do what is wrong; I am active when I listen to the +voice of reason; I am passive when I am carried away by my passions; +and when I yield, my worst suffering is the knowledge that I might +have resisted. + +Young man, hear me with confidence. I will always be honest with +you. If conscience is the creature of prejudice, I am certainly +wrong, and there is no such thing as a proof of morality; but if +to put oneself first is an inclination natural to man, and if the +first sentiment of justice is moreover inborn in the human heart, +let those who say man is a simple creature remove these contradictions +and I will grant that there is but one substance. + +You will note that by this term 'substance' I understand generally +the being endowed with some primitive quality, apart from all special +and secondary modifications. If then all the primitive qualities +which are known to us can be united in one and the same being, we +should only acknowledge one substance; but if there are qualities +which are mutually exclusive, there are as many different substances +as there are such exclusions. You will think this over; for my +own part, whatever Locke may say, it is enough for me to recognise +matter as having merely extension and divisibility to convince +myself that it cannot think, and if a philosopher tells me that +trees feel and rocks think [Footnote: It seems to me that modern +philosophy, far from saying that rocks think, has discovered that +men do not think. It perceives nothing more in nature than sensitive +beings; and the only difference it finds between a man and a stone +is that a man is a sensitive being which experiences sensations, and +a stone is a sensitive being which does not experience sensations. +But if it is true that all matter feels, where shall I find the +sensitive unit, the individual ego? Shall it be in each molecule of +matter or in bodies as aggregates of molecules? Shall I place this +unity in fluids and solids alike, in compounds and in elements? You +tell me nature consists of individuals. But what are these individuals? +Is that stone an individual or an aggregate of individuals? Is +it a single sensitive being, or are there as many beings in it as +there are grains of sand? If every elementary atom is a sensitive +being, how shall I conceive of that intimate communication by which +one feels within the other, so that their two egos are blended in +one? Attraction may be a law of nature whose mystery is unknown to +us; but at least we conceive that there is nothing in attraction +acting in proportion to mass which is contrary to extension and +divisibility. Can you conceive of sensation in the same way? The +sensitive parts have extension, but the sensitive being is one and +indivisible; he cannot be cut in two, he is a whole or he is nothing; +therefore the sensitive being is not a material body. I know not +how our materialists understand it, but it seems to me that the +same difficulties which have led them to reject thought, should +have made them also reject feeling; and I see no reason why, when +the first step has been taken, they should not take the second +too; what more would it cost them? Since they are certain they do +not think, why do they dare to affirm that they feel?] in vain will +he perplex me with his cunning arguments; I merely regard him as +a dishonest sophist, who prefers to say that stones have feeling +rather than that men have souls. + +Suppose a deaf man denies the existence of sounds because he has +never heard them. I put before his eyes a stringed instrument and +cause it to sound in unison by means of another instrument concealed +from him; the deaf man sees the chord vibrate. I tell him, "The +sound makes it do that." "Not at all," says he, "the string itself +is the cause of the vibration; to vibrate in that way is a quality +common to all bodies." "Then show me this vibration in other +bodies," I answer, "or at least show me its cause in this string." +"I cannot," replies the deaf man; "but because I do not understand +how that string vibrates why should I try to explain it by means of +your sounds, of which I have not the least idea? It is explaining +one obscure fact by means of a cause still more obscure. Make me +perceive your sounds; or I say there are no such things." + +The more I consider thought and the nature of the human mind, the +more likeness I find between the arguments of the materialists and +those of the deaf man. Indeed, they are deaf to the inner voice +which cries aloud to them, in a tone which can hardly be mistaken. +A machine does not think, there is neither movement nor form which +can produce reflection; something within thee tries to break the +bands which confine it; space is not thy measure, the whole universe +does not suffice to contain thee; thy sentiments, thy desires, thy +anxiety, thy pride itself, have another origin than this small body +in which thou art imprisoned. + +No material creature is in itself active, and I am active. In vain +do you argue this point with me; I feel it, and it is this feeling +which speaks to me more forcibly than the reason which disputes it. +I have a body which is acted upon by other bodies, and it acts in +turn upon them; there is no doubt about this reciprocal action; +but my will is independent of my senses; I consent or I resist; +I yield or I win the victory, and I know very well in myself when +I have done what I wanted and when I have merely given way to +my passions. I have always the power to will, but not always the +strength to do what I will. When I yield to temptation I surrender +myself to the action of external objects. When I blame myself for +this weakness, I listen to my own will alone; I am a slave in my +vices, a free man in my remorse; the feeling of freedom is never +effaced in me but when I myself do wrong, and when I at length +prevent the voice of the soul from protesting against the authority +of the body. + +I am only aware of will through the consciousness of my own will, +and intelligence is no better known to me. When you ask me what +is the cause which determines my will, it is my turn to ask what +cause determines my judgment; for it is plain that these two causes +are but one; and if you understand clearly that man is active in +his judgments, that his intelligence is only the power to compare +and judge, you will see that his freedom is only a similar power +or one derived from this; he chooses between good and evil as he +judges between truth and falsehood; if his judgment is at fault, he +chooses amiss. What then is the cause that determines his will? It +is his judgment. And what is the cause that determines his judgment? +It is his intelligence, his power of judging; the determining cause +is in himself. Beyond that, I understand nothing. + +No doubt I am not free not to desire my own welfare, I am not free +to desire my own hurt; but my freedom consists in this very thing, +that I can will what is for my own good, or what I esteem as such, +without any external compulsion. Does it follow that I am not my +own master because I cannot be other than myself? + +The motive power of all action is in the will of a free creature; we +can go no farther. It is not the word freedom that is meaningless, but +the word necessity. To suppose some action which is not the effect +of an active motive power is indeed to suppose effects without +cause, to reason in a vicious circle. Either there is no original +impulse, or every original impulse has no antecedent cause, and +there is no will properly so-called without freedom. Man is therefore +free to act, and as such he is animated by an immaterial substance; +that is the third article of my creed. From these three you will +easily deduce the rest, so that I need not enumerate them. + +If man is at once active and free, he acts of his own accord; what +he does freely is no part of the system marked out by Providence +and it cannot be imputed to Providence. Providence does not will +the evil that man does when he misuses the freedom given to him; +neither does Providence prevent him doing it, either because the +wrong done by so feeble a creature is as nothing in its eyes, or +because it could not prevent it without doing a greater wrong and +degrading his nature. Providence has made him free that he may +choose the good and refuse the evil. It has made him capable of this +choice if he uses rightly the faculties bestowed upon him, but it +has so strictly limited his powers that the misuse of his freedom +cannot disturb the general order. The evil that man does reacts +upon himself without affecting the system of the world, without +preventing the preservation of the human species in spite of +itself. To complain that God does not prevent us from doing wrong +is to complain because he has made man of so excellent a nature, +that he has endowed his actions with that morality by which they +are ennobled, that he has made virtue man's birthright. Supreme +happiness consists in self-content; that we may gain this self-content +we are placed upon this earth and endowed with freedom, we are +tempted by our passions and restrained by conscience. What more +could divine power itself have done on our behalf? Could it have made +our nature a contradiction, and have given the prize of well-doing +to one who was incapable of evil? To prevent a man from wickedness, +should Providence have restricted him to instinct and made him +a fool? Not so, O God of my soul, I will never reproach thee that +thou hast created me in thine own image, that I may be free and +good and happy like my Maker! + +It is the abuse of our powers that makes us unhappy and wicked. +Our cares, our sorrows, our sufferings are of our own making. Moral +ills are undoubtedly the work of man, and physical ills would be +nothing but for our vices which have made us liable to them. Has +not nature made us feel our needs as a means to our preservation! +Is not bodily suffering a sign that the machine is out of order +and needs attention? Death.... Do not the wicked poison their own +life and ours? Who would wish to live for ever? Death is the cure +for the evils you bring upon yourself; nature would not have you +suffer perpetually. How few sufferings are felt by man living in +a state of primitive simplicity! His life is almost entirely free +from suffering and from passion; he neither fears nor feels death; +if he feels it, his sufferings make him desire it; henceforth it +is no evil in his eyes. If we were but content to be ourselves we +should have no cause to complain of our lot; but in the search for +an imaginary good we find a thousand real ills. He who cannot bear +a little pain must expect to suffer greatly. If a man injures his +constitution by dissipation, you try to cure him with medicine; +the ill he fears is added to the ill he feels; the thought of +death makes it horrible and hastens its approach; the more we seek +to escape from it, the more we are aware of it; and we go through +life in the fear of death, blaming nature for the evils we have +inflicted on ourselves by our neglect of her laws. + +O Man! seek no further for the author of evil; thou art he. There +is no evil but the evil you do or the evil you suffer, and both +come from yourself. Evil in general can only spring from disorder, +and in the order of the world I find a never failing system. Evil +in particular cases exists only in the mind of those who experience +it; and this feeling is not the gift of nature, but the work of +man himself. Pain has little power over those who, having thought +little, look neither before nor after. Take away our fatal progress, +take away our faults and our vices, take away man's handiwork, and +all is well. + +Where all is well, there is no such thing as injustice. Justice and +goodness are inseparable; now goodness is the necessary result of +boundless power and of that self-love which is innate in all sentient +beings. The omnipotent projects himself, so to speak, into the being +of his creatures. Creation and preservation are the everlasting +work of power; it does not act on that which has no existence; God +is not the God of the dead; he could not harm and destroy without +injury to himself. The omnipotent can only will what is good. +[Footnote: The ancients were right when they called the supreme +God Optimus Maximus, but it would have been better to say Maximus +Optimus, for his goodness springs from his power, he is good +because he is great.] Therefore he who is supremely good, because +he is supremely powerful, must also be supremely just, otherwise +he would contradict himself; for that love of order which creates +order we call goodness and that love of order which preserves order +we call justice. + +Men say God owes nothing to his creatures. I think he owes them +all he promised when he gave them their being. Now to give them +the idea of something good and to make them feel the need of it, +is to promise it to them. The more closely I study myself, the more +carefully I consider, the more plainly do I read these words, "Be +just and you will be happy." It is not so, however, in the present +condition of things, the wicked prospers and the oppression of the +righteous continues. Observe how angry we are when this expectation +is disappointed. Conscience revolts and murmurs against her Creator; +she exclaims with cries and groans, "Thou hast deceived me." + +"I have deceived thee, rash soul! Who told thee this? Is thy soul +destroyed? Hast thou ceased to exist? O Brutus! O my son! let there +be no stain upon the close of thy noble life; do not abandon thy +hope and thy glory with thy corpse upon the plains of Philippi. +Why dost thou say, 'Virtue is naught,' when thou art about to enjoy +the reward of virtue? Thou art about to die! Nay, thou shalt live, +and thus my promise is fulfilled." + +One might judge from the complaints of impatient men that God owes +them the reward before they have deserved it, that he is bound to +pay for virtue in advance. Oh! let us first be good and then we +shall be happy. Let us not claim the prize before we have won it, +nor demand our wages before we have finished our work. "It is not +in the lists that we crown the victors in the sacred games," says +Plutarch, "it is when they have finished their course." + +If the soul is immaterial, it may survive the body; and if +it so survives, Providence is justified. Had I no other proof of +the immaterial nature of the soul, the triumph of the wicked and +the oppression of the righteous in this world would be enough to +convince me. I should seek to resolve so appalling a discord in the +universal harmony. I should say to myself, "All is not over with +life, everything finds its place at death." I should still have to +answer the question, "What becomes of man when all we know of him +through our senses has vanished?" This question no longer presents +any difficulty to me when I admit the two substances. It is easy +to understand that what is imperceptible to those senses escapes +me, during my bodily life, when I perceive through my senses only. +When the union of soul and body is destroyed, I think one may be +dissolved and the other may be preserved. Why should the destruction +of the one imply the destruction of the other? On the contrary, so +unlike in their nature, they were during their union in a highly +unstable condition, and when this union comes to an end they both +return to their natural state; the active vital substance regains +all the force which it expended to set in motion the passive dead +substance. Alas! my vices make me only too well aware that man is +but half alive during this life; the life of the soul only begins +with the death of the body. + +But what is that life? Is the soul of man in its nature immortal? +I know not. My finite understanding cannot hold the infinite; what +is called eternity eludes my grasp. What can I assert or deny, how +can I reason with regard to what I cannot conceive? I believe that +the soul survives the body for the maintenance of order; who knows +if this is enough to make it eternal? However, I know that the +body is worn out and destroyed by the division of its parts, but +I cannot conceive a similar destruction of the conscious nature, +and as I cannot imagine how it can die, I presume that it does not +die. As this assumption is consoling and in itself not unreasonable, +why should I fear to accept it? + +I am aware of my soul; it is known to me in feeling and in thought; +I know what it is without knowing its essence; I cannot reason +about ideas which are unknown to me. What I do know is this, that +my personal identity depends upon memory, and that to be indeed +the same self I must remember that I have existed. Now after death +I could not recall what I was when alive unless I also remembered +what I felt and therefore what I did; and I have no doubt that +this remembrance will one day form the happiness of the good and +the torment of the bad. In this world our inner consciousness is +absorbed by the crowd of eager passions which cheat remorse. The +humiliation and disgrace involved in the practice of virtue do not +permit us to realise its charm. But when, freed from the illusions +of the bodily senses, we behold with joy the supreme Being and +the eternal truths which flow from him; when all the powers of our +soul are alive to the beauty of order and we are wholly occupied in +comparing what we have done with what we ought to have done, then +it is that the voice of conscience will regain its strength and sway; +then it is that the pure delight which springs from self-content, +and the sharp regret for our own degradation of that self, will +decide by means of overpowering feeling what shall be the fate +which each has prepared for himself. My good friend, do not ask me +whether there are other sources of happiness or suffering; I cannot +tell; that which my fancy pictures is enough to console me in this +life and to bid me look for a life to come. I do not say the good +will be rewarded, for what greater good can a truly good being expect +than to exist in accordance with his nature? But I do assert that +the good will be happy, because their maker, the author of all +justice, who has made them capable of feeling, has not made them +that they may suffer; moreover, they have not abused their freedom +upon earth and they have not changed their fate through any fault +of their own; yet they have suffered in this life and it will be made +up to them in the life to come. This feeling relies not so much on +man's deserts as on the idea of good which seems to me inseparable +from the divine essence. I only assume that the laws of order are +constant and that God is true to himself. + +Do not ask me whether the torments of the wicked will endure for +ever, whether the goodness of their creator can condemn them to +the eternal suffering; again, I cannot tell, and I have no empty +curiosity for the investigation of useless problems. How does the +fate of the wicked concern me? I take little interest in it. All +the same I find it hard to believe that they will be condemned to +everlasting torments. If the supreme justice calls for vengeance, +it claims it in this life. The nations of the world with their errors +are its ministers. Justice uses self-inflicted ills to punish the +crimes which have deserved them. It is in your own insatiable souls, +devoured by envy, greed, and ambition, it is in the midst of your +false prosperity, that the avenging passions find the due reward +of your crimes. What need to seek a hell in the future life? It is +here in the breast of the wicked. + +When our fleeting needs are over, and our mad desires are at rest, +there should also be an end of our passions and our crimes. Can +pure spirits be capable of any perversity? Having need of nothing, +why should they be wicked? If they are free from our gross senses, +if their happiness consists in the contemplation of other beings, +they can only desire what is good; and he who ceases to be bad can +never be miserable. This is what I am inclined to think though I +have not been at the pains to come to any decision. O God, merciful +and good, whatever thy decrees may be I adore them; if thou shouldst +commit the wicked to everlasting punishment, I abandon my feeble +reason to thy justice; but if the remorse of these wretched beings +should in the course of time be extinguished, if their sufferings +should come to an end, and if the same peace shall one day be the +lot of all mankind, I give thanks to thee for this. Is not the +wicked my brother? How often have I been tempted to be like him? +Let him be delivered from his misery and freed from the spirit of +hatred that accompanied it; let him be as happy as I myself; his +happiness, far from arousing my jealousy, will only increase my +own. + +Thus it is that, in the contemplation of God in his works, and in +the study of such of his attributes as it concerned me to know, +I have slowly grasped and developed the idea, at first partial +and imperfect, which I have formed of this Infinite Being. But if +this idea has become nobler and greater it is also more suited to +the human reason. As I approach in spirit the eternal light, I am +confused and dazzled by its glory, and compelled to abandon all +the earthly notions which helped me to picture it to myself. God +is no longer corporeal and sensible; the supreme mind which rules +the world is no longer the world itself; in vain do I strive to +grasp his inconceivable essence. When I think that it is he that +gives life and movement to the living and moving substance which +controls all living bodies; when I hear it said that my soul is +spiritual and that God is a spirit, I revolt against this abasement +of the divine essence; as if God and my soul were of one and the +same nature! As if God were not the one and only absolute being, +the only really active, feeling, thinking, willing being, from whom +we derive our thought, feeling, motion, will, our freedom and our +very existence! We are free because he wills our freedom, and his +inexplicable substance is to our souls what our souls are to our +bodies. I know not whether he has created matter, body, soul, the +world itself. The idea of creation confounds me and eludes my grasp; +so far as I can conceive of it I believe it; but I know that he has +formed the universe and all that is, that he has made and ordered +all things. No doubt God is eternal; but can my mind grasp the idea +of eternity? Why should I cheat myself with meaningless words? +This is what I do understand; before things were--God was; he will +be when they are no more, and if all things come to an end he will +still endure. That a being beyond my comprehension should give life +to other beings, this is merely difficult and beyond my understanding; +but that Being and Nothing should be convertible terms, this is +indeed a palpable contradiction, an evident absurdity. + +God is intelligent, but how? Man is intelligent when he reasons, but +the Supreme Intelligence does not need to reason; there is neither +premise nor conclusion for him, there is not even a proposition. +The Supreme Intelligence is wholly intuitive, it sees what is and +what shall be; all truths are one for it, as all places are but one +point and all time but one moment. Man's power makes use of means, +the divine power is self-active. God can because he wills; his +will is his power. God is good; this is certain; but man finds his +happiness in the welfare of his kind. God's happiness consists in +the love of order; for it is through order that he maintains what +is, and unites each part in the whole. God is just; of this I am +sure, it is a consequence of his goodness; man's injustice is not +God's work, but his own; that moral justice which seems to the +philosophers a presumption against Providence, is to me a proof of +its existence. But man's justice consists in giving to each his +due; God's justice consists in demanding from each of us an account +of that which he has given us. + +If I have succeeded in discerning these attributes of which I have +no absolute idea, it is in the form of unavoidable deductions, and +by the right use of my reason; but I affirm them without understanding +them, and at bottom that is no affirmation at all. In vain do I +say, God is thus, I feel it, I experience it, none the more do I +understand how God can be thus. + +In a word: the more I strive to envisage his infinite essence the +less do I comprehend it; but it is, and that is enough for me; the +less I understand, the more I adore. I abase myself, saying, "Being +of beings, I am because thou art; to fix my thoughts on thee is +to ascend to the source of my being. The best use I can make of my +reason is to resign it before thee; my mind delights, my weakness +rejoices, to feel myself overwhelmed by thy greatness." + +Having thus deduced from the perception of objects of sense and +from my inner consciousness, which leads me to judge of causes by +my native reason, the principal truths which I require to know, I +must now seek such principles of conduct as I can draw from them, +and such rules as I must lay down for my guidance in the fulfilment +of my destiny in this world, according to the purpose of my Maker. +Still following the same method, I do not derive these rules from +the principles of the higher philosophy, I find them in the depths +of my heart, traced by nature in characters which nothing can efface. +I need only consult myself with regard to what I wish to do; what +I feel to be right is right, what I feel to be wrong is wrong; +conscience is the best casuist; and it is only when we haggle with +conscience that we have recourse to the subtleties of argument. +Our first duty is towards ourself; yet how often does the voice of +others tell us that in seeking our good at the expense of others +we are doing ill? We think we are following the guidance of nature, +and we are resisting it; we listen to what she says to our senses, +and we neglect what she says to our heart; the active being obeys, +the passive commands. Conscience is the voice of the soul, the +passions are the voice of the body. It is strange that these voices +often contradict each other? And then to which should we give heed? +Too often does reason deceive us; we have only too good a right to +doubt her; but conscience never deceives us; she is the true guide +of man; it is to the soul what instinct is to the body, [Footnote: +Modern philosophy, which only admits what it can understand, is +careful not to admit this obscure power called instinct which seems +to guide the animals to some end without any acquired experience. +Instinct, according to some of our wise philosophers, is only a +secret habit of reflection, acquired by reflection; and from the +way in which they explain this development one ought to suppose +that children reflect more than grown-up people: a paradox strange +enough to be worth examining. Without entering upon this discussion I +must ask what name I shall give to the eagerness with which my dog +makes war on the moles he does not eat, or to the patience with +which he sometimes watches them for hours and the skill with which +he seizes them, throws them to a distance from their earth as soon +as they emerge, and then kills them and leaves them. Yet no one +has trained him to this sport, nor even told him there were such +things as moles. Again, I ask, and this is a more important question, +why, when I threatened this same dog for the first time, why did +he throw himself on the ground with his paws folded, in such a +suppliant attitude .....calculated to touch me, a position which +he would have maintained if, without being touched by it, I had +continued to beat him in that position? What! Had my dog, little +more than a puppy, acquired moral ideas? Did he know the meaning +of mercy and generosity? By what acquired knowledge did he seek +to appease my wrath by yielding to my discretion? Every dog in the +world does almost the same thing in similar circumstances, and I +am asserting nothing but what any one can verify for himself. Will +the philosophers, who so scornfully reject instinct, kindly explain +this fact by the mere play of sensations and experience which they +assume we have acquired? Let them give an account of it which will +satisfy any sensible man; in that case I have nothing further to +urge, and I will say no more of instinct.] he who obeys his conscience +is following nature and he need not fear that he will go astray. +This is a matter of great importance, continued my benefactor, +seeing that I was about to interrupt him; let me stop awhile to +explain it more fully. + +The morality of our actions consists entirely in the judgments we +ourselves form with regard to them. If good is good, it must be +good in the depth of our heart as well as in our actions; and the +first reward of justice is the consciousness that we are acting +justly. If moral goodness is in accordance with our nature, man can +only be healthy in mind and body when he is good. If it is not so, +and if man is by nature evil, he cannot cease to be evil without +corrupting his nature, and goodness in him is a crime against +nature. If he is made to do harm to his fellow-creatures, as the +wolf is made to devour his prey, a humane man would be as depraved +a creature as a pitiful wolf; and virtue alone would cause remorse. + +My young friend, let us look within, let us set aside all personal +prejudices and see whither our inclinations lead us. Do we take +more pleasure in the sight of the sufferings of others or their +joys? Is it pleasanter to do a kind action or an unkind action, +and which leaves the more delightful memory behind it? Why do you +enjoy the theatre? Do you delight in the crimes you behold? Do you +weep over the punishment which overtakes the criminal? They say +we are indifferent to everything but self-interest; yet we find +our consolation in our sufferings in the charms of friendship and +humanity, and even in our pleasures we should be too lonely and +miserable if we had no one to share them with us. If there is no +such thing as morality in man's heart, what is the source of his +rapturous admiration of noble deeds, his passionate devotion to +great men? What connection is there between self-interest and this +enthusiasm for virtue? Why should I choose to be Cato dying by his +own hand, rather than Caesar in his triumphs? Take from our hearts +this love of what is noble and you rob us of the joy of life. The +mean-spirited man in whom these delicious feelings have been stifled +among vile passions, who by thinking of no one but himself comes +at last to love no one but himself, this man feels no raptures, his +cold heart no longer throbs with joy, and his eyes no longer fill +with the sweet tears of sympathy, he delights in nothing; the wretch +has neither life nor feeling, he is already dead. + +There are many bad men in this world, but there are few of these +dead souls, alive only to self-interest, and insensible to all that +is right and good. We only delight in injustice so long as it is +to our own advantage; in every other case we wish the innocent to +be protected. If we see some act of violence or injustice in town +or country, our hearts are at once stirred to their depths by an +instinctive anger and wrath, which bids us go to the help of the +oppressed; but we are restrained by a stronger duty, and the law +deprives us of our right to protect the innocent. On the other hand, +if some deed of mercy or generosity meets our eye, what reverence +and love does it inspire! Do we not say to ourselves, "I should +like to have done that myself"? What does it matter to us that two +thousand years ago a man was just or unjust? and yet we take the +same interest in ancient history as if it happened yesterday. What +are the crimes of Cataline to me? I shall not be his victim. Why +then have I the same horror of his crimes as if he were living +now? We do not hate the wicked merely because of the harm they do +to ourselves, but because they are wicked. Not only do we wish to +be happy ourselves, we wish others to be happy too, and if this +happiness does not interfere with our own happiness, it increases +it. In conclusion, whether we will or not, we pity the unfortunate; +when we see their suffering we suffer too. Even the most depraved +are not wholly without this instinct, and it often leads them to +self-contradiction. The highwayman who robs the traveller, clothes +the nakedness of the poor; the fiercest murderer supports a fainting +man. + +Men speak of the voice of remorse, the secret punishment of hidden +crimes, by which such are often brought to light. Alas! who does +not know its unwelcome voice? We speak from experience, and we +would gladly stifle this imperious feeling which causes us such +agony. Let us obey the call of nature; we shall see that her yoke +is easy and that when we give heed to her voice we find a joy in +the answer of a good conscience. The wicked fears and flees from +her; he delights to escape from himself; his anxious eyes look +around him for some object of diversion; without bitter satire and +rude mockery he would always be sorrowful; the scornful laugh is +his one pleasure. Not so the just man, who finds his peace within +himself; there is joy not malice in his laughter, a joy which +springs from his own heart; he is as cheerful alone as in company, +his satisfaction does not depend on those who approach him; it +includes them. + +Cast your eyes over every nation of the world; peruse every volume +of its history; in the midst of all these strange and cruel forms +of worship, among this amazing variety of manners and customs, you +will everywhere find the same ideas of right and justice; everywhere +the same principles of morality, the same ideas of good and evil. +The old paganism gave birth to abominable gods who would have been +punished as scoundrels here below, gods who merely offered, as a +picture of supreme happiness, crimes to be committed and lust to +be gratified. But in vain did vice descend from the abode of the +gods armed with their sacred authority; the moral instinct refused to +admit it into the heart of man. While the debaucheries of Jupiter +were celebrated, the continence of Xenocrates was revered; the +chaste Lucrece adored the shameless Venus; the bold Roman offered +sacrifices to Fear; he invoked the god who mutilated his father, +and he died without a murmur at the hand of his own father. The +most unworthy gods were worshipped by the noblest men. The sacred +voice of nature was stronger than the voice of the gods, and won +reverence upon earth; it seemed to relegate guilt and the guilty +alike to heaven. + +There is therefore at the bottom of our hearts an innate principle +of justice and virtue, by which, in spite of our maxims, we judge +our own actions or those of others to be good or evil; and it is +this principle that I call conscience. + +But at this word I hear the murmurs of all the wise men so-called. +Childish errors, prejudices of our upbringing, they exclaim in +concert! There is nothing in the human mind but what it has gained +by experience; and we judge everything solely by means of the ideas +we have acquired. They go further; they even venture to reject the +clear and universal agreement of all peoples, and to set against +this striking unanimity in the judgment of mankind, they seek out +some obscure exception known to themselves alone; as if the whole +trend of nature were rendered null by the depravity of a single +nation, and as if the existence of monstrosities made an end +of species. But to what purpose does the sceptic Montaigne strive +himself to unearth in some obscure corner of the world a custom +which is contrary to the ideas of justice? To what purpose does +he credit the most untrustworthy travellers, while he refuses to +believe the greatest writers? A few strange and doubtful customs, +based on local causes, unknown to us; shall these destroy a general +inference based on the agreement of all the nations of the earth, +differing from each other in all else, but agreed in this? O +Montaigne, you pride yourself on your truth and honesty; be sincere +and truthful, if a philosopher can be so, and tell me if there is +any country upon earth where it is a crime to keep one's plighted +word, to be merciful, helpful, and generous, where the good man is +scorned, and the traitor is held in honour. + +Self-interest, so they say, induces each of us to agree for the +common good. But how is it that the good man consents to this to +his own hurt? Does a man go to death from self-interest? No doubt +each man acts for his own good, but if there is no such thing as +moral good to be taken into consideration, self-interest will only +enable you to account for the deeds of the wicked; possibly you +will not attempt to do more. A philosophy which could find no place +for good deeds would be too detestable; you would find yourself +compelled either to find some mean purpose, some wicked motive, or +to abuse Socrates and slander Regulus. If such doctrines ever took +root among us, the voice of nature, together with the voice of +reason, would constantly protest against them, till no adherent of +such teaching could plead an honest excuse for his partisanship. + +It is no part of my scheme to enter at present into metaphysical +discussions which neither you nor I can understand, discussions +which really lead nowhere. I have told you already that I do not +wish to philosophise with you, but to help you to consult your own +heart. If all the philosophers in the world should prove that I am +wrong, and you feel that I am right, that is all I ask. + +For this purpose it is enough to lead you to distinguish between +our acquired ideas and our natural feelings; for feeling precedes +knowledge; and since we do not learn to seek what is good for us +and avoid what is bad for us, but get this desire from nature, in +the same way the love of good and the hatred of evil are as natural +to us as our self-love. The decrees of conscience are not judgments +but feelings. Although all our ideas come from without, the feelings +by which they are weighed are within us, and it is by these feelings +alone that we perceive fitness or unfitness of things in relation +to ourselves, which leads us to seek or shun these things. + +To exist is to feel; our feeling is undoubtedly earlier than our +intelligence, and we had feelings before we had ideas.[Footnote: +In some respects ideas are feelings and feelings are ideas. Both +terms are appropriate to any perception with which we are concerned, +appropriate both to the object of that perception and to ourselves +who are affected by it; it is merely the order in which we are +affected which decides the appropriate term. When we are chiefly +concerned with the object and only think of ourselves as it were by +reflection, that is an idea; when, on the other hand, the impression +received excites our chief attention and we only think in the second +place of the object which caused it, it is a feeling.] Whatever may +be the cause of our being, it has provided for our preservation by +giving us feelings suited to our nature; and no one can deny that +these at least are innate. These feelings, so far as the individual +is concerned, are self-love, fear, pain, the dread of death, the +desire for comfort. Again, if, as it is impossible to doubt, man +is by nature sociable, or at least fitted to become sociable, he +can only be so by means of other innate feelings, relative to his +kind; for if only physical well-being were considered, men would +certainly be scattered rather than brought together. But the motive +power of conscience is derived from the moral system formed through +this twofold relation to himself and to his fellow-men. To know +good is not to love it; this knowledge is not innate in man; but as +soon as his reason leads him to perceive it, his conscience impels +him to love it; it is this feeling which is innate. + +So I do not think, my young friend, that it is impossible to explain +the immediate force of conscience as a result of our own nature, +independent of reason itself. And even should it be impossible, +it is unnecessary; for those who deny this principle, admitted and +received by everybody else in the world, do not prove that there +is no such thing; they are content to affirm, and when we affirm +its existence we have quite as good grounds as they, while we have +moreover the witness within us, the voice of conscience, which +speaks on its own behalf. If the first beams of judgment dazzle +us and confuse the objects we behold, let us wait till our feeble +sight grows clear and strong, and in the light of reason we shall +soon behold these very objects as nature has already showed them +to us. Or rather let us be simpler and less pretentious; let us be +content with the first feelings we experience in ourselves, since +science always brings us back to these, unless it has led us astray. + +Conscience! Conscience! Divine instinct, immortal voice from +heaven; sure guide for a creature ignorant and finite indeed, yet +intelligent and free; infallible judge of good and evil, making +man like to God! In thee consists the excellence of man's nature +and the morality of his actions; apart from thee, I find nothing in +myself to raise me above the beasts--nothing but the sad privilege +of wandering from one error to another, by the help of an unbridled +understanding and a reason which knows no principle. + +Thank heaven we have now got rid of all that alarming show of +philosophy; we may be men without being scholars; now that we need +not spend our life in the study of morality, we have found a less +costly and surer guide through this vast labyrinth of human thought. +But it is not enough to be aware that there is such a guide; +we must know her and follow her. If she speaks to all hearts, how +is it that so few give heed to her voice? She speaks to us in the +language of nature, and everything leads us to forget that tongue. +Conscience is timid, she loves peace and retirement; she is startled +by noise and numbers; the prejudices from which she is said to arise +are her worst enemies. She flees before them or she is silent; their +noisy voices drown her words, so that she cannot get a hearing; +fanaticism dares to counterfeit her voice and to inspire crimes +in her name. She is discouraged by ill-treatment; she no longer +speaks to us, no longer answers to our call; when she has been +scorned so long, it is as hard to recall her as it was to banish +her. + +How often in the course of my inquiries have I grown weary of my +own coldness of heart! How often have grief and weariness poured +their poison into my first meditations and made them hateful to me! +My barren heart yielded nothing but a feeble zeal and a lukewarm +love of truth. I said to myself: Why should I strive to find what +does not exist? Moral good is a dream, the pleasures of sense +are the only real good. When once we have lost the taste for the +pleasures of the soul, how hard it is to recover it! How much more +difficult to acquire it if we have never possessed it! If there +were any man so wretched as never to have done anything all his life +long which he could remember with pleasure, and which would make him +glad to have lived, that man would be incapable of self-knowledge, +and for want of knowledge of goodness, of which his nature is +capable, he would be constrained to remain in his wickedness and +would be for ever miserable. But do you think there is any one man +upon earth so depraved that he has never yielded to the temptation +of well-doing? This temptation is so natural, so pleasant, that it +is impossible always to resist it; and the thought of the pleasure +it has once afforded is enough to recall it constantly to our +memory. Unluckily it is hard at first to find satisfaction for it; +we have any number of reasons for refusing to follow the inclinations +of our heart; prudence, so called, restricts the heart within the +limits of the self; a thousand efforts are needed to break these +bonds. The joy of well-doing is the prize of having done well, +and we must deserve the prize before we win it. There is nothing +sweeter than virtue; but we do not know this till we have tried it. +Like Proteus in the fable, she first assumes a thousand terrible +shapes when we would embrace her, and only shows her true self to +those who refuse to let her go. + +Ever at strife between my natural feelings, which spoke of the +common weal, and my reason, which spoke of self, I should have +drifted through life in perpetual uncertainty, hating evil, loving +good, and always at war with myself, if my heart had not received +further light, if that truth which determined my opinions had not +also settled my conduct, and set me at peace with myself. Reason +alone is not a sufficient foundation for virtue; what solid ground +can be found? Virtue we are told is love of order. But can this +love prevail over my love for my own well-being, and ought it so +to prevail? Let them give me clear and sufficient reason for this +preference. Their so-called principle is in truth a mere playing +with words; for I also say that vice is love of order, differently +understood. Wherever there is feeling and intelligence, there +is some sort of moral order. The difference is this: the good man +orders his life with regard to all men; the wicked orders it for +self alone. The latter centres all things round himself; the other +measures his radius and remains on the circumference. Thus his +place depends on the common centre, which is God, and on all the +concentric circles which are His creatures. If there is no God, +the wicked is right and the good man is nothing but a fool. + +My child! May you one day feel what a burden is removed when, having +fathomed the vanity of human thoughts and tasted the bitterness of +passion, you find at length near at hand the path of wisdom, the +prize of this life's labours, the source of that happiness which +you despaired of. Every duty of natural law, which man's injustice +had almost effaced from my heart, is engraven there, for the second +time in the name of that eternal justice which lays these duties +upon me and beholds my fulfilment of them. I feel myself merely the +instrument of the Omnipotent, who wills what is good, who performs +it, who will bring about my own good through the co-operation of my +will with his own, and by the right use of my liberty. I acquiesce +in the order he establishes, certain that one day I shall enjoy +that order and find my happiness in it; for what sweeter joy is +there than this, to feel oneself a part of a system where all is +good? A prey to pain, I bear it in patience, remembering that it +will soon be over, and that it results from a body which is not +mine. If I do a good deed in secret, I know that it is seen, and +my conduct in this life is a pledge of the life to come. When I +suffer injustice, I say to myself, the Almighty who does all things +well will reward me: my bodily needs, my poverty, make the idea +of death less intolerable. There will be all the fewer bonds to be +broken when my hour comes. + +Why is my soul subjected to my senses, and imprisoned in this body +by which it is enslaved and thwarted? I know not; have I entered +into the counsels of the Almighty? But I may, without rashness, +venture on a modest conjecture. I say to myself: If man's soul +had remained in a state of freedom and innocence, what merit would +there have been in loving and obeying the order he found established, +an order which it would not have been to his advantage to disturb? +He would be happy, no doubt, but his happiness would not attain to +the highest point, the pride of virtue, and the witness of a good +conscience within him; he would be but as the angels are, and +no doubt the good man will be more than they. Bound to a mortal +body, by bonds as strange as they are powerful, his care for the +preservation of this body tempts the soul to think only of self, +and gives it an interest opposed to the general order of things, +which it is still capable of knowing and loving; then it is that +the right use of his freedom becomes at once the merit and the +reward; then it is that it prepares for itself unending happiness, by +resisting its earthly passions and following its original direction. + +If even in the lowly position in which we are placed during our present +life our first impulses are always good, if all our vices are of +our own making, why should we complain that they are our masters? +Why should we blame the Creator for the ills we have ourselves +created, and the enemies we ourselves have armed against us? Oh, +let us leave man unspoilt; he will always find it easy to be good +and he will always be happy without remorse. The guilty, who assert +that they are driven to crime, are liars as well as evil-doers; how +is it that they fail to perceive that the weakness they bewail is +of their own making; that their earliest depravity was the result +of their own will; that by dint of wishing to yield to temptations, +they at length yield to them whether they will or no and make them +irresistible? No doubt they can no longer avoid being weak and +wicked, but they need not have become weak and wicked. Oh, how easy +would it be to preserve control of ourselves and of our passions, +even in this life, if with habits still unformed, with a mind +beginning to expand, we were able to keep to such things as we ought +to know, in order to value rightly what is unknown; if we really +wished to learn, not that we might shine before the eyes of others, +but that we might be wise and good in accordance with our nature, +that we might be happy in the performance of our duty. This study +seems tedious and painful to us, for we do not attempt it till we +are already corrupted by vice and enslaved by our passions. Our +judgments and our standards of worth are determined before we have +the knowledge of good and evil; and then we measure all things by +this false standard, and give nothing its true worth. + +There is an age when the heart is still free, but eager, unquiet, +greedy of a happiness which is still unknown, a happiness which it +seeks in curiosity and doubt; deceived by the senses it settles at +length upon the empty show of happiness and thinks it has found it +where it is not. In my own case these illusions endured for a long +time. Alas! too late did I become aware of them, and I have not +succeeded in overcoming them altogether; they will last as long as +this mortal body from which they arise. If they lead me astray, I +am at least no longer deceived by them; I know them for what they +are, and even when I give way to them, I despise myself; far from +regarding them as the goal of my happiness, I behold in them an +obstacle to it. I long for the time when, freed from the fetters +of the body, I shall be myself, at one with myself, no longer torn +in two, when I myself shall suffice for my own happiness. Meanwhile +I am happy even in this life, for I make small account of all its +evils, in which I regard myself as having little or no part, while +all the real good that I can get out of this life depends on myself +alone. + +To raise myself so far as may be even now to this state of happiness, +strength, and freedom, I exercise myself in lofty contemplation. I +consider the order of the universe, not to explain it by any futile +system, but to revere it without ceasing, to adore the wise Author +who reveals himself in it. I hold intercourse with him; I immerse +all my powers in his divine essence; I am overwhelmed by his kindness, +I bless him and his gifts, but I do not pray to him. What should I +ask of him--to change the order of nature, to work miracles on my +behalf? Should I, who am bound to love above all things the order +which he has established in his wisdom and maintained by his +providence, should I desire the disturbance of that order on my own +account? No, that rash prayer would deserve to be punished rather +than to be granted. Neither do I ask of him the power to do right; +why should I ask what he has given me already? Has he not given +me conscience that I may love the right, reason that I may perceive +it, and freedom that I may choose it? If I do evil, I have no +excuse; I do it of my own free will; to ask him to change my will +is to ask him to do what he asks of me; it is to want him to do +the work while I get the wages; to be dissatisfied with my lot is +to wish to be no longer a man, to wish to be other than what I am, +to wish for disorder and evil. Thou source of justice and truth, +merciful and gracious God, in thee do I trust, and the desire of +my heart is--Thy will be done. When I unite my will with thine, I +do what thou doest; I have a share in thy goodness; I believe that +I enjoy beforehand the supreme happiness which is the reward of +goodness. + +In my well-founded self-distrust the only thing that I ask of God, +or rather expect from his justice, is to correct my error if I go +astray, if that error is dangerous to me. To be honest I need not +think myself infallible; my opinions, which seem to me true, may +be so many lies; for what man is there who does not cling to his +own beliefs; and how many men are agreed in everything? The illusion +which deceives me may indeed have its source in myself, but it +is God alone who can remove it. I have done all I can to attain +to truth; but its source is beyond my reach; is it my fault if my +strength fails me and I can go no further; it is for Truth to draw +near to me. + +The good priest had spoken with passion; he and I were overcome +with emotion. It seemed to me as if I were listening to the divine +Orpheus when he sang the earliest hymns and taught men the worship +of the gods. I saw any number of objections which might be raised; +yet I raised none, for I perceived that they were more perplexing +than serious, and that my inclination took his part. When he spoke +to me according to his conscience, my own seemed to confirm what +he said. + +"The novelty of the sentiments you have made known to me," said +I, "strikes me all the more because of what you confess you do not +know, than because of what you say you believe. They seem to be very +like that theism or natural religion, which Christians profess to +confound with atheism or irreligion which is their exact opposite. +But in the present state of my faith I should have to ascend +rather than descend to accept your views, and I find it difficult +to remain just where you are unless I were as wise as you. That I +may be at least as honest, I want time to take counsel with myself. +By your own showing, the inner voice must be my guide, and you have +yourself told me that when it has long been silenced it cannot be +recalled in a moment. I take what you have said to heart, and I must +consider it. If after I have thought things out, I am as convinced +as you are, you will be my final teacher, and I will be your disciple +till death. Continue your teaching however; you have only told me +half what I must know. Speak to me of revelation, of the Scriptures, +of those difficult doctrines among which I have strayed ever since +I was a child, incapable either of understanding or believing them, +unable to adopt or reject them." + +"Yes, my child," said he, embracing me, "I will tell you all I +think; I will not open my heart to you by halves; but the desire +you express was necessary before I could cast aside all reserve. So +far I have told you nothing but what I thought would be of service +to you, nothing but what I was quite convinced of. The inquiry +which remains to be made is very difficult. It seems to me full +of perplexity, mystery, and darkness; I bring to it only doubt +and distrust. I make up my mind with trembling, and I tell you my +doubts rather than my convictions. If your own opinions were more +settled I should hesitate to show you mine; but in your present +condition, to think like me would be gain. [Footnote: I think the +worthy clergyman might say this at the present time to the general +public.] Moreover, give to my words only the authority of reason; +I know not whether I am mistaken. It is difficult in discussion +to avoid assuming sometimes a dogmatic tone; but remember in this +respect that all my assertions are but reasons to doubt me. Seek +truth for yourself, for my own part I only promise you sincerity. + +"In my exposition you find nothing but natural religion; strange +that we should need more! How shall I become aware of this need? +What guilt can be mine so long as I serve God according to the +knowledge he has given to my mind, and the feelings he has put +into my heart? What purity of morals, what dogma useful to man and +worthy of its author, can I derive from a positive doctrine which +cannot be derived without the aid of this doctrine by the right +use of my faculties? Show me what you can add to the duties of the +natural law, for the glory of God, for the good of mankind, and for +my own welfare; and what virtue you will get from the new form of +religion which does not result from mine. The grandest ideas of +the Divine nature come to us from reason only. Behold the spectacle +of nature; listen to the inner voice. Has not God spoken it all to +our eyes, to our conscience, to our reason? What more can man tell +us? Their revelations do but degrade God, by investing him with +passions like our own. Far from throwing light upon the ideas of +the Supreme Being, special doctrines seem to me to confuse these +ideas; far from ennobling them, they degrade them; to the inconceivable +mysteries which surround the Almighty, they add absurd contradictions, +they make man proud, intolerant, and cruel; instead of bringing +peace upon earth, they bring fire and sword. I ask myself what +is the use of it all, and I find no answer. I see nothing but the +crimes of men and the misery of mankind. + +"They tell me a revelation was required to teach men how God would +be served; as a proof of this they point to the many strange rites +which men have instituted, and they do not perceive that this very +diversity springs from the fanciful nature of the revelations. As +soon as the nations took to making God speak, every one made him +speak in his own fashion, and made him say what he himself wanted. +Had they listened only to what God says in the heart of man, there +would have been but one religion upon earth. + +"One form of worship was required; just so, but was this a matter +of such importance as to require all the power of the Godhead to +establish it? Do not let us confuse the outward forms of religion +with religion itself. The service God requires is of the heart; and +when the heart is sincere that is ever the same. It is a strange +sort of conceit which fancies that God takes such an interest in +the shape of the priest's vestments, the form of words he utters, +the gestures he makes before the altar and all his genuflections. +Oh, my friend, stand upright, you will still be too near the earth. +God desires to be worshipped in spirit and in truth; this duty +belongs to every religion, every country, every individual. As to +the form of worship, if order demands uniformity, that is only a +matter of discipline and needs no revelation. + +"These thoughts did not come to me to begin with. Carried away by +the prejudices of my education, and by that dangerous vanity which +always strives to lift man out of his proper sphere, when I could +not raise my feeble thoughts up to the great Being, I tried to +bring him down to my own level. I tried to reduce the distance he +has placed between his nature and mine. I desired more immediate +relations, more individual instruction; not content to make God +in the image of man that I might be favoured above my fellows, +I desired supernatural knowledge; I required a special form of +worship; I wanted God to tell me what he had not told others, or +what others had not understood like myself. + +"Considering the point I had now reached as the common centre from +which all believers set out on the quest for a more enlightened +form of religion, I merely found in natural religion the elements +of all religion. I beheld the multitude of diverse sects which hold +sway upon earth, each of which accuses the other of falsehood and +error; which of these, I asked, is the right? Every one replied, +'My own;' every one said, 'I alone and those who agree with me +think rightly, all the others are mistaken.' And how do you know +that your sect is in the right? Because God said so. And how do +you know God said so? [Footnote: "All men," said a wise and good +priest, "maintain that they hold and believe their religion (and +all use the same jargon), not of man, nor of any creature, but of +God. But to speak truly, without pretence or flattery, none of them +do so; whatever they may say, religions are taught by human hands +and means; take, for example, the way in which religions have been +received by the world, the way in which they are still received +every day by individuals; the nation, the country, the locality +gives the religion; we belong to the religion of the place where +we are born and brought up; we are baptised or circumcised, we are +Christians, Jews, Mohametans before we know that we are men; we +do not pick and choose our religion for see how ill the life and +conduct agree with the religion, see for what slight and human +causes men go against the teaching of their religion."--Charron, +De la Sagesse.--It seems clear that the honest creed of the holy +theologian of Condom would not have differed greatly from that of +the Savoyard priest.] And who told you that God said it? My pastor, +who knows all about it. My pastor tells me what to believe and I +believe it; he assures me that any one who says anything else is +mistaken, and I give not heed to them. + +"What! thought I, is not truth one; can that which is true for me +be false for you? If those who follow the right path and those who +go astray have the same method, what merit or what blame can be +assigned to one more than to the other? Their choice is the result +of chance; it is unjust to hold them responsible for it, to reward +or punish them for being born in one country or another. To dare to +say that God judges us in this manner is an outrage on his justice. + +"Either all religions are good and pleasing to God, or if there +is one which he prescribes for men, if they will be punished for +despising it, he will have distinguished it by plain and certain +signs by which it can be known as the only true religion; these +signs are alike in every time and place, equally plain to all men, +great or small, learned or unlearned, Europeans, Indians, Africans, +savages. If there were but one religion upon earth, and if all +beyond its pale were condemned to eternal punishment, and if there +were in any corner of the world one single honest man who was not +convinced by this evidence, the God of that religion would be the +most unjust and cruel of tyrants. + +"Let us therefore seek honestly after truth; let us yield nothing +to the claims of birth, to the authority of parents and pastors, +but let us summon to the bar of conscience and of reason all that +they have taught us from our childhood. In vain do they exclaim, +'Submit your reason;' a deceiver might say as much; I must have +reasons for submitting my reason. + +"All the theology I can get for myself by observation of the universe +and by the use of my faculties is contained in what I have already +told you. To know more one must have recourse to strange means. +These means cannot be the authority of men, for every man is of +the same species as myself, and all that a man knows by nature I am +capable of knowing, and another may be deceived as much as I; when +I believe what he says, it is not because he says it but because +he proves its truth. The witness of man is therefore nothing more +than the witness of my own reason, and it adds nothing to the +natural means which God has given me for the knowledge of truth. + +"Apostle of truth, what have you to tell me of which I am not the +sole judge? God himself has spoken; give heed to his revelation. +That is another matter. God has spoken, these are indeed words which +demand attention. To whom has he spoken? He has spoken to men. Why +then have I heard nothing? He has instructed others to make known +his words to you. I understand; it is men who come and tell me what +God has said. I would rather have heard the words of God himself; +it would have been as easy for him and I should have been secure +from fraud. He protects you from fraud by showing that his envoys +come from him. How does he show this? By miracles. Where are these +miracles? In the books. And who wrote the books? Men. And who +saw the miracles? The men who bear witness to them. What! Nothing +but human testimony! Nothing but men who tell me what others told +them! How many men between God and me! Let us see, however, let +us examine, compare, and verify. Oh! if God had but deigned to free +me from all this labour, I would have served him with all my heart. + +"Consider, my friend, the terrible controversy in which I am now +engaged; what vast learning is required to go back to the remotest +antiquity, to examine, weigh, confront prophecies, revelations, +facts, all the monuments of faith set forth throughout the world, +to assign their date, place, authorship, and occasion. What exactness +of critical judgment is needed to distinguish genuine documents from +forgeries, to compare objections with their answers, translations +with their originals; to decide as to the impartiality of witnesses, +their common-sense, their knowledge; to make sure that nothing +has been omitted, nothing added, nothing transposed, altered, or +falsified; to point out any remaining contradictions, to determine +what weight should be given to the silence of our adversaries +with regard to the charges brought against them; how far were they +aware of those charges; did they think them sufficiently serious +to require an answer; were books sufficiently well known for our +books to reach them; have we been honest enough to allow their +books to circulate among ourselves and to leave their strongest +objections unaltered? + +"When the authenticity of all these documents is accepted, we must +now pass to the evidence of their authors' mission; we must know the +laws of chance, and probability, to decide which prophecy cannot +be fulfilled without a miracle; we must know the spirit of the +original languages, to distinguish between prophecy and figures of +speech; we must know what facts are in accordance with nature and +what facts are not, so that we may say how far a clever man may +deceive the eyes of the simple and may even astonish the learned; +we must discover what are the characteristics of a prodigy and how +its authenticity may be established, not only so far as to gain +credence, but so that doubt may be deserving of punishment; we must +compare the evidence for true and false miracles, and find sure +tests to distinguish between them; lastly we must say why God chose +as a witness to his words means which themselves require so much +evidence on their behalf, as if he were playing with human credulity, +and avoiding of set purpose the true means of persuasion. + +"Assuming that the divine majesty condescends so far as to make a +man the channel of his sacred will, is it reasonable, is it fair, +to demand that the whole of mankind should obey the voice of this +minister without making him known as such? Is it just to give him +as his sole credentials certain private signs, performed in the +presence of a few obscure persons, signs which everybody else can +only know by hearsay? If one were to believe all the miracles that +the uneducated and credulous profess to have seen in every country +upon earth, every sect would be in the right; there would be more +miracles than ordinary events; and it would be the greatest miracle +if there were no miracles wherever there were persecuted fanatics. +The unchangeable order of nature is the chief witness to the wise +hand that guides it; if there were many exceptions, I should hardly +know what to think; for my own part I have too great a faith in God +to believe in so many miracles which are so little worthy of him. + +"Let a man come and say to us: Mortals, I proclaim to you the will +of the Most Highest; accept my words as those of him who has sent +me; I bid the sun to change his course, the stars to range themselves +in a fresh order, the high places to become smooth, the floods to +rise up, the earth to change her face. By these miracles who will +not recognise the master of nature? She does not obey impostors, +their miracles are wrought in holes and corners, in deserts, within +closed doors, where they find easy dupes among a small company +of spectators already disposed to believe them. Who will venture +to tell me how many eye-witnesses are required to make a miracle +credible! What use are your miracles, performed if proof of your +doctrine, if they themselves require so much proof! You might as +well have let them alone. + +"There still remains the most important inquiry of all with regard +to the doctrine proclaimed; for since those who tell us God works +miracles in this world, profess that the devil sometimes imitates +them, when we have found the best attested miracles we have got +very little further; and since the magicians of Pharaoh dared in +the presence of Moses to counterfeit the very signs he wrought at +God's command, why should they not, behind his back, claim a like +authority? So when we have proved our doctrine by means of miracles, +we must prove our miracles by means of doctrine, [Footnote: This +is expressly stated in many passages of Scripture, among others in +Deuteronomy xiii., where it is said that when a prophet preaching +strange gods confirms his words by means of miracles and what he +foretells comes to pass, far from giving heed to him, this prophet +must be put to death. If then the heathen put the apostles to +death when they preached a strange god and confirmed their words by +miracles which came to pass I cannot see what grounds we have for +complaint which they could not at once turn against us. Now, what +should be done in such a case? There is only one course; to return +to argument and let the miracles alone. It would have been better +not to have had recourse to them at all. That is plain common-sense +which can only be obscured by great subtlety of distinction. Subtleties +in Christianity! So Jesus Christ was mistaken when he promised the +kingdom of heaven to the simple, he was mistaken when he began his +finest discourse with the praise of the poor in spirit, if so much +wit is needed to understand his teaching and to get others to believe +in him. When you have convinced me that submission is my duty, all +will be well; but to convince me of this, come down to my level; +adapt your arguments to a lowly mind, or I shall not recognise you +as a true disciple of your master, and it is not his doctrine that +you are teaching me.] for fear lest we should take the devil's +doings for the handiwork of God. What think you of this dilemma? + +"This doctrine, if it comes from God, should bear the sacred stamp +of the godhead; not only should it illumine the troubled thoughts +which reason imprints on our minds, but it should also offer us +a form of worship, a morality, and rules of conduct in accordance +with the attributes by means of which we alone conceive of God's +essence. If then it teaches us what is absurd and unreasonable, if +it inspires us with feelings of aversion for our fellows and terror +for ourselves, if it paints us a God, angry, jealous, revengeful, +partial, hating men, a God of war and battles, ever ready to strike +and to destroy, ever speaking of punishment and torment, boasting +even of the punishment of the innocent, my heart would not be drawn +towards this terrible God, I would take good care not to quit the +realm of natural religion to embrace such a religion as that; for +you see plainly I must choose between them. Your God is not ours. +He who begins by selecting a chosen people, and proscribing the rest +of mankind, is not our common father; he who consigns to eternal +punishment the greater part of his creatures, is not the merciful +and gracious God revealed to me by my reason. + +"Reason tells me that dogmas should be plain, clear, and striking +in their simplicity. If there is something lacking in natural +religion, it is with respect to the obscurity in which it leaves +the great truths it teaches; revelation should teach us these truths +in a way which the mind of man can understand; it should bring them +within his reach, make him comprehend them, so that he may believe +them. Faith is confirmed and strengthened by understanding; the +best religion is of necessity the simplest. He who hides beneath +mysteries and contradictions the religion that he preaches to me, +teaches me at the same time to distrust that religion. The God whom +I adore is not the God of darkness, he has not given me understanding +in order to forbid me to use it; to tell me to submit my reason +is to insult the giver of reason. The minister of truth does not +tyrannise over my reason, he enlightens it. + +"We have set aside all human authority, and without it I do not see +how any man can convince another by preaching a doctrine contrary +to reason. Let them fight it out, and let us see what they have to +say with that harshness of speech which is common to both. + +"INSPIRATION: Reason tells you that the whole is greater than the +part; but I tell you, in God's name, that the part is greater than +the whole. + +"REASON: And who are you to dare to tell me that God contradicts +himself? And which shall I choose to believe. God who teaches me, +through my reason, the eternal truth, or you who, in his name, +proclaim an absurdity? + +"INSPIRATION: Believe me, for my teaching is more positive; and I +will prove to you beyond all manner of doubt that he has sent me. + +"REASON: What! you will convince me that God has sent you to bear +witness against himself? What sort of proofs will you adduce to +convince me that God speaks more surely by your mouth than through +the understanding he has given me? + +"INSPIRATION: The understanding he has given you! Petty, conceited +creature! As if you were the first impious person who had been led +astray through his reason corrupted by sin. + +"REASON: Man of God, you would not be the first scoundrel who +asserts his arrogance as a proof of his mission. + +"INSPIRATION: What! do even philosophers call names? + +"REASON: Sometimes, when the saints set them the example. + +"INSPIRATION: Oh, but I have a right to do it, for I am speaking +on God's behalf. + +"REASON: You would do well to show your credentials before you make +use of your privileges. + +"INSPIRATION: My credentials are authentic, earth and heaven will +bear witness on my behalf. Follow my arguments carefully, if you +please. + +"REASON: Your arguments! You forget what you are saying. When you +teach me that my reason misleads me, do you not refute what it might +have said on your behalf? He who denies the right of reason, must +convince me without recourse to her aid. For suppose you have +convinced me by reason, how am I to know that it is not my reason, +corrupted by sin, which makes me accept what you say? besides, +what proof, what demonstration, can you advance, more self-evident +than the axiom it is to destroy? It is more credible that a good +syllogism is a lie, than that the part is greater than the whole. + +"INSPIRATION: What a difference! There is no answer to my evidence; +it is of a supernatural kind. + +"REASON: Supernatural! What do you mean by the word? I do not +understand it. + +"INSPIRATION: I mean changes in the order of nature, prophecies, +signs, and wonders of every kind. + +"REASON: Signs and wonders! I have never seen anything of the kind. + +"INSPIRATION: Others have seen them for you. Clouds of witnesses--the +witness of whole nations.... + +"REASON: Is the witness of nations supernatural? + +"INSPIRATION: No; but when it is unanimous, it is incontestable. + +"REASON: There is nothing so incontestable as the principles of +reason, and one cannot accept an absurdity on human evidence. Once +more, let us see your supernatural evidence, for the consent of +mankind is not supernatural. + +"INSPIRATION: Oh, hardened heart, grace does not speak to you. + +"REASON: That is not my fault; for by your own showing, one must +have already received grace before one is able to ask for it. Begin +by speaking to me in its stead. + +"INSPIRATION: But that is just what I am doing, and you will not +listen. But what do you say to prophecy? + +"REASON: In the first place, I say I have no more heard a prophet +than I have seen a miracle. In the next, I say that no prophet +could claim authority over me. + +"INSPIRATION: Follower of the devil! Why should not the words of +the prophets have authority over you? + +"REASON: Because three things are required, three things which will +never happen: firstly, I must have heard the prophecy; secondly, +I must have seen its fulfilment; and thirdly, it must be clearly +proved that the fulfilment of the prophecy could not by any possibility +have been a mere coincidence; for even if it was as precise, as +plain, and clear as an axiom of geometry, since the clearness of +a chance prediction does not make its fulfilment impossible, this +fulfilment when it does take place does not, strictly speaking, +prove what was foretold. + +"See what your so-called supernatural proofs, your miracles, your +prophecies come to: believe all this upon the word of another. +Submit to the authority of men the authority of God which speaks to +my reason. If the eternal truths which my mind conceives of could +suffer any shock, there would be no sort of certainty for me; and +far from being sure that you speak to me on God's behalf, I should +not even be sure that there is a God. + +"My child, here are difficulties enough, but these are not all. +Among so many religions, mutually excluding and proscribing each +other, one only is true, if indeed any one of them is true. To +recognise the true religion we must inquire into, not one, but all; +and in any question whatsoever we have no right to condemn unheard. +[Footnote: On the other hand, Plutarch relates that the Stoics +maintained, among other strange paradoxes, that it was no use hearing +both sides; for, said they, the first either proves his point or +he does not prove it; if he has proved it, there is an end of it, +and the other should be condemned: if he has not proved it, he +himself is in the wrong and judgment should be given against him. +I consider the method of those who accept an exclusive revelation +very much like that of these Stoics. When each of them claims to +be the sole guardian of truth, we must hear them all before we can +choose between them without injustice.] The objections must be +compared with the evidence; we must know what accusation each brings +against the other, and what answers they receive. The plainer any +feeling appears to us, the more we must try to discover why so many +other people refuse to accept it. We should be simple, indeed, if +we thought it enough to hear the doctors on our own side, in order +to acquaint ourselves with the arguments of the other. Where can +you find theologians who pride themselves on their honesty? Where +are those who, to refute the arguments of their opponents, do +not begin by making out that they are of little importance? A man +may make a good show among his own friends, and be very proud of +his arguments, who would cut a very poor figure with those same +arguments among those who are on the other side. Would you find +out for yourself from books? What learning you will need! What +languages you must learn; what libraries you must ransack; what an +amount of reading must be got through! Who will guide me in such +a choice? It will be hard to find the best books on the opposite +side in any one country, and all the harder to find those on all +sides; when found they would be easily answered. The absent are +always in the wrong, and bad arguments boldly asserted easily efface +good arguments put forward with scorn. Besides books are often very +misleading, and scarcely express the opinions of their authors. +If you think you can judge the Catholic faith from the writings +of Bossuet, you will find yourself greatly mistaken when you have +lived among us. You will see that the doctrines with which Protestants +are answered are quite different from those of the pulpit. To +judge a religion rightly, you must not study it in the books of its +partisans, you must learn it in their lives; this is quite another +matter. Each religion has its own traditions, meaning, customs, +prejudices, which form the spirit of its creed, and must be taken +in connection with it. + +"How many great nations neither print books of their own nor read +ours! How shall they judge of our opinions, or we of theirs? We +laugh at them, they despise us; and if our travellers turn them +into ridicule, they need only travel among us to pay us back in +our own coin. Are there not, in every country, men of common-sense, +honesty, and good faith, lovers of truth, who only seek to know +what truth is that they may profess it? Yet every one finds truth +in his own religion, and thinks the religion of other nations +absurd; so all these foreign religions are not so absurd as they +seem to us, or else the reason we find for our own proves nothing. + +"We have three principal forms of religion in Europe. One accepts +one revelation, another two, and another three. Each hates the +others, showers curses on them, accuses them of blindness, obstinacy, +hardness of heart, and falsehood. What fair-minded man will dare +to decide between them without first carefully weighing their +evidence, without listening attentively to their arguments? That +which accepts only one revelation is the oldest and seems the best +established; that which accepts three is the newest and seems the +most consistent; that which accepts two revelations and rejects the +third may perhaps be the best, but prejudice is certainly against +it; its inconsistency is glaring. + +"In all three revelations the sacred books are written in languages +unknown to the people who believe in them. The Jews no longer +understand Hebrew, the Christians understand neither Hebrew nor +Greek; the Turks and Persians do not understand Arabic, and the +Arabs of our time do not speak the language of Mahomet. Is not +it a very foolish way of teaching, to teach people in an unknown +tongue? These books are translated, you say. What an answer! How +am I to know that the translations are correct, or how am I to +make sure that such a thing as a correct translation is possible? +If God has gone so far as to speak to men, why should he require +an interpreter? + +"I can never believe that every man is obliged to know what is +contained in books, and that he who is out of reach of these books, +and of those who understand them, will be punished for an ignorance +which is no fault of his. Books upon books! What madness! As +all Europe is full of books, Europeans regard them as necessary, +forgetting that they are unknown throughout three-quarters of the +globe. Were not all these books written by men? Why then should a +man need them to teach him his duty, and how did he learn his duty +before these books were in existence? Either he must have learnt +his duties for himself, or his ignorance must have been excused. + +"Our Catholics talk loudly of the authority of the Church; but what +is the use of it all, if they also need just as great an array of +proofs to establish that authority as the other seeks to establish +their doctrine? The Church decides that the Church has a right to +decide. What a well-founded authority! Go beyond it, and you are +back again in our discussions. + +"Do you know many Christians who have taken the trouble to inquire +what the Jews allege against them? If any one knows anything at +all about it, it is from the writings of Christians. What a way of +ascertaining the arguments of our adversaries! But what is to be +done? If any one dared to publish in our day books which were openly +in favour of the Jewish religion, we should punish the author, +publisher, and bookseller. This regulation is a sure and certain +plan for always being in the right. It is easy to refute those who +dare not venture to speak. + +"Those among us who have the opportunity of talking with Jews are +little better off. These unhappy people feel that they are in our +power; the tyranny they have suffered makes them timid; they know +that Christian charity thinks nothing of injustice and cruelty; +will they dare to run the risk of an outcry against blasphemy? Our +greed inspires us with zeal, and they are so rich that they must +be in the wrong. The more learned, the more enlightened they are, +the more cautious. You may convert some poor wretch whom you have +paid to slander his religion; you get some wretched old-clothes-man +to speak, and he says what you want; you may triumph over their +ignorance and cowardice, while all the time their men of learning +are laughing at your stupidity. But do you think you would get +off so easily in any place where they knew they were safe! At the +Sorbonne it is plain that the Messianic prophecies refer to Jesus +Christ. Among the rabbis of Amsterdam it is just as clear that they +have nothing to do with him. I do not think I have ever heard the +arguments of the Jews as to why they should not have a free state, +schools and universities, where they can speak and argue without +danger. Then alone can we know what they have to say. + +"At Constantinople the Turks state their arguments, but we dare not +give ours; then it is our turn to cringe. Can we blame the Turks +if they require us to show the same respect for Mahomet, in whom +we do not believe, as we demand from the Jews with regard to Jesus +Christ in whom they do not believe? Are we right? On what grounds +of justice can we answer this question? + +"Two-thirds of mankind are neither Jews, Mahometans, nor Christians; +and how many millions of men have never heard the name of Moses, +Jesus Christ, or Mahomet? They deny it; they maintain that our +missionaries go everywhere. That is easily said. But do they go into +the heart of Africa, still undiscovered, where as yet no European +has ever ventured? Do they go to Eastern Tartary to follow on +horseback the wandering tribes, whom no stranger approaches, who +not only know nothing of the pope, but have scarcely heard tell +of the Grand Lama! Do they penetrate into the vast continents +of America, where there are still whole nations unaware that the +people of another world have set foot on their shores? Do they +go to Japan, where their intrigues have led to their perpetual +banishment, where their predecessors are only known to the rising +generation as skilful plotters who came with feigned zeal to take +possession in secret of the empire? Do they reach the harems of the +Asiatic princes to preach the gospel to those thousands of poor +slaves? What have the women of those countries done that no missionary +may preach the faith to them? Will they all go to hell because of +their seclusion? + +"If it were true that the gospel is preached throughout the world, +what advantage would there be? The day before the first missionary +set foot in any country, no doubt somebody died who could not hear +him. Now tell me what we shall do with him? If there were a single +soul in the whole world, to whom Jesus Christ had never been +preached, this objection would be as strong for that man as for a +quarter of the human race. + +"If the ministers of the gospel have made themselves heard among +far-off nations, what have they told them which might reasonably be +accepted on their word, without further and more exact verification? +You preach to me God, born and dying, two thousand years ago, at +the other end of the world, in some small town I know not where; +and you tell me that all who have not believed this mystery are +damned. These are strange things to be believed so quickly on the +authority of an unknown person. Why did your God make these things +happen so far off, if he would compel me to know about them? Is +it a crime to be unaware of what is happening half a world away? +Could I guess that in another hemisphere there was a Hebrew nation +and a town called Jerusalem? You might as well expect me to know +what was happening in the moon. You say you have come to teach me; +but why did you not come and teach my father, or why do you consign +that good old man to damnation because he knew nothing of all +this? Must he be punished everlastingly for your laziness, he who +was so kind and helpful, he who sought only for truth? Be honest; +put yourself in my place; see if I ought to believe, on your word +alone, all these incredible things which you have told me, and +reconcile all this injustice with the just God you proclaim to +me. At least allow me to go and see this distant land where such +wonders, unheard of in my own country, took place; let me go and +see why the inhabitants of Jerusalem put their God to death as a +robber. You tell me they did not know he was God. What then shall +I do, I who have only heard of him from you? You say they have been +punished, dispersed, oppressed, enslaved; that none of them dare +approach that town. Indeed they richly deserved it; but what do its +present inhabitants say of their crime in slaying their God! They +deny him; they too refuse to recognise God as God. They are no +better than the children of the original inhabitants. + +"What! In the very town where God was put to death, neither the +former nor the latter inhabitants knew him, and you expect that I +should know him, I who was born two thousand years after his time, +and two thousand leagues away? Do you not see that before I can +believe this book which you call sacred, but which I do not in the +least understand, I must know from others than yourself when and by +whom it was written, how it has been preserved, how it came into +your possession, what they say about it in those lands where it is +rejected, and what are their reasons for rejecting it, though they +know as well as you what you are telling me? You perceive I must +go to Europe, Asia, Palestine, to examine these things for myself; +it would be madness to listen to you before that. + +"Not only does this seem reasonable to me, but I maintain that it +is what every wise man ought to say in similar circumstances; that +he ought to banish to a great distance the missionary who wants +to instruct and baptise him all of a sudden before the evidence is +verified. Now I maintain that there is no revelation against which +these or similar objections cannot be made, and with more force +than against Christianity. Hence it follows that if there is but +one true religion and if every man is bound to follow it under pain +of damnation, he must spend his whole life in studying, testing, +comparing all these religions, in travelling through the countries +in which they are established. No man is free from a man's first +duty; no one has a right to depend on another's judgment. The +artisan who earns his bread by his daily toil, the ploughboy who +cannot read, the delicate and timid maiden, the invalid who can +scarcely leave his bed, all without exception must study, consider, +argue, travel over the whole world; there will be no more fixed +and settled nations; the whole earth will swarm with pilgrims on +their way, at great cost of time and trouble, to verify, compare, +and examine for themselves the various religions to be found. Then +farewell to the trades, the arts, the sciences of mankind, farewell +to all peaceful occupations; there can be no study but that +of religion, even the strongest, the most industrious, the most +intelligent, the oldest, will hardly be able in his last years to +know where he is; and it will be a wonder if he manages to find +out what religion he ought to live by, before the hour of his death. + +"Hard pressed by these arguments, some prefer to make God unjust +and to punish the innocent for the sins of their fathers, rather +than to renounce their barbarous dogmas. Others get out of the +difficulty by kindly sending an angel to instruct all those who +in invincible ignorance have lived a righteous life. A good idea, +that angel! Not content to be the slaves of their own inventions +they expect God to make use of them also! + +"Behold, my son, the absurdities to which pride and intolerance +bring us, when everybody wants others to think as he does, and +everybody fancies that he has an exclusive claim upon the rest of +mankind. I call to witness the God of Peace whom I adore, and whom +I proclaim to you, that my inquiries were honestly made; but when +I discovered that they were and always would be unsuccessful, and +that I was embarked upon a boundless ocean, I turned back, and +restricted my faith within the limits of my primitive ideas. I +could never convince myself that God would require such learning +of me under pain of hell. So I closed all my books. There is one +book which is open to every one--the book of nature. In this good +and great volume I learn to serve and adore its Author. There +is no excuse for not reading this book, for it speaks to all in a +language they can understand. Suppose I had been born in a desert +island, suppose I had never seen any man but myself, suppose I had +never heard what took place in olden days in a remote corner of +the world; yet if I use my reason, if I cultivate it, if I employ +rightly the innate faculties which God bestows upon me, I shall +learn by myself to know and love him, to love his works, to will +what he wills, and to fulfil all my duties upon earth, that I may +do his pleasure. What more can all human learning teach me? + +"With regard to revelation, if I were a more accomplished disputant, +or a more learned person, perhaps I should feel its truth, its +usefulness for those who are happy enough to perceive it; but if I +find evidence for it which I cannot combat, I also find objections +against it which I cannot overcome. There are so many weighty +reasons for and against that I do not know what to decide, so that +I neither accept nor reject it. I only reject all obligation to be +convinced of its truth; for this so-called obligation is incompatible +with God's justice, and far from removing objections in this way +it would multiply them, and would make them insurmountable for the +greater part of mankind. In this respect I maintain an attitude of +reverent doubt. I do not presume to think myself infallible; other +men may have been able to make up their minds though the matter +seems doubtful to myself; I am speaking for myself, not for them; +I neither blame them nor follow in their steps; their judgment may +be superior to mine, but it is no fault of mine that my judgment +does not agree with it. + +"I own also that the holiness of the gospel speaks to my heart, +and that this is an argument which I should be sorry to refute. +Consider the books of the philosophers with all their outward show; +how petty they are in comparison! Can a book at once so grand and +so simple be the work of men? Is it possible that he whose history +is contained in this book is no more than man? Is the tone of this +book, the tone of the enthusiast or the ambitious sectary? What +gentleness and purity in his actions, what a touching grace in his +teaching, how lofty are his sayings, how profoundly wise are his +sermons, how ready, how discriminating, and how just are his answers! +What man, what sage, can live, suffer, and die without weakness +or ostentation? When Plato describes his imaginary good man, +overwhelmed with the disgrace of crime, and deserving of all the +rewards of virtue, every feature of the portrait is that of Christ; +the resemblance is so striking that it has been noticed by all +the Fathers, and there can be no doubt about it. What prejudices +and blindness must there be before we dare to compare the son of +Sophronisca with the son of Mary. How far apart they are! Socrates +dies a painless death, he is not put to open shame, and he plays +his part easily to the last; and if this easy death had not done +honour to his life, we might have doubted whether Socrates, with all +his intellect, was more than a mere sophist. He invented morality, +so they say; others before him had practised it; he only said +what they had done, and made use of their example in his teaching. +Aristides was just before Socrates defined justice; Leonidas died +for his country before Socrates declared that patriotism was a +virtue; Sparta was sober before Socrates extolled sobriety; there +were plenty of virtuous men in Greece before he defined virtue. +But among the men of his own time where did Jesus find that pure +and lofty morality of which he is both the teacher and pattern? +[Footnote: Cf. in the Sermon on the Mount the parallel he himself +draws between the teaching of Moses and his own.--Matt. v.] The +voice of loftiest wisdom arose among the fiercest fanaticism, the +simplicity of the most heroic virtues did honour to the most degraded +of nations. One could wish no easier death than that of Socrates, +calmly discussing philosophy with his friends; one could fear nothing +worse than that of Jesus, dying in torment, among the insults, +the mockery, the curses of the whole nation. In the midst of these +terrible sufferings, Jesus prays for his cruel murderers. Yes, +if the life and death of Socrates are those of a philosopher, the +life and death of Christ are those of a God. Shall we say that the +gospel story is the work of the imagination? My friend, such things +are not imagined; and the doings of Socrates, which no one doubts, +are less well attested than those of Jesus Christ. At best, you +only put the difficulty from you; it would be still more incredible +that several persons should have agreed together to invent such a +book, than that there was one man who supplied its subject matter. +The tone and morality of this story are not those of any Jewish +authors, and the gospel indeed contains characters so great, so +striking, so entirely inimitable, that their invention would be +more astonishing than their hero. With all this the same gospel +is full of incredible things, things repugnant to reason, things +which no natural man can understand or accept. What can you do +among so many contradictions? You can be modest and wary, my child; +respect in silence what you can neither reject nor understand, and +humble yourself in the sight of the Divine Being who alone knows +the truth. + +"This is the unwilling scepticism in which I rest; but this scepticism +is in no way painful to me, for it does not extend to matters of +practice, and I am well assured as to the principles underlying all +my duties. I serve God in the simplicity of my heart; I only seek +to know what affects my conduct. As to those dogmas which have +no effect upon action or morality, dogmas about which so many men +torment themselves, I give no heed to them. I regard all individual +religions as so many wholesome institutions which prescribe a +uniform method by which each country may do honour to God in public +worship; institutions which may each have its reason in the country, +the government, the genius of the people, or in other local causes +which make one preferable to another in a given time or place. I +think them all good alike, when God is served in a fitting manner. +True worship is of the heart. God rejects no homage, however offered, +provided it is sincere. Called to the service of the Church in +my own religion, I fulfil as scrupulously as I can all the duties +prescribed to me, and my conscience would reproach me if I were +knowingly wanting with regard to any point. You are aware that after +being suspended for a long time, I have, through the influence of +M. Mellarede, obtained permission to resume my priestly duties, +as a means of livelihood. I used to say Mass with the levity that +comes from long experience even of the most serious matters when +they are too familiar to us; with my new principles I now celebrate +it with more reverence; I dwell upon the majesty of the Supreme +Being, his presence, the insufficiency of the human mind, which +so little realises what concerns its Creator. When I consider how +I present before him the prayers of all the people in a form laid +down for me, I carry out the whole ritual exactly; I give heed +to what I say, I am careful not to omit the least word, the least +ceremony; when the moment of the consecration approaches, I collect my +powers, that I may do all things as required by the Church and by +the greatness of this sacrament; I strive to annihilate my own reason +before the Supreme Mind; I say to myself, Who art thou to measure +infinite power? I reverently pronounce the sacramental words, and +I give to their effect all the faith I can bestow. Whatever may +be this mystery which passes understanding, I am not afraid that +at the day of judgment I shall be punished for having profaned it +in my heart." + +Honoured with the sacred ministry, though in its lowest ranks, I +will never do or say anything which may make me unworthy to fulfil +these sublime duties. I will always preach virtue and exhort men +to well-doing; and so far as I can I will set them a good example. +It will be my business to make religion attractive; it will be my +business to strengthen their faith in those doctrines which are +really useful, those which every man must believe; but, please God, +I shall never teach them to hate their neighbour, to say to other +men, You will be damned; to say, No salvation outside the Church. +[Footnote: The duty of following and loving the religion of our +country does not go so far as to require us to accept doctrines +contrary to good morals, such as intolerance. This horrible +doctrine sets men in arms against their fellow-men, and makes them +all enemies of mankind. The distinction between civil toleration +and theological toleration is vain and childish. These two kinds +of toleration are inseparable, and we cannot accept one without the +other. Even the angels could not live at peace with men whom they +regarded as the enemies of God.] If I were in a more conspicuous +position, this reticence might get me into trouble; but I am too +obscure to have much to fear, and I could hardly sink lower than I +am. Come what may, I will never blaspheme the justice of God, nor +lie against the Holy Ghost. + +"I have long desired to have a parish of my own; it is still +my ambition, but I no longer hope to attain it. My dear friend, I +think there is nothing so delightful as to be a parish priest. A +good clergyman is a minister of mercy, as a good magistrate is a +minister of justice. A clergyman is never called upon to do evil; +if he cannot always do good himself, it is never out of place for +him to beg for others, and he often gets what he asks if he knows +how to gain respect. Oh! if I should ever have some poor mountain +parish where I might minister to kindly folk, I should be happy +indeed; for it seems to me that I should make my parishioners happy. +I should not bring them riches, but I should share their poverty; +I should remove from them the scorn and opprobrium which are harder +to bear than poverty. I should make them love peace and equality, +which often remove poverty, and always make it tolerable. When they +saw that I was in no way better off than themselves, and that yet +I was content with my lot, they would learn to put up with their +fate and to be content like me. In my sermons I would lay more stress +on the spirit of the gospel than on the spirit of the church; its +teaching is simple, its morality sublime; there is little in it +about the practices of religion, but much about works of charity. +Before I teach them what they ought to do, I would try to practise +it myself, that they might see that at least I think what I say. +If there were Protestants in the neighbourhood or in my parish, I +would make no difference between them and my own congregation so +far as concerns Christian charity; I would get them to love one +another, to consider themselves brethren, to respect all religions, +and each to live peaceably in his own religion. To ask any one to +abandon the religion in which he was born is, I consider, to ask +him to do wrong, and therefore to do wrong oneself. While we await +further knowledge, let us respect public order; in every country +let us respect the laws, let us not disturb the form of worship +prescribed by law; let us not lead its citizens into disobedience; +for we have no certain knowledge that it is good for them to abandon +their own opinions for others, and on the other hand we are quite +certain that it is a bad thing to disobey the law. + +"My young friend, I have now repeated to you my creed as God reads +it in my heart; you are the first to whom I have told it; perhaps +you will be the last. As long as there is any true faith left among +men, we must not trouble quiet souls, nor scare the faith of the +ignorant with problems they cannot solve, with difficulties which +cause them uneasiness, but do not give them any guidance. But +when once everything is shaken, the trunk must be preserved at the +cost of the branches. Consciences, restless, uncertain, and almost +quenched like yours, require to be strengthened and aroused; to +set the feet again upon the foundation of eternal truth, we must +remove the trembling supports on which they think they rest. + +"You are at that critical age when the mind is open to conviction, +when the heart receives its form and character, when we decide our +own fate for life, either for good or evil. At a later date, the +material has hardened and fresh impressions leave no trace. Young +man, take the stamp of truth upon your heart which is not yet +hardened, if I were more certain of myself, I should have adopted +a more decided and dogmatic tone; but I am a man ignorant and +liable to error; what could I do? I have opened my heart fully to +you; and I have told what I myself hold for certain and sure; I +have told you my doubts as doubts, my opinions as opinions; I have +given you my reasons both for faith and doubt. It is now your turn +to judge; you have asked for time; that is a wise precaution and +it makes me think well of you. Begin by bringing your conscience +into that state in which it desires to see clearly; be honest with +yourself. Take to yourself such of my opinions as convince you, +reject the rest. You are not yet so depraved by vice as to run the +risk of choosing amiss. I would offer to argue with you, but as +soon as men dispute they lose their temper; pride and obstinacy +come in, and there is an end of honesty. My friend, never argue; +for by arguing we gain no light for ourselves or for others. So far +as I myself am concerned, I have only made up my mind after many +years of meditation; here I rest, my conscience is at peace, my +heart is satisfied. If I wanted to begin afresh the examination of +my feelings, I should not bring to the task a purer love of truth; +and my mind, which is already less active, would be less able to +perceive the truth. Here I shall rest, lest the love of contemplation, +developing step by step into an idle passion, should make me +lukewarm in the performance of my duties, lest I should fall into +my former scepticism without strength to struggle out of it. More +than half my life is spent; I have barely time to make good use of +what is left, to blot out my faults by my virtues. If I am mistaken, +it is against my will. He who reads my inmost heart knows that +I have no love for my blindness. As my own knowledge is powerless +to free me from this blindness, my only way out of it is by a good +life; and if God from the very stones can raise up children to +Abraham, every man has a right to hope that he may be taught the +truth, if he makes himself worthy of it. + +"If my reflections lead you to think as I do, if you share my +feelings, if we have the same creed, I give you this advice: Do +not continue to expose your life to the temptations of poverty and +despair, nor waste it in degradation and at the mercy of strangers; +no longer eat the shameful bread of charity. Return to your own +country, go back to the religion of your fathers, and follow it in +sincerity of heart, and never forsake it; it is very simple and very +holy; I think there is no other religion upon earth whose morality +is purer, no other more satisfying to the reason. Do not trouble +about the cost of the journey, that will be provided for you. +Neither do you fear the false shame of a humiliating return; we +should blush to commit a fault, not to repair it. You are still at +an age when all is forgiven, but when we cannot go on sinning with +impunity. If you desire to listen to your conscience, a thousand +empty objections will disappear at her voice. You will feel that, in +our present state of uncertainty, it is an inexcusable presumption +to profess any faith but that we were born into, while it is +treachery not to practise honestly the faith we profess. If we go +astray, we deprive ourselves of a great excuse before the tribunal +of the sovereign judge. Will he not pardon the errors in which we +were brought up, rather than those of our own choosing? + +"My son, keep your soul in such a state that you always desire +that there should be a God and you will never doubt it. Moreover, +whatever decision you come to, remember that the real duties of +religion are independent of human institutions; that a righteous +heart is the true temple of the Godhead; that in every land, in +every sect, to love God above all things and to love our neighbour +as ourself is the whole law; remember there is no religion which +absolves us from our moral duties; that these alone are really +essential, that the service of the heart is the first of these duties, +and that without faith there is no such thing as true virtue. + +"Shun those who, under the pretence of explaining nature, sow +destructive doctrines in the heart of men, those whose apparent +scepticism is a hundredfold more self-assertive and dogmatic than +the firm tone of their opponents. Under the arrogant claim, that +they alone are enlightened, true, honest, they subject us imperiously +to their far-reaching decisions, and profess to give us, as the +true principles of all things, the unintelligible systems framed by +their imagination. Moreover, they overthrow, destroy, and trample +under foot all that men reverence; they rob the afflicted of +their last consolation in their misery; they deprive the rich and +powerful of the sole bridle of their passions; they tear from the +very depths of man's heart all remorse for crime, and all hope of +virtue; and they boast, moreover, that they are the benefactors of +the human race. Truth, they say, can never do a man harm. I think +so too, and to my mind that is strong evidence that what they +teach is not true. [Footnote: The rival parties attack each other +with so many sophistries that it would be a rash and overwhelming +enterprise to attempt to deal with all of them; it is difficult +enough to note some of them as they occur. One of the commonest +errors among the partisans of philosophy is to contrast a nation +of good philosophers with a nation of bad Christians; as if it were +easier to make a nation of good philosophers than a nation of good +Christians. I know not whether in individual cases it is easier to +discover one rather than the other; but I am quite certain that, +as far as nations are concerned, we must assume that there will +be those who misuse their philosophy without religion, just as our +people misuse their religion without philosophy, and that seems +to put quite a different face upon the matter.]--Bayle has proved +very satisfactorily that fanaticism is more harmful than atheism, +and that cannot be denied; but what he has not taken the trouble to +say, though it is none the less true, is this: Fanaticism, though +cruel and bloodthirsty, is still a great and powerful passion, +which stirs the heart of man, teaching him to despise death, and +giving him an enormous motive power, which only needs to be guided +rightly to produce the noblest virtues; while irreligion, and the +argumentative philosophic spirit generally, on the other hand, +assaults the life and enfeebles it, degrades the soul, concentrates +all the passions in the basest self-interest, in the meanness of +the human self; thus it saps unnoticed the very foundations of all +society, for what is common to all these private interests is so +small that it will never outweigh their opposing interests.--If +atheism does not lead to bloodshed, it is less from love of peace +than from indifference to what is good; as if it mattered little +what happened to others, provided the sage remained undisturbed in +his study. His principles do not kill men, but they prevent their +birth, by destroying the morals by which they were multiplied, by +detaching them from their fellows, by reducing all their affections +to a secret selfishness, as fatal to population as to virtue. The +indifference of the philosopher is like the peace in a despotic state; +it is the repose of death; war itself is not more destructive.--Thus +fanaticism though its immediate results are more fatal than those +of what is now called the philosophic mind, is much less fatal in +its after effects. Moreover, it is an easy matter to exhibit fine +maxims in books; but the real question is--Are they really in +accordance with your teaching, are they the necessary consequences +of it? and this has not been clearly proved so far. It remains +to be seen whether philosophy, safely enthroned, could control +successfully man's petty vanity, his self-interest, his ambition, +all the lesser passions of mankind, and whether it would practise +that sweet humanity which it boasts of, pen in hand.--In theory, +there is no good which philosophy can bring about which is not equally +secured by religion, while religion secures much that philosophy +cannot secure.--In practice, it is another matter; but still we +must put it to the proof. No man follows his religion in all things, +even if his religion is true; most people have hardly any religion, +and they do not in the least follow what they have; that is still +more true; but still there are some people who have a religion +and follow it, at least to some extent; and beyond doubt religious +motives do prevent them from wrong-doing, and win from them virtues, +praiseworthy actions, which would not have existed but for these +motives.--A monk denies that money was entrusted to him; what of +that? It only proves that the man who entrusted the money to him +was a fool. If Pascal had done the same, that would have proved that +Pascal was a hypocrite. But a monk! Are those who make a trade of +religion religious people? All the crimes committed by the clergy, +as by other men, do not prove that religion is useless, but that +very few people are religious.--Most certainly our modern governments +owe to Christianity their more stable authority, their less frequent +revolutions; it has made those governments less bloodthirsty; this +can be shown by comparing them with the governments of former times. +Apart from fanaticism, the best known religion has given greater +gentleness to Christian conduct. This change is not the result of +learning; for wherever learning has been most illustrious humanity +has been no more respected on that account; the cruelties of the +Athenians, the Egyptians, the Roman emperors, the Chinese bear +witness to this. What works of mercy spring from the gospel! How +many acts of restitution, reparation, confession does the gospel +lead to among Catholics! Among ourselves, as the times of communion +draw near, do they not lead us to reconciliation and to alms-giving? +Did not the Hebrew Jubilee make the grasping less greedy, did it +not prevent much poverty? The brotherhood of the Law made the nation +one; no beggar was found among them. Neither are there beggars +among the Turks, where there are countless pious institutions; +from motives of religion they even show hospitality to the foes of +their religion.--"The Mahometans say, according to Chardin, that +after the interrogation which will follow the general resurrection, +all bodies will traverse a bridge called Poul-Serrho, which is +thrown across the eternal fires, a bridge which may be called the +third and last test of the great Judgment, because it is there that +the good and bad will be separated, etc.--"The Persians, continues +Chardin, make a great point of this bridge; and when any one suffers +a wrong which he can never hope to wipe out by any means or at any +time, he finds his last consolation in these words: 'By the living +God, you will pay me double at the last day; you will never get +across the Poul-Serrho if you do not first do me justice; I will +hold the hem of your garment, I will cling about your knees.' I +have seen many eminent men, of every profession, who for fear lest +this hue and cry should be raised against them as they cross that +fearful bridge, beg pardon of those who complained against them; +it has happened to me myself on many occasions. Men of rank, who +had compelled me by their importunity to do what I did not wish +to do, have come to me when they thought my anger had had time to +cool, and have said to me; I pray you "Halal becon antchisra," that +is, "Make this matter lawful and right." Some of them have even +sent gifts and done me service, so that I might forgive them and +say I did it willingly; the cause of this is nothing else but this +belief that they will not be able to get across the bridge of hell +until they have paid the uttermost farthing to the oppressed."--Must +I think that the idea of this bridge where so many iniquities are +made good is of no avail? If the Persians were deprived of this +idea, if they were persuaded that there was no Poul-Serrho, nor +anything of the kind, where the oppressed were avenged of their +tyrants after death, is it not clear that they would be very much +at their ease, and they would be freed from the care of appeasing +the wretched? But it is false to say that this doctrine is hurtful; +yet it would not be true.--O Philosopher, your moral laws are all +very fine; but kindly show me their sanction. Cease to shirk the +question, and tell me plainly what you would put in the place of +Poul-Serrho. + +"My good youth, be honest and humble; learn how to be ignorant, then +you will never deceive yourself or others. If ever your talents are +so far cultivated as to enable you to speak to other men, always +speak according to your conscience, without caring for their +applause. The abuse of knowledge causes incredulity. The learned +always despise the opinions of the crowd; each of them must have his +own opinion. A haughty philosophy leads to atheism just as blind +devotion leads to fanaticism. Avoid these extremes; keep steadfastly +to the path of truth, or what seems to you truth, in simplicity of +heart, and never let yourself be turned aside by pride or weakness. +Dare to confess God before the philosophers; dare to preach humanity +to the intolerant. It may be you will stand alone, but you will +bear within you a witness which will make the witness of men of no +account with you. Let them love or hate, let them read your writings +or despise them; no matter. Speak the truth and do the right; the +one thing that really matters is to do one's duty in this world; +and when we forget ourselves we are really working for ourselves. +My child, self-interest misleads us; the hope of the just is the +only sure guide." + +I have transcribed this document not as a rule for the sentiments +we should adopt in matters of religion, but as an example of the way +in which we may reason with our pupil without forsaking the method +I have tried to establish. So long as we yield nothing to human +authority, nor to the prejudices of our native land, the light of +reason alone, in a state of nature, can lead us no further than to +natural religion; and this is as far as I should go with Emile. If +he must have any other religion, I have no right to be his guide; +he must choose for himself. + +We are working in agreement with nature, and while she is shaping +the physical man, we are striving to shape his moral being, but +we do not make the same progress. The body is already strong and +vigorous, the soul is still frail and delicate, and whatever can be +done by human art, the body is always ahead of the mind. Hitherto +all our care has been devoted to restrain the one and stimulate +the other, so that the man might be as far as possible at one with +himself. By developing his individuality, we have kept his growing +susceptibilities in check; we have controlled it by cultivating +his reason. Objects of thought moderate the influence of objects +of sense. By going back to the causes of things, we have withdrawn +him from the sway of the senses; it is an easy thing to raise him +from the study of nature to the search for the author of nature. + +When we have reached this point, what a fresh hold we have got over +our pupil; what fresh ways of speaking to his heart! Then alone +does he find a real motive for being good, for doing right when he +is far from every human eye, and when he is not driven to it by +law. To be just in his own eyes and in the sight of God, to do his +duty, even at the cost of life itself, and to bear in his heart +virtue, not only for the love of order which we all subordinate +to the love of self, but for the love of the Author of his being, +a love which mingles with that self-love, so that he may at length +enjoy the lasting happiness which the peace of a good conscience +and the contemplation of that supreme being promise him in another +life, after he has used this life aright. Go beyond this, and I see +nothing but injustice, hypocrisy, and falsehood among men; private +interest, which in competition necessarily prevails over everything +else, teaches all things to adorn vice with the outward show of +virtue. Let all men do what is good for me at the cost of what is +good for themselves; let everything depend on me alone; let the +whole human race perish, if needs be, in suffering and want, to +spare me a moment's pain or hunger. Yes, I shall always maintain +that whoso says in his heart, "There is no God," while he takes +the name of God upon his lips, is either a liar or a madman. + +Reader, it is all in vain; I perceive that you and I shall never +see Emile with the same eyes; you will always fancy him like your +own young people, hasty, impetuous, flighty, wandering from fete to +fete, from amusement to amusement, never able to settle to anything. +You smile when I expect to make a thinker, a philosopher, a young +theologian, of an ardent, lively, eager, and fiery young man, +at the most impulsive period of youth. This dreamer, you say, is +always in pursuit of his fancy; when he gives us a pupil of his +own making, he does not merely form him, he creates him, he makes +him up out of his own head; and while he thinks he is treading in +the steps of nature, he is getting further and further from her. +As for me, when I compare my pupil with yours, I can scarcely find +anything in common between them. So differently brought up, it is +almost a miracle if they are alike in any respect. As his childhood +was passed in the freedom they assume in youth, in his youth he +begins to bear the yoke they bore as children; this yoke becomes +hateful to them, they are sick of it, and they see in it nothing +but their masters' tyranny; when they escape from childhood, they +think they must shake off all control, they make up for the prolonged +restraint imposed upon them, as a prisoner, freed from his fetters, +moves and stretches and shakes his limbs. [Footnote: There is no +one who looks down upon childhood with such lofty scorn as those +who are barely grown-up; just as there is no country where rank is +more strictly regarded than that where there is little real inequality; +everybody is afraid of being confounded with his inferiors.] Emile, +however, is proud to be a man, and to submit to the yoke of his +growing reason; his body, already well grown, no longer needs so +much action, and begins to control itself, while his half-fledged +mind tries its wings on every occasion. Thus the age of reason +becomes for the one the age of licence; for the other, the age of +reasoning. + +Would you know which of the two is nearer to the order of nature! +Consider the differences between those who are more or less removed +from a state of nature. Observe young villagers and see if they +are as undisciplined as your scholars. The Sieur de Beau says that +savages in childhood are always active, and ever busy with sports +that keep the body in motion; but scarcely do they reach adolescence +than they become quiet and dreamy; they no longer devote themselves +to games of skill or chance. Emile, who has been brought up in full +freedom like young peasants and savages, should behave like them +and change as he grows up. The whole difference is in this, that +instead of merely being active in sport or for food, he has, in the +course of his sports, learned to think. Having reached this stage, +and by this road, he is quite ready to enter upon the next stage to +which I introduce him; the subjects I suggest for his consideration +rouse his curiosity, because they are fine in themselves, because +they are quite new to him, and because he is able to understand +them. Your young people, on the other hand, are weary and overdone +with your stupid lessons, your long sermons, and your tedious +catechisms; why should they not refuse to devote their minds to +what has made them sad, to the burdensome precepts which have been +continually piled upon them, to the thought of the Author of their +being, who has been represented as the enemy of their pleasures? +All this has only inspired in them aversion, disgust, and weariness; +constraint has set them against it; why then should they devote +themselves to it when they are beginning to choose for themselves? +They require novelty, you must not repeat what they learned +as children. Just so with my own pupil, when he is a man I speak +to him as a man, and only tell him what is new to him; it is just +because they are tedious to your pupils that he will find them to +his taste. + +This is how I doubly gain time for him by retarding nature to the +advantage of reason. But have I indeed retarded the progress of +nature? No, I have only prevented the imagination from hastening +it; I have employed another sort of teaching to counterbalance +the precocious instruction which the young man receives from other +sources. When he is carried away by the flood of existing customs +and I draw him in the opposite direction by means of other customs, +this is not to remove him from his place, but to keep him in it. + +Nature's due time comes at length, as come it must. Since man must +die, he must reproduce himself, so that the species may endure and +the order of the world continue. When by the signs I have spoken of +you perceive that the critical moment is at hand, at once abandon +for ever your former tone. He is still your disciple, but not your +scholar. He is a man and your friend; henceforth you must treat +him as such. + +What! Must I abdicate my authority when most I need it? Must I +abandon the adult to himself just when he least knows how to control +himself, when he may fall into the gravest errors! Must I renounce +my rights when it matters most that I should use them on his behalf? +Who bids you renounce them; he is only just becoming conscious of +them. Hitherto all you have gained has been won by force or guile; +authority, the law of duty, were unknown to him, you had to constrain +or deceive him to gain his obedience. But see what fresh chains +you have bound about his heart. Reason, friendship, affection, +gratitude, a thousand bonds of affection, speak to him in a voice +he cannot fail to hear. His ears are not yet dulled by vice, he +is still sensitive only to the passions of nature. Self-love, the +first of these, delivers him into your hands; habit confirms this. +If a passing transport tears him from you, regret restores him to +you without delay; the sentiment which attaches him to you is the +only lasting sentiment, all the rest are fleeting and self-effacing. +Do not let him become corrupt, and he will always be docile; he +will not begin to rebel till he is already perverted. + +I grant you, indeed, that if you directly oppose his growing desires +and foolishly treat as crimes the fresh needs which are beginning +to make themselves felt in him, he will not listen to you for +long; but as soon as you abandon my method I cannot be answerable +for the consequences. Remember that you are nature's minister; you +will never be her foe. + +But what shall we decide to do? You see no alternative but either +to favour his inclinations or to resist them; to tyrannise or to +wink at his misconduct; and both of these may lead to such dangerous +results that one must indeed hesitate between them. + +The first way out of the difficulty is a very early marriage; this +is undoubtedly the safest and most natural plan. I doubt, however, +whether it is the best or the most useful. I will give my reasons +later; meanwhile I admit that young men should marry when they reach +a marriageable age. But this age comes too soon; we have made them +precocious; marriage should be postponed to maturity. + +If it were merely a case of listening to their wishes and following +their lead it would be an easy matter; but there are so many +contradictions between the rights of nature and the laws of society +that to conciliate them we must continually contradict ourselves. +Much art is required to prevent man in society from being altogether +artificial. + +For the reasons just stated, I consider that by the means I have +indicated and others like them the young man's desires may be kept +in ignorance and his senses pure up to the age of twenty. This is +so true that among the Germans a young man who lost his virginity +before that age was considered dishonoured; and the writers justly +attribute the vigour of constitution and the number of children +among the Germans to the continence of these nations during youth. + +This period may be prolonged still further, and a few centuries +ago nothing was more common even in France. Among other well-known +examples, Montaigne's father, a man no less scrupulously truthful +than strong and healthy, swore that his was a virgin marriage at +three and thirty, and he had served for a long time in the Italian +wars. We may see in the writings of his son what strength and +spirit were shown by the father when he was over sixty. Certainly +the contrary opinion depends rather on our own morals and our own +prejudices than on the experience of the race as a whole. + +I may, therefore, leave on one side the experience of our young +people; it proves nothing for those who have been educated in +another fashion. Considering that nature has fixed no exact limits +which cannot be advanced or postponed, I think I may, without going +beyond the law of nature, assume that under my care Emil has so far +remained in his first innocence, but I see that this happy period +is drawing to a close. Surrounded by ever-increasing perils, he +will escape me at the first opportunity in spite of all my efforts, +and this opportunity will not long be delayed; he will follow the +blind instinct of his senses; the chances are a thousand to one on +his ruin. I have considered the morals of mankind too profoundly +not to be aware of the irrevocable influence of this first moment +on all the rest of his life. If I dissimulate and pretend to see +nothing, he will take advantage of my weakness; if he thinks he +can deceive me, he will despise me, and I become an accomplice in +his destruction. If I try to recall him, the time is past, he no +longer heeds me, he finds me tiresome, hateful, intolerable; it +will not be long before he is rid of me. There is therefore only +one reasonable course open to me; I must make him accountable for +his own actions, I must at least preserve him from being taken +unawares, and I must show him plainly the dangers which beset his +path. I have restrained him so far through his ignorance; henceforward +his restraint must be his own knowledge. + +This new teaching is of great importance, and we will take up our +story where we left it. This is the time to present my accounts, +to show him how his time and mine have been spent, to make known +to him what he is and what I am; what I have done, and what he has +done; what we owe to each other; all his moral relations, all the +undertakings to which he is pledged, all those to which others +have pledged themselves in respect to him; the stage he has reached +in the development of his faculties, the road that remains to be +travelled, the difficulties he will meet, and the way to overcome +them; how I can still help him and how he must henceforward help +himself; in a word, the critical time which he has reached, the +new dangers round about him, and all the valid reasons which should +induce him to keep a close watch upon himself before giving heed +to his growing desires. + +Remember that to guide a grown man you must reverse all that you +did to guide the child. Do not hesitate to speak to him of those +dangerous mysteries which you have so carefully concealed from him +hitherto. Since he must become aware of them, let him not learn +them from another, nor from himself, but from you alone; since he +must henceforth fight against them, let him know his enemy, that +he may not be taken unawares. + +Young people who are found to be aware of these matters, without +our knowing how they obtained their knowledge, have not obtained it +with impunity. This unwise teaching, which can have no honourable +object, stains the imagination of those who receive it if it does +nothing worse, and it inclines them to the vices of their instructors. +This is not all; servants, by this means, ingratiate themselves +with a child, gain his confidence, make him regard his tutor as a +gloomy and tiresome person; and one of the favourite subjects of +their secret colloquies is to slander him. When the pupil has got +so far, the master may abandon his task; he can do no good. + +But why does the child choose special confidants? Because of the +tyranny of those who control him. Why should he hide himself from +them if he were not driven to it? Why should he complain if he had +nothing to complain of? Naturally those who control him are his +first confidants; you can see from his eagerness to tell them what +he thinks that he feels he has only half thought till he has told +his thoughts to them. You may be sure that when the child knows you +will neither preach nor scold, he will always tell you everything, +and that no one will dare to tell him anything he must conceal from +you, for they will know very well that he will tell you everything. + +What makes me most confident in my method is this: when I follow +it out as closely as possible, I find no situation in the life of +my scholar which does not leave me some pleasing memory of him. +Even when he is carried away by his ardent temperament or when he +revolts against the hand that guides him, when he struggles and is +on the point of escaping from me, I still find his first simplicity +in his agitation and his anger; his heart as pure as his body, he +has no more knowledge of pretence than of vice; reproach and scorn +have not made a coward of him; base fears have never taught him +the art of concealment. He has all the indiscretion of innocence; +he is absolutely out-spoken; he does not even know the use of +deceit. Every impulse of his heart is betrayed either by word or +look, and I often know what he is feeling before he is aware of it +himself. + +So long as his heart is thus freely opened to me, so long as he +delights to tell me what he feels, I have nothing to fear; the danger +is not yet at hand; but if he becomes more timid, more reserved, +if I perceive in his conversation the first signs of confusion and +shame, his instincts are beginning to develop, he is beginning to +connect the idea of evil with these instincts, there is not a moment +to lose, and if I do not hasten to instruct him, he will learn in +spite of me. + +Some of my readers, even of those who agree with me, will think +that it is only a question of a conversation with the young man at +any time. Oh, this is not the way to control the human heart. What +we say has no meaning unless the opportunity has been carefully +chosen. Before we sow we must till the ground; the seed of virtue +is hard to grow; and a long period of preparation is required before +it will take root. One reason why sermons have so little effect is +that they are offered to everybody alike, without discrimination +or choice. How can any one imagine that the same sermon could be +suitable for so many hearers, with their different dispositions, +so unlike in mind, temper, age, sex, station, and opinion. Perhaps +there are not two among those to whom what is addressed to all is +really suitable; and all our affections are so transitory that perhaps +there are not even two occasions in the life of any man when the +same speech would have the same effect on him. Judge for yourself +whether the time when the eager senses disturb the understanding +and tyrannise over the will, is the time to listen to the solemn +lessons of wisdom. Therefore never reason with young men, even +when they have reached the age of reason, unless you have first +prepared the way. Most lectures miss their mark more through the +master's fault than the disciple's. The pedant and the teacher say +much the same; but the former says it at random, and the latter +only when he is sure of its effect. + +As a somnambulist, wandering in his sleep, walks along the edge +of a precipice, over which he would fall if he were awake, so my +Emile, in the sleep of ignorance, escapes the perils which he does +not see; were I to wake him with a start, he might fall. Let us +first try to withdraw him from the edge of the precipice, and then +we will awake him to show him it from a distance. + +Reading, solitude, idleness, a soft and sedentary life, intercourse +with women and young people, these are perilous paths for a young +man, and these lead him constantly into danger. I divert his senses +by other objects of sense; I trace another course for his spirits +by which I distract them from the course they would have taken; it +is by bodily exercise and hard work that I check the activity of +the imagination, which was leading him astray. When the arms are +hard at work, the imagination is quiet; when the body is very weary, +the passions are not easily inflamed. The quickest and easiest +precaution is to remove him from immediate danger. At once I take +him away from towns, away from things which might lead him into +temptation. But that is not enough; in what desert, in what wilds, +shall he escape from the thoughts which pursue him? It is not +enough to remove dangerous objects; if I fail to remove the memory +of them, if I fail to find a way to detach him from everything, +if I fail to distract him from himself, I might as well have left +him where he was. + +Emile has learned a trade, but we do not have recourse to it; he +is fond of farming and understands it, but farming is not enough; +the occupations he is acquainted with degenerate into routine; when +he is engaged in them he is not really occupied; he is thinking of +other things; head and hand are at work on different subjects. He +must have some fresh occupation which has the interest of novelty--an +occupation which keeps him busy, diligent, and hard at work, an +occupation which he may become passionately fond of, one to which +he will devote himself entirely. Now the only one which seems to +possess all these characteristics is the chase. If hunting is ever +an innocent pleasure, if it is ever worthy of a man, now is the +time to betake ourselves to it. Emile is well-fitted to succeed in +it. He is strong, skilful, patient, unwearied. He is sure to take +a fancy to this sport; he will bring to it all the ardour of youth; +in it he will lose, at least for a time, the dangerous inclinations +which spring from softness. The chase hardens the heart a well as +the body; we get used to the sight of blood and cruelty. Diana is +represented as the enemy of love; and the allegory is true to life; +the languors of love are born of soft repose, and tender feelings +are stifled by violent exercise. In the woods and fields, the lover +and the sportsman are so diversely affected that they receive very +different impressions. The fresh shade, the arbours, the pleasant +resting-places of the one, to the other are but feeding grounds, or +places where the quarry will hide or turn to bay. Where the lover +hears the flute and the nightingale, the hunter hears the horn +and the hounds; one pictures to himself the nymphs and dryads, the +other sees the horses, the huntsman, and the pack. Take a country +walk with one or other of these men; their different conversation +will soon show you that they behold the earth with other eyes, +and that the direction of their thoughts is as different as their +favourite pursuit. + +I understand how these tastes may be combined, and that at last men +find time for both. But the passions of youth cannot be divided in +this way. Give the youth a single occupation which he loves, and +the rest will soon be forgotten. Varied desires come with varied +knowledge, and the first pleasures we know are the only ones we +desire for long enough. I would not have the whole of Emile's youth +spent in killing creatures, and I do not even profess to justify +this cruel passion; it is enough for me that it serves to delay a +more dangerous passion, so that he may listen to me calmly when I +speak of it, and give me time to describe it without stimulating +it. + +There are moments in human life which can never be forgotten. Such +is the time when Emile receives the instruction of which I have +spoken; its influence should endure all his life through. Let us +try to engrave it on his memory so that it may never fade away. It +is one of the faults of our age to rely too much on cold reason, +as if men were all mind. By neglecting the language of expression +we have lost the most forcible mode of speech. The spoken word is +always weak, and we speak to the heart rather through the eyes than +the ears. In our attempt to appeal to reason only, we have reduced +our precepts to words, we have not embodied them in deed. Mere +reason is not active; occasionally she restrains, more rarely she +stimulates, but she never does any great thing. Small minds have a +mania for reasoning. Strong souls speak a very different language, +and it is by this language that men are persuaded and driven to +action. + +I observe that in modern times men only get a hold over others by +force or self-interest, while the ancients did more by persuasion, +by the affections of the heart; because they did not neglect the +language; of symbolic expression. All agreements were drawn up +solemnly, so that they might be more inviolable; before the reign +of force, the gods were the judges of mankind; in their presence, +individuals made their treaties and alliances, and pledged themselves +to perform their promises; the face of the earth was the book in +which the archives were preserved. The leaves of this book were +rocks, trees, piles of stones, made sacred by these transactions, +and regarded with reverence by barbarous men; and these pages were +always open before their eyes. The well of the oath, the well of +the living and seeing one; the ancient oak of Mamre, the stones of +witness, such were the simple but stately monuments of the sanctity +of contracts; none dared to lay a sacrilegious hand on these +monuments, and man's faith was more secure under the warrant of +these dumb witnesses than it is to-day upon all the rigour of the +law. + +In government the people were over-awed by the pomp and splendour +of royal power. The symbols of greatness, a throne, a sceptre, a +purple robe, a crown, a fillet, these were sacred in their sight. +These symbols, and the respect which they inspired, led them to +reverence the venerable man whom they beheld adorned with them; +without soldiers and without threats, he spoke and was obeyed. +[Footnote: The Roman Catholic clergy have very wisely retained +these symbols, and certain republics, such as Venice, have followed +their example. Thus the Venetian government, despite the fallen +condition of the state, still enjoys, under the trappings of +its former greatness, all the affection, all the reverence of the +people; and next to the pope in his triple crown, there is perhaps +no king, no potentate, no person in the world so much respected +as the Doge of Venice; he has no power, no authority, but he is +rendered sacred by his pomp, and he wears beneath his ducal coronet +a woman's flowing locks. That ceremony of the Bucentaurius, which +stirs the laughter of fools, stirs the Venetian populace to shed +its life-blood for the maintenance of this tyrannical government.] +In our own day men profess to do away with these symbols. What are +the consequences of this contempt? The kingly majesty makes no +impression on all hearts, kings can only gain obedience by the help +of troops, and the respect of their subjects is based only on the +fear of punishment. Kings are spared the trouble of wearing their +crowns, and our nobles escape from the outward signs of their +station, but they must have a hundred thousand men at their command +if their orders are to be obeyed. Though this may seem a finer +thing, it is easy to see that in the long run they will gain nothing. + +It is amazing what the ancients accomplished with the aid of +eloquence; but this eloquence did not merely consist in fine speeches +carefully prepared; and it was most effective when the orator said +least. The most startling speeches were expressed not in words but +in signs; they were not uttered but shown. A thing beheld by the +eyes kindles the imagination, stirs the curiosity, and keeps the +mind on the alert for what we are about to say, and often enough +the thing tells the whole story. Thrasybulus and Tarquin cutting +off the heads of the poppies, Alexander placing his seal on the +lips of his favourite, Diogenes marching before Zeno, do not these +speak more plainly than if they had uttered long orations? What +flow of words could have expressed the ideas as clearly? Darius, +in the course of the Scythian war, received from the king of the +Scythians a bird, a frog, a mouse, and five arrows. The ambassador +deposited this gift and retired without a word. In our days he would +have been taken for a madman. This terrible speech was understood, +and Darius withdrew to his own country with what speed he could. +Substitute a letter for these symbols and the more threatening it +was the less terror it would inspire; it would have been merely a +piece of bluff, to which Darius would have paid no attention. + +What heed the Romans gave to the language of signs! Different ages +and different ranks had their appropriate garments, toga, tunic, +patrician robes, fringes and borders, seats of honour, lictors, +rods and axes, crowns of gold, crowns of leaves, crowns of flowers, +ovations, triumphs, everything had its pomp, its observances, +its ceremonial, and all these spoke to the heart of the citizens. +The state regarded it as a matter of importance that the populace +should assemble in one place rather than another, that they should +or should not behold the Capitol, that they should or should not +turn towards the Senate, that this day or that should be chosen for +their deliberations. The accused wore a special dress, so did the +candidates for election; warriors did not boast of their exploits, +they showed their scars. I can fancy one of our orators at the +death of Caesar exhausting all the commonplaces of rhetoric to give +a pathetic description of his wounds, his blood, his dead body; +Anthony was an orator, but he said none of this; he showed the +murdered Caesar. What rhetoric was this! + +But this digression, like many others, is drawing me unawares away +from my subject; and my digressions are too frequent to be borne +with patience. I therefore return to the point. + +Do not reason coldly with youth. Clothe your reason with a body, +if you would make it felt. Let the mind speak the language of the +heart, that it may be understood. I say again our opinions, not our +actions, may be influenced by cold argument; they set us thinking, +not doing; they show us what we ought to think, not what we ought +to do. If this is true of men, it is all the truer of young people +who are still enwrapped in their senses and cannot think otherwise +than they imagine. + +Even after the preparations of which I have spoken, I shall take +good care not to go all of a sudden to Emile's room and preach a +long and heavy sermon on the subject in which he is to be instructed. +I shall begin by rousing his imagination; I shall choose the time, +place, and surroundings most favourable to the impression I wish +to make; I shall, so to speak, summon all nature as witness to our +conversations; I shall call upon the eternal God, the Creator of +nature, to bear witness to the truth of what I say. He shall judge +between Emile and myself; I will make the rocks, the woods, the +mountains round about us, the monuments of his promises and mine; +eyes, voice, and gesture shall show the enthusiasm I desire to +inspire. Then I will speak and he will listen, and his emotion will +be stirred by my own. The more impressed I am by the sanctity of +my duties, the more sacred he will regard his own. I will enforce +the voice of reason with images and figures, I will not give him +long-winded speeches or cold precepts, but my overflowing feelings +will break their bounds; my reason shall be grave and serious, but +my heart cannot speak too warmly. Then when I have shown him all +that I have done for him, I will show him how he is made for me; +he will see in my tender affection the cause of all my care. How +greatly shall I surprise and disturb him when I change my tone. +Instead of shrivelling up his soul by always talking of his own +interests, I shall henceforth speak of my own; he will be more +deeply touched by this. I will kindle in his young heart all the +sentiments of affection, generosity, and gratitude which I have +already called into being, and it will indeed be sweet to watch +their growth. I will press him to my bosom, and weep over him in +my emotion; I will say to him: "You are my wealth, my child, my +handiwork; my happiness is bound up in yours; if you frustrate my +hopes, you rob me of twenty years of my life, and you bring my grey +hairs with sorrow to the grave." This is the way to gain a hearing +and to impress what is said upon the heart and memory of the young +man. + +Hitherto I have tried to give examples of the way in which a tutor +should instruct his pupil in cases of difficulty. I have tried to +do so in this instance; but after many attempts I have abandoned +the task, convinced that the French language is too artificial +to permit in print the plainness of speech required for the first +lessons in certain subjects. + +They say French is more chaste than other languages; for my own +part I think it more obscene; for it seems to me that the purity +of a language does not consist in avoiding coarse expressions but +in having none. Indeed, if we are to avoid them, they must be in +our thoughts, and there is no language in which it is so difficult +to speak with purity on every subject than French. The reader is +always quicker to detect than the author to avoid a gross meaning, +and he is shocked and startled by everything. How can what is heard +by impure ears avoid coarseness? On the other hand, a nation whose +morals are pure has fit terms for everything, and these terms are +always right because they are rightly used. One could not imagine +more modest language than that of the Bible, just because of its +plainness of speech. The same things translated into French would +become immodest. What I ought to say to Emile will sound pure and +honourable to him; but to make the same impression in print would +demand a like purity of heart in the reader. + +I should even think that reflections on true purity of speech +and the sham delicacy of vice might find a useful place in the +conversations as to morality to which this subject brings us; for +when he learns the language of plain-spoken goodness, he must also +learn the language of decency, and he must know why the two are +so different. However this may be, I maintain that if instead of +the empty precepts which are prematurely dinned into the ears of +children, only to be scoffed at when the time comes when they might +prove useful, if instead of this we bide our time, if we prepare +the way for a hearing, if we then show him the laws of nature in +all their truth, if we show him the sanction of these laws in the +physical and moral evils which overtake those who neglect them, +if while we speak to him of this great mystery of generation, we +join to the idea of the pleasure which the Author of nature has +given to this act the idea of the exclusive affection which makes +it delightful, the idea of the duties of faithfulness and modesty +which surround it, and redouble its charm while fulfilling its +purpose; if we paint to him marriage, not only as the sweetest form +of society, but also as the most sacred and inviolable of contracts, +if we tell him plainly all the reasons which lead men to respect +this sacred bond, and to pour hatred and curses upon him who dares +to dishonour it; if we give him a true and terrible picture of the +horrors of debauch, of its stupid brutality, of the downward road +by which a first act of misconduct leads from bad to worse, and at +last drags the sinner to his ruin; if, I say, we give him proofs +that on a desire for chastity depends health, strength, courage, +virtue, love itself, and all that is truly good for man--I maintain +that this chastity will be so dear and so desirable in his eyes, +that his mind will be ready to receive our teaching as to the way +to preserve it; for so long as we are chaste we respect chastity; +it is only when we have lost this virtue that we scorn it. + +It is not true that the inclination to evil is beyond our control, +and that we cannot overcome it until we have acquired the habit of +yielding to it. Aurelius Victor says that many men were mad enough +to purchase a night with Cleopatra at the price of their life, +and this is not incredible in the madness of passion. But let us +suppose the maddest of men, the man who has his senses least under +control; let him see the preparations for his death, let him realise +that he will certainly die in torment a quarter of an hour later; +not only would that man, from that time forward, become able +to resist temptation, he would even find it easy to do so; the +terrible picture with which they are associated will soon distract +his attention from these temptations, and when they are continually +put aside they will cease to recur. The sole cause of our weakness +is the feebleness of our will, and we have always strength to +perform what we strongly desire. "Volenti nihil difficile!" Oh! if +only we hated vice as much as we love life, we should abstain as +easily from a pleasant sin as from a deadly poison in a delicious +dish. + +How is it that you fail to perceive that if all the lessons given +to a young man on this subject have no effect, it is because they +are not adapted to his age, and that at every age reason must be +presented in a shape which will win his affection? Speak seriously +to him if required, but let what you say to him always have a charm +which will compel him to listen. Do not coldly oppose his wishes; +do not stifle his imagination, but direct it lest it should bring +forth monsters. Speak to him of love, of women, of pleasure; let +him find in your conversation a charm which delights his youthful +heart; spare no pains to make yourself his confidant; under this +name alone will you really be his master. Then you need not fear +he will find your conversation tedious; he will make you talk more +than you desire. + +If I have managed to take all the requisite precautions in accordance +with these maxims, and have said the right things to Emile at the +age he has now reached, I am quite convinced that he will come of +his own accord to the point to which I would lead him, and will +eagerly confide himself to my care. When he sees the dangers by +which he is surrounded, he will say to me with all the warmth of +youth, "Oh, my friend, my protector, my master! resume the authority +you desire to lay aside at the very time when I most need it; +hitherto my weakness has given you this power. I now place it in +your hands of my own free-will, and it will be all the more sacred +in my eyes. Protect me from all the foes which are attacking me, +and above all from the traitors within the citadel; watch over +your work, that it may still be worthy of you. I mean to obey your +laws, I shall ever do so, that is my steadfast purpose; if I ever +disobey you, it will be against my will; make me free by guarding +me against the passions which do me violence; do not let me become +their slave; compel me to be my own master and to obey, not my +senses, but my reason." + +When you have led your pupil so far (and it will be your own fault +if you fail to do so), beware of taking him too readily at his word, +lest your rule should seem too strict to him, and lest he should +think he has a right to escape from it, by accusing you of taking +him by surprise. This is the time for reserve and seriousness; and +this attitude will have all the more effect upon him seeing that +it is the first time you have adopted it towards him. + +You will say to him therefore: "Young man, you readily make promises +which are hard to keep; you must understand what they mean before +you have a right to make them; you do not know how your fellows +are drawn by their passions into the whirlpool of vice masquerading +as pleasure. You are honourable, I know; you will never break your +word, but how often will you repent of having given it? How often +will you curse your friend, when, in order to guard you from the +ills which threaten you, he finds himself compelled to do violence +to your heart. Like Ulysses who, hearing the song of the Sirens, +cried aloud to his rowers to unbind him, you will break your +chains at the call of pleasure; you will importune me with your +lamentations, you will reproach me as a tyrant when I have your +welfare most at heart; when I am trying to make you happy, I shall +incur your hatred. Oh, Emile, I can never bear to be hateful in +your eyes; this is too heavy a price to pay even for your happiness. +My dear young man, do you not see that when you undertake to obey +me, you compel me to promise to be your guide, to forget myself +in my devotion to you, to refuse to listen to your murmurs and +complaints, to wage unceasing war against your wishes and my own. +Before we either of us undertake such a task, let us count our +resources; take your time, give me time to consider, and be sure +that the slower we are to promise, the more faithfully will our +promises be kept." + +You may be sure that the more difficulty he finds in getting your +promise, the easier you will find it to carry it out. The young +man must learn that he is promising a great deal, and that you +are promising still more. When the time is come, when he has, so +to say, signed the contract, then change your tone, and make your +rule as gentle as you said it would be severe. Say to him, "My +young friend, it is experience that you lack; but I have taken care +that you do not lack reason. You are ready to see the motives of +my conduct in every respect; to do this you need only wait till +you are free from excitement. Always obey me first, and then ask +the reasons for my commands; I am always ready to give my reasons +so soon as you are ready to listen to them, and I shall never be +afraid to make you the judge between us. You promise to follow my +teaching, and I promise only to use your obedience to make you the +happiest of men. For proof of this I have the life you have lived +hitherto. Show me any one of your age who has led as happy a life +as yours, and I promise you nothing more." + +When my authority is firmly established, my first care will be to +avoid the necessity of using it. I shall spare no pains to become +more and more firmly established in his confidence, to make myself +the confidant of his heart and the arbiter of his pleasures. Far +from combating his youthful tastes, I shall consult them that I +may be their master; I will look at things from his point of view +that I may be his guide; I will not seek a remote distant good at +the cost of his present happiness. I would always have him happy +always if that may be. + +Those who desire to guide young people rightly and to preserve them +from the snares of sense give them a disgust for love, and would +willingly make the very thought of it a crime, as if love were +for the old. All these mistaken lessons have no effect; the heart +gives the lie to them. The young man, guided by a surer instinct, +laughs to himself over the gloomy maxims which he pretends to +accept, and only awaits the chance of disregarding them. All that +is contrary to nature. By following the opposite course I reach +the same end more safely. I am not afraid to encourage in him the +tender feeling for which he is so eager, I shall paint it as the +supreme joy of life, as indeed it is; when I picture it to him, I +desire that he shall give himself up to it; by making him feel the +charm which the union of hearts adds to the delights of sense, I +shall inspire him with a disgust for debauchery; I shall make him +a lover and a good man. + +How narrow-minded to see nothing in the rising desires of a young +heart but obstacles to the teaching of reason. In my eyes, these +are the right means to make him obedient to that very teaching. +Only through passion can we gain the mastery over passions; their +tyranny must be controlled by their legitimate power, and nature +herself must furnish us with the means to control her. + +Emile is not made to live alone, he is a member of society, and must +fulfil his duties as such. He is made to live among his fellow-men +and he must get to know them. He knows mankind in general; he has +still to learn to know individual men. He knows what goes on in the +world; he has now to learn how men live in the world. It is time +to show him the front of that vast stage, of which he already +knows the hidden workings. It will not arouse in him the foolish +admiration of a giddy youth, but the discrimination of an exact +and upright spirit. He may no doubt be deceived by his passions; +who is there who yields to his passions without being led astray +by them? At least he will not be deceived by the passions of other +people. If he sees them, he will regard them with the eye of the +wise, and will neither be led away by their example nor seduced by +their prejudices. + +As there is a fitting age for the study of the sciences, so there +is a fitting age for the study of the ways of the world. Those who +learn these too soon, follow them throughout life, without choice +or consideration, and although they follow them fairly well they +never really know what they are about. But he who studies the ways +of the world and sees the reason for them, follows them with more +insight, and therefore more exactly and gracefully. Give me a child +of twelve who knows nothing at all; at fifteen I will restore him +to you knowing as much as those who have been under instruction +from infancy; with this difference, that your scholars only know +things by heart, while mine knows how to use his knowledge. In +the same way plunge a young man of twenty into society; under good +guidance, in a year's time, he will be more charming and more truly +polite than one brought up in society from childhood. For the former +is able to perceive the reasons for all the proceedings relating +to age, position, and sex, on which the customs of society depend, +and can reduce them to general principles, and apply them to +unforeseen emergencies; while the latter, who is guided solely by +habit, is at a loss when habit fails him. + +Young French ladies are all brought up in convents till they are +married. Do they seem to find any difficulty in acquiring the ways +which are so new to them, and is it possible to accuse the ladies +of Paris of awkward and embarrassed manners or of ignorance of the +ways of society, because they have not acquired them in infancy! +This is the prejudice of men of the world, who know nothing of more +importance than this trifling science, and wrongly imagine that +you cannot begin to acquire it too soon. + +On the other hand, it is quite true that we must not wait too long. +Any one who has spent the whole of his youth far from the great +world is all his life long awkward, constrained, out of place; his +manners will be heavy and clumsy, no amount of practice will get +rid of this, and he will only make himself more ridiculous by trying +to do so. There is a time for every kind of teaching and we ought +to recognise it, and each has its own dangers to be avoided. At this +age there are more dangers than at any other; but I do not expose +my pupil to them without safeguards. + +When my method succeeds completely in attaining one object, and +when in avoiding one difficulty it also provides against another, +I then consider that it is a good method, and that I am on the +right track. This seems to be the case with regard to the expedient +suggested by me in the present case. If I desire to be stern and +cold towards my pupil, I shall lose his confidence, and he will soon +conceal himself from me. If I wish to be easy and complaisant, to +shut my eyes, what good does it do him to be under my care? I only +give my authority to his excesses, and relieve his conscience at +the expense of my own. If I introduce him into society with no +object but to teach him, he will learn more than I want. If I keep +him apart from society, what will he have learnt from me? Everything +perhaps, except the one art absolutely necessary to a civilised +man, the art of living among his fellow-men. If I try to attend to +this at a distance, it will be of no avail; he is only concerned +with the present. If I am content to supply him with amusement, he +will acquire habits of luxury and will learn nothing. + +We will have none of this. My plan provides for everything. Your +heart, I say to the young man, requires a companion; let us go +in search of a fitting one; perhaps we shall not easily find such +a one, true worth is always rare, but we will be in no hurry, nor +will we be easily discouraged. No doubt there is such a one, and +we shall find her at last, or at least we shall find some one like +her. With an end so attractive to himself, I introduce him into +society. What more need I say? Have I not achieved my purpose? + +By describing to him his future mistress, you may imagine whether +I shall gain a hearing, whether I shall succeed in making the +qualities he ought to love pleasing and dear to him, whether I shall +sway his feelings to seek or shun what is good or bad for him. I +shall be the stupidest of men if I fail to make him in love with he +knows not whom. No matter that the person I describe is imaginary, +it is enough to disgust him with those who might have attracted +him; it is enough if it is continually suggesting comparisons which +make him prefer his fancy to the real people he sees; and is not +love itself a fancy, a falsehood, an illusion? We are far more in +love with our own fancy than with the object of it. If we saw the +object of our affections as it is, there would be no such thing as +love. When we cease to love, the person we used to love remains +unchanged, but we no longer see with the same eyes; the magic veil +is drawn aside, and love disappears. But when I supply the object +of imagination, I have control over comparisons, and I am able +easily to prevent illusion with regard to realities. + +For all that I would not mislead a young man by describing a model +of perfection which could never exist; but I would so choose the +faults of his mistress that they will suit him, that he will be +pleased by them, and they may serve to correct his own. Neither +would I lie to him and affirm that there really is such a person; +let him delight in the portrait, he will soon desire to find the +original. From desire to belief the transition is easy; it is a +matter of a little skilful description, which under more perceptible +features will give to this imaginary object an air of greater reality. +I would go so far as to give her a name; I would say, smiling. Let +us call your future mistress Sophy; Sophy is a name of good omen; +if it is not the name of the lady of your choice at least she will +be worthy of the name; we may honour her with it meanwhile. If +after all these details, without affirming or denying, we excuse +ourselves from giving an answer, his suspicions will become certainty; +he will think that his destined bride is purposely concealed from +him, and that he will see her in good time. If once he has arrived +at this conclusion and if the characteristics to be shown to him +have been well chosen, the rest is easy; there will be little risk +in exposing him to the world; protect him from his senses, and his +heart is safe. + +But whether or no he personifies the model I have contrived to +make so attractive to him, this model, if well done, will attach +him none the less to everything that resembles itself, and will +give him as great a distaste for all that is unlike it as if Sophy +really existed. What a means to preserve his heart from the dangers +to which his appearance would expose him, to repress his senses +by means of his imagination, to rescue him from the hands of those +women who profess to educate young men, and make them pay so dear +for their teaching, and only teach a young man manners by making +him utterly shameless. Sophy is so modest? What would she think of +their advances! Sophy is so simple! How would she like their airs? +They are too far from his thoughts and his observations to be +dangerous. + +Every one who deals with the control of children follows the same +prejudices and the same maxima, for their observation is at fault, +and their reflection still more so. A young man is led astray in +the first place neither by temperament nor by the senses, but by +popular opinion. If we were concerned with boys brought up in boarding +schools or girls in convents, I would show that this applies even +to them; for the first lessons they learn from each other, the only +lessons that bear fruit, are those of vice; and it is not nature +that corrupts them but example. But let us leave the boarders in +schools and convents to their bad morals; there is no cure for them. +I am dealing only with home training. Take a young man carefully +educated in his father's country house, and examine him when he +reaches Paris and makes his entrance into society; you will find +him thinking clearly about honest matters, and you will find his +will as wholesome as his reason. You will find scorn of vice and +disgust for debauchery; his face will betray his innocent horror at +the very mention of a prostitute. I maintain that no young man could +make up his mind to enter the gloomy abodes of these unfortunates +by himself, if indeed he were aware of their purpose and felt their +necessity. + +See the same young man six months later, you will not know him; +from his bold conversation, his fashionable maxims, his easy air, +you would take him for another man, if his jests over his former +simplicity and his shame when any one recalls it did not show that +it is he indeed and that he is ashamed of himself. How greatly has +he changed in so short a time! What has brought about so sudden and +complete a change? His physical development? Would not that have +taken place in his father's house, and certainly he would not have +acquired these maxims and this tone at home? The first charms of +sense? On the contrary; those who are beginning to abandon themselves +to these pleasures are timid and anxious, they shun the light and +noise. The first pleasures are always mysterious, modesty gives +them their savour, and modesty conceals them; the first mistress +does not make a man bold but timid. Wholly absorbed in a situation +so novel to him, the young man retires into himself to enjoy it, +and trembles for fear it should escape him. If he is noisy he knows +neither passion nor love; however he may boast, he has not enjoyed. + +These changes are merely the result of changed ideas. His heart is +the same, but his opinions have altered. His feelings, which change +more slowly, will at length yield to his opinions and it is then +that he is indeed corrupted. He has scarcely made his entrance +into society before he receives a second education quite unlike the +first, which teaches him to despise what he esteemed, and esteem +what he despised; he learns to consider the teaching of his parents +and masters as the jargon of pedants, and the duties they have +instilled into him as a childish morality, to be scorned now that +he is grown up. He thinks he is bound in honour to change his +conduct; he becomes forward without desire, and he talks foolishly +from false shame. He rails against morality before he has any taste +for vice, and prides himself on debauchery without knowing how to +set about it. I shall never forget the confession of a young officer +in the Swiss Guards, who was utterly sick of the noisy pleasures +of his comrades, but dared not refuse to take part in them lest he +should be laughed at. "I am getting used to it," he said, "as I am +getting used to taking snuff; the taste will come with practice; +it will not do to be a child for ever." + +So a young man when he enters society must be preserved from vanity +rather than from sensibility; he succumbs rather to the tastes +of others than to his own, and self-love is responsible for more +libertines than love. + +This being granted, I ask you. Is there any one on earth better +armed than my pupil against all that may attack his morals, his +sentiments, his principles; is there any one more able to resist the +flood? What seduction is there against which he is not forearmed? +If his desires attract him towards women, he fails to find what +he seeks, and his heart, already occupied, holds him back. If he +is disturbed and urged onward by his senses, where will he find +satisfaction? His horror of adultery and debauch keeps him at a +distance from prostitutes and married women, and the disorders of +youth may always be traced to one or other of these. A maiden may +be a coquette, but she will not be shameless, she will not fling +herself at the head of a young man who may marry her if he believes +in her virtue; besides she is always under supervision. Emile, too, +will not be left entirely to himself; both of them will be under +the guardianship of fear and shame, the constant companions of +a first passion; they will not proceed at once to misconduct, and +they will not have time to come to it gradually without hindrance. +If he behaves otherwise, he must have taken lessons from his comrades, +he must have learned from them to despise his self-control, and to +imitate their boldness. But there is no one in the whole world so +little given to imitation as Emile. What man is there who is so +little influenced by mockery as one who has no prejudices himself +and yields nothing to the prejudices of others. I have laboured +twenty years to arm him against mockery; they will not make him +their dupe in a day; for in his eyes ridicule is the argument of +fools, and nothing makes one less susceptible to raillery than to +be beyond the influence of prejudice. Instead of jests he must have +arguments, and while he is in this frame of mind, I am not afraid +that he will be carried away by young fools; conscience and truth +are on my side. If prejudice is to enter into the matter at all, +an affection of twenty years' standing counts for something; no one +will ever convince him that I have wearied him with vain lessons; +and in a heart so upright and so sensitive the voice of a tried and +trusted friend will soon efface the shouts of twenty libertines. +As it is therefore merely a question of showing him that he is +deceived, that while they pretend to treat him as a man they are +really treating him as a child, I shall choose to be always simple +but serious and plain in my arguments, so that he may feel that I +do indeed treat him as a man. I will say to him, You will see that +your welfare, in which my own is bound up, compels me to speak; I +can do nothing else. But why do these young men want to persuade +you? Because they desire to seduce you; they do not care for you, +they take no real interest in you; their only motive is a secret +spite because they see you are better than they; they want to +drag you down to their own level, and they only reproach you with +submitting to control that they may themselves control you. Do you +think you have anything to gain by this? Are they so much wiser +than I, is the affection of a day stronger than mine? To give any +weight to their jests they must give weight to their authority; and +by what experience do they support their maxima above ours? They +have only followed the example of other giddy youths, as they would +have you follow theirs. To escape from the so-called prejudices +of their fathers, they yield to those of their comrades. I cannot +see that they are any the better off; but I see that they lose two +things of value--the affection of their parents, whose advice is +that of tenderness and truth, and the wisdom of experience which +teaches us to judge by what we know; for their fathers have once +been young, but the young men have never been fathers. + +But you think they are at least sincere in their foolish precepts. +Not so, dear Emile; they deceive themselves in order to deceive you; +they are not in agreement with themselves; their heart continually +revolts, and their very words often contradict themselves. This man +who mocks at everything good would be in despair if his wife held +the same views. Another extends his indifference to good morals even +to his future wife, or he sinks to such depths of infamy as to be +indifferent to his wife's conduct; but go a step further; speak to +him of his mother; is he willing to be treated as the child of an +adulteress and the son of a woman of bad character, is he ready +to assume the name of a family, to steal the patrimony of the true +heir, in a word will he bear being treated as a bastard? Which of +them will permit his daughter to be dishonoured as he dishonours +the daughter of another? There is not one of them who would not kill +you if you adopted in your conduct towards him all the principles +he tries to teach you. Thus they prove their inconsistency, and +we know they do not believe what they say. Here are reasons, dear +Emile; weigh their arguments if they have any, and compare them +with mine. If I wished to have recourse like them to scorn and +mockery, you would see that they lend themselves to ridicule as +much or more than myself. But I am not afraid of serious inquiry. +The triumph of mockers is soon over; truth endures, and their +foolish laughter dies away. + +You do not think that Emile, at twenty, can possibly be docile. How +differently we think! I cannot understand how he could be docile +at ten, for what hold have I on him at that age? It took me fifteen +years of careful preparation to secure that hold. I was not educating +him, but preparing him for education. He is now sufficiently educated +to be docile; he recognises the voice of friendship and he knows +how to obey reason. It is true I allow him a show of freedom, but +he was never more completely under control, because he obeys of +his own free will. So long as I could not get the mastery over his +will, I retained my control over his person; I never left him for +a moment. Now I sometimes leave him to himself because I control +him continually. When I leave him I embrace him and I say with +confidence: Emile, I trust you to my friend, I leave you to his +honour; he will answer for you. + +To corrupt healthy affections which have not been previously +depraved, to efface principles which are directly derived from our +own reasoning, is not the work of a moment. If any change takes +place during my absence, that absence will not be long, he will +never be able to conceal himself from me, so that I shall perceive +the danger before any harm comes of it, and I shall be in time to +provide a remedy. As we do not become depraved all at once, neither +do we learn to deceive all at once; and if ever there was a man +unskilled in the art of deception it is Emile, who has never had +any occasion for deceit. + +By means of these precautions and others like them, I expect to +guard him so completely against strange sights and vulgar precepts +that I would rather see him in the worst company in Paris than alone +in his room or in a park left to all the restlessness of his age. +Whatever we may do, a young man's worst enemy is himself, and +this is an enemy we cannot avoid. Yet this is an enemy of our own +making, for, as I have said again and again, it is the imagination +which stirs the senses. Desire is not a physical need; it is not +true that it is a need at all. If no lascivious object had met our +eye, if no unclean thought had entered our mind, this so-called +need might never have made itself felt, and we should have remained +chaste, without temptation, effort, or merit. We do not know how +the blood of youth is stirred by certain situations and certain +sights, while the youth himself does not understand the cause of +his uneasiness-an uneasiness difficult to subdue and certain to +recur. For my own part, the more I consider this serious crisis +and its causes, immediate and remote, the more convinced I am that +a solitary brought up in some desert, apart from books, teaching, +and women, would die a virgin, however long he lived. + +But we are not concerned with a savage of this sort. When we +educate a man among his fellow-men and for social life, we cannot, +and indeed we ought not to, bring him up in this wholesome ignorance, +and half knowledge is worse than none. The memory of things we have +observed, the ideas we have acquired, follow us into retirement +and people it, against our will, with images more seductive than +the things themselves, and these make solitude as fatal to those +who bring such ideas with them as it is wholesome for those who +have never left it. + +Therefore, watch carefully over the young man; he can protect +himself from all other foes, but it is for you to protect him +against himself. Never leave him night or day, or at least share +his room; never let him go to bed till he is sleepy, and let him +rise as soon as he wakes. Distrust instinct as soon as you cease +to rely altogether upon it. Instinct was good while he acted under +its guidance only; now that he is in the midst of human institutions, +instinct is not to be trusted; it must not be destroyed, it must +be controlled, which is perhaps a more difficult matter. It would +be a dangerous matter if instinct taught your pupil to abuse his +senses; if once he acquires this dangerous habit he is ruined. From +that time forward, body and soul will be enervated; he will carry +to the grave the sad effects of this habit, the most fatal habit +which a young man can acquire. If you cannot attain to the mastery +of your passions, dear Emile, I pity you; but I shall not hesitate +for a moment, I will not permit the purposes of nature to be evaded. +If you must be a slave, I prefer to surrender you to a tyrant from +whom I may deliver you; whatever happens, I can free you more easily +from the slavery of women than from yourself. + +Up to the age of twenty, the body is still growing and requires +all its strength; till that age continence is the law of nature, +and this law is rarely violated without injury to the constitution. +After twenty, continence is a moral duty; it is an important +duty, for it teaches us to control ourselves, to be masters of our +own appetites. But moral duties have their modifications, their +exceptions, their rules. When human weakness makes an alternative +inevitable, of two evils choose the least; in any case it is better +to commit a misdeed than to contract a vicious habit. + +Remember, I am not talking of my pupil now, but of yours. His +passions, to which you have given way, are your master; yield to +them openly and without concealing his victory. If you are able +to show him it in its true light, he will be ashamed rather than +proud of it, and you will secure the right to guide him in his +wanderings, at least so as to avoid precipices. The disciple must +do nothing, not even evil, without the knowledge and consent of his +master; it is a hundredfold better that the tutor should approve +of a misdeed than that he should deceive himself or be deceived by +his pupil, and the wrong should be done without his knowledge. He +who thinks he must shut his eyes to one thing, must soon shut them +altogether; the first abuse which is permitted leads to others, and +this chain of consequences only ends in the complete overthrow of +all order and contempt for every law. + +There is another mistake which I have already dealt with, a mistake +continually made by narrow-minded persons; they constantly affect +the dignity of a master, and wish to be regarded by their disciples +as perfect. This method is just the contrary of what should be +done. How is it that they fail to perceive that when they try to +strengthen their authority they are really destroying it; that to +gain a hearing one must put oneself in the place of our hearers, +and that to speak to the human heart, one must be a man. All these +perfect people neither touch nor persuade; people always say, "It +is easy for them to fight against passions they do not feel." Show +your pupil your own weaknesses if you want to cure his; let him +see in you struggles like his own; let him learn by your example +to master himself and let him not say like other young men, "These +old people, who are vexed because they are no longer young, want to +treat all young people as if they were old; and they make a crime +of our passions because their own passions are dead." + +Montaigne tells us that he once asked Seigneur de Langey how often, +in his negotiations with Germany, he had got drunk in his king's +service. I would willingly ask the tutor of a certain young man +how often he has entered a house of ill-fame for his pupil's sake. +How often? I am wrong. If the first time has not cured the young +libertine of all desire to go there again, if he does not return +penitent and ashamed, if he does not shed torrents of tears upon +your bosom, leave him on the spot; either he is a monster or you +are a fool; you will never do him any good. But let us have done +with these last expedients, which are as distressing as they are +dangerous; our kind of education has no need of them. + +What precautions we must take with a young man of good birth before +exposing him to the scandalous manners of our age! These precautions +are painful but necessary; negligence in this matter is the ruin of +all our young men; degeneracy is the result of youthful excesses, +and it is these excesses which make men what they are. Old and base +in their vices, their hearts are shrivelled, because their worn-out +bodies were corrupted at an early age; they have scarcely strength +to stir. The subtlety of their thoughts betrays a mind lacking in +substance; they are incapable of any great or noble feeling, they +have neither simplicity nor vigour; altogether abject and meanly +wicked, they are merely frivolous, deceitful, and false; they have +not even courage enough to be distinguished criminals. Such are +the despicable men produced by early debauchery; if there were but +one among them who knew how to be sober and temperate, to guard his +heart, his body, his morals from the contagion of bad example, at +the age of thirty he would crush all these insects, and would become +their master with far less trouble than it cost him to become master +of himself. + +However little Emile owes to birth and fortune, he might be this +man if he chose; but he despises such people too much to condescend +to make them his slaves. Let us now watch him in their midst, as he +enters into society, not to claim the first place, but to acquaint +himself with it and to seek a helpmeet worthy of himself. + +Whatever his rank or birth, whatever the society into which he +is introduced, his entrance into that society will be simple and +unaffected; God grant he may not be unlucky enough to shine in +society; the qualities which make a good impression at the first +glance are not his, he neither possesses them, nor desires to +possess them. He cares too little for the opinions of other people +to value their prejudices, and he is indifferent whether people +esteem him or not until they know him. His address is neither shy nor +conceited, but natural and sincere, he knows nothing of constraint +or concealment, and he is just the same among a group of people +as he is when he is alone. Will this make him rude, scornful, and +careless of others? On the contrary; if he were not heedless of +others when he lived alone, why should he be heedless of them now +that he is living among them? He does not prefer them to himself +in his manners, because he does not prefer them to himself in his +heart, but neither does he show them an indifference which he is far +from feeling; if he is unacquainted with the forms of politeness, +he is not unacquainted with the attentions dictated by humanity. +He cannot bear to see any one suffer; he will not give up his place +to another from mere external politeness, but he will willingly +yield it to him out of kindness if he sees that he is being neglected +and that this neglect hurts him; for it will be less disagreeable +to Emile to remain standing of his own accord than to see another +compelled to stand. + +Although Emile has no very high opinion of people in general, he +does not show any scorn of them, because he pities them and is sorry +for them. As he cannot give them a taste for what is truly good, he +leaves them the imaginary good with which they are satisfied, lest +by robbing them of this he should leave them worse off than before. +So he neither argues nor contradicts; neither does he flatter nor +agree; he states his opinion without arguing with others, because +he loves liberty above all things, and freedom is one of the fairest +gifts of liberty. + +He says little, for he is not anxious to attract attention; for the +same reason he only says what is to the point; who could induce him +to speak otherwise? Emile is too well informed to be a chatter-box. +A great flow of words comes either from a pretentious spirit, of +which I shall speak presently, or from the value laid upon trifles +which we foolishly think to be as important in the eyes of others +as in our own. He who knows enough of things to value them at +their true worth never says too much; for he can also judge of the +attention bestowed on him and the interest aroused by what he says. +People who know little are usually great talkers, while men who +know much say little. It is plain that an ignorant person thinks +everything he does know important, and he tells it to everybody. +But a well-educated man is not so ready to display his learning; +he would have too much to say, and he sees that there is much more +to be said, so he holds his peace. + +Far from disregarding the ways of other people, Emile conforms to +them readily enough; not that he may appear to know all about them, +nor yet to affect the airs of a man of fashion, but on the contrary +for fear lest he should attract attention, and in order to pass +unnoticed; he is most at his ease when no one pays any attention +to him. + +Although when he makes his entrance into society he knows nothing +of its customs, this does not make him shy or timid; if he keeps in +the background, it is not because he is embarrassed, but because, +if you want to see, you must not be seen; for he scarcely troubles +himself at all about what people think of him, and he is not the +least afraid of ridicule. Hence he is always quiet and self-possessed +and is not troubled with shyness. All he has to do is done as well +as he knows how to do it, whether people are looking at him or +not; and as he is always on the alert to observe other people, he +acquires their ways with an ease impossible to the slaves of other +people's opinions. We might say that he acquires the ways of society +just because he cares so little about them. + +But do not make any mistake as to his bearing; it is not to be +compared with that of your young dandies. It is self-possessed, not +conceited; his manners are easy, not haughty; an insolent look is +the mark of a slave, there is nothing affected in independence. I +never saw a man of lofty soul who showed it in his bearing; this +affectation is more suited to vile and frivolous souls, who have +no other means of asserting themselves. I read somewhere that a +foreigner appeared one day in the presence of the famous Marcel, +who asked him what country he came from. "I am an Englishman," +replied the stranger. "You are an Englishman!" replied the dancer, +"You come from that island where the citizens have a share in the +government, and form part of the sovereign power? [Footnote: As if +there were citizens who were not part of the city and had not, as +such, a share in sovereign power! But the French, who have thought +fit to usurp the honourable name of citizen which was formerly the +right of the members of the Gallic cities, have degraded the idea +till it has no longer any sort of meaning. A man who recently wrote +a number of silly criticisms on the "Nouvelle Heloise" added to +his signature the title "Citizen of Paimboeuf," and he thought it +a capital joke.] No, sir, that modest bearing, that timid glance, +that hesitating manner, proclaim only a slave adorned with the +title of an elector." + +I cannot say whether this saying shows much knowledge of the true +relation between a man's character and his appearance. I have not +the honour of being a dancing master, and I should have thought just +the opposite. I should have said, "This Englishman is no courtier; +I never heard that courtiers have a timid bearing and a hesitating +manner. A man whose appearance is timid in the presence of a dancer +might not be timid in the House of Commons." Surely this M. Marcel +must take his fellow-countrymen for so many Romans. + +He who loves desires to be loved, Emile loves his fellows and +desires to please them. Even more does he wish to please the women; +his age, his character, the object he has in view, all increase +this desire. I say his character, for this has a great effect; men +of good character are those who really adore women. They have not +the mocking jargon of gallantry like the rest, but their eagerness +is more genuinely tender, because it comes from the heart. In the +presence of a young woman, I could pick out a young man of character +and self-control from among a hundred thousand libertines. Consider +what Emile must be, with all the eagerness of early youth and so +many reasons for resistance! For in the presence of women +I think he will sometimes be shy and timid; but this shyness will +certainly not be displeasing, and the least foolish of them will +only too often find a way to enjoy it and augment it. Moreover, his +eagerness will take a different shape according to those he has to +do with. He will be more modest and respectful to married women, +more eager and tender towards young girls. He never loses sight of +his purpose, and it is always those who most recall it to him who +receive the greater share of his attentions. + +No one could be more attentive to every consideration based upon +the laws of nature, and even on the laws of good society; but the +former are always preferred before the latter, and Emile will show +more respect to an elderly person in private life than to a young +magistrate of his own age. As he is generally one of the youngest +in the company, he will always be one of the most modest, not from +the vanity which apes humility, but from a natural feeling founded +upon reason. He will not have the effrontery of the young fop, +who speaks louder than the wise and interrupts the old in order to +amuse the company. He will never give any cause for the reply given +to Louis XV by an old gentleman who was asked whether he preferred +this century or the last: "Sire, I spent my youth in reverence +towards the old; I find myself compelled to spend my old age in +reverence towards the young." + +His heart is tender and sensitive, but he cares nothing for the +weight of popular opinion, though he loves to give pleasure to +others; so he will care little to be thought a person of importance. +Hence he will be affectionate rather than polite, he will never be +pompous or affected, and he will be always more touched by a caress +than by much praise. For the same reasons he will never be careless +of his manners or his clothes; perhaps he will be rather particular +about his dress, not that he may show himself a man of taste, but +to make his appearance more pleasing; he will never require a gilt +frame, and he will never spoil his style by a display of wealth. + +All this demands, as you see, no stock of precepts from me; it is +all the result of his early education. People make a great mystery +of the ways of society, as if, at the age when these ways are +acquired, we did not take to them quite naturally, and as if the +first laws of politeness were not to be found in a kindly heart. +True politeness consists in showing our goodwill towards men; it +shows its presence without any difficulty; those only who lack this +goodwill are compelled to reduce the outward signs of it to an art. + +"The worst effect of artificial politeness is that it teaches +us how to dispense with the virtues it imitates. If our education +teaches us kindness and humanity, we shall be polite, or we shall +have no need of politeness. + +"If we have not those qualities which display themselves gracefully +we shall have those which proclaim the honest man and the citizen; +we shall have no need for falsehood. + +"Instead of seeking to please by artificiality, it will suffice +that we are kindly; instead of flattering the weaknesses of others +by falsehood, it will suffice to tolerate them. + +"Those with whom we have to do will neither be puffed up nor +corrupted by such intercourse; they will only be grateful and will +be informed by it." [Footnote: Considerations sur les moeurs de ce +siecle, par M. Duclos.] + +It seems to me that if any education is calculated to produce the +sort of politeness required by M. Duclos in this passage, it is +the education I have already described. + +Yet I admit that with such different teaching Emile will not be just +like everybody else, and heaven preserve him from such a fate! But +where he is unlike other people, he will neither cause annoyance +nor will he be absurd; the difference will be perceptible but not +unpleasant. Emile will be, if you like, an agreeable foreigner. At +first his peculiarities will be excused with the phrase, "He will +learn." After a time people will get used to his ways, and seeing +that he does not change they will still make excuses for him and +say, "He is made that way." + +He will not be feted as a charming man, but every one will like him +without knowing why; no one will praise his intellect, but every +one will be ready to make him the judge between men of intellect; +his own intelligence will be clear and limited, his mind will be +accurate, and his judgment sane. As he never runs after new ideas, +he cannot pride himself on his wit. I have convinced him that all +wholesome ideas, ideas which are really useful to mankind, were +among the earliest known, that in all times they have formed the +true bonds of society, and that there is nothing left for ambitious +minds but to seek distinction for themselves by means of ideas which +are injurious and fatal to mankind. This way of winning admiration +scarcely appeals to him; he knows how he ought to seek his +own happiness in life, and how he can contribute to the happiness +of others. The sphere of his knowledge is restricted to what is +profitable. His path is narrow and clearly defined; as he has no +temptation to leave it, he is lost in the crowd; he will neither +distinguish himself nor will he lose his way. Emile is a man +of common sense and he has no desire to be anything more; you may +try in vain to insult him by applying this phrase to him; he will +always consider it a title of honour. + +Although from his wish to please he is no longer wholly indifferent +to the opinion of others, he only considers that opinion so far as +he himself is directly concerned, without troubling himself about +arbitrary values, which are subject to no law but that of fashion +or conventionality. He will have pride enough to wish to do well +in everything that he undertakes, and even to wish to do it better +than others; he will want to be the swiftest runner, the strongest +wrestler, the cleverest workman, the readiest in games of skill; +but he will not seek advantages which are not in themselves clear +gain, but need to be supported by the opinion of others, such as +to be thought wittier than another, a better speaker, more learned, +etc.; still less will he trouble himself with those which have +nothing to do with the man himself, such as higher birth, a greater +reputation for wealth, credit, or public estimation, or the impression +created by a showy exterior. + +As he loves his fellows because they are like himself, he will +prefer him who is most like himself, because he will feel that he +is good; and as he will judge of this resemblance by similarity of +taste in morals, in all that belongs to a good character, he will +be delighted to win approval. He will not say to himself in so +many words, "I am delighted to gain approval," but "I am delighted +because they say I have done right; I am delighted because the men +who honour me are worthy of honour; while they judge so wisely, it +is a fine thing to win their respect." + +As he studies men in their conduct in society, just as he formerly +studied them through their passions in history, he will often have +occasion to consider what it is that pleases or offends the human +heart. He is now busy with the philosophy of the principles of +taste, and this is the most suitable subject for his present study. + +The further we seek our definitions of taste, the further we +go astray; taste is merely the power of judging what is pleasing +or displeasing to most people. Go beyond this, and you cannot say +what taste is. It does not follow that the men of taste are in the +majority; for though the majority judges wisely with regard to each +individual thing, there are few men who follow the judgment of the +majority in everything; and though the most general agreement in +taste constitutes good taste, there are few men of good taste just +as there are few beautiful people, although beauty consists in the +sum of the most usual features. + +It must be observed that we are not here concerned with what we +like because it is serviceable, or hate because it is harmful to us. +Taste deals only with things that are indifferent to us, or which +affect at most our amusements, not those which relate to our needs; +taste is not required to judge of these, appetite only is sufficient. +It is this which makes mere decisions of taste so difficult and as +it seems so arbitrary; for beyond the instinct they follow there +appears to be no reason whatever for them. We must also make a +distinction between the laws of good taste in morals and its laws +in physical matters. In the latter the laws of taste appear to +be absolutely inexplicable. But it must be observed that there is +a moral element in everything which involves imitation.[Footnote: +This is demonstrated in an "Essay on the Origin of Languages" +which will be found in my collected works.] This is the explanation +of beauties which seem to be physical, but are not so in reality. +I may add that taste has local rules which make it dependent in +many respects on the country we are in, its manners, government, +institutions; it has other rules which depend upon age, sex, and +character, and it is in this sense that we must not dispute over +matters of taste. + +Taste is natural to men; but all do not possess it in the same +degree, it is not developed to the same extent in every one; and +in every one it is liable to be modified by a variety of causes. +Such taste as we may possess depends on our native sensibility; +its cultivation and its form depend upon the society in which we +have lived. In the first place we must live in societies of many +different kinds, so as to compare much. In the next place, there +must be societies for amusement and idleness, for in business +relations, interest, not pleasure, is our rule. Lastly, there must +be societies in which people are fairly equal, where the tyranny of +public opinion may be moderate, where pleasure rather than vanity +is queen; where this is not so, fashion stifles taste, and we seek +what gives distinction rather than delight. + +In the latter case it is no longer true that good taste is the taste +of the majority. Why is this? Because the purpose is different. +Then the crowd has no longer any opinion of its own, it only follows +the judgment of those who are supposed to know more about it; its +approval is bestowed not on what is good, but on what they have +already approved. At any time let every man have his own opinion, +and what is most pleasing in itself will always secure most votes. + +Every beauty that is to be found in the works of man is imitated. +All the true models of taste are to be found in nature. The further +we get from the master, the worse are our pictures. Then it is +that we find our models in what we ourselves like, and the beauty +of fancy, subject to caprice and to authority, is nothing but what +is pleasing to our leaders. + +Those leaders are the artists, the wealthy, and the great, and +they themselves follow the lead of self-interest or pride. Some +to display their wealth, others to profit by it, they seek eagerly +for new ways of spending it. This is how luxury acquires its power +and makes us love what is rare and costly; this so-called beauty +consists, not in following nature, but in disobeying her. Hence +luxury and bad taste are inseparable. Wherever taste is lavish, it +is bad. + +Taste, good or bad, takes its shape especially in the intercourse +between the two sexes; the cultivation of taste is a necessary +consequence of this form of society. But when enjoyment is easily +obtained, and the desire to please becomes lukewarm, taste must +degenerate; and this is, in my opinion, one of the best reasons +why good taste implies good morals. + +Consult the women's opinions in bodily matters, in all that concerns +the senses; consult the men in matters of morality and all that +concerns the understanding. When women are what they ought to be, +they will keep to what they can understand, and their judgment +will be right; but since they have set themselves up as judges of +literature, since they have begun to criticise books and to make them +with might and main, they are altogether astray. Authors who take +the advice of blue-stockings will always be ill-advised; gallants who +consult them about their clothes will always be absurdly dressed. +I shall presently have an opportunity of speaking of the real +talents of the female sex, the way to cultivate these talents, +and the matters in regard to which their decisions should receive +attention. + +These are the elementary considerations which I shall lay down +as principles when I discuss with Emile this matter which is by +no means indifferent to him in his present inquiries. And to whom +should it be a matter of indifference? To know what people may +find pleasant or unpleasant is not only necessary to any one who +requires their help, it is still more necessary to any one who would +help them; you must please them if you would do them service; and +the art of writing is no idle pursuit if it is used to make men +hear the truth. + +If in order to cultivate my pupil's taste, I were compelled to choose +between a country where this form of culture has not yet arisen +and those in which it has already degenerated, I would progress +backwards; I would begin his survey with the latter and end with the +former. My reason for this choice is, that taste becomes corrupted +through excessive delicacy, which makes it sensitive to things +which most men do not perceive; this delicacy leads to a spirit +of discussion, for the more subtle is our discrimination of things +the more things there are for us. This subtlety increases the +delicacy and decreases the uniformity of our touch. So there are as +many tastes as there are people. In disputes as to our preferences, +philosophy and knowledge are enlarged, and thus we learn to think. +It is only men accustomed to plenty of society who are capable of +very delicate observations, for these observations do not occur to +us till the last, and people who are unused to all sorts of society +exhaust their attention in the consideration of the more conspicuous +features. There is perhaps no civilised place upon earth where the +common taste is so bad as in Paris. Yet it is in this capital that +good taste is cultivated, and it seems that few books make any +impression in Europe whose authors have not studied in Paris. Those +who think it is enough to read our books are mistaken; there is +more to be learnt from the conversation of authors than from their +books; and it is not from the authors that we learn most. It is the +spirit of social life which develops a thinking mind, and carries +the eye as far as it can reach. If you have a spark of genius, go +and spend a year in Paris; you will soon be all that you are capable +of becoming, or you will never be good for anything at all. + +One may learn to think in places where bad taste rules supreme; +but we must not think like those whose taste is bad, and it is very +difficult to avoid this if we spend much time among them. We must +use their efforts to perfect the machinery of judgment, but we +must be careful not to make the same use of it. I shall take care +not to polish Emile's judgment so far as to transform it, and when +he has acquired discernment enough to feel and compare the varied +tastes of men, I shall lead him to fix his own taste upon simpler +matters. + +I will go still further in order to keep his taste pure and wholesome. +In the tumult of dissipation I shall find opportunities for useful +conversation with him; and while these conversations are always +about things in which he takes a delight, I shall take care to make +them as amusing as they are instructive. Now is the time to read +pleasant books; now is the time to teach him to analyse speech and +to appreciate all the beauties of eloquence and diction. It is a +small matter to learn languages, they are less useful than people +think; but the study of languages leads us on to that of grammar in +general. We must learn Latin if we would have a thorough knowledge +of French; these two languages must be studied and compared if we +would understand the rules of the art of speaking. + +There is, moreover, a certain simplicity of taste which goes straight +to the heart; and this is only to be found in the classics. In +oratory, poetry, and every kind of literature, Emile will find the +classical authors as he found them in history, full of matter and +sober in their judgment. The authors of our own time, on the contrary, +say little and talk much. To take their judgment as our constant +law is not the way to form our own judgment. These differences of +taste make themselves felt in all that is left of classical times +and even on their tombs. Our monuments are covered with praises, +theirs recorded facts. + + "Sta, viator; heroem calcas." + +If I had found this epitaph on an ancient monument, I should at +once have guessed it was modern; for there is nothing so common +among us as heroes, but among the ancients they were rare. Instead +of saying a man was a hero, they would have said what he had done +to gain that name. With the epitaph of this hero compare that of +the effeminate Sardanapalus-- + + "Tarsus and Anchiales I built in a day, and now I am dead." + +Which do you think says most? Our inflated monumental style is only +fit to trumpet forth the praises of pygmies. The ancients showed men +as they were, and it was plain that they were men indeed. Xenophon +did honour to the memory of some warriors who were slain by +treason during the retreat of the Ten Thousand. "They died," said +he, "without stain in war and in love." That is all, but think how +full was the heart of the author of this short and simple elegy. +Woe to him who fails to perceive its charm. The following words +were engraved on a tomb at Thermopylae-- + +"Go, Traveller, tell Sparta that here we fell in obedience to her +laws." + +It is pretty clear that this was not the work of the Academy of +Inscriptions. + +If I am not mistaken, the attention of my pupil, who sets so small +value upon words, will be directed in the first place to these +differences, and they will affect his choice in his reading. He +will be carried away by the manly eloquence of Demosthenes, and +will say, "This is an orator;" but when he reads Cicero, he will +say, "This is a lawyer." + +Speaking generally Emile will have more taste for the books of the +ancients than for our own, just because they were the first, and +therefore the ancients are nearer to nature and their genius is +more distinct. Whatever La Motte and the Abbe Terrasson may say, +there is no real advance in human reason, for what we gain in one +direction we lose in another; for all minds start from the same +point, and as the time spent in learning what others have thought +is so much time lost in learning to think for ourselves, we have +more acquired knowledge and less vigour of mind. Our minds like our +arms are accustomed to use tools for everything, and to do nothing +for themselves. Fontenelle used to say that all these disputes as +to the ancients and the moderns came to this--Were the trees in +former times taller than they are now. If agriculture had changed, +it would be worth our while to ask this question. + +After I have led Emile to the sources of pure literature, I will +also show him the channels into the reservoirs of modern compilers; +journals, translations, dictionaries, he shall cast a glance at +them all, and then leave them for ever. To amuse him he shall hear +the chatter of the academies; I will draw his attention to the fast +that every member of them is worth more by himself than he is as +a member of the society; he will then draw his own conclusions as +to the utility of these fine institutions. + +I take him to the theatre to study taste, not morals; for in the +theatre above all taste is revealed to those who can think. Lay +aside precepts and morality, I should say; this is not the place +to study them. The stage is not made for truth; its object is to +flatter and amuse: there is no place where one can learn so completely +the art of pleasing and of interesting the human heart. The study +of plays leads to the study of poetry; both have the same end +in view. If he has the least glimmering of taste for poetry, how +eagerly will he study the languages of the poets, Greek, Latin, +and Italian! These studies will afford him unlimited amusement and +will be none the less valuable; they will be a delight to him at +an age and in circumstances when the heart finds so great a charm +in every kind of beauty which affects it. Picture to yourself on +the one hand Emile, on the other some young rascal from college, +reading the fourth book of the Aeneid, or Tibollus, or the Banquet +of Plato: what a difference between them! What stirs the heart of +Emile to its depths, makes not the least impression on the other! +Oh, good youth, stay, make a pause in your reading, you are too +deeply moved; I would have you find pleasure in the language of +love, but I would not have you carried away by it; be a wise man, but +be a good man too. If you are only one of these, you are nothing. +After this let him win fame or not in dead languages, in literature, +in poetry, I care little. He will be none the worse if he knows +nothing of them, and his education is not concerned with these mere +words. + +My main object in teaching him to feel and love beauty of every +kind is to fix his affections and his taste on these, to prevent +the corruption of his natural appetites, lest he should have to +seek some day in the midst of his wealth for the means of happiness +which should be found close at hand. I have said elsewhere that +taste is only the art of being a connoisseur in matters of little +importance, and this is quite true; but since the charm of life +depends on a tissue of these matters of little importance, such +efforts are no small thing; through their means we learn how to +fill our life with the good things within our reach, with as much +truth as they may hold for us. I do not refer to the morally good +which depends on a good disposition of the heart, but only to that +which depends on the body, on real delight, apart from the prejudices +of public opinion. + +The better to unfold my idea, allow me for a moment to leave Emile, +whose pure and wholesome heart cannot be taken as a rule for others, +and to seek in my own memory for an illustration better suited to +the reader and more in accordance with his own manners. + +There are professions which seem to change a man's nature, to +recast, either for better or worse, the men who adopt them. A coward +becomes a brave man in the regiment of Navarre. It is not only in +the army that esprit de corps is acquired, and its effects are not +always for good. I have thought again and again with terror that +if I had the misfortune to fill a certain post I am thinking of in +a certain country, before to-morrow I should certainly be a tyrant, +an extortioner, a destroyer of the people, harmful to my king, and +a professed enemy of mankind, a foe to justice and every kind of +virtue. + +In the same way, if I were rich, I should have done all that is +required to gain riches; I should therefore be insolent and degraded, +sensitive and feeling only on my own behalf, harsh and pitiless to +all besides, a scornful spectator of the sufferings of the lower +classes; for that is what I should call the poor, to make people +forget that I was once poor myself. Lastly I should make my fortune +a means to my own pleasures with which I should be wholly occupied; +and so far I should be just like other people. + +But in one respect I should be very unlike them; I should be sensual +and voluptuous rather than proud and vain, and I should give myself +up to the luxury of comfort rather than to that of ostentation. +I should even be somewhat ashamed to make too great a show of +my wealth, and if I overwhelmed the envious with my pomp I should +always fancy I heard him saying, "Here is a rascal who is greatly +afraid lest we should take him for anything but what he is." + +In the vast profusion of good things upon this earth I should seek +what I like best, and what I can best appropriate to myself. + +To this end, the first use I should make of my wealth would be to +purchase leisure and freedom, to which I would add health, if it +were to be purchased; but health can only be bought by temperance, +and as there is no real pleasure without health, I should be +temperate from sensual motives. + +I should also keep as close as possible to nature, to gratify the +senses given me by nature, being quite convinced that, the greater +her share in my pleasures, the more real I shall find them. In +the choice of models for imitation I shall always choose nature +as my pattern; in my appetites I will give her the preference; in +my tastes she shall always be consulted; in my food I will always +choose what most owes its charm to her, and what has passed through +the fewest possible hands on its way to table. I will be on my guard +against fraudulent shams; I will go out to meet pleasure. No cook +shall grow rich on my gross and foolish greediness; he shall not +poison me with fish which cost its weight in gold, my table shall +not be decked with fetid splendour or putrid flesh from far-off +lands. I will take any amount of trouble to gratify my sensibility, +since this trouble has a pleasure of its own, a pleasure more than +we expect. If I wished to taste a food from the ends of the earth, +I would go, like Apicius, in search of it, rather than send for +it; for the daintiest dishes always lack a charm which cannot be +brought along with them, a flavour which no cook can give them--the +air of the country where they are produced. + +For the same reason I would not follow the example of those who are +never well off where they are, but are always setting the seasons +at nought, and confusing countries and their seasons; those who +seek winter in summer and summer in winter, and go to Italy to be +cold and to the north to be warm, do not consider that when they +think they are escaping from the severity of the seasons, they +are going to meet that severity in places where people are not +prepared for it. I shall stay in one place, or I shall adopt just +the opposite course; I should like to get all possible enjoyment +out of one season to discover what is peculiar to any given country. +I would have a variety of pleasures, and habits quite unlike one +another, but each according to nature; I would spend the summer at +Naples and the winter in St. Petersburg; sometimes I would breathe +the soft zephyr lying in the cool grottoes of Tarentum, and again +I would enjoy the illuminations of an ice palace, breathless and +wearied with the pleasures of the dance. + +In the service of my table and the adornment of my dwelling I would +imitate in the simplest ornaments the variety of the seasons, and +draw from each its charm without anticipating its successor. There +is no taste but only difficulty to be found in thus disturbing the +order of nature; to snatch from her unwilling gifts, which she +yields regretfully, with her curse upon them; gifts which have +neither strength nor flavour, which can neither nourish the body +nor tickle the palate. Nothing is more insipid than forced fruits. +A wealthy man in Paris, with all his stoves and hot-houses, only +succeeds in getting all the year round poor fruit and poor vegetables +for his table at a very high price. If I had cherries in frost, +and golden melons in the depths of winter, what pleasure should I +find in them when my palate did not need moisture or refreshment. +Would the heavy chestnut be very pleasant in the heat of the +dog-days; should I prefer to have it hot from the stove, rather +than the gooseberry, the strawberry, the refreshing fruits which +the earth takes care to provide for me. A mantelpiece covered in +January with forced vegetation, with pale and scentless flowers, +is not winter adorned, but spring robbed of its beauty; we deprive +ourselves of the pleasure of seeking the first violet in the woods, +of noting the earliest buds, and exclaiming in a rapture of delight, +"Mortals, you are not forsaken, nature is living still." + +To be well served I would have few servants; this has been said +before, but it is worth saying again. A tradesman gets more real +service from his one man than a duke from the ten gentlemen round +about him. It has often struck me when I am sitting at table with +my glass beside me that I can drink whenever I please; whereas, if +I were dining in state, twenty men would have to call for "Wine" +before I could quench my thirst. You may be sure that whatever is +done for you by other people is ill done. I would not send to the +shops, I would go myself; I would go so that my servants should +not make their own terms with the shopkeepers, and to get a better +choice and cheaper prices; I would go for the sake of pleasant +exercise and to get a glimpse of what was going on out of doors; +this is amusing and sometimes instructive; lastly I would go for +the sake of the walk; there is always something in that. A sedentary +life is the source of tedium; when we walk a good deal we are never +dull. A porter and footmen are poor interpreters, I should never +wish to have such people between the world and myself, nor would +I travel with all the fuss of a coach, as if I were afraid people +would speak to me. Shanks' mare is always ready; if she is tired +or ill, her owner is the first to know it; he need not be afraid +of being kept at home while his coachman is on the spree; on the +road he will not have to submit to all sorts of delays, nor will +he be consumed with impatience, nor compelled to stay in one place +a moment longer than he chooses. Lastly, since no one serves us so +well as we serve ourselves, had we the power of Alexander and the +wealth of Croesus we should accept no services from others, except +those we cannot perform for ourselves. + +I would not live in a palace; for even in a palace I should only +occupy one room; every room which is common property belongs to +nobody, and the rooms of each of my servants would be as strange +to me as my neighbour's. The Orientals, although very voluptuous, +are lodged in plain and simply furnished dwellings. They consider +life as a journey, and their house as an inn. This reason scarcely +appeals to us rich people who propose to live for ever; but I should +find another reason which would have the same effect. It would seem +to me that if I settled myself in one place in the midst of such +splendour, I should banish myself from every other place, and +imprison myself, so to speak, in my palace. The world is a palace +fair enough for any one; and is not everything at the disposal of +the rich man when he seeks enjoyment? "Ubi bene, ibi patria," that +is his motto; his home is anywhere where money will carry him, +his country is anywhere where there is room for his strong-box, +as Philip considered as his own any place where a mule laden with +silver could enter. [Footnote: A stranger, splendidly clad, was asked +in Athens what country he belonged to. "I am one of the rich," was +his answer; and a very good answer in my opinion.] Why then should +we shut ourselves up within walls and gates as if we never meant +to leave them? If pestilence, war, or rebellion drive me from one +place, I go to another, and I find my hotel there before me. Why +should I build a mansion for myself when the world is already at my +disposal? Why should I be in such a hurry to live, to bring from +afar delights which I can find on the spot? It is impossible to +make a pleasant life for oneself when one is always at war with +oneself. Thus Empedocles reproached the men of Agrigentum with +heaping up pleasures as if they had but one day to live, and building +as if they would live for ever. + +And what use have I for so large a dwelling, as I have so few people +to live in it, and still fewer goods to fill it? My furniture would +be as simple as my tastes; I would have neither picture-gallery +nor library, especially if I was fond of reading and knew something +about pictures. I should then know that such collections are never +complete, and that the lack of that which is wanting causes more +annoyance than if one had nothing at all. In this respect abundance +is the cause of want, as every collector knows to his cost. If you +are an expert, do not make a collection; if you know how to use +your cabinets, you will not have any to show. + +Gambling is no sport for the rich, it is the resource of those +who have nothing to do; I shall be so busy with my pleasures that +I shall have no time to waste. I am poor and lonely and I never +play, unless it is a game of chess now and then, and that is more +than enough. If I were rich I would play even less, and for very +low stakes, so that I should not be disappointed myself, nor see +the disappointment of others. The wealthy man has no motive for +play, and the love of play will not degenerate into the passion +for gambling unless the disposition is evil. The rich man is always +more keenly aware of his losses than his gains, and as in games +where the stakes are not high the winnings are generally exhausted +in the long run, he will usually lose more than he gains, so that +if we reason rightly we shall scarcely take a great fancy to games +where the odds are against us. He who flatters his vanity so far +as to believe that Fortune favours him can seek her favour in more +exciting ways; and her favours are just as clearly shown when the +stakes are low as when they are high. The taste for play, the result +of greed and dullness, only lays hold of empty hearts and heads; +and I think I should have enough feeling and knowledge to dispense +with its help. Thinkers are seldom gamblers; gambling interrupts +the habit of thought and turns it towards barren combinations; +thus one good result, perhaps the only good result of the taste +for science, is that it deadens to some extent this vulgar passion; +people will prefer to try to discover the uses of play rather +than to devote themselves to it. I should argue with the gamblers +against gambling, and I should find more delight in scoffing at +their losses than in winning their money. + +I should be the same in private life as in my social intercourse. +I should wish my fortune to bring comfort in its train, and never +to make people conscious of inequalities of wealth. Showy dress is +inconvenient in many ways. To preserve as much freedom as possible +among other men, I should like to be dressed in such a way that +I should not seem out of place among all classes, and should not +attract attention in any; so that without affectation or change I +might mingle with the crowd at the inn or with the nobility at the +Palais Royal. In this way I should be more than ever my own master, +and should be free to enjoy the pleasures of all sorts and conditions +of men. There are women, so they say, whose doors are closed to +embroidered cuffs, women who will only receive guests who wear lace +ruffles; I should spend my days elsewhere; though if these women +were young and pretty I might sometimes put on lace ruffles to +spend an evening or so in their company. + +Mutual affection, similarity of tastes, suitability of character; +these are the only bonds between my companions and myself; among +them I would be a man, not a person of wealth; the charm of their +society should never be embittered by self-seeking. If my wealth +had not robbed me of all humanity, I would scatter my benefits and +my services broadcast, but I should want companions about me, not +courtiers, friends, not proteges; I should wish my friends to regard +me as their host, not their patron. Independence and equality would +leave to my relations with my friends the sincerity of goodwill; +while duty and self-seeking would have no place among us, and we +should know no law but that of pleasure and friendship. + +Neither a friend nor a mistress can be bought. Women may be got +for money, but that road will never lead to love. Love is not only +not for sale; money strikes it dead. If a man pays, were he indeed +the most lovable of men, the mere fact of payment would prevent +any lasting affection. He will soon be paying for some one else, +or rather some one else will get his money; and in this double +connection based on self-seeking and debauchery, without love, +honour, or true pleasure, the woman is grasping, faithless, and +unhappy, and she is treated by the wretch to whom she gives her +money as she treats the fool who gives his money to her; she has +no love for either. It would be sweet to lie generous towards one +we love, if that did not make a bargain of love. I know only one +way of gratifying this desire with the woman one loves without +embittering love; it is to bestow our all upon her and to live at +her expense. It remains to be seen whether there is any woman with +regard to whom such conduct would not be unwise. + +He who said, "Lais is mine, but I am not hers," was talking nonsense. +Possession which is not mutual is nothing at all; at most it is +the possession of the sex not of the individual. But where there +is no morality in love, why make such ado about the rest? Nothing +is so easy to find. A muleteer is in this respect as near to +happiness as a millionaire. + +Oh, if we could thus trace out the unreasonableness of vice, how +often should we find that, when it has attained its object, it +discovers it is not what it seemed! Why is there this cruel haste +to corrupt innocence, to make, a victim of a young creature whom we +ought to protect, one who is dragged by this first false step into +a gulf of misery from which only death can release her? Brutality, +vanity, folly, error, and nothing more. This pleasure itself is +unnatural; it rests on popular opinion, and popular opinion at its +worst, since it depends on scorn of self. He who knows he is the +basest of men fears comparison with others, and would be the first +that he may be less hateful. See if those who are most greedy in +pursuit of such fancied pleasures are ever attractive young men--men +worthy of pleasing, men who might have some excuse if they were +hard to please. Not so; any one with good looks, merit, and feeling +has little fear of his mistress' experience; with well-placed +confidence he says to her, "You know what pleasure is, what is that +to me? my heart assures me that this is not so." + +But an aged satyr, worn out with debauchery, with no charm, no +consideration, no thought for any but himself, with no shred of +honour, incapable and unworthy of finding favour in the eyes of any +woman who knows anything of men deserving of love, expects to make +up for all this with an innocent girl by trading on her inexperience +and stirring her emotions for the first time. His last hope is to +find favour as a novelty; no doubt this is the secret motive of +this desire; but he is mistaken, the horror he excites is just as +natural as the desires he wishes to arouse. He is also mistaken +in his foolish attempt; that very nature takes care to assert her +rights; every girl who sells herself is no longer a maid; she has +given herself to the man of her choice, and she is making the very +comparison he dreads. The pleasure purchased is imaginary, but none +the less hateful. + +For my own part, however riches may change me, there is one matter +in which I shall never change. If I have neither morals nor virtue, +I shall not be wholly without taste, without sense, without delicacy; +and this will prevent me from spending my fortune in the pursuit +of empty dreams, from wasting my money and my strength in teaching +children to betray me and mock at me. If I were young, I would +seek the pleasures of youth; and as I would have them at their best +I would not seek them in the guise of a rich man. If I were at my +present age, it would be another matter; I would wisely confine +myself to the pleasures of my age; I would form tastes which I could +enjoy, and I would stifle those which could only cause suffering. +I would not go and offer my grey beard to the scornful jests of +young girls; I could never bear to sicken them with my disgusting +caresses, to furnish them at my expense with the most absurd +stories, to imagine them describing the vile pleasures of the old +ape, so as to avenge themselves for what they had endured. But if +habits unresisted had changed my former desires into needs, I would +perhaps satisfy those needs, but with shame and blushes. I would +distinguish between passion and necessity, I would find a suitable +mistress and would keep to her. I would not make a business of my +weakness, and above all I would only have one person aware of it. +Life has other pleasures when these fail us; by hastening in vain +after those that fly us, we deprive ourselves of those that remain. +Let our tastes change with our years, let us no more meddle with +age than with the seasons. We should be ourselves at all times, +instead of struggling against nature; such vain attempts exhaust +our strength and prevent the right use of life. + +The lower classes are seldom dull, their life is full of activity; +if there is little variety in their amusements they do not recur +frequently; many days of labour teach them to enjoy their rare +holidays. Short intervals of leisure between long periods of labour +give a spice to the pleasures of their station. The chief curse of +the rich is dullness; in the midst of costly amusements, among so +many men striving to give them pleasure, they are devoured and slain +by dullness; their life is spent in fleeing from it and in being +overtaken by it; they are overwhelmed by the intolerable burden; +women more especially, who do not know how to work or play, are a +prey to tedium under the name of the vapours; with them it takes +the shape of a dreadful disease, which robs them of their reason +and even of their life. For my own part I know no more terrible +fate than that of a pretty woman in Paris, unless it is that of +the pretty manikin who devotes himself to her, who becomes idle +and effeminate like her, and so deprives himself twice over of his +manhood, while he prides himself on his successes and for their +sake endures the longest and dullest days which human being ever +put up with. + +Proprieties, fashions, customs which depend on luxury and breeding, +confine the course of life within the limits of the most miserable +uniformity. The pleasure we desire to display to others is a pleasure +lost; we neither enjoy it ourselves, nor do others enjoy it. +[Footnote: Two ladies of fashion, who wished to seem to be enjoying +themselves greatly, decided never to go to bed before five o'clock +in the morning. In the depths of winter their servants spent the +night in the street waiting for them, and with great difficulty +kept themselves from freezing. One night, or rather one morning, +some one entered the room where these merry people spent their +hours without knowing how time passed. He found them quite alone; +each of them was asleep in her arm-chair.] Ridicule, which public +opinion dreads more than anything, is ever at hand to tyrannise, +and punish. It is only ceremony that makes us ridiculous; if we can +vary our place and our pleasures, to-day's impressions can efface +those of yesterday; in the mind of men they are as if they had +never been; but we enjoy ourselves for we throw ourselves into +every hour and everything. My only set rule would be this: wherever +I was I would pay no heed to anything else. I would take each day +as it came, as if there were neither yesterday nor to-morrow. As +I should be a man of the people, with the populace, I should be a +countryman in the fields; and if I spoke of farming, the peasant +should not laugh at my expense. I would not go and build a town +in the country nor erect the Tuileries at the door of my lodgings. +On some pleasant shady hill-side I would have a little cottage, +a white house with green shutters, and though a thatched roof is +the best all the year round, I would be grand enough to have, not +those gloomy slates, but tiles, because they look brighter and more +cheerful than thatch, and the houses in my own country are always +roofed with them, and so they would recall to me something of the +happy days of my youth. For my courtyard I would have a poultry-yard, +and for my stables a cowshed for the sake of the milk which I love. +My garden should be a kitchen-garden, and my park an orchard, like +the one described further on. The fruit would be free to those +who walked in the orchard, my gardener should neither count it nor +gather it; I would not, with greedy show, display before your eyes +superb espaliers which one scarcely dare touch. But this small +extravagance would not be costly, for I would choose my abode in +some remote province where silver is scarce and food plentiful, +where plenty and poverty have their seat. + +There I would gather round me a company, select rather than numerous, +a band of friends who know what pleasure is, and how to enjoy it, +women who can leave their arm-chairs and betake themselves to outdoor +sports, women who can exchange the shuttle or the cards for the +fishing line or the bird-trap, the gleaner's rake or grape-gatherer's +basket. There all the pretensions of the town will be forgotten, +and we shall be villagers in a village; we shall find all sorts of +different sports and we shall hardly know how to choose the morrow's +occupation. Exercise and an active life will improve our digestion +and modify our tastes. Every meal will be a feast, where plenty will +be more pleasing than any delicacies. There are no such cooks in +the world as mirth, rural pursuits, and merry games; and the finest +made dishes are quite ridiculous in the eyes of people who have +been on foot since early dawn. Our meals will be served without +regard to order or elegance; we shall make our dining-room anywhere, +in the garden, on a boat, beneath a tree; sometimes at a distance +from the house on the banks of a running stream, on the fresh green +grass, among the clumps of willow and hazel; a long procession +of guests will carry the material for the feast with laughter and +singing; the turf will be our chairs and table, the banks of the +stream our side-board, and our dessert is hanging on the trees; +the dishes will be served in any order, appetite needs no ceremony; +each one of us, openly putting himself first, would gladly see +every one else do the same; from this warm-hearted and temperate +familiarity there would arise, without coarseness, pretence, +or constraint, a laughing conflict a hundredfold more delightful +than politeness, and more likely to cement our friendship. No +tedious flunkeys to listen to our words, to whisper criticisms on +our behaviour, to count every mouthful with greedy eyes, to amuse +themselves by keeping us waiting for our wine, to complain of the +length of our dinner. We will be our own servants, in order to be +our own masters. Time will fly unheeded, our meal will be an interval +of rest during the heat of the day. If some peasant comes our way, +returning from his work with his tools over his shoulder, I will +cheer his heart with kindly words, and a glass or two of good +wine, which will help him to bear his poverty more cheerfully; and +I too shall have the joy of feeling my heart stirred within me, +and I should say to myself--I too am a man. + +If the inhabitants of the district assembled for some rustic feast, +I and my friends would be there among the first; if there were +marriages, more blessed than those of towns, celebrated near my +home, every one would know how I love to see people happy, and I +should be invited. I would take these good folks some gift as simple +as themselves, a gift which would be my share of the feast; and in +exchange I should obtain gifts beyond price, gifts so little known +among my equals, the gifts of freedom and true pleasure. I should +sup gaily at the head of their long table; I should join in the +chorus of some rustic song and I should dance in the barn more +merrily than at a ball in the Opera House. + +"This is all very well so far," you will say, "but what about the +shooting! One must have some sport in the country." Just so; I only +wanted a farm, but I was wrong. I assume I am rich, I must keep +my pleasures to myself, I must be free to kill something; this is +quite another matter. I must have estates, woods, keepers, rents, +seignorial rights, particularly incense and holy water. + +Well and good. But I shall have neighbours about my estate who are +jealous of their rights and anxious to encroach on those of others; +our keepers will quarrel, and possibly their masters will quarrel +too; this means altercations, disputes, ill-will, or law-suits at +the least; this in itself is not very pleasant. My tenants will not +enjoy finding my hares at work upon their corn, or my wild boars +among their beans. As they dare not kill the enemy, every one of +them will try to drive him from their fields; when the day has been +spent in cultivating the ground, they will be compelled to sit up +at night to watch it; they will have watch-dogs, drums, horns, and +bells; my sleep will be disturbed by their racket. Do what I will, +I cannot help thinking of the misery of these poor people, and +I cannot help blaming myself for it. If I had the honour of being +a prince, this would make little impression on me; but as I am a +self-made man who has only just come into his property, I am still +rather vulgar at heart. + +That is not all; abundance of game attracts trespassers; I shall +soon have poachers to punish; I shall require prisons, gaolers, +guards, and galleys; all this strikes me as cruel. The wives of +those miserable creatures will besiege my door and disturb me with +their crying; they must either be driven away or roughly handled. +The poor people who are not poachers, whose harvest has been +destroyed by my game, will come next with their complaints. Some +people will be put to death for killing the game, the rest will +be punished for having spared it; what a choice of evils! On every +side I shall find nothing but misery and hear nothing but groans. +So far as I can see this must greatly disturb the pleasure of slaying +at one's ease heaps of partridges and hares which are tame enough +to run about one's feet. + +If you would have pleasure without pain let there be no monopoly; +the more you leave it free to everybody, the purer will be your own +enjoyment. Therefore I should not do what I have just described, +but without change of tastes I would follow those which seem likely +to cause me least pain. I would fix my rustic abode in a district +where game is not preserved, and where I can have my sport without +hindrance. Game will be less plentiful, but there will be more +skill in finding it, and more pleasure in securing it. I remember +the start of delight with which my father watched the rise of his +first partridge and the rapture with which he found the hare he +had sought all day long. Yes, I declare, that alone with his dog, +carrying his own gun, cartridges, and game bag together with his +hare, he came home at nightfall, worn out with fatigue and torn to +pieces by brambles, but better pleased with his day's sport than +all your ordinary sportsmen, who on a good horse, with twenty guns +ready for them, merely take one gun after another, and shoot and +kill everything that comes their way, without skill, without glory, +and almost without exercise. The pleasure is none the less, and +the difficulties are removed; there is no estate to be preserved, +no poacher to be punished, and no wretches to be tormented; here are +solid grounds for preference. Whatever you do, you cannot torment +men for ever without experiencing some amount of discomfort; and +sooner or later the muttered curses of the people will spoil the +flavour of your game. + +Again, monopoly destroys pleasure. Real pleasures are those which +we share with the crowd; we lose what we try to keep to ourselves +alone. If the walls I build round my park transform it into a +gloomy prison, I have only deprived myself, at great expense, of +the pleasure of a walk; I must now seek that pleasure at a distance. +The demon of property spoils everything he lays hands upon. A rich +man wants to be master everywhere, and he is never happy where he is; +he is continually driven to flee from himself. I shall therefore +continue to do in my prosperity what I did in my poverty. +Henceforward, richer in the wealth of others than I ever shall +be in my own wealth, I will take possession of everything in my +neighbourhood that takes my fancy; no conqueror is so determined as +I; I even usurp the rights of princes; I take possession of every +open place that pleases me, I give them names; this is my park, +chat is my terrace, and I am their owner; henceforward I wander +among them at will; I often return to maintain my proprietary rights; +I make what use I choose of the ground to walk upon, and you will +never convince me that the nominal owner of the property which I +have appropriated gets better value out of the money it yields him +than I do out of his land. No matter if I am interrupted by hedges +and ditches, I take my park on my back, and I carry it elsewhere; +there will be space enough for it near at hand, and I may plunder +my neighbours long enough before I outstay my welcome. + +This is an attempt to show what is meant by good taste in the choice +of pleasant occupations for our leisure hours; this is the spirit +of enjoyment; all else is illusion, fancy, and foolish pride. He +who disobeys these rules, however rich he may be, will devour his +gold on a dung-hill, and will never know what it is to live. + +You will say, no doubt, that such amusements lie within the reach +of all, that we need not be rich to enjoy them. That is the very +point I was coming to. Pleasure is ours when we want it; it is only +social prejudice which makes everything hard to obtain, and drives +pleasure before us. To be happy is a hundredfold easier than it +seems. If he really desires to enjoy himself the man of taste has +no need of riches; all he wants is to be free and to be his own +master. With health and daily bread we are rich enough, if we will +but get rid of our prejudices; this is the "Golden Mean" of Horace. +You folks with your strong-boxes may find some other use for your +wealth, for it cannot buy you pleasure. Emile knows this as well +as I, but his heart is purer and more healthy, so he will feel +it more strongly, and all that he has beheld in society will only +serve to confirm him in this opinion. + +While our time is thus employed, we are ever on the look-out for +Sophy, and we have not yet found her. It was not desirable that +she should be found too easily, and I have taken care to look for +her where I knew we should not find her. + +The time is come; we must now seek her in earnest, lest Emile should +mistake some one else for Sophy, and only discover his error when +it is too late. Then farewell Paris, far-famed Paris, with all your +noise and smoke and dirt, where the women have ceased to believe in +honour and the men in virtue. We are in search of love, happiness, +innocence; the further we go from Paris the better. + + + + +BOOK V + +We have reached the last act of youth's drama; we are approaching +its closing scene. + +It is not good that man should be alone. Emile is now a man, and +we must give him his promised helpmeet. That helpmeet is Sophy. +Where is her dwelling-place, where shall she be found? We must +know beforehand what she is, and then we can decide where to look +for her. And when she is found, our task is not ended. "Since our +young gentleman," says Locke, "is about to marry, it is time to leave +him with his mistress." And with these words he ends his book. As +I have not the honour of educating "A young gentleman," I shall +take care not to follow his example. + +SOPHY, OR WOMAN + +Sophy should be as truly a woman as Emile is a man, i.e., she +must possess all those characters of her sex which are required to +enable her to play her part in the physical and moral order. Let +us inquire to begin with in what respects her sex differs from our +own. + +But for her sex, a woman is a man; she has the same organs, the +same needs, the same faculties. The machine is the same in its +construction; its parts, its working, and its appearance are similar. +Regard it as you will the difference is only in degree. + +Yet where sex is concerned man and woman are unlike; each is the +complement of the other; the difficulty in comparing them lies in +our inability to decide, in either case, what is a matter of sex, +and what is not. General differences present themselves to the +comparative anatomist and even to the superficial observer; they +seem not to be a matter of sex; yet they are really sex differences, +though the connection eludes our observation. How far such differences +may extend we cannot tell; all we know for certain is that where man +and woman are alike we have to do with the characteristics of the +species; where they are unlike, we have to do with the characteristics +of sex. Considered from these two standpoints, we find so many +instances of likeness and unlikeness that it is perhaps one of the +greatest of marvels how nature has contrived to make two beings so +like and yet so different. + +These resemblances and differences must have an influence on the +moral nature; this inference is obvious, and it is confirmed by +experience; it shows the vanity of the disputes as to the superiority +or the equality of the sexes; as if each sex, pursuing the path +marked out for it by nature, were not more perfect in that very +divergence than if it more closely resembled the other. A perfect +man and a perfect woman should no more be alike in mind than in +face, and perfection admits of neither less nor more. + +In the union of the sexes each alike contributes to the common +end, but in different ways. From this diversity springs the first +difference which may be observed between man and woman in their +moral relations. The man should be strong and active; the woman +should be weak and passive; the one must have both the power and +the will; it is enough that the other should offer little resistance. + +When this principle is admitted, it follows that woman is specially +made for man's delight. If man in his turn ought to be pleasing +in her eyes, the necessity is less urgent, his virtue is in his +strength, he pleases because he is strong. I grant you this is not +the law of love, but it is the law of nature, which is older than +love itself. + +If woman is made to please and to be in subjection to man, she +ought to make herself pleasing in his eyes and not provoke him to +anger; her strength is in her charms, by their means she should +compel him to discover and use his strength. The surest way of +arousing this strength is to make it necessary by resistance. Thus +pride comes to the help of desire and each exults in the other's +victory. This is the origin of attack and defence, of the boldness +of one sex and the timidity of the other, and even of the shame +and modesty with which nature has armed the weak for the conquest +of the strong. + +Who can possibly suppose that nature has prescribed the same advances +to the one sex as to the other, or that the first to feel desire +should be the first to show it? What strange depravity of judgment! +The consequences of the act being so different for the two sexes, +is it natural that they should enter upon it with equal boldness? +How can any one fail to see that when the share of each is so +unequal, if the one were not controlled by modesty as the other is +controlled by nature, the result would be the destruction of both, +and the human race would perish through the very means ordained +for its continuance? + +Women so easily stir a man's senses and fan the ashes of a dying +passion, that if philosophy ever succeeded in introducing this +custom into any unlucky country, especially if it were a warm +country where more women are born than men, the men, tyrannised +over by the women, would at last become their victims, and would +be dragged to their death without the least chance of escape. + +Female animals are without this sense of shame, but what of that? +Are their desires as boundless as those of women, which are curbed +by this shame? The desires of the animals are the result of necessity, +and when the need is satisfied, the desire ceases; they no longer +make a feint of repulsing the male, they do it in earnest. Their +seasons of complaisance are short and soon over. Impulse and +restraint are alike the work of nature. But what would take the +place of this negative instinct in women if you rob them of their +modesty? + +The Most High has deigned to do honour to mankind; he has endowed +man with boundless passions, together with a law to guide them, so +that man may be alike free and self-controlled; though swayed by +these passions man is endowed with reason by which to control them. +Woman is also endowed with boundless passions; God has given her +modesty to restrain them. Moreover, he has given to both a present +reward for the right use of their powers, in the delight which +springs from that right use of them, i.e., the taste for right +conduct established as the law of our behaviour. To my mind this +is far higher than the instinct of the beasts. + +Whether the woman shares the man's passion or not, whether she is +willing or unwilling to satisfy it, she always repulses him and +defends herself, though not always with the same vigour, and therefore +not always with the same success. If the siege is to be successful, +the besieged must permit or direct the attack. How skilfully can +she stimulate the efforts of the aggressor. The freest and most +delightful of activities does not permit of any real violence; +reason and nature are alike against it; nature, in that she has +given the weaker party strength enough to resist if she chooses; +reason, in that actual violence is not only most brutal in itself, +but it defeats its own ends, not only because the man thus declares +war against his companion and thus gives her a right to defend her +person and her liberty even at the cost of the enemy's life, but +also because the woman alone is the judge of her condition, and a +child would have no father if any man might usurp a father's rights. + +Thus the different constitution of the two sexes leads us to a third +conclusion, that the stronger party seems to be master, but is as +a matter of fact dependent on the weaker, and that, not by any foolish +custom of gallantry, nor yet by the magnanimity of the protector, +but by an inexorable law of nature. For nature has endowed woman +with a power of stimulating man's passions in excess of man's power +of satisfying those passions, and has thus made him dependent on +her goodwill, and compelled him in his turn to endeavour to please +her, so that she may be willing to yield to his superior strength. +Is it weakness which yields to force, or is it voluntary self-surrender? +This uncertainty constitutes the chief charm of the man's victory, +and the woman is usually cunning enough to leave him in doubt. In +this respect the woman's mind exactly resembles her body; far from +being ashamed of her weakness, she is proud of it; her soft muscles +offer no resistance, she professes that she cannot lift the lightest +weight; she would be ashamed to be strong. And why? Not only to +gain an appearance of refinement; she is too clever for that; she +is providing herself beforehand with excuses, with the right to be +weak if she chooses. + +The experience we have gained through our vices has considerably +modified the views held in older times; we rarely hear of violence +for which there is so little occasion that it would hardly be +credited. Yet such stories are common enough among the Jews and +ancient Greeks; for such views belong to the simplicity of nature, +and have only been uprooted by our profligacy. If fewer deeds +of violence are quoted in our days, it is not that men are more +temperate, but because they are less credulous, and a complaint +which would have been believed among a simple people would only +excite laughter among ourselves; therefore silence is the better +course. There is a law in Deuteronomy, under which the outraged +maiden was punished, along with her assailant, if the crime were +committed in a town; but if in the country or in a lonely place, +the latter alone was punished. "For," says the law, "the maiden +cried for help, and there was none to hear." From this merciful +interpretation of the law, girls learnt not to let themselves be +surprised in lonely places. + +This change in public opinion has had a perceptible effect on our +morals. It has produced our modern gallantry. Men have found that +their pleasures depend, more than they expected, on the goodwill +of the fair sex, and have secured this goodwill by attentions which +have had their reward. + +See how we find ourselves led unconsciously from the physical to +the moral constitution, how from the grosser union of the sexes +spring the sweet laws of love. Woman reigns, not by the will of +man, but by the decrees of nature herself; she had the power long +before she showed it. That same Hercules who proposed to violate +all the fifty daughters of Thespis was compelled to spin at the +feet of Omphale, and Samson, the strong man, was less strong than +Delilah. This power cannot be taken from woman; it is hers by right; +she would have lost it long ago, were it possible. + +The consequences of sex are wholly unlike for man and woman. The +male is only a male now and again, the female is always a female, +or at least all her youth; everything reminds her of her sex; the +performance of her functions requires a special constitution. She +needs care during pregnancy and freedom from work when her child +is born; she must have a quiet, easy life while she nurses her +children; their education calls for patience and gentleness, for +a zeal and love which nothing can dismay; she forms a bond between +father and child, she alone can win the father's love for his +children and convince him that they are indeed his own. What loving +care is required to preserve a united family! And there should be +no question of virtue in all this, it must be a labour of love, +without which the human race would be doomed to extinction. + +The mutual duties of the two sexes are not, and cannot be, equally +binding on both. Women do wrong to complain of the inequality of +man-made laws; this inequality is not of man's making, or at any +rate it is not the result of mere prejudice, but of reason. She +to whom nature has entrusted the care of the children must hold +herself responsible for them to their father. No doubt every breach +of faith is wrong, and every faithless husband, who robs his wife +of the sole reward of the stern duties of her sex, is cruel and +unjust; but the faithless wife is worse; she destroys the family +and breaks the bonds of nature; when she gives her husband children +who are not his own, she is false both to him and them, her crime +is not infidelity but treason. To my mind, it is the source of +dissension and of crime of every kind. Can any position be more +wretched than that of the unhappy father who, when he clasps his +child to his breast, is haunted by the suspicion that this is the +child of another, the badge of his own dishonour, a thief who is +robbing his own children of their inheritance. Under such circumstances +the family is little more than a group of secret enemies, armed +against each other by a guilty woman, who compels them to pretend +to love one another. + +Thus it is not enough that a wife should be faithful; her husband, +along with his friends and neighbours, must believe in her fidelity; +she must be modest, devoted, retiring; she should have the witness +not only of a good conscience, but of a good reputation. In a word, +if a father must love his children, he must be able to respect their +mother. For these reasons it is not enough that the woman should +be chaste, she must preserve her reputation and her good name. From +these principles there arises not only a moral difference between +the sexes, but also a fresh motive for duty and propriety, which +prescribes to women in particular the most scrupulous attention +to their conduct, their manners, their behaviour. Vague assertions +as to the equality of the sexes and the similarity of their duties +are only empty words; they are no answer to my argument. + +It is a poor sort of logic to quote isolated exceptions against +laws so firmly established. Women, you say, are not always bearing +children. Granted; yet that is their proper business. Because there +are a hundred or so of large towns in the world where women live +licentiously and have few children, will you maintain that it is +their business to have few children? And what would become of your +towns if the remote country districts, with their simpler and purer +women, did not make up for the barrenness of your fine ladies? +There are plenty of country places where women with only four or +five children are reckoned unfruitful. In conclusion, although here +and there a woman may have few children, what difference does it +make? [Footnote: Without this the race would necessarily diminish; +all things considered, for its preservation each woman ought to have +about four children, for about half the children born die before +they can become parents, and two must survive to replace the father +and mother. See whether the towns will supply them?] Is it any the +less a woman's business to be a mother? And to not the general laws +of nature and morality make provision for this state of things? + +Even if there were these long intervals, which you assume, between +the periods of pregnancy, can a woman suddenly change her way of life +without danger? Can she be a nursing mother to-day and a soldier +to-morrow? Will she change her tastes and her feelings as a chameleon +changes his colour? Will she pass at once from the privacy of +household duties and indoor occupations to the buffeting of the +winds, the toils, the labours, the perils of war? Will she be now +timid, [Footnote: Women's timidity is yet another instinct of nature +against the double risk she runs during pregnancy.] now brave, now +fragile, now robust? If the young men of Paris find a soldier's +life too hard for them, how would a woman put up with it, a woman +who has hardly ventured out of doors without a parasol and who has +scarcely put a foot to the ground? Will she make a good soldier at +an age when even men are retiring from this arduous business? + +There are countries, I grant you, where women bear and rear +children with little or no difficulty, but in those lands the men +go half-naked in all weathers, they strike down the wild beasts, +they carry a canoe as easily as a knapsack, they pursue the chase +for 700 or 800 leagues, they sleep in the open on the bare ground, +they bear incredible fatigues and go many days without food. When +women become strong, men become still stronger; when men become +soft, women become softer; change both the terms and the ratio +remains unaltered. + +I am quite aware that Plato, in the Republic, assigns the same +gymnastics to women and men. Having got rid of the family there is +no place for women in his system of government, so he is forced to +turn them into men. That great genius has worked out his plans in +detail and has provided for every contingency; he has even provided +against a difficulty which in all likelihood no one would ever have +raised; but he has not succeeded in meeting the real difficulty. I +am not speaking of the alleged community of wives which has often +been laid to his charge; this assertion only shows that his detractors +have never read his works. I refer to that political promiscuity +under which the same occupations are assigned to both sexes alike, +a scheme which could only lead to intolerable evils; I refer to that +subversion of all the tenderest of our natural feelings, which he +sacrificed to an artificial sentiment which can only exist by their +aid. Will the bonds of convention hold firm without some foundation +in nature? Can devotion to the state exist apart from the love of +those near and dear to us? Can patriotism thrive except in the soil +of that miniature fatherland, the home? Is it not the good son, +the good husband, the good father, who makes the good citizen? + +When once it is proved that men and women are and ought to be +unlike in constitution and in temperament, it follows that their +education must be different. Nature teaches us that they should work +together, but that each has its own share of the work; the end is +the same, but the means are different, as are also the feelings +which direct them. We have attempted to paint a natural man, let +us try to paint a helpmeet for him. + +You must follow nature's guidance if you would walk aright. The +native characters of sex should be respected as nature's handiwork. +You are always saying, "Women have such and such faults, from which +we are free." You are misled by your vanity; what would be faults +in you are virtues in them; and things would go worse, if they +were without these so-called faults. Take care that they do not +degenerate into evil, but beware of destroying them. + +On the other hand, women are always exclaiming that we educate them +for nothing but vanity and coquetry, that we keep them amused with +trifles that we may be their masters; we are responsible, so they +say, for the faults we attribute to them. How silly! What have men +to do with the education of girls? What is there to hinder their +mothers educating them as they please? There are no colleges for +girls; so much the better for them! Would God there were none for +the boys, their education would be more sensible and more wholesome. +Who is it that compels a girl to waste her time on foolish trifles? +Are they forced, against their will, to spend half their time over +their toilet, following the example set them by you? Who prevents +you teaching them, or having them taught, whatever seems good +in your eyes? Is it our fault that we are charmed by their beauty +and delighted by their airs and graces, if we are attracted and +flattered by the arts they learn from you, if we love to see them +prettily dressed, if we let them display at leisure the weapons +by which we are subjugated? Well then, educate them like men. The +more women are like men, the less influence they will have over +men, and then men will be masters indeed. + +All the faculties common to both sexes are not equally shared +between them, but taken as a whole they are fairly divided. Woman +is worth more as a woman and less as a man; when she makes a good +use of her own rights, she has the best of it; when she tries to +usurp our rights, she is our inferior. It is impossible to controvert +this, except by quoting exceptions after the usual fashion of the +partisans of the fair sex. + +To cultivate the masculine virtues in women and to neglect their +own is evidently to do them an injury. Women are too clear-sighted +to be thus deceived; when they try to usurp our privileges they do +not abandon their own; with this result: they are unable to make use +of two incompatible things, so they fall below their own level as +women, instead of rising to the level of men. If you are a sensible +mother you will take my advice. Do not try to make your daughter a +good man in defiance of nature. Make her a good woman, and be sure +it will be better both for her and us. + +Does this mean that she must be brought up in ignorance and kept +to housework only? Is she to be man's handmaid or his help-meet? +Will he dispense with her greatest charm, her companionship? To keep +her a slave will he prevent her knowing and feeling? Will he make +an automaton of her? No, indeed, that is not the teaching of nature, +who has given women such a pleasant easy wit. On the contrary, +nature means them to think, to will, to love, to cultivate their +minds as well as their persons; she puts these weapons in their +hands to make up for their lack of strength and to enable them to +direct the strength of men. They should learn many things, but only +such things as are suitable. + +When I consider the special purpose of woman, when I observe +her inclinations or reckon up her duties, everything combines to +indicate the mode of education she requires. Men and women are made +for each other, but their mutual dependence differs in degree; man +is dependent on woman through his desires; woman is dependent on +man through her desires and also through her needs; he could do +without her better than she can do without him. She cannot fulfil +her purpose in life without his aid, without his goodwill, without +his respect; she is dependent on our feelings, on the price we +put upon her virtue, and the opinion we have of her charms and her +deserts. Nature herself has decreed that woman, both for herself +and her children, should be at the mercy of man's judgment. + +Worth alone will not suffice, a woman must be thought worthy; nor +beauty, she must be admired; nor virtue, she must be respected. +A woman's honour does not depend on her conduct alone, but on her +reputation, and no woman who permits herself to be considered vile +is really virtuous. A man has no one but himself to consider, and +so long as he does right he may defy public opinion; but when a +woman does right her task is only half finished, and what people +think of her matters as much as what she really is. Hence her +education must, in this respect, be different from man's education. +"What will people think" is the grave of a man's virtue and the +throne of a woman's. + +The children's health depends in the first place on the mother's, +and the early education of man is also in a woman's hands; his +morals, his passions, his tastes, his pleasures, his happiness +itself, depend on her. A woman's education must therefore be planned +in relation to man. To be pleasing in his sight, to win his respect +and love, to train him in childhood, to tend him in manhood, to +counsel and console, to make his life pleasant and happy, these +are the duties of woman for all time, and this is what she should +be taught while she is young. The further we depart from this +principle, the further we shall be from our goal, and all our +precepts will fail to secure her happiness or our own. + +Every woman desires to be pleasing in men's eyes, and this is right; +but there is a great difference between wishing to please a man of +worth, a really lovable man, and seeking to please those foppish +manikins who are a disgrace to their own sex and to the sex which +they imitate. Neither nature nor reason can induce a woman to love +an effeminate person, nor will she win love by imitating such a +person. + +If a woman discards the quiet modest bearing of her sex, and +adopts the airs of such foolish creatures, she is not following +her vocation, she is forsaking it; she is robbing herself of the +rights to which she lays claim. "If we were different," she says, +"the men would not like us." She is mistaken. Only a fool likes +folly; to wish to attract such men only shows her own foolishness. If +there were no frivolous men, women would soon make them, and women +are more responsible for men's follies than men are for theirs. +The woman who loves true manhood and seeks to find favour in its +sight will adopt means adapted to her ends. Woman is a coquette by +profession, but her coquetry varies with her aims; let these aims +be in accordance with those of nature, and a woman will receive a +fitting education. + +Even the tiniest little girls love finery; they are not content to +be pretty, they must be admired; their little airs and graces show +that their heads are full of this idea, and as soon as they can +understand they are controlled by "What will people think of you?" +If you are foolish enough to try this way with little boys, it +will not have the same effect; give them their freedom and their +sports, and they care very little what people think; it is a work +of time to bring them under the control of this law. + +However acquired, this early education of little girls is an +excellent thing in itself. As the birth of the body must precede +the birth of the mind, so the training of the body must precede +the cultivation of the mind. This is true of both sexes; but the +aim of physical training for boys and girls is not the same; in the +one case it is the development of strength, in the other of grace; +not that these qualities should be peculiar to either sex, but that +their relative values should be different. Women should be strong +enough to do anything gracefully; men should be skilful enough to +do anything easily. + +The exaggeration of feminine delicacy leads to effeminacy in men. +Women should not be strong like men but for them, so that their +sons may be strong. Convents and boarding-schools, with their plain +food and ample opportunities for amusements, races, and games in +the open air and in the garden, are better in this respect than +the home, where the little girl is fed on delicacies, continually +encouraged or reproved, where she is kept sitting in a stuffy room, +always under her mother's eye, afraid to stand or walk or speak +or breathe, without a moment's freedom to play or jump or run or +shout, or to be her natural, lively, little self; there is either +harmful indulgence or misguided severity, and no trace of reason. +In this fashion heart and body are alike destroyed. + +In Sparta the girls used to take part in military sports just like +the boys, not that they might go to war, but that they might bear +sons who could endure hardship. That is not what I desire. To provide +the state with soldiers it is not necessary that the mother should +carry a musket and master the Prussian drill. Yet, on the whole, I +think the Greeks were very wise in this matter of physical training. +Young girls frequently appeared in public, not with the boys, but +in groups apart. There was scarcely a festival, a sacrifice, or a +procession without its bands of maidens, the daughters of the chief +citizens. Crowned with flowers, chanting hymns, forming the chorus +of the dance, bearing baskets, vases, offerings, they presented a +charming spectacle to the depraved senses of the Greeks, a spectacle +well fitted to efface the evil effects of their unseemly gymnastics. +Whatever this custom may have done for the Greek men, it was well +fitted to develop in the Greek women a sound constitution by means +of pleasant, moderate, and healthy exercise; while the desire to +please would develop a keen and cultivated taste without risk to +character. + +When the Greek women married, they disappeared from public life; +within the four walls of their home they devoted themselves to +the care of their household and family. This is the mode of life +prescribed for women alike by nature and reason. These women gave +birth to the healthiest, strongest, and best proportioned men who +ever lived, and except in certain islands of ill repute, no women +in the whole world, not even the Roman matrons, were ever at once +so wise and so charming, so beautiful and so virtuous, as the women +of ancient Greece. + +It is admitted that their flowing garments, which did not cramp +the figure, preserved in men and women alike the fine proportions +which are seen in their statues. These are still the models of +art, although nature is so disfigured that they are no longer to +be found among us. The Gothic trammels, the innumerable bands which +confine our limbs as in a press, were quite unknown. The Greek +women were wholly unacquainted with those frames of whalebone in +which our women distort rather than display their figures. It seems +to me that this abuse, which is carried to an incredible degree of +folly in England, must sooner or later lead to the production of +a degenerate race. Moreover, I maintain that the charm which these +corsets are supposed to produce is in the worst possible taste; it +is not a pleasant thing to see a woman cut in two like a wasp--it +offends both the eye and the imagination. A slender waist has +its limits, like everything else, in proportion and suitability, +and beyond these limits it becomes a defect. This defect would be +a glaring one in the nude; why should it be beautiful under the +costume? + +I will not venture upon the reasons which induce women to incase +themselves in these coats of mail. A clumsy figure, a large waist, +are no doubt very ugly at twenty, but at thirty they cease to offend +the eye, and as we are bound to be what nature has made us at any +given age, and as there is no deceiving the eye of man, such defects +are less offensive at any age than the foolish affectations of a +young thing of forty. + +Everything which cramps and confines nature is in bad taste; this +is as true of the adornments of the person as of the ornaments of +the mind. Life, health, common-sense, and comfort must come first; +there is no grace in discomfort, languor is not refinement, there +is no charm in ill-health; suffering may excite pity, but pleasure +and delight demand the freshness of health. + +Boys and girls have many games in common, and this is as it should +be; do they not play together when they are grown up? They have also +special tastes of their own. Boys want movement and noise, drums, +tops, toy-carts; girls prefer things which appeal to the eye, +and can be used for dressing-up--mirrors, jewellery, finery, and +specially dolls. The doll is the girl's special plaything; this shows +her instinctive bent towards her life's work. The art of pleasing +finds its physical basis in personal adornment, and this physical +side of the art is the only one which the child can cultivate. + +Here is a little girl busy all day with her doll; she is always +changing its clothes, dressing and undressing it, trying new +combinations of trimmings well or ill matched; her fingers are +clumsy, her taste is crude, but there is no mistaking her bent; in +this endless occupation time flies unheeded, the hours slip away +unnoticed, even meals are forgotten. She is more eager for adornment +than for food. "But she is dressing her doll, not herself," you +will say. Just so; she sees her doll, she cannot see herself; she +cannot do anything for herself, she has neither the training, nor +the talent, nor the strength; as yet she herself is nothing, she is +engrossed in her doll and all her coquetry is devoted to it. This +will not always be so; in due time she will be her own doll. + +We have here a very early and clearly-marked bent; you have only to +follow it and train it. What the little girl most clearly desires +is to dress her doll, to make its bows, its tippets, its sashes, +and its tuckers; she is dependent on other people's kindness in all +this, and it would be much pleasanter to be able to do it herself. +Here is a motive for her earliest lessons, they are not tasks +prescribed, but favours bestowed. Little girls always dislike learning +to read and write, but they are always ready to learn to sew. They +think they are grown up, and in imagination they are using their +knowledge for their own adornment. + +The way is open and it is easy to follow it; cutting out, embroidery, +lace-making follow naturally. Tapestry is not popular; furniture is +too remote from the child's interests, it has nothing to do with +the person, it depends on conventional tastes. Tapestry is a woman's +amusement; young girls never care for it. + +This voluntary course is easily extended to include drawing, an +art which is closely connected with taste in dress; but I would not +have them taught landscape and still less figure painting. Leaves, +fruit, flowers, draperies, anything that will make an elegant +trimming for the accessories of the toilet, and enable the girl +to design her own embroidery if she cannot find a pattern to her +taste; that will be quite enough. Speaking generally, if it is +desirable to restrict a man's studies to what is useful, this is +even more necessary for women, whose life, though less laborious, +should be even more industrious and more uniformly employed in a +variety of duties, so that one talent should not be encouraged at +the expense of others. + +Whatever may be said by the scornful, good sense belongs to both +sexes alike. Girls are usually more docile than boys, and they +should be subjected to more authority, as I shall show later on, +but that is no reason why they should be required to do things +in which they can see neither rhyme nor reason. The mother's art +consists in showing the use of everything they are set to do, and +this is all the easier as the girl's intelligence is more precocious +than the boy's. This principle banishes, both for boys and girls, +not only those pursuits which never lead to any appreciable results, +not even increasing the charms of those who have pursued them, but +also those studies whose utility is beyond the scholar's present age +and can only be appreciated in later years. If I object to little +boys being made to learn to read, still more do I object to it +for little girls until they are able to see the use of reading; we +generally think more of our own ideas than theirs in our attempts +to convince them of the utility of this art. After all, why should +a little girl know how to read and write! Has she a house to manage? +Most of them make a bad use of this fatal knowledge, and girls are +so full of curiosity that few of them will fail to learn without +compulsion. Possibly cyphering should come first; there is nothing +so obviously useful, nothing which needs so much practice or gives +so much opportunity for error as reckoning. If the little girl +does not get the cherries for her lunch without an arithmetical +exercise, she will soon learn to count. + +I once knew a little girl who learnt to write before she could read, +and she began to write with her needle. To begin with, she would +write nothing but O's; she was always making O's, large and small, +of all kinds and one within another, but always drawn backwards. +Unluckily one day she caught a glimpse of herself in the glass +while she was at this useful work, and thinking that the cramped +attitude was not pretty, like another Minerva she flung away her +pen and declined to make any more O's. Her brother was no fonder +of writing, but what he disliked was the constraint, not the look +of the thing. She was induced to go on with her writing in this way. +The child was fastidious and vain; she could not bear her sisters +to wear her clothes. Her things had been marked, they declined to +mark them any more, she must learn to mark them herself; there is +no need to continue the story. + +Show the sense of the tasks you set your little girls, but keep them +busy. Idleness and insubordination are two very dangerous faults, +and very hard to cure when once established. Girls should be +attentive and industrious, but this is not enough by itself; they +should early be accustomed to restraint. This misfortune, if such +it be, is inherent in their sex, and they will never escape from it, +unless to endure more cruel sufferings. All their life long, they +will have to submit to the strictest and most enduring restraints, +those of propriety. They must be trained to bear the yoke from the +first, so that they may not feel it, to master their own caprices +and to submit themselves to the will of others. If they were always +eager to be at work, they should sometimes be compelled to do +nothing. Their childish faults, unchecked and unheeded, may easily +lead to dissipation, frivolity, and inconstancy. To guard against +this, teach them above all things self-control. Under our senseless +conditions, the life of a good woman is a perpetual struggle against +self; it is only fair that woman should bear her share of the ills +she has brought upon man. + +Beware lest your girls become weary of their tasks and infatuated +with their amusements; this often happens under our ordinary methods +of education, where, as Fenelon says, all the tedium is on one side +and all the pleasure on the other. If the rules already laid down +are followed, the first of these dangers will be avoided, unless the +child dislikes those about her. A little girl who is fond of her +mother or her friend will work by her side all day without getting +tired; the chatter alone will make up for any loss of liberty. But +if her companion is distasteful to her, everything done under her +direction will be distasteful too. Children who take no delight +in their mother's company are not likely to turn out well; but to +judge of their real feelings you must watch them and not trust to +their words alone, for they are flatterers and deceitful and soon +learn to conceal their thoughts. Neither should they be told that +they ought to love their mother. Affection is not the result of +duty, and in this respect constraint is out of place. Continual +intercourse, constant care, habit itself, all these will lead +a child to love her mother, if the mother does nothing to deserve +the child's ill-will. The very control she exercises over the +child, if well directed, will increase rather than diminish the +affection, for women being made for dependence, girls feel themselves +made to obey. + +Just because they have, or ought to have, little freedom, they are +apt to indulge themselves too fully with regard to such freedom +as they have; they carry everything to extremes, and they devote +themselves to their games with an enthusiasm even greater than that +of boys. This is the second difficulty to which I referred. This +enthusiasm must be kept in check, for it is the source of several +vices commonly found among women, caprice and that extravagant +admiration which leads a woman to regard a thing with rapture to-day +and to be quite indifferent to it to-morrow. This fickleness of +taste is as dangerous as exaggeration; and both spring from the same +cause. Do not deprive them of mirth, laughter, noise, and romping +games, but do not let them tire of one game and go off to another; +do not leave them for a moment without restraint. Train them to +break off their games and return to their other occupations without +a murmur. Habit is all that is needed, as you have nature on your +side. + +This habitual restraint produces a docility which woman requires +all her life long, for she will always be in subjection to a man, +or to man's judgment, and she will never be free to set her own +opinion above his. What is most wanted in a woman is gentleness; +formed to obey a creature so imperfect as man, a creature often +vicious and always faulty, she should early learn to submit to +injustice and to suffer the wrongs inflicted on her by her husband +without complaint; she must be gentle for her own sake, not his. +Bitterness and obstinacy only multiply the sufferings of the wife +and the misdeeds of the husband; the man feels that these are +not the weapons to be used against him. Heaven did not make women +attractive and persuasive that they might degenerate into bitterness, +or meek that they should desire the mastery; their soft voice was +not meant for hard words, nor their delicate features for the frowns +of anger. When they lose their temper they forget themselves; often +enough they have just cause of complaint; but when they scold they +always put themselves in the wrong. We should each adopt the tone +which befits our sex; a soft-hearted husband may make an overbearing +wife, but a man, unless he is a perfect monster, will sooner or +later yield to his wife's gentleness, and the victory will be hers. + +Daughters must always be obedient, but mothers need not always be +harsh. To make a girl docile you need not make her miserable; to +make her modest you need not terrify her; on the contrary, I should +not be sorry to see her allowed occasionally to exercise a little +ingenuity, not to escape punishment for her disobedience, but +to evade the necessity for obedience. Her dependence need not be +made unpleasant, it is enough that she should realise that she is +dependent. Cunning is a natural gift of woman, and so convinced +am I that all our natural inclinations are right, that I would +cultivate this among others, only guarding against its abuse. + +For the truth of this I appeal to every honest observer. I do not +ask you to question women themselves, our cramping institutions may +compel them to sharpen their wits; I would have you examine girls, +little girls, newly-born so to speak; compare them with boys of the +same age, and I am greatly mistaken if you do not find the little +boys heavy, silly, and foolish, in comparison. Let me give one +illustration in all its childish simplicity. + +Children are commonly forbidden to ask for anything at table, for +people think they can do nothing better in the way of education +than to burden them with useless precepts; as if a little bit of +this or that were not readily given or refused without leaving a +poor child dying of greediness intensified by hope. Every one knows +how cunningly a little boy brought up in this way asked for salt +when he had been overlooked at table. I do not suppose any one will +blame him for asking directly for salt and indirectly for meat; +the neglect was so cruel that I hardly think he would have been +punished had he broken the rule and said plainly that he was hungry. +But this is what I saw done by a little girl of six; the circumstances +were much more difficult, for not only was she strictly forbidden +to ask for anything directly or indirectly, but disobedience would +have been unpardonable, for she had eaten of every dish; one only +had been overlooked, and on this she had set her heart. This is what +she did to repair the omission without laying herself open to the +charge of disobedience; she pointed to every dish in turn, saying, +"I've had some of this; I've had some of this;" however she omitted +the one dish so markedly that some one noticed it and said, "Have +not you had some of this?" "Oh, no," replied the greedy little girl +with soft voice and downcast eyes. These instances are typical of +the cunning of the little boy and girl. + +What is, is good, and no general law can be bad. This special skill +with which the female sex is endowed is a fair equivalent for its +lack of strength; without it woman would be man's slave, not his +helpmeet. By her superiority in this respect she maintains her equality +with man, and rules in obedience. She has everything against her, +our faults and her own weakness and timidity; her beauty and her +wiles are all that she has. Should she not cultivate both? Yet beauty +is not universal; it may be destroyed by all sorts of accidents, +it will disappear with years, and habit will destroy its influence. +A woman's real resource is her wit; not that foolish wit which is +so greatly admired in society, a wit which does nothing to make +life happier; but that wit which is adapted to her condition, the +art of taking advantage of our position and controlling us through +our own strength. Words cannot tell how beneficial this is to +man, what a charm it gives to the society of men and women, how it +checks the petulant child and restrains the brutal husband; without +it the home would be a scene of strife; with it, it is the abode +of happiness. I know that this power is abused by the sly and the +spiteful; but what is there that is not liable to abuse? Do not +destroy the means of happiness because the wicked use them to our +hurt. + +The toilet may attract notice, but it is the person that wins our +hearts. Our finery is not us; its very artificiality often offends, +and that which is least noticeable in itself often wins the most +attention. The education of our girls is, in this respect, absolutely +topsy-turvy. Ornaments are promised them as rewards, and they are +taught to delight in elaborate finery. "How lovely she is!" people +say when she is most dressed up. On the contrary, they should be +taught that so much finery is only required to hide their defects, +and that beauty's real triumph is to shine alone. The love of +fashion is contrary to good taste, for faces do not change with the +fashion, and while the person remains unchanged, what suits it at +one time will suit it always. + +If I saw a young girl decked out like a little peacock, I should +show myself anxious about her figure so disguised, and anxious what +people would think of her; I should say, "She is over-dressed with +all those ornaments; what a pity! Do you think she could do with +something simpler? Is she pretty enough to do without this or that?" +Possibly she herself would be the first to ask that her finery might +be taken off and that we should see how she looked without it. In +that case her beauty should receive such praise as it deserves. I +should never praise her unless simply dressed. If she only regards +fine clothes as an aid to personal beauty, and as a tacit confession +that she needs their aid, she will not be proud of her finery, she +will be humbled by it; and if she hears some one say, "How pretty +she is," when she is smarter than usual, she will blush for shame. + +Moreover, though there are figures that require adornment there +are none that require expensive clothes. Extravagance in dress is +the folly of the class rather than the individual, it is merely +conventional. Genuine coquetry is sometimes carefully thought out, +but never sumptuous, and Juno dressed herself more magnificently +than Venus. "As you cannot make her beautiful you are making her +fine," said Apelles to an unskilful artist who was painting Helen +loaded with jewellery. I have also noticed that the smartest clothes +proclaim the plainest women; no folly could be more misguided. If +a young girl has good taste and a contempt for fashion, give her a +few yards of ribbon, muslin, and gauze, and a handful of flowers, +without any diamonds, fringes, or lace, and she will make herself +a dress a hundredfold more becoming than all the smart clothes of +La Duchapt. + +Good is always good, and as you should always look your best, the +women who know what they are about select a good style and keep +to it, and as they are not always changing their style they think +less about dress than those who can never settle to any one style. +A genuine desire to dress becomingly does not require an elaborate +toilet. Young girls rarely give much time to dress; needlework and +lessons are the business of the day; yet, except for the rouge, +they are generally as carefully dressed as older women and often +in better taste. Contrary to the usual opinion, the real cause of +the abuse of the toilet is not vanity but lack of occupation. The +woman who devotes six hours to her toilet is well aware that she +is no better dressed than the woman who took half an hour, but she +has got rid of so many of the tedious hours and it is better to +amuse oneself with one's clothes than to be sick of everything. +Without the toilet how would she spend the time between dinner and +supper. With a crowd of women about her, she can at least cause +them annoyance, which is amusement of a kind; better still she avoids +a tete-a-tete with the husband whom she never sees at any other +time; then there are the tradespeople, the dealers in bric-a-brac, +the fine gentlemen, the minor poets with their songs, their verses, +and their pamphlets; how could you get them together but for the +toilet. Its only real advantage is the chance of a little more +display than is permitted by full dress, and perhaps this is less +than it seems and a woman gains less than she thinks. Do not be +afraid to educate your women as women; teach them a woman's business, +that they be modest, that they may know how to manage their house +and look after their family; the grand toilet will soon disappear, +and they will be more tastefully dressed. + +Growing girls perceive at once that all this outside adornment is +not enough unless they have charms of their own. They cannot make +themselves beautiful, they are too young for coquetry, but they +are not too young to acquire graceful gestures, a pleasing voice, +a self-possessed manner, a light step, a graceful bearing, to choose +whatever advantages are within their reach. The voice extends its +range, it grows stronger and more resonant, the arms become plumper, +the bearing more assured, and they perceive that it is easy to +attract attention however dressed. Needlework and industry suffice +no longer, fresh gifts are developing and their usefulness is +already recognised. + +I know that stern teachers would have us refuse to teach little +girls to sing or dance, or to acquire any of the pleasing arts. +This strikes me as absurd. Who should learn these arts--our boys? +Are these to be the favourite accomplishments of men or women? Of +neither, say they; profane songs are simply so many crimes, dancing +is an invention of the Evil One; her tasks and her prayers we all +the amusement a young girl should have. What strange amusements +for a child of ten! I fear that these little saints who have been +forced to spend their childhood in prayers to God will pass their +youth in another fashion; when they are married they will try to +make up for lost time. I think we must consider age as well as sex; +a young girl should not live like her grandmother; she should be +lively, merry, and eager; she should sing and dance to her heart's +content, and enjoy all the innocent pleasures of youth; the time +will come, all too soon, when she must settle down and adopt a more +serious tone. + +But is this change in itself really necessary? Is it not merely +another result of our own prejudices? By making good women the slaves +of dismal duties, we have deprived marriage of its charm for men. +Can we wonder that the gloomy silence they find at home drives them +elsewhere, or inspires little desire to enter a state which offers +so few attractions? Christianity, by exaggerating every duty, has +made our duties impracticable and useless; by forbidding singing, +dancing, and amusements of every kind, it renders women sulky, +fault-finding, and intolerable at home. There is no religion which +imposes such strict duties upon married life, and none in which +such a sacred engagement is so often profaned. Such pains has been +taken to prevent wives being amiable, that their husbands have +become indifferent to them. This should not be, I grant you, but +it will be, since husbands are but men. I would have an English +maiden cultivate the talents which will delight her husband as +zealously as the Circassian cultivates the accomplishments of an +Eastern harem. Husbands, you say, care little for such accomplishments. +So I should suppose, when they are employed, not for the husband, +but to attract the young rakes who dishonour the home. But imagine +a virtuous and charming wife, adorned with such accomplishments +and devoting them to her husband's amusement; will she not add to +his happiness? When he leaves his office worn out with the day's +work, will she not prevent him seeking recreation elsewhere? Have +we not all beheld happy families gathered together, each contributing +to the general amusement? Are not the confidence and familiarity +thus established, the innocence and the charm of the pleasures thus +enjoyed, more than enough to make up for the more riotous pleasures +of public entertainments? + +Pleasant accomplishments have been made too formal an affair of +rules and precepts, so that young people find them very tedious +instead of a mere amusement or a merry game as they ought to be. +Nothing can be more absurd than an elderly singing or dancing +master frowning upon young people, whose one desire is to laugh, +and adopting a more pedantic and magisterial manner in teaching his +frivolous art than if he were teaching the catechism. Take the case +of singing; does this art depend on reading music; cannot the voice +be made true and flexible, can we not learn to sing with taste and +even to play an accompaniment without knowing a note? Does the same +kind of singing suit all voices alike? Is the same method adapted +to every mind? You will never persuade me that the same attitudes, +the same steps, the same movements, the same gestures, the same +dances will suit a lively little brunette and a tall fair maiden +with languishing eyes. So when I find a master giving the same +lessons to all his pupils I say, "He has his own routine, but he +knows nothing of his art!" + +Should young girls have masters or mistresses? I cannot say; I wish +they could dispense with both; I wish they could learn of their +own accord what they are already so willing to learn. I wish there +were fewer of these dressed-up old ballet masters promenading our +streets. I fear our young people will get more harm from intercourse +with such people than profit from their instruction, and that their +jargon, their tone, their airs and graces, will instil a precocious +taste for the frivolities which the teacher thinks so important, +and to which the scholars are only too likely to devote themselves. + +Where pleasure is the only end in view, any one may serve as +teacher--father, mother, brother, sister, friend, governess, the +girl's mirror, and above all her own taste. Do not offer to teach, +let her ask; do not make a task of what should be a reward, and in +these studies above all remember that the wish to succeed is the +first step. If formal instruction is required I leave it to you +to choose between a master and a mistress. How can I tell whether +a dancing master should take a young pupil by her soft white hand, +make her lift her skirt and raise her eyes, open her arms and advance +her throbbing bosom? but this I know, nothing on earth would induce +me to be that master. + +Taste is formed partly by industry and partly by talent, and by +its means the mind is unconsciously opened to the idea of beauty +of every kind, till at length it attains to those moral ideas which +are so closely related to beauty. Perhaps this is one reason why +ideas of propriety and modesty are acquired earlier by girls than +by boys, for to suppose that this early feeling is due to the +teaching of the governesses would show little knowledge of their +style of teaching and of the natural development of the human mind. +The art of speaking stands first among the pleasing arts; it alone +can add fresh charms to those which have been blunted by habit. It +is the mind which not only gives life to the body, but renews, so +to speak, its youth; the flow of feelings and ideas give life and +variety to the countenance, and the conversation to which it gives +rise arouses and sustains attention, and fixes it continuously on +one object. I suppose this is why little girls so soon learn to +prattle prettily, and why men enjoy listening to them even before +the child can understand them; they are watching for the first +gleam of intelligence and sentiment. + +Women have ready tongues; they talk earlier, more easily, and more +pleasantly than men. They are also said to talk more; this may +be true, but I am prepared to reckon it to their credit; eyes and +mouth are equally busy and for the same cause. A man says what he +knows, a woman says what will please; the one needs knowledge, the +other taste; utility should be the man's object; the woman speaks +to give pleasure. There should be nothing in common but truth. + +You should not check a girl's prattle like a boy's by the harsh +question, "What is the use of that?" but by another question at +least as difficult to answer, "What effect will that have?" At this +early age when they know neither good nor evil, and are incapable +of judging others, they should make this their rule and never say +anything which is unpleasant to those about them; this rule is all +the more difficult to apply because it must always be subordinated +to our first rule, "Never tell a lie." + +I can see many other difficulties, but they belong to a later stage. +For the present it is enough for your little girls to speak the +truth without grossness, and as they are naturally averse to what +is gross, education easily teaches them to avoid it. In social +intercourse I observe that a man's politeness is usually more +helpful and a woman's more caressing. This distinction is natural, +not artificial. A man seeks to serve, a woman seeks to please. Hence +a woman's politeness is less insincere than ours, whatever we may +think of her character; for she is only acting upon a fundamental +instinct; but when a man professes to put my interests before his +own, I detect the falsehood, however disguised. Hence it is easy +for women to be polite, and easy to teach little girls politeness. +The first lessons come by nature; art only supplements them and +determines the conventional form which politeness shall take. The +courtesy of woman to woman is another matter; their manner is so +constrained, their attentions so chilly, they find each other so +wearisome, that they take little pains to conceal the fact, and +seem sincere even in their falsehood, since they take so little +pains to conceal it. Still young girls do sometimes become sincerely +attached to one another. At their age good spirits take the place +of a good disposition, and they are so pleased with themselves that +they are pleased with every one else. Moreover, it is certain that +they kiss each other more affectionately and caress each other more +gracefully in the presence of men, for they are proud to be able +to arouse their envy without danger to themselves by the sight of +favours which they know will arouse that envy. + +If young boys must not be allowed to ask unsuitable questions, much +more must they be forbidden to little girls; if their curiosity is +satisfied or unskilfully evaded it is a much more serious matter, +for they are so keen to guess the mysteries concealed from them and +so skilful to discover them. But while I would not permit them to +ask questions, I would have them questioned frequently, and pains +should be taken to make them talk; let them be teased to make them +speak freely, to make them answer readily, to loosen mind and +tongue while it can be done without danger. Such conversation always +leading to merriment, yet skilfully controlled and directed, would +form a delightful amusement at this age and might instil into these +youthful hearts the first and perhaps the most helpful lessons in +morals which they will ever receive, by teaching them in the guise +of pleasure and fun what qualities are esteemed by men and what is +the true glory and happiness of a good woman. + +If boys are incapable of forming any true idea of religion, much +more is it beyond the grasp of girls; and for this reason I would +speak of it all the sooner to little girls, for if we wait till +they are ready for a serious discussion of these deep subjects we +should be in danger of never speaking of religion at all. A woman's +reason is practical, and therefore she soon arrives at a given +conclusion, but she fails to discover it for herself. The social +relation of the sexes is a wonderful thing. This relation produces +a moral person of which woman is the eye and man the hand, but the +two are so dependent on one another that the man teaches the woman +what to see, while she teaches him what to do. If women could +discover principles and if men had as good heads for detail, they +would be mutually independent, they would live in perpetual strife, +and there would be an end to all society. But in their mutual +harmony each contributes to a common purpose; each follows the +other's lead, each commands and each obeys. + +As a woman's conduct is controlled by public opinion, so is her +religion ruled by authority. The daughter should follow her mother's +religion, the wife her husband's. Were that religion false, the +docility which leads mother and daughter to submit to nature's +laws would blot out the sin of error in the sight of God. Unable +to judge for themselves they should accept the judgment of father +and husband as that of the church. + +While women unaided cannot deduce the rules of their faith, neither +can they assign limits to that faith by the evidence of reason; +they allow themselves to be driven hither and thither by all sorts +of external influences, they are ever above or below the truth. Extreme +in everything, they are either altogether reckless or altogether +pious; you never find them able to combine virtue and piety. Their +natural exaggeration is not wholly to blame; the ill-regulated +control exercised over them by men is partly responsible. Loose +morals bring religion into contempt; the terrors of remorse make +it a tyrant; this is why women have always too much or too little +religion. + +As a woman's religion is controlled by authority it is more +important to show her plainly what to believe than to explain the +reasons for belief; for faith attached to ideas half-understood +is the main source of fanaticism, and faith demanded on behalf of +what is absurd leads to madness or unbelief. Whether our catechisms +tend to produce impiety rather than fanaticism I cannot say, but +I do know that they lead to one or other. + +In the first place, when you teach religion to little girls never +make it gloomy or tiresome, never make it a task or a duty, and +therefore never give them anything to learn by heart, not even +their prayers. Be content to say your own prayers regularly in their +presence, but do not compel them to join you. Let their prayers +be short, as Christ himself has taught us. Let them always be said +with becoming reverence and respect; remember that if we ask the +Almighty to give heed to our words, we should at least give heed +to what we mean to say. + +It does not much matter that a girl should learn her religion young, +but it does matter that she should learn it thoroughly, and still +more that she should learn to love it. If you make religion a +burden to her, if you always speak of God's anger, if in the name +of religion you impose all sorts of disagreeable duties, duties +which she never sees you perform, what can she suppose but that +to learn one's catechism and to say one's prayers is only the duty +of a little girl, and she will long to be grown-up to escape, like +you, from these duties. Example! Example! Without it you will never +succeed in teaching children anything. + +When you explain the Articles of Faith let it be by direct teaching, +not by question and answer. Children should only answer what they +think, not what has been drilled into them. All the answers in the +catechism are the wrong way about; it is the scholar who instructs +the teacher; in the child's mouth they are a downright lie, since +they explain what he does not understand, and affirm what he cannot +believe. Find me, if you can, an intelligent man who could honestly +say his catechism. The first question I find in our catechism is as +follows: "Who created you and brought you into the world?" To which +the girl, who thinks it was her mother, replies without hesitation, +"It was God." All she knows is that she is asked a question which +she only half understands and she gives an answer she does not +understand at all. + +I wish some one who really understands the development of children's +minds would write a catechism for them. It might be the most useful +book ever written, and, in my opinion, it would do its author no +little honour. This at least is certain--if it were a good book it +would be very unlike our catechisms. + +Such a catechism will not be satisfactory unless the child can +answer the questions of its own accord without having to learn the +answers; indeed the child will often ask the questions itself. An +example is required to make my meaning plain and I feel how ill +equipped I am to furnish such an example. I will try to give some +sort of outline of my meaning. + +To get to the first question in our catechism I suppose we must +begin somewhat after the following fashion. + +NURSE: Do you remember when your mother was a little girl? + +CHILD: No, nurse. + +NURSE: Why not, when you have such a good memory? + +CHILD: I was not alive. + +NURSE: Then you were not always alive! + +CHILD: No. + +NURSE: Will you live for ever! + +CHILD: Yes. + +NURSE: Are you young or old? + +CHILD: I am young. + +NURSE: Is your grandmamma old or young? + +CHILD: She is old. + +NURSE: Was she ever young? + +CHILD: Yes. + +NURSE: Why is she not young now? + +CHILD: She has grown old. + +NURSE: Will you grow old too? + +CHILD: I don't know. + +NURSE: Where are your last year's frocks? + +CHILD: They have been unpicked. + +NURSE: Why! + +CHILD: Because they were too small for me. + +NURSE: Why were they too small? + +CHILD: I have grown bigger. + +NURSE: Will you grow any more! + +CHILD: Oh, yes. + +NURSE: And what becomes of big girls? + +CHILD: They grow into women. + +NURSE: And what becomes of women! + +CHILD: They are mothers. + +NURSE: And what becomes of mothers? + +CHILD: They grow old. + +NURSE: Will you grow old? + +CHILD: When I am a mother. + +NURSE: And what becomes of old people? + +CHILD: I don't know. + +NURSE: What became of your grandfather? + +CHILD: He died. [Footnote: The child will say this because she has +heard it said; but you must make sure she knows what death is, for +the idea is not so simple and within the child's grasp as people +think. In that little poem "Abel" you will find an example of the way +to teach them. This charming work breathes a delightful simplicity +with which one should feed one's own mind so as to talk with +children.] + +NURSE: Why did he die? + +CHILD: Because he was so old. + +NURSE: What becomes of old people! + +CHILD: They die. + +NURSE: And when you are old----? + +CHILD: Oh nurse! I don't want to die! + +NURSE: My dear, no one wants to die, and everybody dies. + +CHILD: Why, will mamma die too! + +NURSE: Yes, like everybody else. Women grow old as well as men, +and old age ends in death. + +CHILD: What must I do to grow old very, very slowly? + +NURSE: Be good while you are little. + +CHILD: I will always be good, nurse. + +NURSE: So much the better. But do you suppose you will live for +ever? + +CHILD: When I am very, very old---- + +NURSE: Well? + +CHILD: When we are so very old you say we must die? + +NURSE: You must die some day. + +CHILD: Oh dear! I suppose I must. + +NURSE: Who lived before you? + +CHILD: My father and mother. + +NURSE: And before them? + +CHILD: Their father and mother. + +NURSE: Who will live after you? + +CHILD: My children. + +NURSE: Who will live after them? + +CHILD: Their children. + +In this way, by concrete examples, you will find a beginning and end +for the human race like everything else--that is to say, a father +and mother who never had a father and mother, and children who will +never have children of their own. + +It is only after a long course of similar questions that we are +ready for the first question in the catechism; then alone can we +put the question and the child may be able to understand it. But +what a gap there is between the first and the second question which +is concerned with the definitions of the divine nature. When will +this chasm be bridged? "God is a spirit." "And what is a spirit?" +Shall I start the child upon this difficult question of metaphysics +which grown men find so hard to understand? These are no questions +for a little girl to answer; if she asks them, it is as much or more +than we can expect. In that case I should tell her quite simply, +"You ask me what God is; it is not easy to say; we can neither +hear nor see nor handle God; we can only know Him by His works. To +learn what He is, you must wait till you know what He has done." + +If our dogmas are all equally true, they are not equally important. +It makes little difference to the glory of God that we should perceive +it everywhere, but it does make a difference to human society, and +to every member of that society, that a man should know and do the +duties which are laid upon him by the law of God, his duty to his +neighbour and to himself. This is what we should always be teaching +one another, and it is this which fathers and mothers are specially +bound to teach their little ones. Whether a virgin became the mother +of her Creator, whether she gave birth to God, or merely to a man +into whom God has entered, whether the Father and the Son are of +the same substance or of like substance only, whether the Spirit +proceeded from one or both of these who are but one, or from both +together, however important these questions may seem, I cannot +see that it is any more necessary for the human race to come to a +decision with regard to them than to know what day to keep Easter, +or whether we should tell our beads, fast, and refuse to eat meat, +speak Latin or French in church, adorn the walls with statues, +hear or say mass, and have no wife of our own. Let each think as +he pleases; I cannot see that it matters to any one but himself; +for my own part it is no concern of mine. But what does concern my +fellow-creatures and myself alike is to know that there is indeed +a judge of human fate, that we are all His children, that He bids +us all be just, He bids us love one another, He bids us be kindly +and merciful, He bids us keep our word with all men, even with our +own enemies and His; we must know that the apparent happiness of +this world is naught; that there is another life to come, in which +this Supreme Being will be the rewarder of the just and the judge +of the unjust. Children need to be taught these doctrines and others +like them and all citizens require to be persuaded of their truth. +Whoever sets his face against these doctrines is indeed guilty; he +is the disturber of the peace, the enemy of society. Whoever goes +beyond these doctrines and seeks to make us the slaves of his private +opinions, reaches the same goal by another way; to establish his +own kind of order he disturbs the peace; in his rash pride he makes +himself the interpreter of the Divine, and in His name demands the +homage and the reverence of mankind; so far as may be, he sets himself +in God's place; he should receive the punishment of sacrilege if +he is not punished for his intolerance. + +Give no heed, therefore, to all those mysterious doctrines which +are words without ideas for us, all those strange teachings, the +study of which is too often offered as a substitute for virtue, a +study which more often makes men mad rather than good. Keep your +children ever within the little circle of dogmas which are related +to morality. Convince them that the only useful learning is that which +teaches us to act rightly. Do not make your daughters theologians +and casuists; only teach them such things of heaven as conduce +to human goodness; train them to feel that they are always in the +presence of God, who sees their thoughts and deeds, their virtue +and their pleasures; teach them to do good without ostentation and +because they love it, to suffer evil without a murmur, because God +will reward them; in a word to be all their life long what they +will be glad to have been when they appear in His presence. This +is true religion; this alone is incapable of abuse, impiety, or +fanaticism. Let those who will, teach a religion more sublime, +but this is the only religion I know. + +Moreover, it is as well to observe that, until the age when the +reason becomes enlightened, when growing emotion gives a voice to +conscience, what is wrong for young people is what those about have +decided to be wrong. What they are told to do is good; what they +are forbidden to do is bad; that is all they ought to know: this +shows how important it is for girls, even more than for boys, +that the right people should be chosen to be with them and to have +authority over them. At last there comes a time when they begin to +judge things for themselves, and that is the time to change your +method of education. + +Perhaps I have said too much already. To what shall we reduce the +education of our women if we give them no law but that of conventional +prejudice? Let us not degrade so far the set which rules over us, +and which does us honour when we have not made it vile. For all +mankind there is a law anterior to that of public opinion. All other +laws should bend before the inflexible control of this law; it is +the judge of public opinion, and only in so far as the esteem of +men is in accordance with this law has it any claim on our obedience. + +This law is our individual conscience. I will not repeat what has +been said already; it is enough to point out that if these two +laws clash, the education of women will always be imperfect. Right +feeling without respect for public opinion will not give them that +delicacy of soul which lends to right conduct the charm of social +approval; while respect for public opinion without right feeling +will only make false and wicked women who put appearances in the +place of virtue. + +It is, therefore, important to cultivate a faculty which serves +as judge between the two guides, which does not permit conscience +to go astray and corrects the errors of prejudice. That faculty +is reason. But what a crowd of questions arise at this word. Are +women capable of solid reason; should they cultivate it, can they +cultivate it successfully? Is this culture useful in relation to the +functions laid upon them? Is it compatible with becoming simplicity? + +The different ways of envisaging and answering these questions lead +to two extremes; some would have us keep women indoors sewing and +spinning with their maids; thus they make them nothing more than +the chief servant of their master. Others, not content to secure +their rights, lead them to usurp ours; for to make woman our superior +in all the qualities proper to her sex, and to make her our equal +in all the rest, what is this but to transfer to the woman the +superiority which nature has given to her husband? The reason which +teaches a man his duties is not very complex; the reason which +teaches a woman hers is even simpler. The obedience and fidelity +which she owes to her husband, the tenderness and care due to her +children, are such natural and self-evident consequences of her +position that she cannot honestly refuse her consent to the inner +voice which is her guide, nor fail to discern her duty in her +natural inclination. + +I would not altogether blame those who would restrict a woman to +the labours of her sex and would leave her in profound ignorance +of everything else; but that would require a standard of morality +at once very simple and very healthy, or a life withdrawn from the +world. In great towns, among immoral men, such a woman would be +too easily led astray; her virtue would too often be at the mercy +of circumstances; in this age of philosophy, virtue must be able +to resist temptation; she must know beforehand what she may hear +and what she should think of it. + +Moreover, in submission to man's judgment she should deserve his +esteem; above all she should obtain the esteem of her husband; +she should not only make him love her person, she should make him +approve her conduct; she should justify his choice before the world, +and do honour to her husband through the honour given to the wife. +But how can she set about this task if she is ignorant of our +institutions, our customs, our notions of propriety, if she knows +nothing of the source of man's judgment, nor the passions by which +it is swayed! Since she depends both on her own conscience and +on public opinion, she must learn to know and reconcile these two +laws, and to put her own conscience first only when the two are +opposed to each other. She becomes the judge of her own judges, +she decides when she should obey and when she should refuse her +obedience. She weighs their prejudices before she accepts or rejects +them; she learns to trace them to their source, to foresee what +they will be, and to turn them in her own favour; she is careful +never to give cause for blame if duty allows her to avoid it. This +cannot be properly done without cultivating her mind and reason. + +I always come back to my first principle and it supplies the +solution of all my difficulties. I study what is, I seek its cause, +and I discover in the end that what is, is good. I go to houses +where the master and mistress do the honours together. They are +equally well educated, equally polite, equally well equipped with +wit and good taste, both of them are inspired with the same desire +to give their guests a good reception and to send every one away +satisfied. The husband omits no pains to be attentive to every +one; he comes and goes and sees to every one and takes all sorts +of trouble; he is attention itself. The wife remains in her place; +a little circle gathers round her and apparently conceals the rest +of the company from her; yet she sees everything that goes on, +no one goes without a word with her; she has omitted nothing which +might interest anybody, she has said nothing unpleasant to any +one, and without any fuss the least is no more overlooked than +the greatest. Dinner is announced, they take their places; the +man knowing the assembled guests will place them according to his +knowledge; the wife, without previous acquaintance, never makes +a mistake; their looks and bearing have already shown her what is +wanted and every one will find himself where he wishes to be. I +do not assert that the servants forget no one. The master of the +house may have omitted no one, but the mistress perceives what you +like and sees that you get it; while she is talking to her neighbour +she has one eye on the other end of the table; she sees who is not +eating because he is not hungry and who is afraid to help himself +because he is clumsy and timid. When the guests leave the table +every one thinks she has had no thought but for him, everybody thinks +she has had no time to eat anything, but she has really eaten more +than anybody. + +When the guests are gone, husband and wife tails over the events +of the evening. He relates what was said to him, what was said and +done by those with whom he conversed. If the lady is not always +quite exact in this respect, yet on the other hand she perceived +what was whispered at the other end of the room; she knows what +so-and-so thought, and what was the meaning of this speech or that +gesture; there is scarcely a change of expression for which she +has not an explanation in readiness, and she is almost always right. + +The same turn of mind which makes a woman of the world such an +excellent hostess, enables a flirt to excel in the art of amusing +a number of suitors. Coquetry, cleverly carried out, demands an +even finer discernment than courtesy; provided a polite lady is +civil to everybody, she has done fairly well in any case; but the +flirt would soon lose her hold by such clumsy uniformity; if she +tries to be pleasant to all her lovers alike, she will disgust them +all. In ordinary social intercourse the manners adopted towards +everybody are good enough for all; no question is asked as to +private likes or dislikes provided all are alike well received. But +in love, a favour shared with others is an insult. A man of feeling +would rather be singled out for ill-treatment than be caressed with +the crowd, and the worst that can befall him is to be treated like +every one else. So a woman who wants to keep several lovers at +her feet must persuade every one of them that she prefers him, and +she must contrive to do this in the sight of all the rest, each of +whom is equally convinced that he is her favourite. + +If you want to see a man in a quandary, place him between two +women with each of whom he has a secret understanding, and see what +a fool he looks. But put a woman in similar circumstances between +two men, and the results will be even more remarkable; you will be +astonished at the skill with which she cheats them both, and makes +them laugh at each other. Now if that woman were to show the same +confidence in both, if she were to be equally familiar with both, +how could they be deceived for a moment? If she treated them alike, +would she not show that they both had the same claims upon her? +Oh, she is far too clever for that; so far from treating them just +alike, she makes a marked difference between them, and she does +it so skilfully that the man she flatters thinks it is affection, +and the man she ill uses think it is spite. So that each of them +believes she is thinking of him, when she is thinking of no one +but herself. + +A general desire to please suggests similar measures; people would +be disgusted with a woman's whims if they were not skilfully managed, +and when they are artistically distributed her servants are more +than ever enslaved. + + "Usa ogn'arte la donna, onde sia colto + Nella sua rete alcun novello amante; + Ne con tutti, ne sempre un stesso volto + Serba; ma cangia a tempo atto e sembiante." + Tasso, Jerus. Del., c. iv., v. 87. + +What is the secret of this art? Is it not the result of a delicate +and continuous observation which shows her what is taking place in +a man's heart, so that she is able to encourage or to check every +hidden impulse? Can this art be acquired? No; it is born with women; +it is common to them all, and men never show it to the same degree. +It is one of the distinctive characters of the sex. Self-possession, +penetration, delicate observation, this is a woman's science; the +skill to make use of it is her chief accomplishment. + +This is what is, and we have seen why it is so. It is said that +women are false. They become false. They are really endowed with +skill not duplicity; in the genuine inclinations of their sex they +are not false even when they tell a lie. Why do you consult their +words when it is not their mouths that speak? Consult their eyes, +their colour, their breathing, their timid manner, their slight +resistance, that is the language nature gave them for your answer. +The lips always say "No," and rightly so; but the tone is not +always the same, and that cannot lie. Has not a woman the same needs +as a man, but without the same right to make them known? Her fate +would be too cruel if she had no language in which to express her +legitimate desires except the words which she dare not utter. Must +her modesty condemn her to misery? Does she not require a means +of indicating her inclinations without open expression? What skill +is needed to hide from her lover what she would fain reveal! Is it +not of vital importance that she should learn to touch his heart +without showing that she cares for him? It is a pretty story that +tale of Galatea with her apple and her clumsy flight. What more +is needed? Will she tell the shepherd who pursues her among the +willows that she only flees that he may follow? If she did, it would +be a lie; for she would no longer attract him. The more modest +a woman is, the more art she needs, even with her husband. Yes, +I maintain that coquetry, kept within bounds, becomes modest and +true, and out of it springs a law of right conduct. + +One of my opponents has very truly asserted that virtue is one; +you cannot disintegrate it and choose this and reject the other. +If you love virtue, you love it in its entirety, and you close your +heart when you can, and you always close your lips to the feelings +which you ought not to allow. Moral truth is not only what is, +but what is good; what is bad ought not to be, and ought not to be +confessed, especially when that confession produces results which +might have been avoided. If I were tempted to steal, and in confessing +it I tempted another to become my accomplice, the very confession +of my temptation would amount to a yielding to that temptation. Why +do you say that modesty makes women false? Are those who lose their +modesty more sincere than the rest? Not so, they are a thousandfold +more deceitful. This degree of depravity is due to many vices, none +of which is rejected, vices which owe their power to intrigue and +falsehood. [Footnote: I know that women who have openly decided on +a certain course of conduct profess that their lack of concealment +is a virtue in itself, and swear that, with one exception, they are +possessed of all the virtues; but I am sure they never persuaded +any but fools to believe them. When the natural curb is removed +from their sex, what is there left to restrain them? What honour +will they prize when they have rejected the honour of their sex? +Having once given the rein to passion they have no longer any reason +for self-control. "Nec femina, amissa pudicitia, alia abnuerit." +No author ever understood more thoroughly the heart of both sexes +than Tacitus when he wrote those words.] + +On the other hand, those who are not utterly shameless, who take no +pride in their faults, who are able to conceal their desires even +from those who inspire them, those who confess their passion most +reluctantly, these are the truest and most sincere, these are they +on whose fidelity you may generally rely. + +The only example I know which might be quoted as a recognised exception +to these remarks is Mlle. de L'Enclos; and she was considered a +prodigy. In her scorn for the virtues of women, she practised, so +they say, the virtues of a man. She is praised for her frankness +and uprightness; she was a trustworthy acquaintance and a faithful +friend. To complete the picture of her glory it is said that she +became a man. That may be, but in spite of her high reputation I +should no more desire that man as my friend than as my mistress. + +This is not so irrelevant as it seems. I am aware of the tendencies +of our modern philosophy which make a jest of female modesty and +its so-called insincerity; I also perceive that the most certain +result of this philosophy will be to deprive the women of this +century of such shreds of honour as they still possess. + +On these grounds I think we may decide in general terms what sort +of education is suited to the female mind, and the objects to which +we should turn its attention in early youth. + +As I have already said, the duties of their sex are more easily +recognised than performed. They must learn in the first place +to love those duties by considering the advantages to be derived +from them--that is the only way to make duty easy. Every age and +condition has its own duties. We are quick to see our duty if we +love it. Honour your position as a woman, and in whatever station +of life to which it shall please heaven to call you, you will be +well off. The essential thing is to be what nature has made you; +women are only too ready to be what men would have them. + +The search for abstract and speculative truths, for principles and +axioms in science, for all that tends to wide generalisation, is +beyond a woman's grasp; their studies should be thoroughly practical. +It is their business to apply the principles discovered by men, it +is their place to make the observations which lead men to discover +those principles. A woman's thoughts, beyond the range of her immediate +duties, should be directed to the study of men, or the acquirement +of that agreeable learning whose sole end is the formation of taste; +for the works of genius are beyond her reach, and she has neither +the accuracy nor the attention for success in the exact sciences; as +for the physical sciences, to decide the relations between living +creatures and the laws of nature is the task of that sex which +is more active and enterprising, which sees more things, that sex +which is possessed of greater strength and is more accustomed to +the exercise of that strength. Woman, weak as she is and limited +in her range of observation, perceives and judges the forces at +her disposal to supplement her weakness, and those forces are the +passions of man. Her own mechanism is more powerful than ours; she +has many levers which may set the human heart in motion. She must +find a way to make us desire what she cannot achieve unaided and +what she considers necessary or pleasing; therefore she must have +a thorough knowledge of man's mind; not an abstract knowledge of +the mind of man in general, but the mind of those men who are about +her, the mind of those men who have authority over her, either by +law or custom. She must learn to divine their feelings from speech +and action, look and gesture. By her own speech and action, look +and gesture, she must be able to inspire them with the feelings she +desires, without seeming to have any such purpose. The men will +have a better philosophy of the human heart, but she will read +more accurately in the heart of men. Woman should discover, so to +speak, an experimental morality, man should reduce it to a system. +Woman has more wit, man more genius; woman observes, man reasons; +together they provide the clearest light and the profoundest +knowledge which is possible to the unaided human mind; in a word, +the surest knowledge of self and of others of which the human race +is capable. In this way art may constantly tend to the perfection +of the instrument which nature has given us. + +The world is woman's book; if she reads it ill, it is either her +own fault or she is blinded by passion. Yet the genuine mother of +a family is no woman of the world, she is almost as much of a recluse +as the nun in her convent. Those who have marriageable daughters +should do what is or ought to be done for those who are entering +the cloisters: they should show them the pleasures they forsake +before they are allowed to renounce them, lest the deceitful picture +of unknown pleasures should creep in to disturb the happiness of +their retreat. In France it is the girls who live in convents and +the wives who flaunt in society. Among the ancients it was quite +otherwise; girls enjoyed, as I have said already, many games and +public festivals; the married women lived in retirement. This was +a more reasonable custom and more conducive to morality. A girl +may be allowed a certain amount of coquetry, and she may be mainly +occupied at amusement. A wife has other responsibilities at home, +and she is no longer on the look-out for a husband; but women +would not appreciate the change, and unluckily it is they who set +the fashion. Mothers, let your daughters be your companions. Give +them good sense and an honest heart, and then conceal from them +nothing that a pure eye may behold. Balls, assemblies, sports, the +theatre itself; everything which viewed amiss delights imprudent +youth may be safely displayed to a healthy mind. The more they +know of these noisy pleasures, the sooner they will cease to desire +them. + +I can fancy the outcry with which this will be received. What girl +will resist such an example? Their heads are turned by the first +glimpse of the world; not one of them is ready to give it up. That +may be; but before you showed them this deceitful prospect, did +you prepare them to behold it without emotion? Did you tell them +plainly what it was they would see? Did you show it in its true +light? Did you arm them against the illusions of vanity? Did you +inspire their young hearts with a taste for the true pleasures +which are not to be met with in this tumult? What precautions, what +steps, did you take to preserve them from the false taste which +leads them astray? Not only have you done nothing to preserve +their minds from the tyranny of prejudice, you have fostered that +prejudice; you have taught them to desire every foolish amusement +they can get. Your own example is their teacher. Young people on +their entrance into society have no guide but their mother, who +is often just as silly as they are themselves, and quite unable to +show them things except as she sees them herself. Her example is +stronger than reason; it justifies them in their own eyes, and the +mother's authority is an unanswerable excuse for the daughter. If +I ask a mother to bring her daughter into society, I assume that +she will show it in its true light. + +The evil begins still earlier; the convents are regular schools +of coquetry; not that honest coquetry which I have described, but +a coquetry the source of every kind of misconduct, a coquetry which +turns out girls who are the most ridiculous little madams. When +they leave the convent to take their place in smart society, young +women find themselves quite at home. They have been educated for +such a life; is it strange that they like it? I am afraid what I +am going to say may be based on prejudice rather than observation, +but so far as I can see, one finds more family affection, more good +wives and loving mothers in Protestant than in Catholic countries; +if that is so, we cannot fail to suspect that the difference is +partly due to the convent schools. + +The charms of a peaceful family life must be known to be enjoyed; +their delights should be tasted in childhood. It is only in our +father's home that we learn to love our own, and a woman whose +mother did not educate her herself will not be willing to educate +her own children. Unfortunately, there is no such thing as home +education in our large towns. Society is so general and so mixed there +is no place left for retirement, and even in the home we live in +public. We live in company till we have no family, and we scarcely +know our own relations, we see them as strangers; and the simplicity +of home life disappears together with the sweet familiarity which +was its charm. In this wise do we draw with our mother's milk a +taste for the pleasures of the age and the maxims by which it is +controlled. + +Girls are compelled to assume an air of propriety so that men may +be deceived into marrying them by their appearance. But watch these +young people for a moment; under a pretence of coyness they barely +conceal the passion which devours them, and already you may read +in their eager eyes their desire to imitate their mothers. It is +not a husband they want, but the licence of a married woman. What +need of a husband when there are so many other resources; but +a husband there must be to act as a screen. [Footnote: The way of +a man in his youth was one of the four things that the sage could +not understand; the fifth was the shamelessness of an adulteress. +"Quae comedit, et tergens os suum dicit; non sum operata malum." +Prov. xxx. 20.] There is modesty on the brow, but vice in the +heart; this sham modesty is one of its outward signs; they affect +it that they may be rid of it once for all. Women of Paris and +London, forgive me! There may be miracles everywhere, but I am not +aware of them; and if there is even one among you who is really +pure in heart, I know nothing of our institutions. + +All these different methods of education lead alike to a taste for +the pleasures of the great world, and to the passions which this +taste so soon kindles. In our great towns depravity begins at birth; +in the smaller towns it begins with reason. Young women brought up +in the country are soon taught to despise the happy simplicity of +their lives, and hasten to Paris to share the corruption of ours. +Vices, cloaked under the fair name of accomplishments, are the sole +object of their journey; ashamed to find themselves so much behind +the noble licence of the Parisian ladies, they hasten to become +worthy of the name of Parisian. Which is responsible for the +evil--the place where it begins, or the place where it is accomplished? + +I would not have a sensible mother bring her girl to Paris to show +her these sights so harmful to others; but I assert that if she +did so, either the girl has been badly brought up, or such sights +have little danger for her. With good taste, good sense, and a love +of what is right, these things are less attractive than to those +who abandon themselves to their charm. In Paris you may see giddy +young things hastening to adopt the tone and fashions of the town +for some six months, so that they may spend the rest of their life +in disgrace; but who gives any heed to those who, disgusted with +the rout, return to their distant home and are contented with their +lot when they have compared it with that which others desire. How +many young wives have I seen whose good-natured husbands have taken +them to Paris where they might live if they pleased; but they have +shrunk from it and returned home more willingly than they went, +saying tenderly, "Ah, let us go back to our cottage, life is happier +there than in these palaces." We do not know how many there are who +have not bowed the knee to Baal, who scorn his senseless worship. +Fools make a stir; good women pass unnoticed. + +If so many women preserve a judgment which is proof against temptation, +in spite of universal prejudice, in spite of the bad education of +girls, what would their judgment have been, had it been strengthened +by suitable instruction, or rather left unaffected by evil teaching, +for to preserve or restore the natural feelings is our main business? +You can do this without preaching endless sermons to your daughters, +without crediting them with your harsh morality. The only effect +of such teaching is to inspire a dislike for the teacher and the +lessons. In talking to a young girl you need not make her afraid +of her duties, nor need you increase the burden laid upon her by +nature. When you explain her duties speak plainly and pleasantly; +do not let her suppose that the performance of these duties is +a dismal thing--away with every affectation of disgust or pride. +Every thought which we desire to arouse should find its expression +in our pupils, their catechism of conduct should be as brief and +plain as their catechism of religion, but it need not be so serious. +Show them that these same duties are the source of their pleasures +and the basis of their rights. Is it so hard to win love by love, +happiness by an amiable disposition, obedience by worth, and honour +by self-respect? How fair are these woman's rights, how worthy of +reverence, how dear to the heart of man when a woman is able to +show their worth! These rights are no privilege of years; a woman's +empire begins with her virtues; her charms are only in the bud, +yet she reigns already by the gentleness of her character and +the dignity of her modesty. Is there any man so hard-hearted and +uncivilised that he does not abate his pride and take heed to his +manners with a sweet and virtuous girl of sixteen, who listens but +says little; her bearing is modest, her conversation honest, her +beauty does not lead her to forget her sex and her youth, her very +timidity arouses interest, while she wins for herself the respect +which she shows to others? + +These external signs are not devoid of meaning; they do not rest +entirely upon the charms of sense; they arise from that conviction +that we all feel that women are the natural judges of a man's +worth. Who would be scorned by women? not even he who has ceased +to desire their love. And do you suppose that I, who tell them such +harsh truths, am indifferent to their verdict? Reader, I care more +for their approval than for yours; you are often more effeminate +than they. While I scorn their morals, I will revere their justice; +I care not though they hate me, if I can compel their esteem. + +What great things might be accomplished by their influence if only +we could bring it to bear! Alas for the age whose women lose their +ascendancy, and fail to make men respect their judgment! This +is the last stage of degradation. Every virtuous nation has shown +respect to women. Consider Sparta, Germany, and Rome; Rome the +throne of glory and virtue, if ever they were enthroned on earth. +The Roman women awarded honour to the deeds of great generals, they +mourned in public for the fathers of the country, their awards and +their tears were alike held sacred as the most solemn utterance of +the Republic. Every great revolution began with the women. Through +a woman Rome gained her liberty, through a woman the plebeians +won the consulate, through a woman the tyranny of the decemvirs +was overthrown; it was the women who saved Rome when besieged by +Coriolanus. What would you have said at the sight of this procession, +you Frenchmen who pride yourselves on your gallantry, would you +not have followed it with shouts of laughter? You and I see things +with such different eyes, and perhaps we are both right. Such +a procession formed of the fairest beauties of France would be an +indecent spectacle; but let it consist of Roman ladies, you will +all gaze with the eyes of the Volscians and feel with the heart of +Coriolanus. + +I will go further and maintain that virtue is no less favourable +to love than to other rights of nature, and that it adds as much +to the power of the beloved as to that of the wife or mother. There +is no real love without enthusiasm, and no enthusiasm without an +object of perfection real or supposed, but always present in the +imagination. What is there to kindle the hearts of lovers for +whom this perfection is nothing, for whom the loved one is merely +the means to sensual pleasure? Nay, not thus is the heart kindled, +not thus does it abandon itself to those sublime transports which +form the rapture of lovers and the charm of love. Love is an +illusion, I grant you, but its reality consists in the feelings it +awakes, in the love of true beauty which it inspires. That beauty +is not to be found in the object of our affections, it is the +creation of our illusions. What matter! do we not still sacrifice +all those baser feelings to the imaginary model? and we still feed +our hearts on the virtues we attribute to the beloved, we still +withdraw ourselves from the baseness of human nature. What lover is +there who would not give his life for his mistress? What gross and +sensual passion is there in a man who is willing to die? We scoff +at the knights of old; they knew the meaning of love; we know +nothing but debauchery. When the teachings of romance began to seem +ridiculous, it was not so much the work of reason as of immorality. + +Natural relations remain the same throughout the centuries, their +good or evil effects are unchanged; prejudices, masquerading as +reason, can but change their outward seeming; self-mastery, even +at the behest of fantastic opinions, will not cease to be great +and good. And the true motives of honour will not fail to appeal to +the heart of every woman who is able to seek happiness in life in +her woman's duties. To a high-souled woman chastity above all must +be a delightful virtue. She sees all the kingdoms of the world before +her and she triumphs over herself and them; she sits enthroned in +her own soul and all men do her homage; a few passing struggles +are crowned with perpetual glory; she secures the affection, or it +may be the envy, she secures in any case the esteem of both sexes +and the universal respect of her own. The loss is fleeting, the gain +is permanent. What a joy for a noble heart--the pride of virtue +combined with beauty. Let her be a heroine of romance; she will +taste delights more exquisite than those of Lais and Cleopatra; and +when her beauty is fled, her glory and her joys remain; she alone +can enjoy the past. + +The harder and more important the duties, the stronger and clearer +must be the reasons on which they are based. There is a sort of +pious talk about the most serious subjects which is dinned in vain +into the ears of young people. This talk, quite unsuited to their +ideas and the small importance they attach to it in secret, inclines +them to yield readily to their inclinations, for lack of any +reasons for resistance drawn from the facts themselves. No doubt +a girl brought up to goodness and piety has strong weapons against +temptation; but one whose heart, or rather her ears, are merely +filled with the jargon of piety, will certainly fall a prey to the +first skilful seducer who attacks her. A young and beautiful girl +will never despise her body, she will never really deplore sins which +her beauty leads men to commit, she will never lament earnestly in +the sight of God that she is an object of desire, she will never +be convinced that the tenderest feeling is an invention of the Evil +One. Give her other and more pertinent reasons for her own sake, +for these will have no effect. It will be worse to instil, as is +often done, ideas which contradict each other, and after having +humbled and degraded her person and her charms as the stain of sin, +to bid her reverence that same vile body as the temple of Jesus +Christ. Ideas too sublime and too humble are equally ineffective +and they cannot both be true. A reason adapted to her age and sex +is what is needed. Considerations of duty are of no effect unless +they are combined with some motive for the performance of our duty. + + "Quae quia non liceat non facit, illa facit." + OVID, Amor. I. iii. eleg. iv. + +One would not suspect Ovid of such a harsh judgment. + +If you would inspire young people with a love of good conduct avoid +saying, "Be good;" make it their interest to be good; make them +feel the value of goodness and they will love it. It is not enough +to show this effect in the distant future, show it now, in the +relations of the present, in the character of their lovers. Describe +a good man, a man of worth, teach them to recognise him when they +see him, to love him for their own sake; convince them that such +a man alone can make them happy as friend, wife, or mistress. Let +reason lead the way to virtue; make them feel that the empire of +their sex and all the advantages derived from it depend not merely +on the right conduct, the morality, of women, but also on that of +men; that they have little hold over the vile and base, and that +the lover is incapable of serving his mistress unless he can do +homage to virtue. You may then be sure that when you describe the +manners of our age you will inspire them with a genuine disgust; +when you show them men of fashion they will despise them; you +will give them a distaste for their maxims, an aversion to their +sentiments, and a scorn for their empty gallantry; you will arouse a +nobler ambition, to reign over great and strong souls, the ambition +of the Spartan women to rule over men. A bold, shameless, intriguing +woman, who can only attract her lovers by coquetry and retain +them by her favours, wins a servile obedience in common things; in +weighty and important matters she has no influence over them. But +the woman who is both virtuous, wise, and charming, she who, in +a word, combines love and esteem, can send them at her bidding to +the end of the world, to war, to glory, and to death at her behest. +This is a fine kingdom and worth the winning. + +This is the spirit in which Sophy has been educated, she has been +trained carefully rather than strictly, and her taste has been +followed rather than thwarted. Let us say just a word about her +person, according to the description I have given to Emile and the +picture he himself has formed of the wife in whom he hopes to find +happiness. + +I cannot repeat too often that I am not dealing with prodigies. +Emile is no prodigy, neither is Sophy. He is a man and she is a +woman; this is all they have to boast of. In the present confusion +between the sexes it is almost a miracle to belong to one's own +sex. Sophy is well born and she has a good disposition; she is +very warm-hearted, and this warmth of heart sometimes makes her +imagination run away with her. Her mind is keen rather than accurate, +her temper is pleasant but variable, her person pleasing though +nothing out of the common, her countenance bespeaks a soul and it +speaks true; you may meet her with indifference, but you will not +leave her without emotion. Others possess good qualities which +she lacks; others possess her good qualities in a higher degree, +but in no one are these qualities better blended to form a happy +disposition. She knows how to make the best of her very faults, +and if she were more perfect she would be less pleasing. + +Sophy is not beautiful; but in her presence men forget the fairer +women, and the latter are dissatisfied with themselves. At first +sight she is hardly pretty; but the more we see her the prettier +she is; she wins where so many lose, and what she wins she keeps. +Her eyes might be finer, her mouth more beautiful, her stature more +imposing; but no one could have a more graceful figure, a finer +complexion, a whiter hand, a daintier foot, a sweeter look, and +a more expressive countenance. She does not dazzle; she arouses +interest; she delights us, we know not why. + +Sophy is fond of dress, and she knows how to dress; her mother has +no other maid; she has taste enough to dress herself well; but she +hates rich clothes; her own are always simple but elegant. She does +not like showy but becoming things. She does not know what colours +are fashionable, but she makes no mistake about those that suit +her. No girl seems more simply dressed, but no one could take +more pains over her toilet; no article is selected at random, and +yet there is no trace of artificiality. Her dress is very modest +in appearance and very coquettish in reality; she does not display +her charms, she conceals them, but in such a way as to enhance +them. When you see her you say, "That is a good modest girl," but +while you are with her, you cannot take your eyes or your thoughts +off her and one might say that this very simple adornment is only +put on to be removed bit by bit by the imagination. + +Sophy has natural gifts; she is aware of them, and they have not +been neglected; but never having had a chance of much training she +is content to use her pretty voice to sing tastefully and truly; +her little feet step lightly, easily, and gracefully, she can always +make an easy graceful courtesy. She has had no singing master but +her father, no dancing mistress but her mother; a neighbouring +organist has given her a few lessons in playing accompaniments +on the spinet, and she has improved herself by practice. At first +she only wished to show off her hand on the dark keys; then she +discovered that the thin clear tone of the spinet made her voice +sound sweeter; little by little she recognised the charms of +harmony; as she grew older she at last began to enjoy the charms +of expression, to love music for its own sake. But she has taste +rather than talent; she cannot read a simple air from notes. + +Needlework is what Sophy likes best; and the feminine arts have +been taught her most carefully, even those you would not expect, +such as cutting out and dressmaking. There is nothing she cannot +do with her needle, and nothing that she does not take a delight in +doing; but lace-making is her favourite occupation, because there +is nothing which requires such a pleasing attitude, nothing which +calls for such grace and dexterity of finger. She has also studied +all the details of housekeeping; she understands cooking and +cleaning; she knows the prices of food, and also how to choose it; +she can keep accounts accurately, she is her mother's housekeeper. +Some day she will be the mother of a family; by managing her father's +house she is preparing to manage her own; she can take the place +of any of the servants and she is always ready to do so. You cannot +give orders unless you can do the work yourself; that is why her +mother sets her to do it. Sophy does not think of that; her first +duty is to be a good daughter, and that is all she thinks about for +the present. Her one idea is to help her mother and relieve her of +some of her anxieties. However, she does not like them all equally +well. For instance, she likes dainty food, but she does not like +cooking; the details of cookery offend her, and things are never +clean enough for her. She is extremely sensitive in this respect +and carries her sensitiveness to a fault; she would let the whole +dinner boil over into the fire rather than soil her cuffs. She has +always disliked inspecting the kitchen-garden for the same reason. +The soil is dirty, and as soon as she sees the manure heap she +fancies there is a disagreeable smell. + +This defect is the result of her mother's teaching. According to +her, cleanliness is one of the most necessary of a woman's duties, +a special duty, of the highest importance and a duty imposed by +nature. Nothing could be more revolting than a dirty woman, and a +husband who tires of her is not to blame. She insisted so strongly +on this duty when Sophy was little, she required such absolute +cleanliness in her person, clothing, room, work, and toilet, that +use has become habit, till it absorbs one half of her time and +controls the other; so that she thinks less of how to do a thing +than of how to do it without getting dirty. + +Yet this has not degenerated into mere affectation and softness; +there is none of the over refinement of luxury. Nothing but clean +water enters her room; she knows no perfumes but the scent of +flowers, and her husband will never find anything sweeter than her +breath. In conclusion, the attention she pays to the outside does +not blind her to the fact that time and strength are meant for greater +tasks; either she does not know or she despises that exaggerated +cleanliness of body which degrades the soul. Sophy is more than +clean, she is pure. + +I said that Sophy was fond of good things. She was so by nature; but +she became temperate by habit and now she is temperate by virtue. +Little girls are not to be controlled, as little boys are, to +some extent, through their greediness. This tendency may have ill +effects on women and it is too dangerous to be left unchecked. +When Sophy was little, she did not always return empty handed if +she was sent to her mother's cupboard, and she was not quite to be +trusted with sweets and sugar-almonds. Her mother caught her, took +them from her, punished her, and made her go without her dinner. +At last she managed to persuade her that sweets were bad for the +teeth, and that over-eating spoiled the figure. Thus Sophy overcame +her faults; and when she grew older other tastes distracted her from +this low kind of self-indulgence. With awakening feeling greediness +ceases to be the ruling passion, both with men and women. Sophy +has preserved her feminine tastes; she likes milk and sweets; she +likes pastry and made-dishes, but not much meat. She has never +tasted wine or spirits; moreover, she eats sparingly; women, who do +not work so hard as men, have less waste to repair. In all things +she likes what is good, and knows how to appreciate it; but she +can also put up with what is not so good, or can go without it. + +Sophy's mind is pleasing but not brilliant, and thorough but not +deep; it is the sort of mind which calls for no remark, as she +never seems cleverer or stupider than oneself. When people talk to +her they always find what she says attractive, though it may not be +highly ornamental according to modern ideas of an educated woman; +her mind has been formed not only by reading, but by conversation +with her father and mother, by her own reflections, and by her +own observations in the little world in which she has lived. Sophy +is naturally merry; as a child she was even giddy; but her mother +cured her of her silly ways, little by little, lest too sudden a +change should make her self-conscious. Thus she became modest and +retiring while still a child, and now that she is a child no longer, +she finds it easier to continue this conduct than it would have +been to acquire it without knowing why. It is amusing to see her +occasionally return to her old ways and indulge in childish mirth +and then suddenly check herself, with silent lips, downcast eyes, +and rosy blushes; neither child nor woman, she may well partake of +both. + +Sophy is too sensitive to be always good humoured, but too gentle +to let this be really disagreeable to other people; it is only +herself who suffers. If you say anything that hurts her she does +not sulk, but her heart swells; she tries to run away and cry. In +the midst of her tears, at a word from her father or mother she +returns at once laughing and playing, secretly wiping her eyes and +trying to stifle her sobs. + +Yet she has her whims; if her temper is too much indulged +it degenerates into rebellion, and then she forgets herself. But +give her time to come round and her way of making you forget her +wrong-doing is almost a virtue. If you punish her she is gentle +and submissive, and you see that she is more ashamed of the fault +than the punishment. If you say nothing, she never fails to make +amends, and she does it so frankly and so readily that you cannot +be angry with her. She would kiss the ground before the lowest servant +and would make no fuss about it; and as soon as she is forgiven, +you can see by her delight and her caresses that a load is taken +off her heart. In a word, she endures patiently the wrong-doing of +others, and she is eager to atone for her own. This amiability is +natural to her sex when unspoiled. Woman is made to submit to man +and to endure even injustice at his hands. You will never bring +young lads to this; their feelings rise in revolt against injustice; +nature has not fitted them to put up with it. + + "Gravem Pelidae stomachum cedere nescii." + HORACE, lib. i. ode vi. + +Sophy's religion is reasonable and simple, with few doctrines and +fewer observances; or rather as she knows no course of conduct but +the right her whole life is devoted to the service of God and to +doing good. In all her parents' teaching of religion she has been +trained to a reverent submission; they have often said, "My little +girl, this is too hard for you; your husband will teach you when +you are grown up." Instead of long sermons about piety, they have +been content to preach by their example, and this example is engraved +on her heart. + +Sophy loves virtue; this love has come to be her ruling passion; +she loves virtue because there is nothing fairer in itself, she +loves it because it is a woman's glory and because a virtuous woman +is little lower than the angels; she loves virtue as the only road +to real happiness, because she sees nothing but poverty, neglect, +unhappiness, shame, and disgrace in the life of a bad woman; she +loves virtue because it is dear to her revered father and to her +tender and worthy mother; they are not content to be happy in their +own virtue, they desire hers; and she finds her chief happiness +in the hope of making them happy. All these feelings inspire an +enthusiasm which stirs her heart and keeps all its budding passions +in subjection to this noble enthusiasm. Sophy will be chaste and +good till her dying day; she has vowed it in her secret heart, and +not before she knew how hard it would be to keep her vow; she made +this vow at a time when she would have revoked it had she been the +slave of her senses. + +Sophy is not so fortunate as to be a charming French woman, +cold-hearted and vain, who would rather attract attention than +give pleasure, who seeks amusement rather than delight. She suffers +from a consuming desire for love; it even disturbs and troubles +her heart in the midst of festivities; she has lost her former +liveliness, and her taste for merry games; far from being afraid of +the tedium of solitude she desires it. Her thoughts go out to him +who will make solitude sweet to her. She finds strangers tedious, +she wants a lover, not a circle of admirers. She would rather give +pleasure to one good man than be a general favourite, or win that +applause of society which lasts but a day and to-morrow is turned +to scorn. + +A woman's judgment develops sooner than a man's; being on the +defensive from her childhood up, and intrusted with a treasure so +hard to keep, she is earlier acquainted with good and evil. Sophy +is precocious by temperament in everything, and her judgment is +more formed than that of most girls of her age. There is nothing +strange in that, maturity is not always reached at the same age. + +Sophy has been taught the duties and rights of her own sex and +of ours. She knows men's faults and women's vices; she also knows +their corresponding good qualities and virtues, and has them +by heart. No one can have a higher ideal of a virtuous woman, but +she would rather think of a virtuous man, a man of true worth; she +knows that she is made for such a man, that she is worthy of him, +that she can make him as happy as he will make her; she is sure +she will know him when she sees him; the difficulty is to find him. + +Women are by nature judges of a man's worth, as he is of theirs; +this right is reciprocal, and it is recognised as such both by men +and women. Sophy recognises this right and exercises it, but with +the modesty becoming her youth, her inexperience, and her position; +she confines her judgment to what she knows, and she only forms an +opinion when it may help to illustrate some useful precept. She +is extremely careful what she says about those who are absent, +particularly if they are women. She thinks that talking about each +other makes women spiteful and satirical; so long as they only talk +about men they are merely just. So Sophy stops there. As to women +she never says anything at all about them, except to tell the good +she knows; she thinks this is only fair to her sex; and if she +knows no good of any woman, she says nothing, and that is enough. + +Sophy has little knowledge of society, but she is observant and +obliging, and all that she does is full of grace. A happy disposition +does more for her than much art. She has a certain courtesy of her +own, which is not dependent on fashion, and does not change with +its changes; it is not a matter of custom, but it arises from a +feminine desire to please. She is unacquainted with the language +of empty compliment, nor does she invent more elaborate compliments +of her own; she does not say that she is greatly obliged, that you +do her too much honour, that you should not take so much trouble, +etc. Still less does she try to make phrases of her own. She responds +to an attention or a customary piece of politeness by a courtesy or +a mere "Thank you;" but this phrase in her mouth is quite enough. +If you do her a real service, she lets her heart speak, and its +words are no empty compliment. She has never allowed French manners +to make her a slave to appearances; when she goes from one room +to another she does not take the arm of an old gentleman, whom she +would much rather help. When a scented fop offers her this empty +attention, she leaves him on the staircase and rushes into the +room saying that she is not lame. Indeed, she will never wear high +heels though she is not tall; her feet are small enough to dispense +with them. + +Not only does she adopt a silent and respectful attitude towards +women, but also towards married men, or those who are much older +than herself; she will never take her place above them, unless +compelled to do so; and she will return to her own lower place as +soon as she can; for she knows that the rights of age take precedence +of those of sex, as age is presumably wiser than youth, and wisdom +should be held in the greatest honour. + +With young folks of her own age it is another matter; she requires a +different manner to gain their respect, and she knows how to adopt +it without dropping the modest ways which become her. If they +themselves are shy and modest, she will gladly preserve the friendly +familiarity of youth; their innocent conversation will be merry but +suitable; if they become serious they must say something useful; +if they become silly, she soon puts a stop to it, for she has an +utter contempt for the jargon of gallantry, which she considers an +insult to her sex. She feels sure that the man she seeks does not +speak that jargon, and she will never permit in another what would +be displeasing to her in him whose character is engraved on her +heart. Her high opinion of the rights of women, her pride in the +purity of her feelings, that active virtue which is the basis of +her self-respect, make her indignant at the sentimental speeches +intended for her amusement. She does not receive them with open +anger, but with a disconcerting irony or an unexpected iciness. +If a fair Apollo displays his charms, and makes use of his wit in +the praise of her wit, her beauty, and her grace; at the risk of +offending him she is quite capable of saying politely, "Sir, I am +afraid I know that better than you; if we have nothing more interesting +to talk about, I think we may put an end to this conversation." To +say this with a deep courtesy, and then to withdraw to a considerable +distance, is the work of a moment. Ask your lady-killers if it is +easy to continue to babble to such, an unsympathetic ear. + +It is not that she is not fond of praise if it is really sincere, +and if she thinks you believe what you say. You must show that you +appreciate her merit if you would have her believe you. Her proud +spirit may take pleasure in homage which is based upon esteem, +but empty compliments are always rejected; Sophy was not meant to +practise the small arts of the dancing-girl. + +With a judgment so mature, and a mind like that of a woman of +twenty, Sophy, at fifteen, is no longer treated as a child by her +parents. No sooner do they perceive the first signs of youthful +disquiet than they hasten to anticipate its development, their +conversations with her are wise and tender. These wise and tender +conversations are in keeping with her age and disposition. If her +disposition is what I fancy why should not her father speak to her +somewhat after this fashion? + +"You are a big girl now, Sophy, you will soon be a woman. We +want you to be happy, for our own sakes as well as yours, for our +happiness depends on yours. A good girl finds her own happiness +in the happiness of a good man, so we must consider your marriage; +we must think of it in good time, for marriage makes or mars our +whole life, and we cannot have too much time to consider it. + +"There is nothing so hard to choose as a good husband, unless it +is a good wife. You will be that rare creature, Sophy, you will +be the crown of our life and the blessing of our declining years; +but however worthy you are, there are worthier people upon earth. +There is no one who would not do himself honour by marriage with +you; there are many who would do you even greater honour than +themselves. Among these we must try to find one who suits you, we +must get to know him and introduce you to him. + +"The greatest possible happiness in marriage depends on so many +points of agreement that it is folly to expect to secure them all. +We must first consider the more important matters; if others are +to be found along with them, so much the better; if not we must do +without them. Perfect happiness is not to be found in this world, +but we can, at least, avoid the worst form of unhappiness, that +for which ourselves are to blame. + +"There is a natural suitability, there is a suitability of established +usage, and a suitability which is merely conventional. Parents +should decide as to the two latters, and the children themselves +should decide as to the former. Marriages arranged by parents only +depend on a suitability of custom and convention; it is not two +people who are united, but two positions and two properties; but +these things may change, the people remain, they are always there; +and in spite of fortune it is the personal relation that makes a +happy or an unhappy marriage. + +"Your mother had rank, I had wealth; this was all that our parents +considered in arranging our marriage. I lost my money, she lost +her position; forgotten by her family, what good did it do her to +be a lady born? In the midst of our misfortunes, the union of our +hearts has outweighed them all; the similarity of our tastes led +us to choose this retreat; we live happily in our poverty, we are +all in all to each other. Sophy is a treasure we hold in common, +and we thank Heaven which has bestowed this treasure and deprived +us of all others. You see, my child, whither we have been led +by Providence; the conventional motives which brought about our +marriage no longer exist, our happiness consists in that natural +suitability which was held of no account. + +"Husband and wife should choose each other. A mutual liking should +be the first bond between them. They should follow the guidance of +their own eyes and hearts; when they are married their first duty +will be to love one another, and as love and hatred do not depend +on ourselves, this duty brings another with it, and they must begin +to love each other before marriage. That is the law of nature, and +no power can abrogate it; those who have fettered it by so many +legal restrictions have given heed rather to the outward show of +order than to the happiness of marriage or the morals of the citizen. +You see, my dear Sophy, we do not preach a harsh morality. It tends +to make you your own mistress and to make us leave the choice of +your husband to yourself. + +"When we have told you our reasons for giving you full liberty, it +is only fair to speak of your reasons for making a wise use of that +liberty. My child, you are good and sensible, upright and pious, you +have the accomplishments of a good woman and you are not altogether +without charms; but you are poor; you have the gifts most worthy +of esteem, but not those which are most esteemed. Do not seek what +is beyond your reach, and let your ambition be controlled, not by +your ideas or ours, but by the opinion of others. If it were merely +a question of equal merits, I know not what limits to impose on +your hopes; but do not let your ambitions outrun your fortune, and +remember it is very small. Although a man worthy of you would not +consider this inequality an obstacle, you must do what he would not +do; Sophy must follow her mother's example and only enter a family +which counts it an honour to receive her. You never saw our wealth, +you were born in our poverty; you make it sweet for us, and you +share it without hardship. Believe me, Sophy, do not seek those +good things we indeed thank heaven for having taken from us; we +did not know what happiness was till we lost our money. + +"You are so amiable that you will win affection, and you are not +go poor as to be a burden. You will be sought in marriage, it may +be by those who are unworthy of you. If they showed themselves in +their true colours, you would rate them at their real value; all +their outward show would not long deceive you; but though your +judgment is good and you know what merit is when you see it, you +are inexperienced and you do not know how people can conceal their +real selves. A skilful knave might study your tastes in order to +seduce you, and make a pretence of those virtues which he does not +possess. You would be ruined, Sophy, before you knew what you were +doing, and you would only perceive your error when you had cause to +lament it. The most dangerous snare, the only snare which reason +cannot avoid, is that of the senses; if ever you have the misfortune +to fall into its toils, you will perceive nothing but fancies and +illusions; your eyes will be fascinated, your judgment troubled, +your will corrupted, your very error will be dear to you, and even +if you were able to perceive it you would not be willing to escape +from it. My child, I trust you to Sophy's own reason; I do not +trust you to the fancies of your own heart. Judge for yourself so +long as your heart is untouched, but when you love betake yourself +to your mother's care. + +"I propose a treaty between us which shows our esteem for you, and +restores the order of nature between us. Parents choose a husband +for their daughter and she is only consulted as a matter of form; +that is the custom. We shall do just the opposite; you will choose, +and we shall be consulted. Use your right, Sophy, use it freely +and wisely. The husband suitable for you should be chosen by you +not us. But it is for us to judge whether he is really suitable, +or whether, without knowing it, you are only following your own +wishes. Birth, wealth, position, conventional opinions will count +for nothing with us. Choose a good man whose person and character +suit you; whatever he may be in other respects, we will accept +him as our son-in-law. He will be rich enough if he has bodily +strength, a good character, and family affection. His position will +be good enough if it is ennobled by virtue. If everybody blames +us, we do not care. We do not seek the approbation of men, but your +happiness." + +I cannot tell my readers what effect such words would have upon +girls brought up in their fashion. As for Sophy, she will have no +words to reply; shame and emotion will not permit her to express +herself easily; but I am sure that what was said will remain engraved +upon her heart as long as she lives, and that if any human resolution +may be trusted, we may rely on her determination to deserve her +parent's esteem. + +At worst let us suppose her endowed with an ardent disposition +which will make her impatient of long delays; I maintain that her +judgment, her knowledge, her taste, her refinement, and, above all, +the sentiments in which she has been brought up from childhood, will +outweigh the impetuosity of the senses, and enable her to offer a +prolonged resistance, if not to overcome them altogether. She would +rather die a virgin martyr than distress her parents by marrying +a worthless man and exposing herself to the unhappiness of an +ill-assorted marriage. Ardent as an Italian and sentimental as an +Englishwoman, she has a curb upon heart and sense in the pride of +a Spaniard, who even when she seeks a lover does not easily discover +one worthy of her. + +Not every one can realise the motive power to be found in a love of +what is right, nor the inner strength which results from a genuine +love of virtue. There are men who think that all greatness is a +figment of the brain, men who with their vile and degraded reason +will never recognise the power over human passions which is wielded +by the very madness of virtue. You can only teach such men by +examples; if they persist in denying their existence, so much the +worse for them. If I told them that Sophy is no imaginary person, +that her name alone is my invention, that her education, her conduct, +her character, her very features, really existed, and that her loss +is still mourned by a very worthy family, they would, no doubt, +refuse to believe me; but indeed why should I not venture to relate +word for word the story of a girl so like Sophy that this story +might be hers without surprising any one. Believe it or no, it is +all the same to me; call my history fiction if you will; in any +case I have explained my method and furthered my purpose. + +This young girl with the temperament which I have attributed to +Sophy was so like her in other respects that she was worthy of the +name, and so we will continue to use it. After the conversation +related above, her father and mother thought that suitable husbands +would not be likely to offer themselves in the hamlet where they +lived; so they decided to send her to spend the winter in town, +under the care of an aunt who was privately acquainted with the +object of the journey; for Sophy's heart throbbed with noble pride +at the thought of her self-control; and however much she might +want to marry, she would rather have died a maid than have brought +herself to go in search of a husband. + +In response to her parents' wishes her aunt introduced her to her +friends, took her into company, both private and public, showed +her society, or rather showed her in society, for Sophy paid little +heed to its bustle. Yet it was plain that she did not shrink from +young men of pleasing appearance and modest seemly behaviour. +Her very shyness had a charm of its own, which was very much like +coquetry; but after talking to them once or twice she repulsed them. +She soon exchanged that air of authority which seems to accept men's +homage for a humbler bearing and a still more chilling politeness. +Always watchful over her conduct, she gave them no chance of doing +her the least service; it was perfectly plain that she was determined +not to accept any one of them. + +Never did sensitive heart take pleasure in noisy amusements, the +empty and barren delights of those who have no feelings, those who +think that a merry life is a happy life. Sophy did not find what +she sought, and she felt sure she never would, so she got tired +of the town. She loved her parents dearly and nothing made up for +their absence, nothing could make her forget them; she went home +long before the time fixed for the end of her visit. + +Scarcely had she resumed her home duties when they perceived that +her temper had changed though her conduct was unaltered, she was +forgetful, impatient, sad, and dreamy; she wept in secret. At first +they thought she was in love and was ashamed to own it; they spoke +to her, but she repudiated the idea. She protested she had seen no +one who could touch her heart, and Sophy always spoke the truth. + +Yet her languor steadily increased, and her health began to give +way. Her mother was anxious about her, and determined to know the +reason for this change. She took her aside, and with the winning +speech and the irresistible caresses which only a mother can employ, +she said, "My child, whom I have borne beneath my heart, whom I bear +ever in my affection, confide your secret to your mother's bosom. +What secrets are these which a mother may not know? Who pities +your sufferings, who shares them, who would gladly relieve them, +if not your father and myself? Ah, my child! would you have me die +of grief for your sorrow without letting me share it?" + +Far from hiding her griefs from her mother, the young girl asked +nothing better than to have her as friend and comforter; but she +could not speak for shame, her modesty could find no words to describe +a condition so unworthy of her, as the emotion which disturbed her +senses in spite of all her efforts. At length her very shame gave +her mother a clue to her difficulty, and she drew from her the +humiliating confession. Far from distressing her with reproaches +or unjust blame, she consoled her, pitied her, wept over her; she +was too wise to make a crime of an evil which virtue alone made so +cruel. But why put up with such an evil when there was no necessity +to do so, when the remedy was so easy and so legitimate? Why did +she not use the freedom they had granted her? Why did she not take +a husband? Why did she not make her choice? Did she not know that +she was perfectly independent in this matter, that whatever her +choice, it would be approved, for it was sure to be good? They had +sent her to town, but she would not stay; many suitors had offered +themselves, but she would have none of them. What did she expect? +What did she want? What an inexplicable contradiction? + +The reply was simple. If it were only a question of the partner of +her youth, her choice would soon be made; but a master for life is +not so easily chosen; and since the two cannot be separated, people +must often wait and sacrifice their youth before they find the man +with whom they could spend their life. Such was Sophy's case; she +wanted a lover, but this lover must be her husband; and to discover +a heart such as she required, a lover and husband were equally +difficult to find. All these dashing young men were only her equals +in age, in everything else they were found lacking; their empty +wit, their vanity, their affectations of speech, their ill-regulated +conduct, their frivolous imitations alike disgusted her. She sought +a man and she found monkeys; she sought a soul and there was none +to be found. + +"How unhappy I am!" said she to her mother; "I am compelled to love +and yet I am dissatisfied with every one. My heart rejects every +one who appeals to my senses. Every one of them stirs my passions +and all alike revolt them; a liking unaccompanied by respect cannot +last. That is not the sort of man for your Sophy; the delightful +image of her ideal is too deeply graven in her heart. She can love +no other; she can make no one happy but him, and she cannot be +happy without him. She would rather consume herself in ceaseless +conflicts, she would rather die free and wretched, than driven +desperate by the company of a man she did not love, a man she +would make as unhappy as herself; she would rather die than live +to suffer." + +Amazed at these strange ideas, her mother found them so peculiar +that she could not fail to suspect some mystery. Sophy was neither +affected nor absurd. How could such exaggerated delicacy exist in +one who had been so carefully taught from her childhood to adapt +herself to those with whom she must live, and to make a virtue +of necessity? This ideal of the delightful man with which she was +so enchanted, who appeared so often in her conversation, made her +mother suspect that there was some foundation for her caprices +which was still unknown to her, and that Sophy had not told her +all. The unhappy girl, overwhelmed with her secret grief, was only +too eager to confide it to another. Her mother urged her to speak; +she hesitated, she yielded, and leaving the room without a word, +she presently returned with a book in her hand. "Have pity on your +unhappy daughter, there is no remedy for her grief, her tears cannot +be dried. You would know the cause: well, here it is," said she, +flinging the book on the table. Her mother took the book and opened +it; it was The Adventures of Telemachus. At first she could make +nothing of this riddle; by dint of questions and vague replies, she +discovered to her great surprise that her daughter was the rival +of Eucharis. + +Sophy was in love with Telemachus, and loved him with a passion +which nothing could cure. When her father and mother became aware +of her infatuation, they laughed at it and tried to cure her by +reasoning with her. They were mistaken, reason was not altogether +on their side; Sophy had her own reason and knew how to use it. +Many a time did she reduce them to silence by turning their own +arguments against them, by showing them that it was all their own +fault for not having trained her to suit the men of that century; +that she would be compelled to adopt her husband's way of thinking +or he must adopt hers, that they had made the former course impossible +by the way she had been brought up, and that the latter was just +what she wanted. "Give me," said she, "a man who holds the same +opinions as I do, or one who will be willing to learn them from me, +and I will marry him; but until then, why do you scold me? Pity me; +I am miserable, but not mad. Is the heart controlled by the will? +Did my father not ask that very question? Is it my fault if I love +what has no existence? I am no visionary; I desire no prince, I +seek no Telemachus, I know he is only an imaginary person; I seek +some one like him. And why should there be no such person, since +there is such a person as I, I who feel that my heart is like his? +No, let us not wrong humanity so greatly, let us not think that +an amiable and virtuous man is a figment of the imagination. He +exists, he lives, perhaps he is seeking me; he is seeking a soul +which is capable of love for him. But who is he, where is he? I +know not; he is not among those I have seen; and no doubt I shall +never see him. Oh! mother, why did you make virtue too attractive? +If I can love nothing less, you are more to blame than I." + +Must I continue this sad story to its close? Must I describe the +long struggles which preceded it? Must I show an impatient mother +exchanging her former caresses for severity? Must I paint an angry +father forgetting his former promises, and treating the most virtuous +of daughters as a mad woman? Must I portray the unhappy girl, more +than ever devoted to her imaginary hero, because of the persecution +brought upon her by that devotion, drawing nearer step by step +to her death, and descending into the grave when they were about +to force her to the altar? No; I will not dwell upon these gloomy +scenes; I have no need to go so far to show, by what I consider +a sufficiently striking example, that in spite of the prejudices +arising from the manners of our age, the enthusiasm for the good +and the beautiful is no more foreign to women than to men, and that +there is nothing which, under nature's guidance, cannot be obtained +from them as well as from us. + +You stop me here to inquire whether it is nature which teaches us +to take such pains to repress our immoderate desires. No, I reply, +but neither is it nature who gives us these immoderate desires. +Now, all that is not from nature is contrary to nature, as I have +proved again and again. + +Let us give Emile his Sophy; let us restore this sweet girl to life +and provide her with a less vivid imagination and a happier fate. +I desired to paint an ordinary woman, but by endowing her with a +great soul, I have disturbed her reason. I have gone astray. Let us +retrace our steps. Sophy has only a good disposition and an ordinary +heart; her education is responsible for everything in which she +excels other women. + +In this book I intended to describe all that might be done and to +leave every one free to choose what he could out of all the good +things I described. I meant to train a helpmeet for Emile, from the +very first, and to educate them for each other and with each other. +But on consideration I thought all these premature arrangements +undesirable, for it was absurd to plan the marriage of two children +before I could tell whether this union was in accordance with +nature and whether they were really suited to each other. We must +not confuse what is suitable in a state of savagery with what is +suitable in civilised life. In the former, any woman will suit any +man, for both are still in their primitive and undifferentiated +condition; in the latter, all their characteristics have been +developed by social institutions, and each mind, having taken its +own settled form, not from education alone, but by the co-operation, +more or less well-regulated, of natural disposition and education, +we can only make a match by introducing them to each other to see +if they suit each other in every respect, or at least we can let them +make that choice which gives the most promise of mutual suitability. + +The difficulty is this: while social life develops character +it differentiates classes, and these two classifications do not +correspond, so that the greater the social distinctions, the greater +the difficulty of finding the corresponding character. Hence we +have ill-assorted marriages and all their accompanying evils; and +we find that it follows logically that the further we get from +equality, the greater the change in our natural feelings; the wider +the distance between great and small, the looser the marriage tie; +the deeper the gulf between rich and poor the fewer husbands and +fathers. Neither master nor slave belongs to a family, but only to +a class. + +If you would guard against these abuses, and secure happy marriages, +you must stifle your prejudices, forget human institutions, and +consult nature. Do not join together those who are only alike in +one given condition, those who will not suit one another if that +condition is changed; but those who are adapted to one another in +every situation, in every country, and in every rank in which they +may be placed. I do not say that conventional considerations are +of no importance in marriage, but I do say that the influence of +natural relations is so much more important, that our fate in life +is decided by them alone, and that there is such an agreement of +taste, temper, feeling, and disposition as should induce a wise +father, though he were a prince, to marry his son, without a moment's +hesitation, to the woman so adapted to him, were she born in a bad +home, were she even the hangman's daughter. I maintain indeed that +every possible misfortune may overtake husband and wife if they are +thus united, yet they will enjoy more real happiness while they +mingle their tears, than if they possessed all the riches of the +world, poisoned by divided hearts. + +Instead of providing a wife for Emile in childhood, I have waited +till I knew what would suit him. It is not for me to decide, but +for nature; my task is to discover the choice she has made. My +business, mine I repeat, not his father's; for when he entrusted his +son to my care, he gave up his place to me. He gave me his rights; +it is I who am really Emile's father; it is I who have made a man +of him. I would have refused to educate him if I were not free to +marry him according to his own choice, which is mine. Nothing but +the pleasure of bestowing happiness on a man can repay me for the +cost of making him capable of happiness. + +Do not suppose, however, that I have delayed to find a wife for +Emile till I sent him in search of her. This search is only a pretext +for acquainting him with women, so that he may perceive the value +of a suitable wife. Sophy was discovered long since; Emile may even +have seen her already, but he will not recognise her till the time +is come. + +Although equality of rank is not essential in marriage, yet this +equality along with other kinds of suitability increases their +value; it is not to be weighed against any one of them, but, other +things being equal, it turns the scale. + +A man, unless he is a king, cannot seek a wife in any and every +class; if he himself is free from prejudices, he will find them in +others; and this girl or that might perhaps suit him and yet she +would be beyond his reach. A wise father will therefore restrict +his inquiries within the bounds of prudence. He should not wish to +marry his pupil into a family above his own, for that is not within +his power. If he could do so he ought not desire it; for what +difference does rank make to a young man, at least to my pupil? +Yet, if he rises he is exposed to all sorts of real evils which +he will feel all his life long. I even say that he should not try +to adjust the balance between different gifts, such as rank and +money; for each of these adds less to the value of the other than +the amount deducted from its own value in the process of adjustment; +moreover, we can never agree as to a common denominator; and +finally the preference, which each feels for his own surroundings, +paves the way for discord between the two families and often to +difficulties between husband and wife. + +It makes a considerable difference as to the suitability of +a marriage whether a man marries above or beneath him. The former +case is quite contrary to reason, the latter is more in conformity +with reason. As the family is only connected with society through +its head, it is the rank of that head which decides that of the +family as a whole. When he marries into a lower rank, a man does +not lower himself, he raises his wife; if, on the other hand, he +marries above his position, he lowers his wife and does not raise +himself. Thus there is in the first case good unmixed with evil, +in the other evil unmixed with good. Moreover, the law of nature +bids the woman obey the man. If he takes a wife from a lower class, +natural and civil law are in accordance and all goes well. When he +marries a woman of higher rank it is just the opposite case; the +man must choose between diminished rights or imperfect gratitude; +he must be ungrateful or despised. Then the wife, laying claim to +authority, makes herself a tyrant over her lawful head; and the +master, who has become a slave, is the most ridiculous and miserable +of creatures. Such are the unhappy favourites whom the sovereigns +of Asia honour and torment with their alliance; people tell us that +if they desire to sleep with their wife they must enter by the foot +of the bed. + +I expect that many of my readers will remember that I think women +have a natural gift for managing men, and will accuse me of contradicting +myself; yet they are mistaken. There is a vast difference between +claiming the right to command, and managing him who commands. Woman's +reign is a reign of gentleness, tact, and kindness; her commands +are caresses, her threats are tears. She should reign in the home +as a minister reigns in the state, by contriving to be ordered to +do what she wants. In this sense, I grant you, that the best managed +homes are those where the wife has most power. But when she despises +the voice of her head, when she desires to usurp his rights and +take the command upon herself, this inversion of the proper order +of things leads only to misery, scandal, and dishonour. + +There remains the choice between our equals and our inferiors; and +I think we ought also to make certain restrictions with regard to +the latter; for it is hard to find in the lowest stratum of society +a woman who is able to make a good man happy; not that the lower +classes are more vicious than the higher, but because they have so +little idea of what is good and beautiful, and because the injustice +of other classes makes its very vices seem right in the eyes of +this class. + +By nature man thinks but seldom. He learns to think as he acquires +the other arts, but with even greater difficulty. In both sexes +alike I am only aware of two really distinct classes, those who +think and those who do not; and this difference is almost entirely +one of education. A man who thinks should not ally himself with a +woman who does not think, for he loses the chief delight of social +life if he has a wife who cannot share his thoughts. People who +spend their whole life in working for a living have no ideas beyond +their work and their own interests, and their mind seems to reside +in their arms. This ignorance is not necessarily unfavourable either +to their honesty or their morals; it is often favourable; we often +content ourselves with thinking about our duties, and in the end +we substitute words for things. Conscience is the most enlightened +philosopher; to be an honest man we need not read Cicero's De +Officiis, and the most virtuous woman in the world is probably she +who knows least about virtue. But it is none the less true that +a cultivated mind alone makes intercourse pleasant, and it is a +sad thing for a father of a family, who delights in his home, to +be forced to shut himself up in himself and to be unable to make +himself understood. + +Moreover, if a woman is quite unaccustomed to think, how can she +bring up her children? How will she know what is good for them? How +can she incline them to virtues of which she is ignorant, to merit +of which she has no conception? She can only flatter or threaten, +she can only make them insolent or timid; she will make them +performing monkeys or noisy little rascals; she will never make +them intelligent or pleasing children. + +Therefore it is not fitting that a man of education should choose +a wife who has none, or take her from a class where she cannot be +expected to have any education. But I would a thousand times rather +have a homely girl, simply brought up, than a learned lady and a +wit who would make a literary circle of my house and install herself +as its president. A female wit is a scourge to her husband, her +children, her friends, her servants, to everybody. From the lofty +height of her genius she scorns every womanly duty, and she is +always trying to make a man of herself after the fashion of Mlle. +de L'Enclos. Outside her home she always makes herself ridiculous +and she is very rightly a butt for criticism, as we always are when +we try to escape from our own position into one for which we are +unfitted. These highly talented women only get a hold over fools. +We can always tell what artist or friend holds the pen or pencil +when they are at work; we know what discreet man of letters dictates +their oracles in private. This trickery is unworthy of a decent +woman. If she really had talents, her pretentiousness would degrade +them. Her honour is to be unknown; her glory is the respect of +her husband; her joys the happiness of her family. I appeal to my +readers to give me an honest answer; when you enter a woman's room +what makes you think more highly of her, what makes you address +her with more respect--to see her busy with feminine occupations, +with her household duties, with her children's clothes about her, +or to find her writing verses at her toilet table surrounded with +pamphlets of every kind and with notes on tinted paper? If there +were none but wise men upon earth such a woman would die an old +maid. + + "Quaeris cur nolim te ducere, galla? diserta es." + Martial xi. 20. + +Looks must next be considered; they are the first thing that strikes +us and they ought to be the last, still they should not count for +nothing. I think that great beauty is rather to be shunned than +sought after in marriage. Possession soon exhausts our appreciation +of beauty; in six weeks' time we think no more about it, but its +dangers endure as long as life itself. Unless a beautiful woman +is an angel, her husband is the most miserable of men; and even if +she were an angel he would still be the centre of a hostile crowd +and she could not prevent it. If extreme ugliness were not repulsive +I should prefer it to extreme beauty; for before very long the +husband would cease to notice either, but beauty would still have +its disadvantages and ugliness its advantages. But ugliness which +is actually repulsive is the worst misfortune; repulsion increases +rather than diminishes, and it turns to hatred. Such a union is a +hell upon earth; better death than such a marriage. + +Desire mediocrity in all things, even in beauty. A pleasant attractive +countenance, which inspires kindly feelings rather than love, is +what we should prefer; the husband runs no risk, and the advantages +are common to husband and wife; charm is less perishable than +beauty; it is a living thing, which constantly renews itself, and +after thirty years of married life, the charms of a good woman +delight her husband even as they did on the wedding-day. + +Such are the considerations which decided my choice of Sophy. +Brought up, like Emile, by Nature, she is better suited to him than +any other; she will be his true mate. She is his equal in birth and +character, his inferior in fortune. She makes no great impression +at first sight, but day by day reveals fresh charms. Her chief +influence only takes effect gradually, it is only discovered in +friendly intercourse; and her husband will feel it more than any +one. Her education is neither showy nor neglected; she has taste +without deep study, talent without art, judgment without learning. +Her mind knows little, but it is trained to learn; it is well-tilled +soil ready for the sower. She has read no book but Bareme and +Telemachus which happened to fall into her hands; but no girl who +can feel so passionately towards Telemachus can have a heart without +feeling or a mind without discernment. What charming ignorance! +Happy is he who is destined to be her tutor. She will not be her +husband's teacher but his scholar; far from seeking to control his +tastes, she will share them. She will suit him far better than +a blue-stocking and he will have the pleasure of teaching her +everything. It is time they made acquaintance; let us try to plan +a meeting. + +When we left Paris we were sorrowful and wrapped in thought. This +Babel is not our home. Emile casts a scornful glance towards the +great city, saying angrily, "What a time we have wasted; the bride +of my heart is not there. My friend, you knew it, but you think +nothing of my time, and you pay no heed to my sufferings." With +steady look and firm voice I reply, "Emile, do you mean what you +say?" At once he flings his arms round my neck and clasps me to +his breast without speaking. That is his answer when he knows he +is in the wrong. + +And now we are wandering through the country like true knights-errant; +yet we are not seeking adventures when we leave Paris; we are escaping +from them; now fast now slow, we wander through the country like +knights-errants. By following my usual practice the taste for it +has become established; and I do not suppose any of my readers are +such slaves of custom as to picture us dozing in a post-chaise with +closed windows, travelling, yet seeing nothing, observing nothing, +making the time between our start and our arrival a mere blank, +and losing in the speed of our journey, the time we meant to save. + +Men say life is short, and I see them doing their best to shorten +it. As they do not know how to spend their time they lament the +swiftness of its flight, and I perceive that for them it goes only +too slowly. Intent merely on the object of their pursuit, they behold +unwillingly the space between them and it; one desires to-morrow, +another looks a month ahead, another ten years beyond that. No +one wants to live to-day, no one contents himself with the present +hour, all complain that it passes slowly. When they complain that +time flies, they lie; they would gladly purchase the power to hasten +it; they would gladly spend their fortune to get rid of their whole +life; and there is probably not a single one who would not have +reduced his life to a few hours if he had been free to get rid of +those hours he found tedious, and those which separated him from +the desired moment. A man spends his whole life rushing from Paris +to Versailles, from Versailles to Paris, from town to country, from +country to town, from one district of the town to another; but he +would not know what to do with his time if he had not discovered +this way of wasting it, by leaving his business on purpose to find +something to do in coming back to it; he thinks he is saving the +time he spends, which would otherwise be unoccupied; or maybe he +rushes for the sake of rushing, and travels post in order to return +in the same fashion. When will mankind cease to slander nature? Why +do you complain that life is short when it is never short enough +for you? If there were but one of you, able to moderate his desires, +so that he did not desire the flight of time, he would never find +life too short; for him life and the joy of life would be one and +the same; should he die young, he would still die full of days. + +If this were the only advantage of my way of travelling it would +be enough. I have brought Emile up neither to desire nor to wait, +but to enjoy; and when his desires are bent upon the future, their +ardour is not so great as to make time seem tedious. He will not +only enjoy the delights of longing, but the delights of approaching +the object of his desires; and his passions are under such restraint +that he lives to a great extent in the present. + +So we do not travel like couriers but like explorers. We do not +merely consider the beginning and the end, but the space between. +The journey itself is a delight. We do not travel sitting, dismally +imprisoned, so to speak, in a tightly closed cage. We do not travel +with the ease and comfort of ladies. We do not deprive ourselves +of the fresh air, nor the sight of the things about us, nor the +opportunity of examining them at our pleasure. Emile will never +enter a post-chaise, nor will he ride post unless in a great hurry. +But what cause has Emile for haste? None but the joy of life. Shall +I add to this the desire to do good when he can? No, for that is +itself one of the joys of life. + +I can only think of one way of travelling pleasanter than travelling +on horseback, and that is to travel on foot. You start at your own +time, you stop when you will, you do as much or as little as you +choose. You see the country, you turn off to the right or left; +you examine anything which interests you, you stop to admire every +view. Do I see a stream, I wander by its banks; a leafy wood, I +seek its shade; a cave, I enter it; a quarry, I study its geology. +If I like a place, I stop there. As soon as I am weary of it, I go +on. I am independent of horses and postillions; I need not stick +to regular routes or good roads; I go anywhere where a man can +go; I see all that a man can see; and as I am quite independent of +everybody, I enjoy all the freedom man can enjoy. If I am stopped +by bad weather and I find myself getting bored, then I take horses. +If I am tired--but Emile is hardly ever tired; he is strong; why +should he get tired? There is no hurry? If he stops, why should he +be bored? He always finds some amusement. He works at a trade; he +uses his arms to rest his feet. + +To travel on foot is to travel in the fashion of Thales, Plato, +and Pythagoras. I find it hard to understand how a philosopher can +bring himself to travel in any other way; how he can tear himself +from the study of the wealth which lies before his eyes and beneath +his feet. Is there any one with an interest in agriculture, who +does not want to know the special products of the district through +which he is passing, and their method of cultivation? Is there +any one with a taste for natural history, who can pass a piece of +ground without examining it, a rock without breaking off a piece +of it, hills without looking for plants, and stones without seeking +for fossils? + +Your town-bred scientists study natural history in cabinets; they +have small specimens; they know their names but nothing of their +nature. Emile's museum is richer than that of kings; it is the +whole world. Everything is in its right place; the Naturalist who +is its curator has taken care to arrange it in the fairest order; +Dauberton could do no better. + +What varied pleasures we enjoy in this delightful way of travelling, +not to speak of increasing health and a cheerful spirit. I notice +that those who ride in nice, well-padded carriages are always wrapped +in thought, gloomy, fault-finding, or sick; while those who go on +foot are always merry, light-hearted, and delighted with everything. +How cheerful we are when we get near our lodging for the night! +How savoury is the coarse food! How we linger at table enjoying +our rest! How soundly we sleep on a hard bed! If you only want to +get to a place you may ride in a post-chaise; if you want to travel +you must go on foot. + +If Sophy is not forgotten before we have gone fifty leagues in the +way I propose, either I am a bungler or Emile lacks curiosity; for +with an elementary knowledge of so many things, it is hardly to be +supposed that he will not be tempted to extend his knowledge. It +is knowledge that makes us curious; and Emile knows just enough to +want to know more. + +One thing leads on to another, and we make our way forward. If I +chose a distant object for the end of our first journey, it is not +difficult to find an excuse for it; when we leave Paris we must +seek a wife at a distance. + +A few days later we had wandered further than usual among hills and +valleys where no road was to be seen and we lost our way completely. +No matter, all roads are alike if they bring you to your journey's +end, but if you are hungry they must lead somewhere. Luckily we +came across a peasant who took up to his cottage; we enjoyed his +poor dinner with a hearty appetite. When he saw how hungry and +tired we were he said, "If the Lord had led you to the other side +of the hill you would have had a better welcome, you would have +found a good resting place, such good, kindly people! They could +not wish to do more for you than I, but they are richer, though +folks say they used to be much better off. Still they are not +reduced to poverty, and the whole country-side is the better for +what they have." + +When Emile heard of these good people his heart warmed to them. "My +friend," said he, looking at me, "let us visit this house, whose +owners are a blessing to the district; I shall be very glad to +see them; perhaps they will be pleased to see us too; I am sure we +shall be welcome; we shall just suit each other." + +Our host told us how to find our way to the house and we set off, +but lost our way in the woods. We were caught in a heavy rainstorm, +which delayed us further. At last we found the right path and in +the evening we reached the house, which had been described to us. +It was the only house among the cottages of the little hamlet, and +though plain it had an air of dignity. We went up to the door and +asked for hospitality. We were taken to the owner of the house, who +questioned us courteously; without telling him the object of our +journey, we told him why we had left our path. His former wealth +enabled him to judge a man's position by his manners; those who +have lived in society are rarely mistaken; with this passport we +were admitted. + +The room we were shown into was very small, but clean and comfortable; +a fire was lighted, and we found linen, clothes, and everything +we needed. "Why," said Emile, in astonishment, "one would think +they were expecting us. The peasant was quite right; how kind and +attentive, how considerate, and for strangers too! I shall think I +am living in the times of Homer." "I am glad you feel this," said +I, "but you need not be surprised; where strangers are scarce, they +are welcome; nothing makes people more hospitable than the fact +that calls upon their hospitality are rare; when guests are frequent +there is an end to hospitality. In Homer's time, people rarely +travelled, and travellers were everywhere welcome. Very likely we +are the only people who have passed this way this year." "Never +mind," said he, "to know how to do without guests and yet to give +them a kind welcome, is its own praise." + +Having dried ourselves and changed our clothes, we rejoined the +master of the house, who introduced us to his wife; she received +us not merely with courtesy but with kindness. Her glance rested +on Emile. A mother, in her position, rarely receives a young man +into her house without some anxiety or some curiosity at least. + +Supper was hurried forward on our account. When we went into the +dining-room there were five places laid; we took our seats and the +fifth chair remained empty. Presently a young girl entered, made +a deep courtesy, and modestly took her place without a word. Emile +was busy with his supper or considering how to reply to what was +said to him; he bowed to her and continued talking and eating. +The main object of his journey was as far from his thoughts as he +believed himself to be from the end of his journey. The conversation +turned upon our losing our way. "Sir," said the master of the house +to Emile, "you seem to be a pleasant well-behaved young gentleman, +and that reminds me that your tutor and you arrived wet and weary +like Telemachus and Mentor in the island of Calypso." "Indeed," +said Emile, "we have found the hospitality of Calypso." His Mentor +added, "And the charms of Eucharis." But Emile knew the Odyssey and +he had not read Telemachus, so he knew nothing of Eucharis. As for +the young girl, I saw she blushed up to her eyebrows, fixed her +eyes on her plate, and hardly dared to breathe. Her mother, noticing +her confusion, made a sign to her father to turn the conversation. +When he talked of his lonely life, he unconsciously began to relate +the circumstances which brought him into it; his misfortunes, his +wife's fidelity, the consolations they found in their marriage, +their quiet, peaceful life in their retirement, and all this without +a word of the young girl; it is a pleasing and a touching story, +which cannot fail to interest. Emile, interested and sympathetic, +leaves off eating and listens. When finally this best of men +discourses with delight of the affection of the best of women, the +young traveller, carried away by his feelings, stretches one hand +to the husband, and taking the wife's hand with the other, he kisses +it rapturously and bathes it with his tears. Everybody is charmed +with the simple enthusiasm of the young man; but the daughter, more +deeply touched than the rest by this evidence of his kindly heart, +is reminded of Telemachus weeping for the woes of Philoctetus. She +looks at him shyly, the better to study his countenance; there is +nothing in it to give the lie to her comparison. + +His easy bearing shows freedom without pride; his manners are +lively but not boisterous; sympathy makes his glance softer and his +expression more pleasing; the young girl, seeing him weep, is ready +to mingle her tears with his. With so good an excuse for tears, +she is restrained by a secret shame; she blames herself already for +the tears which tremble on her eyelids, as though it were wrong to +weep for one's family. + +Her mother, who has been watching her ever since she sat down to +supper, sees her distress, and to relieve it she sends her on some +errand. The daughter returns directly, but so little recovered that +her distress is apparent to all. Her mother says gently, "Sophy, +control yourself; will you never cease to weep for the misfortunes +of your parents? Why should you, who are their chief comfort, be +more sensitive than they are themselves?" + +At the name of Sophy you would have seen Emile give a start. His +attention is arrested by this dear name, and he awakes all at once +and looks eagerly at one who dares to bear it. Sophy! Are you the +Sophy whom my heart is seeking? Is it you that I love? He looks at +her; he watches her with a sort of fear and self-distrust. The face +is not quite what he pictured; he cannot tell whether he likes it +more or less. He studies every feature, he watches every movement, +every gesture; he has a hundred fleeting interpretations for them +all; he would give half his life if she would but speak. He looks +at me anxiously and uneasily; his eyes are full of questions and +reproaches. His every glance seems to say, "Guide me while there +is yet time; if my heart yields itself and is deceived, I shall +never get over it." + +There is no one in the world less able to conceal his feelings than +Emile. How should he conceal them, in the midst of the greatest +disturbance he has ever experienced, and under the eyes of four +spectators who are all watching him, while she who seems to heed +him least is really most occupied with him. His uneasiness does +not escape the keen eyes of Sophy; his own eyes tell her that she +is its cause; she sees that this uneasiness is not yet love; what +matter? He is thinking of her, and that is enough; she will be +very unlucky if he thinks of her with impunity. + +Mothers, like daughters, have eyes; and they have experience too. +Sophy's mother smiles at the success of our schemes. She reads the +hearts of the young people; she sees that the time has come to +secure the heart of this new Telemachus; she makes her daughter +speak. Her daughter, with her native sweetness, replies in a timid +tone which makes all the more impression. At the first sound of +her voice, Emile surrenders; it is Sophy herself; there can be no +doubt about it. If it were not so, it would be too late to deny +it. + +The charms of this maiden enchantress rush like torrents through +his heart, and he begins to drain the draughts of poison with which +he is intoxicated. He says nothing; questions pass unheeded; he +sees only Sophy, he hears only Sophy; if she says a word, he opens +his mouth; if her eyes are cast down, so are his; if he sees her +sigh, he sighs too; it is Sophy's heart which seems to speak in +his. What a change have these few moments wrought in her heart! It +is no longer her turn to tremble, it is Emile's. Farewell liberty, +simplicity, frankness. Confused, embarrassed, fearful, he dare not +look about him for fear he should see that we are watching him. +Ashamed that we should read his secret, he would fain become +invisible to every one, that he might feed in secret on the sight +of Sophy. Sophy, on the other hand, regains her confidence at the +sight of Emile's fear; she sees her triumph and rejoices in it. + + "No'l mostra gia, ben che in suo cor ne rida." + Tasso, Jerus. Del., c. iv. v. 33. + +Her expression remains unchanged; but in spite of her modest look +and downcast eyes, her tender heart is throbbing with joy, and it +tells her that she has found Telemachus. + +If I relate the plain and simple tale of their innocent affections +you will accuse me of frivolity, but you will be mistaken. Sufficient +attention is not given to the effect which the first connection +between man and woman is bound to produce on the future life of +both. People do not see that a first impression so vivid as that +of love, or the liking which takes the place of love, produces +lasting effects whose influence continues till death. Works on +education are crammed with wordy and unnecessary accounts of the +imaginary duties of children; but there is not a word about the most +important and most difficult part of their education, the crisis +which forms the bridge between the child and the man. If any part +of this work is really useful, it will be because I have dwelt at great +length on this matter, so essential in itself and so neglected by +other authors, and because I have not allowed myself to be discouraged +either by false delicacy or by the difficulties of expression. The +story of human nature is a fair romance. Am I to blame if it is +not found elsewhere? I am trying to write the history of mankind. +If my book is a romance, the fault lies with those who deprave +mankind. + +This is supported by another reason; we are not dealing with a +youth given over from childhood to fear, greed, envy, pride, and +all those passions which are the common tools of the schoolmaster; +we have to do with a youth who is not only in love for the first +time, but with one who is also experiencing his first passion of +any kind; very likely it will be the only strong passion he will +ever know, and upon it depends the final formation of his character. +His mode of thought, his feelings, his tastes, determined by +a lasting passion, are about to become so fixed that they will be +incapable of further change. + +You will easily understand that Emile and I do not spend the whole +of the night which follows after such an evening in sleep. Why! Do +you mean to tell me that a wise man should be so much affected by +a mere coincidence of name! Is there only one Sophy in the world? +Are they all alike in heart and in name? Is every Sophy he meets +his Sophy? Is he mad to fall in love with a person of whom he knows +so little, with whom he has scarcely exchanged a couple of words? +Wait, young man; examine, observe. You do not even know who our +hosts may be, and to hear you talk one would think the house was +your own. + +This is no time for teaching, and what I say will receive scant +attention. It only serves to stimulate Emile to further interest +in Sophy, through his desire to find reasons for his fancy. The +unexpected coincidence in the name, the meeting which, so far as he +knows, was quite accidental, my very caution itself, only serve as +fuel to the fire. He is so convinced already of Sophy's excellence, +that he feels sure he can make me fond of her. + +Next morning I have no doubt Emile will make himself as smart as +his old travelling suit permits. I am not mistaken; but I am amused +to see how eager he is to wear the clean linen put out for us. I +know his thoughts, and I am delighted to see that he is trying to +establish a means of intercourse, through the return and exchange +of the linen; so that he may have a right to return it and so pay +another visit to the house. + +I expected to find Sophy rather more carefully dressed too; but I +was mistaken. Such common coquetry is all very well for those who +merely desire to please. The coquetry of true love is a more delicate +matter; it has quite another end in view. Sophy is dressed, if +possible, more simply than last night, though as usual her frock is +exquisitely clean. The only sign of coquetry is her self-consciousness. +She knows that an elaborate toilet is a sign of love, but she does +not know that a careless toilet is another of its signs; it shows +a desire to be like not merely for one's clothes but for oneself. +What does a lover care for her clothes if he knows she is thinking +of him? Sophy is already sure of her power over Emile, and she is +not content to delight his eyes if his heart is not hers also; he +must not only perceive her charms, he must divine them; has he not +seen enough to guess the rest? + +We may take it for granted that while Emile and I were talking last +night, Sophy and her mother were not silent; a confession was made +and instructions given. The morning's meeting is not unprepared. +Twelve hours ago our young people had never met; they have never +said a word to each other; but it is clear that there is already +an understanding between them. Their greeting is formal, confused, +timid; they say nothing, their downcast eyes seem to avoid each +other, but that is in itself a sign that they understand, they +avoid each other with one consent; they already feel the need of +concealment, though not a word has been uttered. When we depart we +ask leave to come again to return the borrowed clothes in person, +Emile's words are addressed to the father and mother, but his eyes +seek Sophy's, and his looks are more eloquent than his words. Sophy +says nothing by word or gesture; she seems deaf and blind, but she +blushes, and that blush is an answer even plainer than that of her +parents. + +We receive permission to come again, though we are not invited to +stay. This is only fitting; you offer shelter to benighted travellers, +but a lover does not sleep in the house of his mistress. + +We have hardly left the beloved abode before Emile is thinking of +taking rooms in the neighbourhood; the nearest cottage seems too +far; he would like to sleep in the next ditch. "You young fool!" I +said in a tone of pity, "are you already blinded by passion? Have +you no regard for manners or for reason? Wretched youth, you call +yourself a lover and you would bring disgrace upon her you love! +What would people say of her if they knew that a young man who has +been staying at her house was sleeping close by? You say you love +her! Would you ruin her reputation? Is that the price you offer +for her parents' hospitality? Would you bring disgrace on her who +will one day make you the happiest of men?" "Why should we trouble +ourselves about the empty words and unjust suspicions of other +people?" said he eagerly. "Have you not taught me yourself to make +light of them? Who knows better than I how greatly I honour Sophy, +what respect I desire to show her? My attachment will not cause +her shame, it will be her glory, it shall be worthy of her. If my +heart and my actions continually give her the homage she deserves, +what harm can I do her?" "Dear Emile," I said, as I clasped him to +my heart, "you are thinking of yourself alone; learn to think for +her too. Do not compare the honour of one sex with that of the +other, they rest on different foundations. These foundations are +equally firm and right, because they are both laid by nature, and +that same virtue which makes you scorn what men say about yourself, +binds you to respect what they say of her you love. Your honour +is in your own keeping, her honour depends on others. To neglect +it is to wound your own honour, and you fail in what is due to +yourself if you do not give her the respect she deserves." + +Then while I explain the reasons for this difference, I make him +realise how wrong it would be to pay no attention to it. Who can +say if he will really be Sophy's husband? He does not know how she +feels towards him; her own heart or her parents' will may already +have formed other engagements; he knows nothing of her, perhaps +there are none of those grounds of suitability which make a +happy marriage. Is he not aware that the least breath of scandal +with regard to a young girl is an indelible stain, which not even +marriage with him who has caused the scandal can efface? What man +of feeling would ruin the woman he loves? What man of honour would +desire that a miserable woman should for ever lament the misfortune +of having found favour in his eyes? + +Always prone to extremes, the youth takes alarm at the consequences +which I have compelled him to consider, and now he thinks that +he cannot be too far from Sophy's home; he hastens his steps to +get further from it; he glances round to make sure that no one is +listening; he would sacrifice his own happiness a thousand times +to the honour of her whom he loves; he would rather never see her +again than cause her the least unpleasantness. This is the first +result of the pains I have taken ever since he was a child to make +him capable of affection. + +We must therefore seek a lodging at a distance, but not too far. +We look about us, we make inquiries; we find that there is a town +at least two leagues away. We try and find lodgings in this town, +rather than in the nearer villages, where our presence might give +rise to suspicion. It is there that the new lover takes up his abode, +full of love, hope, joy, above all full of right feeling. In this +way, I guide his rising passion towards all that is honourable and +good, so that his inclinations unconsciously follow the same bent. + +My course is drawing to a close; the end is in view. All the chief +difficulties are vanquished, the chief obstacles overcome; the +hardest thing left to do is to refrain from spoiling my work by +undue haste to complete it. Amid the uncertainty of human life, let +us shun that false prudence which seeks to sacrifice the present +to the future; what is, is too often sacrificed to what will never +be. Let us make man happy at every age lest in spite of our care +he should die without knowing the meaning of happiness. Now if there +is a time to enjoy life, it is undoubtedly the close of adolescence, +when the powers of mind and body have reached their greatest +strength, and when man in the midst of his course is furthest from +those two extremes which tell him "Life is short." If the imprudence +of youth deceives itself it is not in its desire for enjoyment, but +because it seeks enjoyment where it is not to be found, and lays +up misery for the future, while unable to enjoy the present. + +Consider my Emile over twenty years of age, well formed, well developed +in mind and body, strong, healthy, active, skilful, robust, full +of sense, reason, kindness, humanity, possessed of good morals and +good taste, loving what is beautiful, doing what is good, free from +the sway of fierce passions, released from the tyranny of popular +prejudices, but subject to the law of wisdom, and easily guided +by the voice of a friend; gifted with so many useful and pleasant +accomplishments, caring little for wealth, able to earn a living +with his own hands, and not afraid of want, whatever may come. Behold +him in the intoxication of a growing passion; his heart opens to +the first beams of love; its pleasant fancies reveal to him a whole +world of new delights and enjoyments; he loves a sweet woman, whose +character is even more delightful than her person; he hopes, he +expects the reward which he deserves. + +Their first attachment took its rise in mutual affection, in community +of honourable feelings; therefore this affection is lasting. It +abandons itself, with confidence, with reason, to the most delightful +madness, without fear, regret, remorse, or any other disturbing +thought, but that which is inseparable from all happiness. What +lacks there yet? Behold, inquire, imagine what still is lacking, +that can be combined with present joys. Every happiness which can +exist in combination is already present; nothing could be added +without taking away from what there is; he is as happy as man can +be. Shall I choose this time to cut short so sweet a period? Shall +I disturb such pure enjoyment? The happiness he enjoys is my life's +reward. What could I give that could outweigh what I should take +away? Even if I set the crown to his happiness I should destroy +its greatest charm. That supreme joy is a hundredfold greater in +anticipation than in possession; its savour is greater while we wait +for it than when it is ours. O worthy Emile! love and be loved! +prolong your enjoyment before it is yours; rejoice in your love and +in your innocence, find your paradise upon earth, while you await +your heaven. I shall not cut short this happy period of life. I will +draw out its enchantments, I will prolong them as far as possible. +Alas! it must come to an end and that soon; but it shall at least +linger in your memory, and you will never repent of its joys. + +Emile has not forgotten that we have something to return. As soon +as the things are ready, we take horse and set off at a great pace, +for on this occasion he is anxious to get there. When the heart +opens the door to passion, it becomes conscious of the slow flight +of time. If my time has not been wasted he will not spend his life +like this. + +Unluckily the road is intricate and the country difficult. We +lose our way; he is the first to notice it, and without losing his +temper, and without grumbling, he devotes his whole attention to +discovering the path; he wanders for a long time before he knows +where he is and always with the same self-control. You think nothing +of that; but I think it a matter of great importance, for I know +how eager he is; I see the results of the care I have taken from +his infancy to harden him to endure the blows of necessity. + +We are there at last! Our reception is much simpler and more friendly +than on the previous occasion; we are already old acquaintances. +Emile and Sophy bow shyly and say nothing; what can they say in our +presence? What they wish to say requires no spectators. We walk in +the garden; a well-kept kitchen-garden takes the place of flower-beds, +the park is an orchard full of fine tall fruit trees of every +kind, divided by pretty streams and borders full of flowers. "What +a lovely place!" exclaims Emile, still thinking of his Homer, +and still full of enthusiasm, "I could fancy myself in the garden +of Alcinous." The daughter wishes she knew who Alcinous was; +her mother asks. "Alcinous," I tell them, "was a king of Coreyra. +Homer describes his garden and the critics think it too simple and +unadorned. [Footnote: "'When you leave the palace you enter a vast +garden, four acres in extent, walled in on every side, planted +with tall trees in blossom, and yielding pears, pomegranates, and +other goodly fruits, fig-trees with their luscious burden and green +olives. All the year round these fair trees are heavy with fruit; +summer and winter the soft breath of the west wind sways the trees +and ripens the fruit. Pears and apples wither on the branches, the +fig on the fig-tree, and the clusters of grapes on the vine. The +inexhaustible stock bears fresh grapes, some are baked, some are +spread out on the threshing floor to dry, others are made into +wine, while flowers, sour grapes, and those which are beginning +to wither are left upon the tree. At either end is a square garden +filled with flowers which bloom throughout the year, these gardens +are adorned by two fountains, one of these streams waters the +garden, the other passes through the palace and is then taken to a +lofty tower in the town to provide drinking water for its citizens.' +Such is the description of the royal garden of Alcinous in the 7th +book of the Odyssey, a garden in which, to the lasting disgrace +of that old dreamer Homer and the princes of his day, there were +neither trellises, statues, cascades, nor bowling-greens."] This +Alcinous had a charming daughter who dreamed the night before her +father received a stranger at his board that she would soon have +a husband." Sophy, taken unawares, blushed, hung her head, and +bit her lips; no one could be more confused. Her father, who was +enjoying her confusion, added that the young princess bent herself +to wash the linen in the river. "Do you think," said he, "she would +have scorned to touch the dirty clothes, saying, that they smelt of +grease?" Sophy, touched to the quick, forgot her natural timidity +and defended herself eagerly. Her papa knew very well all the +smaller things would have had no other laundress if she had been +allowed to wash them, and she would gladly have done more had she +been set to do it. [Footnote: I own I feel grateful to Sophy's +mother for not letting her spoil such pretty hands with soap, hands +which Emile will kiss so often.] Meanwhile she watched me secretly +with such anxiety that I could not suppress a smile, while I read +the terrors of her simple heart which urged her to speak. Her +father was cruel enough to continue this foolish sport, by asking +her, in jest, why she spoke on her own behalf and what had she in +common with the daughter of Alcinous. Trembling and ashamed she +dared hardly breathe or look at us. Charming girl! This is no time +for feigning, you have shown your true feelings in spite of yourself. + +To all appearance this little scene is soon forgotten; luckily for +Sophy, Emile, at least, is unaware of it. We continue our walk, +the young people at first keeping close beside us; but they find +it hard to adapt themselves to our slower pace, and presently they +are a little in front of us, they are walking side by side, they +begin to talk, and before long they are a good way ahead. Sophy +seems to be listening quietly, Emile is talking and gesticulating +vigorously; they seem to find their conversation interesting. When +we turn homewards a full hour later, we call them to us and they +return slowly enough now, and we can see they are making good +use of their time. Their conversation ceases suddenly before they +come within earshot, and they hurry up to us. Emile meets us with +a frank affectionate expression; his eyes are sparkling with joy; +yet he looks anxiously at Sophy's mother to see how she takes it. +Sophy is not nearly so much at her ease; as she approaches us she +seems covered with confusion at finding herself tete-a-tete with +a young man, though she has met so many other young men frankly +enough, and without being found fault with for it. She runs up to +her mother, somewhat out of breath, and makes some trivial remark, +as if to pretend she had been with her for some time. + +From the happy expression of these dear children we see that +this conversation has taken a load off their hearts. They are no +less reticent in their intercourse, but their reticence is less +embarrassing, it is only due to Emile's reverence and Sophy's +modesty, to the goodness of both. Emile ventures to say a few words +to her, she ventures to reply, but she always looks at her mother +before she dares to answer. The most remarkable change is in her +attitude towards me. She shows me the greatest respect, she watches +me with interest, she takes pains to please me; I see that I am +honoured with her esteem, and that she is not indifferent to mine. +I understand that Emile has been talking to her about me; you might +say they have been scheming to win me over to their side; yet it +is not so, and Sophy herself is not so easily won. Perhaps Emile +will have more need of my influence with her than of hers with +me. What a charming pair! When I consider that the tender love of +my young friend has brought my name so prominently into his first +conversation with his lady-love, I enjoy the reward of all my +trouble; his affection is a sufficient recompense. + +Our visit is repeated. There are frequent conversations between the +young people. Emile is madly in love and thinks that his happiness +is within his grasp. Yet he does not succeed in winning any formal +avowal from Sophy; she listens to what he says and answers nothing. +Emile knows how modest she is, and is not surprised at her reticence; +he feels sure that she likes him; he knows that parents decide whom +their daughters shall marry; he supposes that Sophy is awaiting +her parents' commands; he asks her permission to speak to them, and +she makes no objection. He talks to me and I speak on his behalf +and in his presence. He is immensely surprised to hear that Sophy +is her own mistress, that his happiness depends on her alone. He +begins to be puzzled by her conduct. He is less self-confident, +he takes alarm, he sees that he has not made so much progress as +he expected, and then it is that his love appeals to her in the +tenderest and most moving language. + +Emile is not the sort of man to guess what is the matter; if no one +told him he would never discover it as long as he lived, and Sophy +is too proud to tell him. What she considers obstacles, others would +call advantages. She has not forgotten her parents' teaching. She +is poor; Emile is rich; so much she knows. He must win her esteem; +his deserts must be great indeed to remove this inequality. But +how should he perceive these obstacles? Is Emile aware that he is +rich? Has he ever condescended to inquire? Thank heaven, he has +no need of riches, he can do good without their aid. The good he +does comes from his heart, not his purse. He gives the wretched +his time, his care, his affection, himself; and when he reckons +up what he has done, he hardly dares to mention the money spent on +the poor. + +As he does not know what to make of his disgrace, he thinks it is +his own fault; for who would venture to accuse the adored one of +caprice. The shame of humiliation adds to the pangs of disappointed +love. He no longer approaches Sophy with that pleasant confidence +of his own worth; he is shy and timid in her presence. He no longer +hopes to win her affections, but to gain her pity. Sometimes he +loses patience and is almost angry with her. Sophy seems to guess +his angry feelings and she looks at him. Her glance is enough to +disarm and terrify him; he is more submissive than he used to be. + +Disturbed by this stubborn resistance, this invincible silence, he +pours out his heart to his friend. He shares with him the pangs of +a heart devoured by sorrow; he implores his help and counsel. "How +mysterious it is, how hard to understand! She takes an interest +in me, that I am sure; far from avoiding me she is pleased to see +me; when I come she shows signs of pleasure, when I go she shows +regret; she receives my attentions kindly, my services seem to +give her pleasure, she condescends to give me her advice and even +her commands. Yet she rejects my requests and my prayers. When +I venture to speak of marriage, she bids me be silent; if I say +a word, she leaves me at once. Why on earth should she wish me to +be hers but refuse to be mine? She respects and loves you, and she +will not dare to refuse to listen to you. Speak to her, make her +answer. Come to your friend's help, and put the coping stone to all +you have done for him; do not let him fall a victim to your care! +If you fail to secure his happiness, your own teaching will have +been the cause of his misery." + +I speak to Sophy, and have no difficulty in getting her to confide +her secret to me, a secret which was known to me already. It is not +so easy to get permission to tell Emile; but at last she gives me +leave and I tell him what is the matter. He cannot get over his +surprise at this explanation. He cannot understand this delicacy; +he cannot see how a few pounds more or less can affect his character +or his deserts. When I get him to see their effect on people's +prejudices he begins to laugh; he is so wild with delight that he +wants to be off at once to tear up his title deeds and renounce his +money, so as to have the honour of being as poor as Sophy, and to +return worthy to be her husband. + +"Why," said I, trying to check him, and laughing in my turn at his +impetuosity, "will this young head never grow any older? Having +dabbled all your life in philosophy, will you never learn to reason? +Do not you see that your wild scheme would only make things worse, +and Sophy more obstinate? It is a small superiority to be rather +richer than she, but to give up all for her would be a very +great superiority; if her pride cannot bear to be under the small +obligation, how will she make up her mind to the greater? If she +cannot bear to think that her husband might taunt her with the fact +that he has enriched her, would she permit him to blame her for +having brought him to poverty? Wretched boy, beware lest she suspects +you of such a plan! On the contrary, be careful and economical +for her sake, lest she should accuse you of trying to gain her by +cunning, by sacrificing of your own free will what you are really +wasting through carelessness. + +"Do you really think that she is afraid of wealth, and that she is +opposed to great possessions in themselves? No, dear Emile; there +are more serious and substantial grounds for her opinion, in the +effect produced by wealth on its possessor. She knows that those +who are possessed of fortune's gifts are apt to place them first. +The rich always put wealth before merit. When services are reckoned +against silver, the latter always outweighs the former, and those +who have spent their life in their master's service are considered +his debtors for the very bread they eat. What must you do, Emile, +to calm her fears? Let her get to know you better; that is not done +in a day. Show her the treasures of your heart, to counterbalance +the wealth which is unfortunately yours. Time and constancy will +overcome her resistance; let your great and noble feelings make her +forget your wealth. Love her, serve her, serve her worthy parents. +Convince her that these attentions are not the result of a foolish +fleeting passion, but of settled principles engraved upon your +heart. Show them the honour deserved by worth when exposed to the +buffets of Fortune; that is the only way to reconcile it with that +worth which basks in her smiles." + +The transports of joy experienced by the young man at these words +may easily be imagined; they restore confidence and hope, his good +heart rejoices to do something to please Sophy, which he would +have done if there had been no such person, or if he had not been +in love with her. However little his character has been understood, +anybody can see how he would behave under such circumstances. + +Here am I, the confidant of these two young people and the mediator +of their affection. What a fine task for a tutor! So fine that +never in all my life have I stood so high in my own eyes, nor felt +so pleased with myself. Moreover, this duty is not without its +charms. I am not unwelcome in the home; it is my business to see +that the lovers behave themselves; Emile, ever afraid of offending +me, was never so docile. The little lady herself overwhelms me with +a kindness which does not deceive me, and of which I only take my +proper share. This is her way of making up for her severity towards +Emile. For his sake she bestows on me a hundred tender caresses, +though she would die rather than bestow them on him; and he, knowing +that I would never stand in his way, is delighted that I should +get on so well with her. If she refuses his arm when we are out +walking, he consoles himself with the thought that she has taken +mine. He makes way for me without a murmur, he clasps my hand, and +voice and look alike whisper, "My friend, plead for me!" and his +eyes follow us with interest; he tries to read our feelings in our +faces, and to interpret our conversation by our gestures; he knows +that everything we are saying concerns him. Dear Sophy, how frank +and easy you are when you can talk to Mentor without being overheard +by Telemachus. How freely and delightfully you permit him to read +what is passing in your tender little heart! How delighted you are +to show him how you esteem his pupil! How cunningly and appealingly +you allow him to divine still tenderer sentiments. With what +a pretence of anger you dismiss Emile when his impatience leads +him to interrupt you? With what pretty vexation you reproach his +indiscretion when he comes and prevents you saying something to +his credit, or listening to what I say about him, or finding in my +words some new excuse to love him! + +Having got so far as to be tolerated as an acknowledged lover, +Emile takes full advantage of his position; he speaks, he urges, he +implores, he demands. Hard words or ill treatment make no difference, +provided he gets a hearing. At length Sophy is persuaded, though +with some difficulty, to assume the authority of a betrothed, to +decide what he shall do, to command instead of to ask, to accept +instead of to thank, to control the frequency and the hours of his +visits, to forbid him to come till such a day or to stay beyond +such an hour. This is not done in play, but in earnest, and if it +was hard to induce her to accept these rights, she uses them so +sternly that Emile is often ready to regret that he gave them to +her. But whatever her commands, they are obeyed without question, +and often when at her bidding he is about to leave her, he glances +at me his eyes full of delight, as if to say, "You see she has taken +possession of me." Yet unknown to him, Sophy, with all her pride, +is observing him closely, and she is smiling to herself at the +pride of her slave. + +Oh that I had the brush of an Alban or a Raphael to paint their +bliss, or the pen of the divine Milton to describe the pleasures +of love and innocence! Not so; let such hollow arts shrink back +before the sacred truth of nature. In tenderness and pureness of +heart let your imagination freely trace the raptures of these young +lovers, who under the eyes of parents and tutor, abandon themselves +to their blissful illusions; in the intoxication of passion they +are advancing step by step to its consummation; with flowers and +garlands they are weaving the bonds which are to bind them till +death do part. I am carried away by this succession of pictures, +I am so happy that I cannot group them in any sort of order or +scheme; any one with a heart in his breast can paint the charming +picture for himself and realise the different experiences of father, +mother, daughter, tutor, and pupil, and the part played by each +and all in the union of the most delightful couple whom love and +virtue have ever led to happiness. + +Now that he is really eager to please, Emile begins to feel the +value of the accomplishments he has acquired. Sophy is fond of +singing, he sings with her; he does more, he teaches her music. +She is lively and light of foot, she loves skipping; he dances +with her, he perfects and develops her untrained movements into the +steps of the dance. These lessons, enlivened by the gayest mirth, +are quite delightful, they melt the timid respect of love; a lover +may enjoy teaching his betrothed--he has a right to be her teacher. + +There is an old spinet quite out of order. Emile mends and tunes +it; he is a maker and mender of musical instruments as well as a +carpenter; it has always been his rule to learn to do everything he +can for himself. The house is picturesquely situated and he makes +several sketches of it, in some of which Sophy does her share, and +she hangs them in her father's study. The frames are not gilded, +nor do they require gilding. When she sees Emile drawing, she draws +too, and improves her own drawing; she cultivates all her talents, +and her grace gives a charm to all she does. Her father and mother +recall the days of their wealth, when they find themselves surrounded +by the works of art which alone gave value to wealth; the whole +house is adorned by love; love alone has enthroned among them, +without cost or effort, the very same pleasures which were gathered +together in former days by dint of toil and money. + +As the idolater gives what he loves best to the shrine of the object +of his worship, so the lover is not content to see perfection in +his mistress, he must be ever trying to add to her adornment. She +does not need it for his pleasure, it is he who needs the pleasure +of giving, it is a fresh homage to be rendered to her, a fresh +pleasure in the joy of beholding her. Everything of beauty seems +to find its place only as an accessory to the supreme beauty. +It is both touching and amusing to see Emile eager to teach Sophy +everything he knows, without asking whether she wants to learn +it or whether it is suitable for her. He talks about all sorts of +things and explains them to her with boyish eagerness; he thinks +he has only to speak and she will understand; he looks forward to +arguing, and discussing philosophy with her; everything he cannot +display before her is so much useless learning; he is quite ashamed +of knowing more than she. + +So he gives her lessons in philosophy, physics, mathematics, history, +and everything else. Sophy is delighted to share his enthusiasm +and to try and profit by it. How pleased Emile is when he can get +leave to give these lessons on his knees before her! He thinks +the heavens are open. Yet this position, more trying to pupil than +to teacher, is hardly favourable to study. It is not easy to know +where to look, to avoid meeting the eyes which follow our own, and +if they meet so much the worse for the lesson. + +Women are no strangers to the art of thinking, but they should +only skim the surface of logic and metaphysics. Sophy understands +readily, but she soon forgets. She makes most progress in the moral +sciences and aesthetics; as to physical science she retains some +vague idea of the general laws and order of this world. Sometimes in +the course of their walks, the spectacle of the wonders of nature +bids them not fear to raise their pure and innocent hearts to +nature's God; they are not afraid of His presence, and they pour +out their hearts before him. + +What! Two young lovers spending their time together talking of +religion! Have they nothing better to do than to say their catechism! +What profit is there in the attempt to degrade what is noble? Yes, +no doubt they are saying their catechism in their delightful land +of romance; they are perfect in each other's eyes; they love one +another, they talk eagerly of all that makes virtue worth having. +Their sacrifices to virtue make her all the dearer to them. Their +struggles after self-control draw from them tears purer than the +dew of heaven, and these sweet tears are the joy of life; no human +heart has ever experienced a sweeter intoxication. Their very +renunciation adds to their happiness, and their sacrifices increase +their self-respect. Sensual men, bodies without souls, some day +they will know your pleasures, and all their life long they will +recall with regret the happy days when they refused the cup of +pleasure. + +In spite of this good understanding, differences and even quarrels +occur from time to time; the lady has her whims, the lover has a hot +temper; but these passing showers are soon over and only serve to +strengthen their union. Emile learns by experience not to attach too +much importance to them, he always gains more by the reconciliation +than he lost by the quarrel. The results of the first difference +made him expect a like result from all; he was mistaken, but even +if he does not make any appreciable step forward, he has always the +satisfaction of finding Sophy's genuine concern for his affection +more firmly established. "What advantage is this to him?" you +would ask. I will gladly tell you; all the more gladly because it +will give me an opportunity to establish clearly a very important +principle, and to combat a very deadly one. + +Emile is in love, but he is not presuming; and you will easily +understand that the dignified Sophy is not the sort of girl to allow +any kind of familiarity. Yet virtue has its bounds like everything +else, and she is rather to be blamed for her severity than for +indulgence; even her father himself is sometimes afraid lest her +lofty pride should degenerate into a haughty spirit. When most +alone, Emile dare not ask for the slightest favour, he must not +even seem to desire it; and if she is gracious enough to take his +arm when they are out walking, a favour which she will never permit +him to claim as a right, it is only occasionally that he dare venture +with a sigh to press her hand to his heart. However, after a long +period of self-restraint, he ventured secretly to kiss the hem of +her dress, and several times he was lucky enough to find her willing +at least to pretend she was not aware of it. One day he attempts +to take the same privilege rather more openly, and Sophy takes it +into her head to be greatly offended. He persists, she gets angry +and speaks sharply to him; Emile will not put up with this without +reply; the rest of the day is given over to sulks, and they part +in a very ill temper. + +Sophy is ill at ease; her mother is her confidant in all things, +how can she keep this from her? It is their first misunderstanding, +and the misunderstanding of an hour is such a serious business. +She is sorry for what she has done, she has her mother's permission +and her father's commands to make reparation. + +The next day Emile returns somewhat earlier than usual and in a +state of some anxiety. Sophy is in her mother's dressing-room and +her father is also present. Emile enters respectfully but gloomily. +Scarcely have her parents greeted him than Sophy turns round and +holding out her hand asks him in an affectionate tone how he is. +That pretty hand is clearly held out to be kissed; he takes it but +does not kiss it. Sophy, rather ashamed of herself, withdraws her +hand as best she may. Emile, who is not used to a woman's whims, +and does not know how far caprice may be carried, does not forget +so easily or make friends again all at once. Sophy's father, seeing +her confusion, completes her discomfiture by his jokes. The poor +girl, confused and ashamed, does not know what to do with herself +and would gladly have a good cry. The more she tries to control +herself the worse she feels; at last a tear escapes in spite of all +she can do to prevent it. Emile, seeing this tear, rushes towards +her, falls on his knees, takes her hand and kisses it again +and again with the greatest devotion. "My word, you are too kind +to her," says her father, laughing; "if I were you, I should deal +more severely with these follies, I should punish the mouth that +wronged me." Emboldened by these words, Emile turns a suppliant +eye towards her mother, and thinking she is not unwilling, he +tremblingly approaches Sophy's face; she turns away her head, and +to save her mouth she exposes a blushing cheek. The daring young +man is not content with this; there is no great resistance. What +a kiss, if it were not taken under her mother's eyes. Have a care, +Sophy, in your severity; he will be ready enough to try to kiss +your dress if only you will sometimes say "No." + +After this exemplary punishment, Sophy's father goes about his +business, and her mother makes some excuse for sending her out of +the room; then she speaks to Emile very seriously. "Sir," she says, +"I think a young man so well born and well bred as yourself, a man +of feeling and character, would never reward with dishonour the +confidence reposed in him by the friendship of this family. I am +neither prudish nor over strict; I know how to make excuses for +youthful folly, and what I have permitted in my own presence is +sufficient proof of this. Consult your friend as to your own duty, +he will tell you there is all the difference in the world between +the playful kisses sanctioned by the presence of father and mother, +and the same freedom taken in their absence and in betrayal of +their confidence, a freedom which makes a snare of the very favours +which in the parents' presence were wholly innocent. He will tell +you, sir, that my daughter is only to blame for not having perceived +from the first what she ought never to have permitted; he will tell +you that every favour, taken as such, is a favour, and that it is +unworthy of a man of honour to take advantage of a young girl's +innocence, to usurp in private the same freedom which she may +permit in the presence of others. For good manners teach us what +is permitted in public; but we do not know what a man will permit +to himself in private, if he makes himself the sole judge of his +conduct." + +After this well-deserved rebuke, addressed rather to me than to +my pupil, the good mother leaves us, and I am amazed by her rare +prudence, in thinking it a little thing that Emile should kiss +her daughter's lips in her presence, while fearing lest he should +venture to kiss her dress when they are alone. When I consider +the folly of worldly maxims, whereby real purity is continually +sacrificed to a show of propriety, I understand why speech becomes +more refined while the heart becomes more corrupt, and why etiquette +is stricter while those who conform to it are most immoral. + +While I am trying to convince Emile's heart with regard to these +duties which I ought to have instilled into him sooner, a new idea +occurs to me, an idea which perhaps does Sophy all the more credit, +though I shall take care not to tell her lover; this so-called +pride, for which she has been censured, is clearly only a very +wise precaution to protect her from herself. Being aware that, +unfortunately, her own temperament is inflammable, she dreads the +least spark, and keeps out of reach so far as she can. Her sternness +is due not to pride but to humility. She assumes a control over +Emile because she doubts her control of herself; she turns the one +against the other. If she had more confidence in herself she would +be much less haughty. With this exception is there anywhere on earth +a gentler, sweeter girl? Is there any who endures an affront with +greater patience, any who is more afraid of annoying others? Is +there any with less pretension, except in the matter of virtue? +Moreover, she is not proud of her virtue, she is only proud in order +to preserve her virtue, and if she can follow the guidance of her +heart without danger, she caresses her lover himself. But her wise +mother does not confide all this even to her father; men should +not hear everything. + +Far from seeming proud of her conquest, Sophy has grown more friendly +and less exacting towards everybody, except perhaps the one person +who has wrought this change. Her noble heart no longer swells with +the feeling of independence. She triumphs modestly over a victory +gained at the price of her freedom. Her bearing is more restrained, +her speech more timid, since she has begun to blush at the word +"lover"; but contentment may be seen beneath her outward confusion +and this very shame is not painful. This change is most noticeable +in her behaviour towards the young men she meets. Now that she +has ceased to be afraid of them, much of her extreme reserve has +disappeared. Now that her choice is made, she does not hesitate +to be gracious to those to whom she is quite indifferent; taking +no more interest in them, she is less difficult to please, and she +always finds them pleasant enough for people who are of no importance +to her. + +If true love were capable of coquetry, I should fancy I saw traces +of it in the way Sophy behaves towards other young men in her +lover's presence. One would say that not content with the ardent +passion she inspires by a mixture of shyness and caresses, she is +not sorry to rouse this passion by a little anxiety; one would say +that when she is purposely amusing her young guests she means to +torment Emile by the charms of a freedom she will not allow herself +with him; but Sophy is too considerate, too kindly, too wise to +really torment him. Love and honour take the place of prudence and +control the use of this dangerous weapon. She can alarm and reassure +him just as he needs it; and if she sometimes makes him uneasy she +never really gives him pain. The anxiety she causes to her beloved +may be forgiven because of her fear that he is not sufficiently +her own. + +But what effect will this little performance have upon Emile? +Will he be jealous or not? That is what we must discover; for such +digressions form part of the purpose of my book, and they do not +lead me far from my main subject. + +I have already shown how this passion of jealousy in matters +of convention finds its way into the heart of man. In love it is +another matter; then jealousy is so near akin to nature, that it +is hard to believe that it is not her work; and the example of the +very beasts, many of whom are madly jealous, seems to prove this +point beyond reply. Is it man's influence that has taught cooks to +tear each other to pieces or bulls to fight to the death? + +No one can deny that the aversion to everything which may disturb +or interfere with our pleasures is a natural impulse. Up to a +certain point the desire for the exclusive possession of that which +ministers to our pleasure is in the same case. But when this desire +has become a passion, when it is transformed into madness, or into +a bitter and suspicious fancy known as jealousy, that is quite +another matter; such a passion may be natural or it may not; we +must distinguish between these different cases. + +I have already analysed the example of the animal world in my +Discourse on Inequality, and on further consideration I think I may +refer my readers to that analysis as sufficiently thorough. I will +only add this further point to those already made in that work, that +the jealousy which springs from nature depends greatly on sexual +power, and that when sexual power is or appears to be boundless, that +jealousy is at its height; for then the male, measuring his rights +by his needs, can never see another male except as an unwelcome +rival. In such species the females always submit to the first +comer, they only belong to the male by right of conquest, and they +are the cause of unending strife. + +Among the monogamous species, where intercourse seems to give rise +to some sort of moral bond, a kind of marriage, the female who +belongs by choice to the male on whom she has bestowed herself +usually denies herself to all others; and the male, having this +preference of affection as a pledge of her fidelity, is less uneasy +at the sight of other males and lives more peaceably with them. +Among these species the male shares the care of the little ones; and +by one of those touching laws of nature it seems as if the female +rewards the father for his love for his children. + +Now consider the human species in its primitive simplicity; it is +easy to see, from the limited powers of the male, and the moderation +of his desires, that nature meant him to be content with one female; +this is confirmed by the numerical equality of the two sexes, at any +rate in our part of the world; an equality which does not exist in +anything like the same degree among those species in which several +females are collected around one male. Though a man does not brood +like a pigeon, and though he has no milk to suckle the young, and +must in this respect be classed with the quadrupeds, his children +are feeble and helpless for so long a time, that mother and children +could ill dispense with the father's affection, and the care which +results from it. + +All these observations combine to prove that the jealous fury of +the males of certain animals proves nothing with regard to man; +and the exceptional case of those southern regions were polygamy +is the established custom, only confirms the rule, since it is the +plurality of wives that gives rise to the tyrannical precautions +of the husband, and the consciousness of his own weakness makes +the man resort to constraint to evade the laws of nature. + +Among ourselves where these same laws are less frequently evaded in +this respect, but are more frequently evaded in another and even +more detestable manner, jealousy finds its motives in the passions of +society rather than in those of primitive instinct. In most irregular +connections the hatred of the lover for his rivals far exceeds his +love for his mistress; if he fears a rival in her affections it +is the effect of that self-love whose origin I have already traced +out, and he is moved by vanity rather than affection. Moreover, +our clumsy systems of education have made women so deceitful, +[Footnote: The kind of deceit referred to here is just the opposite +of that deceit becoming in a woman, and taught her by nature; +the latter consists in concealing her real feelings, the former +in feigning what she does not feel. Every society lady spends her +life in boasting of her supposed sensibility, when in reality she +cares for no one but herself.] and have so over-stimulated their +appetites, that you cannot rely even on the most clearly proved +affection; they can no longer display a preference which secures +you against the fear of a rival. + +True love is another matter. I have shown, in the work already +referred to, that this sentiment is not so natural as men think, +and that there is a great difference between the gentle habit which +binds a man with cords of love to his helpmeet, and the unbridled +passion which is intoxicated by the fancied charms of an object +which he no longer sees in its true light. This passion which is +full of exclusions and preferences, only differs from vanity in +this respect, that vanity demands all and gives nothing, so that +it is always harmful, while love, bestowing as much as it demands, +is in itself a sentiment full of equity. Moreover, the more +exacting it is, the more credulous; that very illusion which gave +rise to it, makes it easy to persuade. If love is suspicious, esteem +is trustful; and love will never exist in an honest heart without +esteem, for every one loves in another the qualities which he +himself holds in honour. + +When once this is clearly understood, we can predict with confidence +the kind of jealousy which Emile will be capable of experiencing; +as there is only the smallest germ of this passion in the human +heart, the form it takes must depend solely upon education: Emile, +full of love and jealousy, will not be angry, sullen, suspicious, +but delicate, sensitive, and timid; he will be more alarmed than vexed; +he will think more of securing his lady-love than of threatening his +rival; he will treat him as an obstacle to be removed if possible +from his path, rather than as a rival to be hated; if he hates +him, it is not because he presumes to compete with him for Sophy's +affection, but because Emile feels that there is a real danger of +losing that affection; he will not be so unjust and foolish as to +take offence at the rivalry itself; he understands that the law +of preference rests upon merit only, and that honour depends upon +success; he will redouble his efforts to make himself acceptable, +and he will probably succeed. His generous Sophy, though she has +given alarm to his love, is well able to allay that fear, to atone +for it; and the rivals who were only suffered to put him to the +proof are speedily dismissed. + +But whither am I going? O Emile! what art thou now? Is this my pupil? +How art thou fallen! Where is that young man so sternly fashioned, +who braved all weathers, who devoted his body to the hardest tasks +and his soul to the laws of wisdom; untouched by prejudice or +passion, a lover of truth, swayed by reason only, unheeding all that +was not hers? Living in softness and idleness he now lets himself +be ruled by women; their amusements are the business of his life, +their wishes are his laws; a young girl is the arbiter of his +fate, he cringes and grovels before her; the earnest Emile is the +plaything of a child. + +So shift the scenes of life; each age is swayed by its own motives, +but the man is the same. At ten his mind was set upon cakes, at +twenty it is set upon his mistress; at thirty it will be set upon +pleasure; at forty on ambition, at fifty on avarice; when will +he seek after wisdom only? Happy is he who is compelled to follow +her against his will! What matter who is the guide, if the end is +attained. Heroes and sages have themselves paid tribute to this +human weakness; and those who handled the distaff with clumsy +fingers were none the less great men. + +If you would prolong the influence of a good education through +life itself, the good habits acquired in childhood must be carried +forward into adolescence, and when your pupil is what he ought to +be you must manage to keep him what he ought to be. This is the +coping-stone of your work. This is why it is of the first importance +that the tutor should remain with young men; otherwise there is +little doubt they will learn to make love without him. The great +mistake of tutors and still more of fathers is to think that one way +of living makes another impossible, and that as soon as the child +is grown up, you must abandon everything you used to do when he was +little. If that were so, why should we take such pains in childhood, +since the good or bad use we make of it will vanish with childhood +itself; if another way of life were necessarily accompanied by +other ways of thinking? + +The stream of memory is only interrupted by great illnesses, and the +stream of conduct, by great passions. Our tastes and inclinations +may change, but this change, though it may be sudden enough, is +rendered less abrupt by our habits. The skilful artist, in a good +colour scheme, contrives so to mingle and blend his tints that the +transitions are imperceptible; and certain colour washes are spread +over the whole picture so that there may be no sudden breaks. So +should it be with our likings. Unbalanced characters are always +changing their affections, their tastes, their sentiments; the +only constant factor is the habit of change; but the man of settled +character always returns to his former habits and preserves to old +age the tastes and the pleasures of his childhood. + +If you contrive that young people passing from one stage of life +to another do not despise what has gone before, that when they form +new habits, they do not forsake the old, and that they always love +to do what is right, in things new and old; then only are the fruits +of your toil secure, and you are sure of your scholars as long as +they live; for the revolution most to be dreaded is that of the age +over which you are now watching. As men always look back to this +period with regret so the tastes carried forward into it from +childhood are not easily destroyed; but if once interrupted they +are never resumed. + +Most of the habits you think you have instilled into children and +young people are not really habits at all; they have only been +acquired under compulsion, and being followed reluctantly they +will be cast off at the first opportunity. However long you remain +in prison you never get a taste for prison life; so aversion is +increased rather than diminished by habit. Not so with Emile; as +a child he only did what he could do willingly and with pleasure, +and as a man he will do the same, and the force of habit will +only lend its help to the joys of freedom. An active life, bodily +labour, exercise, movement, have become so essential to him that +he could not relinquish them without suffering. Reduce him all at +once to a soft and sedentary life and you condemn him to chains +and imprisonment, you keep him in a condition of thraldom and +constraint; he would suffer, no doubt, both in health and temper. +He can scarcely breathe in a stuffy room, he requires open air, +movement, fatigue. Even at Sophy's feet he cannot help casting +a glance at the country and longing to explore it in her company. +Yet he remains if he must; but he is anxious and ill at ease; +he seems to be struggling with himself; he remains because he is +a captive. "Yes," you will say, "these are necessities to which +you have subjected him, a yoke which you have laid upon him." You +speak truly, I have subjected him to the yoke of manhood. + +Emile loves Sophy; but what were the charms by which he was first +attracted? Sensibility, virtue, and love for things pure and honest. +When he loves this love in Sophy, will he cease to feel it himself? +And what price did she put upon herself? She required all her +lover's natural feelings--esteem of what is really good, frugality, +simplicity, generous unselfishness, a scorn of pomp and riches. +These virtues were Emile's before love claimed them of him. Is he +really changed? He has all the more reason to be himself; that is +the only difference. The careful reader will not suppose that all +the circumstances in which he is placed are the work of chance. +There were many charming girls in the town; is it chance that his +choice is discovered in a distant retreat? Is their meeting the work +of chance? Is it chance that makes them so suited to each other? +Is it chance that they cannot live in the same place, that he is +compelled to find a lodging so far from her? Is it chance that he +can see her so seldom and must purchase the pleasure of seeing her +at the price of such fatigue? You say he is becoming effeminate. +Not so, he is growing stronger; he must be fairly robust to stand +the fatigue he endures on Sophy's account. + +He lives more than two leagues away. That distance serves to temper +the shafts of love. If they lived next door to each other, or if +he could drive to see her in a comfortable carriage, he would love +at his ease in the Paris fashion. Would Leander have braved death +for the sake of Hero if the sea had not lain between them? Need I +say more; if my reader is able to take my meaning, he will be able +to follow out my principles in detail. + +The first time we went to see Sophy, we went on horseback, so as +to get there more quickly. We continue this convenient plan until +our fifth visit. We were expected; and more than half a league +from the house we see people on the road. Emile watches them, his +pulse quickens as he gets nearer, he recognises Sophy and dismounts +quickly; he hastens to join the charming family. Emile is fond of +good horses; his horse is fresh, he feels he is free, and gallops +off across the fields; I follow and with some difficulty I succeed +in catching him and bringing him back. Unluckily Sophy is afraid +of horses, and I dare not approach her. Emile has not seen what +happened, but Sophy whispers to him that he is giving his friend +a great deal of trouble. He hurries up quite ashamed of himself, +takes the horses, and follows after the party. It is only fair +that each should take his turn and he rides on to get rid of our +mounts. He has to leave Sophy behind him, and he no longer thinks +riding a convenient mode of travelling. He returns out of breath +and meets us half-way. + +The next time, Emile will not hear of horses. "Why," say I, "we need +only take a servant to look after them." "Shall we put our worthy +friends to such expense?" he replies. "You see they would insist +on feeding man and horse." "That is true," I reply; "theirs is the +generous hospitality of the poor. The rich man in his niggardly +pride only welcomes his friends, but the poor find room for their +friends' horses." "Let us go on foot," says he; "won't you venture +on the walk, when you are always so ready to share the toilsome +pleasures of your child?" "I will gladly go with you," I reply at +once, "and it seems to me that love does not desire so much show." + +As we draw near, we meet the mother and daughter even further from +home than on the last occasion. We have come at a great pace. Emile +is very warm; his beloved condescends to pass her handkerchief +over his cheeks. It would take a good many horses to make us ride +there after this. + +But it is rather hard never to be able to spend an evening together. +Midsummer is long past and the days are growing shorter. Whatever +we say, we are not allowed to return home in the dark, and unless +we make a very early start, we have to go back almost as soon as +we get there. The mother is sorry for us and uneasy on our account, +and it occurs to her that, though it would not be proper for us to +stay in the house, beds might be found for us in the village, if +we liked to stay there occasionally. Emile claps his hands at this +idea and trembles with joy; Sophy, unwittingly, kisses her mother +rather oftener than usual on the day this idea occurs to her. + +Little by little the charm of friendship and the familiarity +of innocence take root and grow among us. I generally accompany +my young friend on the days appointed by Sophy or her mother, but +sometimes I let him go alone. The heart thrives in the sunshine +of confidence, and a man must not be treated as a child; and what +have I accomplished so far, if my pupil is unworthy of my esteem? +Now and then I go without him; he is sorry, but he does not complain; +what use would it be? And then he knows I shall not interfere with +his interests. However, whether we go together or separately you +will understand that we are not stopped by the weather; we are only +too proud to arrive in a condition which calls for pity. Unluckily +Sophy deprives us of this honour and forbids us to come in bad +weather. This is the only occasion on which she rebels against +the rules which I laid down for her in private. + +One day Emile had gone alone and I did not expect him back till the +following day, but he returned the same evening. "My dear Emile," +said I, "have you come back to your old friend already?" But instead +of responding to my caresses he replied with some show of temper, +"You need not suppose I came back so soon of my own accord; +she insisted on it; it is for her sake not yours that I am here." +Touched by his frankness I renewed my caresses, saying, "Truthful +heart and faithful friend, do not conceal from me anything I ought +to know. If you came back for her sake, you told me so for my own; +your return is her doing, your frankness is mine. Continue to +preserve the noble candour of great souls; strangers may think what +they will, but it is a crime to let our friends think us better +than we are." + +I take care not to let him underrate the cost of his confession +by assuming that there is more love than generosity in it, and by +telling him that he would rather deprive himself of the honour of +this return, than give it to Sophy. But this is how he revealed +to me, all unconsciously, what were his real feelings; if he had +returned slowly and comfortably, dreaming of his sweetheart, I +should know he was merely her lover; when he hurried back, even if +he was a little out of temper, he was the friend of his Mentor. + +You see that the young man is very far from spending his days with +Sophy, and seeing as much of her as he wants. One or two visits +a week are all that is permitted, and these visits are often only +for the afternoon and are rarely extended to the next day. He spends +much more of his time in longing to see her, or in rejoicing that +he has seen her, than he actually spends in her presence. Even when +he goes to see her, more time is spent in going and returning than +by her side. His pleasures, genuine, pure, delicious, but more +imaginary than real, serve to kindle his love but not to make him +effeminate. + +On the days when he does not see Sophy he is not sitting idle at +home. He is Emile himself and quite unchanged. He usually scours +the country round in pursuit of its natural history; he observes +and studies the soil, its products, and their mode of cultivation; +he compares the methods he sees with those with which he is already +familiar; he tries to find the reasons for any differences; if he +thinks other methods better than those of the locality, he introduces +them to the farmers' notice; if he suggests a better kind of +plough, he has one made from his own drawings; if he finds a lime +pit he teaches them how to use the lime on the land, a process +new to them; he often lends a hand himself; they are surprised to +find him handling all manner of tools more easily than they can +themselves; his furrows are deeper and straighter than theirs, +he is a more skilful sower, and his beds for early produce are +more cleverly planned. They do not scoff at him as a fine talker, +they see he knows what he is talking about. In a word, his zeal +and attention are bestowed on everything that is really useful to +everybody; nor does he stop there. He visits the peasants in their +homes; inquires into their circumstances, their families, the +number of their children, the extent of their holdings, the nature +of their produce, their markets, their rights, their burdens, their +debts, etc. He gives away very little money, for he knows it is +usually ill spent; but he himself directs the use of his money, +and makes it helpful to them without distributing it among them. +He supplies them with labourers, and often pays them for work done +by themselves, on tasks for their own benefit. For one he has the +falling thatch repaired or renewed; for another he clears a piece +of land which had gone out of cultivation for lack of means; to +another he gives a cow, a horse, or stock of any kind to replace +a loss; two neighbours are ready to go to law, he wins them over, +and makes them friends again; a peasant falls ill, he has him cared +for, he looks after him himself; [Footnote: To look after a sick +peasant is not merely to give him a pill, or medicine, or to send +a surgeon to him. That is not what these poor folk require in +sickness; what they want is more and better food. When you have +fever, you will do well to fast, but when your peasants have it, give +them meat and wine; illness, in their case, is nearly always due to +poverty and exhaustion; your cellar will supply the best draught, +your butchers will be the best apothecary.] another is harassed by +a rich and powerful neighbor, he protects him and speaks on his +behalf; young people are fond of one another, he helps forward their +marriage; a good woman has lost her beloved child, he goes to see +her, he speaks words of comfort and sits a while with her; he does +not despise the poor, he is in no hurry to avoid the unfortunate; +he often takes his dinner with some peasant he is helping, and he +will even accept a meal from those who have no need of his help; +though he is the benefactor of some and the friend of all, he is +none the less their equal. In conclusion, he always does as much +good by his personal efforts as by his money. + +Sometimes his steps are turned in the direction of the happy abode; +he may hope to see Sophy without her knowing, to see her out walking +without being seen. But Emile is always quite open in everything +he does; he neither can nor would deceive. His delicacy is of that +pleasing type in which pride rests on the foundation of a good +conscience. He keeps strictly within bounds, and never comes near +enough to gain from chance what he only desires to win from Sophy +herself. On the other hand, he delights to roam about the neighbourhood, +looking for the trace of Sophy's steps, feeling what pains she has +taken and what a distance she has walked to please him. + +The day before his visit, he will go to some neighbouring farm and +order a little feast for the morrow. We shall take our walk in that +direction without any special object, we shall turn in apparently +by chance; fruit, cakes, and cream are waiting for us. Sophy likes +sweets, so is not insensible to these attentions, and she is quite +ready to do honour to what we have provided; for I always have my +share of the credit even if I have had no part in the trouble; it +is a girl's way of returning thanks more easily. Her father and I +have cakes and wine; Emile keeps the ladies company and is always +on the look-out to secure a dish of cream in which Sophy has dipped +her spoon. + +The cakes lead me to talk of the races Emile used to run. Every +one wants to hear about them; I explain amid much laughter; they +ask him if he can run as well as ever. "Better," says he; "I should +be sorry to forget how to run." One member of the company is dying +to see him run, but she dare not say so; some one else undertakes +to suggest it; he agrees and we send for two or three young men +of the neighbourhood; a prize is offered, and in imitation of our +earlier games a cake is placed on the goal. Every one is ready, +Sophy's father gives the signal by clapping his hands. The nimble +Emile flies like lightning and reaches the goal almost before the +others have started. He receives his prize at Sophy's hands, and +no less generous than Aeneas, he gives gifts to all the vanquished. + +In the midst of his triumph, Sophy dares to challenge the victor, +and to assert that she can run as fast as he. He does not refuse to +enter the lists with her, and while she is getting ready to start, +while she is tucking up her skirt at each side, more eager to show +Emile a pretty ankle than to vanquish him in the race, while she +is seeing if her petticoats are short enough, he whispers a word +to her mother who smiles and nods approval. Then he takes his place +by his competitor; no sooner is the signal given than she is off +like a bird. + +Women were not meant to run; they flee that they may be overtaken. +Running is not the only thing they do ill, but it is the only thing +they do awkwardly; their elbows glued to their sides and pointed +backwards look ridiculous, and the high heels on which they are +perched make them look like so many grasshoppers trying to run +instead of to jump. + +Emile, supposing that Sophy runs no better than other women, does +not deign to stir from his place and watches her start with a smile +of mockery. But Sophy is light of foot and she wears low heels; +she needs no pretence to make her foot look smaller; she runs so +quickly that he has only just time to overtake this new Atalanta +when he sees her so far ahead. Then he starts like an eagle dashing +upon its prey; he pursues her, clutches her, grasps her at last +quite out of breath, and gently placing his left arm about her, +he lifts her like a feather, and pressing his sweet burden to his +heart, he finishes the race, makes her touch the goal first, and +then exclaiming, "Sophy wins!" he sinks on one knee before her and +owns himself beaten. + +Along with such occupations there is also the trade we learnt. One +day a week at least, and every day when the weather is too bad for +country pursuits, Emile and I go to work under a master-joiner. +We do not work for show, like people above our trade; we work in +earnest like regular workmen. Once when Sophy's father came to see +us, he found us at work, and did not fail to report his wonder to +his wife and daughter. "Go and see that young man in the workshop," +said he, "and you will soon see if he despises the condition of +the poor." You may fancy how pleased Sophy was at this! They talk +it over, and they decide to surprise him at his work. They question +me, apparently without any special object, and having made sure of +the time, mother and daughter take a little carriage and come to +town on that very day. + +On her arrival, Sophy sees, at the other end of the shop, a young +man in his shirt sleeves, with his hair all untidy, so hard at work +that he does not see her; she makes a sign to her mother. Emile, +a chisel in one hand and a hammer in the other, is just finishing +a mortise; then he saws a piece of wood and places it in the vice +in order to polish it. The sight of this does not set Sophy laughing; +it affects her greatly; it wins her respect. Woman, honour your +master; he it is who works for you, he it is who gives you bread +to eat; this is he! + +While they are busy watching him, I perceive them and pull Emile by +the sleeve; he turns round, drops his tools, and hastens to them +with an exclamation of delight. After he has given way to his first +raptures, he makes them take a seat and he goes back to his work. +But Sophy cannot keep quiet; she gets up hastily, runs about the +workshop, looks at the tools, feels the polish of the boards, picks +up shavings, looks at our hands, and says she likes this trade, it +is so clean. The merry girl tries to copy Emile. With her delicate +white hand she passes a plane over a bit of wood; the plane slips +and makes no impression. It seems to me that Love himself is hovering +over us and beating his wings; I think I can hear his joyous cries, +"Hercules is avenged." + +Yet Sophy's mother questions the master. "Sir, how much do you pay +these two men a day?" "I give them each tenpence a day and their +food; but if that young fellow wanted he could earn much more, for +he is the best workman in the country." "Tenpence a day and their +food," said she looking at us tenderly. "That is so, madam," replied +the master. At these words she hurries up to Emile, kisses him, +and clasps him to her breast with tears; unable to say more she +repeats again and again, "My son, my son!" + +When they had spent some time chatting with us, but without +interrupting our work, "We must be going now," said the mother to +her daughter, "it is getting late and we must not keep your father +waiting." Then approaching Emile she tapped him playfully on the +cheek, saying, "Well, my good workman, won't you come with us?" He +replied sadly, "I am at work, ask the master." The master is asked +if he can spare us. He replies that he cannot. "I have work on +hand," said he, "which is wanted the day after to-morrow, so there +is not much time. Counting on these gentlemen I refused other +workmen who came; if they fail me I don't know how to replace them +and I shall not be able to send the work home at the time promised." +The mother said nothing, she was waiting to hear what Emile would +say. Emile hung his head in silence. "Sir," she said, somewhat +surprised at this, "have you nothing to say to that?" Emile looked +tenderly at her daughter and merely said, "You see I am bound to +stay." Then the ladies left us. Emile went with them to the door, +gazed after them as long as they were in sight, and returned to +his work without a word. + +On the way home, the mother, somewhat vexed at his conduct, spoke +to her daughter of the strange way in which he had behaved. "Why," +said she, "was it so difficult to arrange matters with the master +without being obliged to stay. The young man is generous enough +and ready to spend money when there is no need for it, could not +he spend a little on such a fitting occasion?" "Oh, mamma," replied +Sophy, "I trust Emile will never rely so much on money as to use it +to break an engagement, to fail to keep his own word, and to make +another break his! I know he could easily give the master a trifle +to make up for the slight inconvenience caused by his absence; but +his soul would become the slave of riches, he would become accustomed +to place wealth before duty, and he would think that any duty might +be neglected provided he was ready to pay. That is not Emile's way +of thinking, and I hope he will never change on my account. Do you +think it cost him nothing to stay? You are quite wrong, mamma; it +was for my sake that he stayed; I saw it in his eyes." + +It is not that Sophy is indifferent to genuine proofs of love; on +the contrary she is imperious and exacting; she would rather not +be loved at all than be loved half-heartedly. Hers is the noble +pride of worth, conscious of its own value, self-respecting and +claiming a like honour from others. She would scorn a heart that +did not recognise the full worth of her own; that did not love +her for her virtues as much and more than for her charms; a heart +which did not put duty first, and prefer it to everything. She did +not desire a lover who knew no will but hers. She wished to reign +over a man whom she had not spoilt. Thus Circe, having changed into +swine the comrades of Ulysses, bestowed herself on him over whom +she had no power. + +Except for this sacred and inviolable right, Sophy is very jealous +of her own rights; she observes how carefully Emile respects them, +how zealously he does her will; how cleverly he guesses her wishes, +how exactly he arrives at the appointed time; she will have him +neither late nor early; he must arrive to the moment. To come early +is to think more of himself than of her; to come late is to neglect +her. To neglect Sophy, that could not happen twice. An unfounded +suspicion on her part nearly ruined everything, but Sophy is really +just and knows how to atone for her faults. + +They were expecting us one evening; Emile had received his orders. +They came to meet us, but we were not there. What has become of us? +What accident have we met with? No message from us! The evening +is spent in expectation of our arrival. Sophy thinks we are dead; +she is miserable and in an agony of distress; she cries all the night +through. In the course of the evening a messenger was despatched to +inquire after us and bring back news in the morning. The messenger +returns together with another messenger sent by us, who makes our +excuses verbally and says we are quite well. Then the scene is +changed; Sophy dries her tears, or if she still weeps it is for +anger. It is small consolation to her proud spirit to know that we +are alive; Emile lives and he has kept her waiting. + +When we arrive she tries to escape to her own room; her parents +desire her to remain, so she is obliged to do so; but deciding at +once what course she will take she assumes a calm and contented +expression which would deceive most people. Her father comes forward +to receive us saying, "You have made your friends very uneasy; +there are people here who will not forgive you very readily." "Who +are they, papa," said Sophy with the most gracious smile she could +assume. "What business is that of yours," said her father, "if it +is not you?" Sophy bent over her work without reply. Her mother +received us coldly and formally. Emile was so confused he dared not +speak to Sophy. She spoke first, inquired how he was, asked him to +take a chair, and pretended so cleverly that the poor young fellow, +who as yet knew nothing of the language of angry passions, was quite +deceived by her apparent indifference, and ready to take offence +on his own account. + +To undeceive him I was going to take Sophy's hand and raise it to +my lips as I sometimes did; she drew it back so hastily, with the +word, "Sir," uttered in such a strange manner that Emile's eyes +were opened at once by this involuntary movement. + +Sophy herself, seeing that she had betrayed herself, exercised less +control over herself. Her apparent indifference was succeeded by +scornful irony. She replied to everything he said in monosyllables +uttered slowly and hesitatingly as if she were afraid her anger +should show itself too plainly. Emile half dead with terror stared +at her full of sorrow, and tried to get her to look at him so that +his eyes might read in hers her real feelings. Sophy, still more +angry at his boldness, gave him one look which removed all wish +for another. Luckily for himself, Emile, trembling and dumbfounded, +dared neither look at her nor speak to her again; for had he not +been guilty, had he been able to endure her wrath, she would never +have forgiven him. + +Seeing that it was my turn now, and that the time was ripe for +explanation, I returned to Sophy. I took her hand and this time +she did not snatch it away; she was ready to faint. I said gently, +"Dear Sophy, we are the victims of misfortune; but you are just and +reasonable; you will not judge us unheard; listen to what we have +to say." She said nothing and I proceeded-- + +"We set out yesterday at four o'clock; we were told to be here at +seven, and we always allow ourselves rather more time than we need, +so as to rest a little before we get here. We were more than half +way here when we heard lamentable groans, which came from a little +valley in the hillside, some distance off. We hurried towards the +place and found an unlucky peasant who had taken rather more wine +than was good for him; on his way home he had fallen heavily from +his horse and broken his leg. We shouted and called for help; there +was no answer; we tried to lift the injured man on his horse, but +without success; the least movement caused intense agony. We decided +to tie up the horse in a quiet part of the wood; then we made a +chair of our crossed arms and carried the man as gently as possible, +following his directions till we got him home. The way was long, +and we were constantly obliged to stop and rest. At last we got +there, but thoroughly exhausted. We were surprised and sorry to find +that it was a house we knew already and that the wretched creature +we had carried with such difficulty was the very man who received +us so kindly when first we came. We had all been so upset that +until that moment we had not recognised each other. + +"There were only two little children. His wife was about to present +him with another, and she was so overwhelmed at the sight of him +brought home in such a condition, that she was taken ill and a few +hours later gave birth to another little one. What was to be done +under such circumstances in a lonely cottage far from any help? +Emile decided to fetch the horse we had left in the wood, to ride +as fast as he could into the town and fetch a surgeon. He let the +surgeon have the horse, and not succeeding in finding a nurse all +at once, he returned on foot with a servant, after having sent a +messenger to you; meanwhile I hardly knew what to do between a man +with a broken leg and a woman in travail, but I got ready as well +as I could such things in the house as I thought would be needed +for the relief of both. + +"I will pass over the rest of the details; they are not to the +point. It was two o'clock in the morning before we got a moment's +rest. At last we returned before daybreak to our lodging close at +hand, where we waited till you were up to let you know what had +happened to us." + +That was all I said. But before any one could speak Emile, +approaching Sophy, raised his voice and said with greater firmness +than I expected, "Sophy, my fate is in your hands, as you very well +know. You may condemn me to die of grief; but do not hope to make +me forget the rights of humanity; they are even more sacred in my +eyes than your own rights; I will never renounce them for you." + +For all answer, Sophy rose, put her arm round his neck, and kissed +him on the cheek; then offering him her hand with inimitable grace +she said to him, "Emile, take this hand; it is yours. When you will, +you shall be my husband and my master; I will try to be worthy of +that honour." + +Scarcely had she kissed him, when her delighted father clapped his +hands calling, "Encore, encore," and Sophy without further ado, +kissed him twice on the other cheek; but afraid of what she had done +she took refuge at once in her mother's arms and hid her blushing +face on the maternal bosom. + +I will not describe our happiness; everybody will feel with us. +After dinner Sophy asked if it were too far to go and see the +poor invalids. It was her wish and it was a work of mercy. When we +got there we found them both in bed--Emile had sent for a second +bedstead; there were people there to look after them--Emile had +seen to it. But in spite of this everything was so untidy that they +suffered almost as much from discomfort as from their condition. +Sophy asked for one of the good wife's aprons and set to work to +make her more comfortable in her bed; then she did as much for the +man; her soft and gentle hand seemed to find out what was hurting +them and how to settle them into less painful positions. Her +very presence seemed to make them more comfortable; she seemed to +guess what was the matter. This fastidious girl was not disgusted +by the dirt or smells, and she managed to get rid of both without +disturbing the sick people. She who had always appeared so modest +and sometimes so disdainful, she who would not for all the world +have touched a man's bed with her little finger, lifted the sick +man and changed his linen without any fuss, and placed him to rest +in a more comfortable position. The zeal of charity is of more +value than modesty. What she did was done so skilfully and with +such a light touch that he felt better almost without knowing she +had touched him. Husband and wife mingled their blessings upon the +kindly girl who tended, pitied, and consoled them. She was an angel +from heaven come to visit them; she was an angel in face and manner, +in gentleness and goodness. Emile was greatly touched by all this +and he watched her without speaking. O man, love thy helpmeet. God +gave her to relieve thy sufferings, to comfort thee in thy troubles. +This is she! + +The new-born baby was baptised. The two lovers were its god-parents, +and as they held it at the font they were longing, at the bottom of +their hearts, for the time when they should have a child of their +own to be baptised. They longed for their wedding day; they thought +it was close at hand; all Sophy's scruples had vanished, but mine +remained. They had not got so far as they expected; every one must +have his turn. + +One morning when they had not seen each other for two whole days, +I entered Emile's room with a letter in my hands, and looking +fixedly at him I said to him, "What would you do if some one told +you Sophy were dead?" He uttered a loud cry, got up and struck his +hands together, and without saying a single word, he looked at me +with eyes of desperation. "Answer me," I continued with the same +calmness. Vexed at my composure, he then approached me with eyes +blazing with anger; and checking himself in an almost threatening +attitude, "What would I do? I know not; but this I do know, I would +never set eyes again upon the person who brought me such news." +"Comfort yourself," said I, smiling, "she lives, she is well, and +they are expecting us this evening. But let us go for a short walk +and we can talk things over." + +The passion which engrosses him will no longer permit him to devote +himself as in former days to discussions of pure reason; this very +passion must be called to our aid if his attention is to be given +to my teaching. That is why I made use of this terrible preface; +I am quite sure he will listen to me now. + +"We must be happy, dear Emile; it is the end of every feeling +creature; it is the first desire taught us by nature, and the only +one which never leaves us. But where is happiness? Who knows? Every +one seeks it, and no one finds it. We spend our lives in the search +and we die before the end is attained. My young friend, when I +took you, a new-born infant, in my arms, and called God himself to +witness to the vow I dared to make that I would devote my life to +the happiness of your life, did I know myself what I was undertaking? +No; I only knew that in making you happy, I was sure of my own +happiness. By making this useful inquiry on your account, I made +it for us both. + +"So long as we do not know what to do, wisdom consists in doing +nothing. Of all rules there is none so greatly needed by man, and +none which he is less able to obey. In seeking happiness when we +know not where it is, we are perhaps getting further and further +from it, we are running as many risks as there are roads to choose +from. But it is not every one that can keep still. Our passion +for our own well-being makes us so uneasy, that we would rather +deceive ourselves in the search for happiness than sit still and do +nothing; and when once we have left the place where we might have +known happiness, we can never return. + +"In ignorance like this I tried to avoid a similar fault. When +I took charge of you I decided to take no useless steps and to +prevent you from doing so too. I kept to the path of nature, until +she should show me the path of happiness. And lo! their paths were +the same, and without knowing it this was the path I trod. + +"Be at once my witness and my judge; I will never refuse to accept +your decision. Your early years have not been sacrificed to those +that were to follow, you have enjoyed all the good gifts which +nature bestowed upon you. Of the ills to which you were by nature +subject, and from which I could shelter you, you have only experienced +such as would harden you to bear others. You have never suffered +any evil, except to escape a greater. You have known neither hatred +nor servitude. Free and happy, you have remained just and kindly; +for suffering and vice are inseparable, and no man ever became bad +until he was unhappy. May the memory of your childhood remain with +you to old age! I am not afraid that your kind heart will ever +recall the hand that trained it without a blessing upon it. + +"When you reached the age of reason, I secured you from the influence +of human prejudice; when your heart awoke I preserved you from the +sway of passion. Had I been able to prolong this inner tranquillity +till your life's end, my work would have been secure, and you would +have been as happy as man can be; but, my dear Emile, in vain did +I dip you in the waters of Styx, I could not make you everywhere +invulnerable; a fresh enemy has appeared, whom you have not yet +learnt to conquer, and from whom I cannot save you. That enemy +is yourself. Nature and fortune had left you free. You could face +poverty, you could bear bodily pain; the sufferings of the heart +were unknown to you; you were then dependent on nothing but your +position as a human being; now you depend on all the ties you have +formed for yourself; you have learnt to desire, and you are now +the slave of your desires. Without any change in yourself, without +any insult, any injury to yourself, what sorrows may attack your +soul, what pains may you suffer without sickness, how many deaths +may you die and yet live! A lie, an error, a suspicion, may plunge +you in despair. + +"At the theatre you used to see heroes, abandoned to depths of woe, +making the stage re-echo with their wild cries, lamenting like +women, weeping like children, and thus securing the applause of the +audience. Do you remember how shocked you were by those lamentations, +cries, and groans, in men from whom one would only expect deeds of +constancy and heroism. 'Why,' said you, 'are those the patterns we +are to follow, the models set for our imitation! Are they afraid +man will not be small enough, unhappy enough, weak enough, if his +weakness is not enshrined under a false show of virtue.' My young +friend, henceforward you must be more merciful to the stage; you +have become one of those heroes. + +"You know how to suffer and to die; you know how to bear the heavy +yoke of necessity in ills of the body, but you have not yet learnt +to give a law to the desires of your heart; and the difficulties +of life arise rather from our affections than from our needs. Our +desires are vast, our strength is little better than nothing. In his +wishes man is dependent on many things; in himself he is dependent +on nothing, not even on his own life; the more his connections are +multiplied, the greater his sufferings. Everything upon earth has +an end; sooner or later all that we love escapes from our fingers, +and we behave as if it would last for ever. What was your terror at +the mere suspicion of Sophy's death? Do you suppose she will live +for ever? Do not young people of her age die? She must die, my son, +and perhaps before you. Who knows if she is alive at this moment? +Nature meant you to die but once; you have prepared a second death +for yourself. + +"A slave to your unbridled passions, how greatly are you to be +pitied! Ever privations, losses, alarms; you will not even enjoy +what is left. You will possess nothing because of the fear of losing +it; you will never be able to satisfy your passions, because you +desired to follow them continually. You will ever be seeking that +which will fly before you; you will be miserable and you will +become wicked. How can you be otherwise, having no care but your +unbridled passions! If you cannot put up with involuntary privations +how will you voluntarily deprive yourself? How can you sacrifice +desire to duty, and resist your heart in order to listen to your +reason? You would never see that man again who dared to bring you +word of the death of your mistress; how would you behold him who +would deprive you of her living self, him who would dare to tell +you, 'She is dead to you, virtue puts a gulf between you'? If you +must live with her whatever happens, whether Sophy is married or +single, whether you are free or not, whether she loves or hates +you, whether she is given or refused to you, no matter, it is your +will and you must have her at any price. Tell me then what crime +will stop a man who has no law but his heart's desires, who knows +not how to resist his own passions. + +"My son, there is no happiness without courage, nor virtue without +a struggle. The word virtue is derived from a word signifying +strength, and strength is the foundation of all virtue. Virtue is +the heritage of a creature weak by nature but strong by will; that +is the whole merit of the righteous man; and though we call God good +we do not call Him virtuous, because He does good without effort. +I waited to explain the meaning of this word, so often profaned, +until you were ready to understand me. As long as virtue is quite +easy to practise, there is little need to know it. This need arises +with the awakening of the passions; your time has come. + +"When I brought you up in all the simplicity of nature, instead +of preaching disagreeable duties, I secured for you immunity from +the vices which make such duties disagreeable; I made lying not +so much hateful as unnecessary in your sight; I taught you not so +much to give others their due, as to care little about your own +rights; I made you kindly rather than virtuous. But the kindly man +is only kind so long as he finds it pleasant; kindness falls to +pieces at the shook of human passions; the kindly man is only kind +to himself. + +"What is meant by a virtuous man? He who can conquer his affections; +for then he follows his reason, his conscience; he does his duty; +he is his own master and nothing can turn him from the right way. +So far you have had only the semblance of liberty, the precarious +liberty of the slave who has not received his orders. Now is the +time for real freedom; learn to be your own master; control your +heart, my Emile, and you will be virtuous. + +"There is another apprenticeship before you, an apprenticeship more +difficult than the former; for nature delivers us from the evils +she lays upon us, or else she teaches us to submit to them; but +she has no message for us with regard to our self-imposed evils; +she leaves us to ourselves; she leaves us, victims of our own +passions, to succumb to our vain sorrows, to pride ourselves on +the tears of which we should be ashamed. + +"This is your first passion. Perhaps it is the only passion worthy +of you. If you can control it like a man, it will be the last; you +will be master of all the rest, and you will obey nothing but the +passion for virtue. + +"There is nothing criminal in this passion; I know it; it is as +pure as the hearts which experience it. It was born of honour and +nursed by innocence. Happy lovers! for you the charms of virtue do +but add to those of love; and the blessed union to which you are +looking forward is less the reward of your goodness than of your +affection. But tell me, O truthful man, though this passion is +pure, is it any the less your master? Are you the less its slave? +And if to-morrow it should cease to be innocent, would you strangle +it on the spot? Now is the time to try your strength; there is no +time for that in hours of danger. These perilous efforts should be +made when danger is still afar. We do not practise the use of our +weapons when we are face to face with the enemy, we do that before +the war; we come to the battle-field ready prepared. + +"It is a mistake to classify the passions as lawful and unlawful, +so as to yield to the one and refuse the other. All alike are good +if we are their masters; all alike are bad if we abandon ourselves to +them. Nature forbids us to extend our relations beyond the limits +of our strength; reason forbids us to want what we cannot get, +conscience forbids us, not to be tempted, but to yield to temptation. +To feel or not to feel a passion is beyond our control, but we can +control ourselves. Every sentiment under our own control is lawful; +those which control us are criminal. A man is not guilty if he +loves his neighbour's wife, provided he keeps this unhappy passion +under the control of the law of duty; he is guilty if he loves his +own wife so greatly as to sacrifice everything to that love. + +"Do not expect me to supply you with lengthy precepts of morality, +I have only one rule to give you which sums up all the rest. Be a +man; restrain your heart within the limits of your manhood. Study +and know these limits; however narrow they may be, we are not +unhappy within them; it is only when we wish to go beyond them that +we are unhappy, only when, in our mad passions, we try to attain +the impossible; we are unhappy when we forget our manhood to make +an imaginary world for ourselves, from which we are always slipping +back into our own. The only good things, whose loss really affects +us, are those which we claim as our rights. If it is clear that +we cannot obtain what we want, our mind turns away from it; wishes +without hope cease to torture us. A beggar is not tormented by a +desire to be a king; a king only wishes to be a god when he thinks +himself more than man. + +"The illusions of pride are the source of our greatest ills; but +the contemplation of human suffering keeps the wise humble. He +keeps to his proper place and makes no attempt to depart from it; +he does not waste his strength in getting what he cannot keep; and +his whole strength being devoted to the right employment of what +he has, he is in reality richer and more powerful in proportion as +he desires less than we. A man, subject to death and change, shall +I forge for myself lasting chains upon this earth, where everything +changes and disappears, whence I myself shall shortly vanish! Oh, +Emile! my son! if I were to lose you, what would be left of myself? +And yet I must learn to lose you, for who knows when you may be +taken from me? + +"Would you live in wisdom and happiness, fix your heart on the +beauty that is eternal; let your desires be limited by your position, +let your duties take precedence of your wishes; extend the law of +necessity into the region of morals; learn to lose what may be taken +from you; learn to forsake all things at the command of virtue, +to set yourself above the chances of life, to detach your heart +before it is torn in pieces, to be brave in adversity so that you +may never be wretched, to be steadfast in duty that you may never +be guilty of a crime. Then you will be happy in spite of fortune, +and good in spite of your passions. You will find a pleasure that +cannot be destroyed, even in the possession of the most fragile +things; you will possess them, they will not possess you, and you +will realise that the man who loses everything, only enjoys what +he knows how to resign. It is true you will not enjoy the illusions +of imaginary pleasures, neither will you feel the sufferings which +are their result. You will profit greatly by this exchange, for +the sufferings are real and frequent, the pleasures are rare and +empty. Victor over so many deceitful ideas, you will also vanquish +the idea that attaches such an excessive value to life. You will +spend your life in peace, and you will leave it without terror; you +will detach yourself from life as from other things. Let others, +horror-struck, believe that when this life is ended they cease to +be; conscious of the nothingness of life, you will think that you +are but entering upon the true life. To the wicked, death is the +close of life; to the just it is its dawn." + +Emile heard me with attention not unmixed with anxiety. After such +a startling preface he feared some gloomy conclusion. He foresaw +that when I showed him how necessary it is to practise the strength +of the soul, I desired to subject him to this stern discipline; he +was like a wounded man who shrinks from the surgeon, and fancies +he already feels the painful but healing touch which will cure the +deadly wound. + +Uncertain, anxious, eager to know what I am driving at, he does +not answer, he questions me but timidly. "What must I do?" says +he almost trembling, not daring to raise his eyes. "What must you +do?" I reply firmly. "You must leave Sophy." "What are you saying?" +he exclaimed angrily. "Leave Sophy, leave Sophy, deceive her, become +a traitor, a villain, a perjurer!" "Why!" I continue, interrupting +him; "does Emile suppose I shall teach him to deserve such titles?" +"No," he continued with the same vigour. "Neither you nor any one +else; I am capable of preserving your work; I shall not deserve +such reproaches." + +I was prepared for this first outburst; I let it pass unheeded. If +I had not the moderation I preach it would not be much use preaching +it! Emile knows me too well to believe me capable of demanding +any wrong action from him, and he knows that it would be wrong to +leave Sophy, in the sense he attaches to the phrase. So he waits +for an explanation. Then I resume my speech. + +"My dear Emile, do you think any man whatsoever can be happier than +you have been for the last three months? If you think so, undeceive +yourself. Before tasting the pleasures of life you have plumbed +the depths of its happiness. There is nothing more than you have +already experienced. The joys of sense are soon over; habit invariably +destroys them. You have tasted greater joys through hope than you +will ever enjoy in reality. The imagination which adorns what we +long for, deserts its possession. With the exception of the one +self-existing Being, there is nothing beautiful except that which +is not. If that state could have lasted for ever, you would have +found perfect happiness. But all that is related to man shares his +decline; all is finite, all is fleeting in human life, and even +if the conditions which make us happy could be prolonged for ever, +habit would deprive us of all taste for that happiness. If external +circumstances remain unchanged, the heart changes; either happiness +forsakes us, or we forsake her. + +"During your infatuation time has passed unheeded. Summer is over, +winter is at hand. Even if our expeditions were possible, at such +a time of year they would not be permitted. Whether we wish it or +no, we shall have to change our way of life; it cannot continue. +I read in your eager eyes that this does not disturb you greatly; +Sophy's confession and your own wishes suggest a simple plan +for avoiding the snow and escaping the journey. The plan has its +advantages, no doubt; but when spring returns, the snow will melt +and the marriage will remain; you must reckon for all seasons. + +"You wish to marry Sophy and you have only known her five months! +You wish to marry her, not because she is a fit wife for you, +but because she pleases you; as if love were never mistaken as to +fitness, as if those, who begin with love, never ended with hatred! +I know she is virtuous; but is that enough? Is fitness merely a matter +of honour? It is not her virtue I misdoubt, it is her disposition. +Does a woman show her real character in a day? Do you know how +often you must have seen her and under what varying conditions to +really know her temper? Is four months of liking a sufficient pledge +for the rest of your life? A couple of months hence you may have +forgotten her; as soon as you are gone another may efface your +image in her heart; on your return you may find her as indifferent +as you have hitherto found her affectionate. Sentiments are not +a matter of principle; she may be perfectly virtuous and yet cease +to love you. I am inclined to think she will be faithful and true; +but who will answer for her, and who will answer for you if you +are not put to the proof? Will you postpone this trial till it is +too late, will you wait to know your true selves till parting is +no longer possible? + +"Sophy is not eighteen, and you are barely twenty-two; this is the +age for love, but not for marriage. What a father and mother for +a family! If you want to know how to bring up children, you should +at least wait till you yourselves are children no longer. Do you +not know that too early motherhood has weakened the constitution, +destroyed the health, and shortened the life of many young women? +Do you not know that many children have always been weak and sickly +because their mother was little more than a child herself? When +mother and child are both growing, the strength required for their +growth is divided, and neither gets all that nature intended; are +not both sure to suffer? Either I know very little of Emile, or +he would rather wait and have a healthy wife and children, than +satisfy his impatience at the price of their life and health. + +"Let us speak of yourself. You hope to be a husband and a father; +have you seriously considered your duties? When you become the head +of a family you will become a citizen of your country. And what is +a citizen of the state? What do you know about it? You have studied +your duties as a man, but what do you know of the duties of a +citizen? Do you know the meaning of such terms as government, laws, +country? Do you know the price you must pay for life, and for what +you must be prepared to die? You think you know everything, when +you really know nothing at all. Before you take your place in the +civil order, learn to perceive and know what is your proper place. + +"Emile, you must leave Sophy; I do not bid you forsake her; if you +were capable of such conduct, she would be only too happy not to +have married you; you must leave her in order to return worthy of +her. Do not be vain enough to think yourself already worthy. How +much remains to be done! Come and fulfil this splendid task; come +and learn to submit to absence; come and earn the prize of fidelity, +so that when you return you may indeed deserve some honour, and +may ask her hand not as a favour but as a reward." + +Unaccustomed to struggle with himself, untrained to desire one thing +and to will another, the young man will not give way; he resists, +he argues. Why should he refuse the happiness which awaits him? +Would he not despise the hand which is offered him if he hesitated +to accept it? Why need he leave her to learn what he ought to know? +And if it were necessary to leave her why not leave her as his +wife with a certain pledge of his return? Let him be her husband, +and he is ready to follow me; let them be married and he will leave +her without fear. "Marry her in order to leave her, dear Emile! what +a contradiction! A lover who can leave his mistress shows himself +capable of great things; a husband should never leave his wife +unless through necessity. To cure your scruples, I see the delay +must be involuntary on your part; you must be able to tell Sophy +you leave her against your will. Very well, be content, and since +you will not follow the commands of reason, you must submit to +another master. You have not forgotten your promise. Emile, you +must leave Sophy; I will have it." + +For a moment or two he was downcast, silent, and thoughtful, +then looking me full in the face he said, "When do we start?" "In +a week's time," I replied; "Sophy must be prepared for our going. +Women are weaker than we are, and we must show consideration for +them; and this parting is not a duty for her as it is for you, so +she may be allowed to bear it less bravely." + +The temptation to continue the daily history of their love up +to the time of their separation is very great; but I have already +presumed too much upon the good nature of my readers; let us abridge +the story so as to bring it to an end. Will Emile face the situation +as bravely at his mistress' feet as he has done in conversation +with his friend? I think he will; his confidence is rooted in the +sincerity of his love. He would be more at a loss with her, if it +cost him less to leave her; he would leave her feeling himself to +blame, and that is a difficult part for a man of honour to play; +but the greater the sacrifice, the more credit he demands for it +in the sight of her who makes it so difficult. He has no fear that +she will misunderstand his motives. Every look seems to say, "Oh, +Sophy, read my heart and be faithful to me; your lover is not +without virtue." + +Sophy tries to bear the unforeseen blow with her usual pride +and dignity. She tries to seem as if she did not care, but as the +honours of war are not hers, but Emile's, her strength is less +equal to the task. She weeps, she sighs against her will, and the +fear of being forgotten embitters the pain of parting. She does +not weep in her lover's sight, she does not let him see her terror; +she would die rather than utter a sigh in his presence. I am the +recipient of her lamentations, I behold her tears, it is I who am +supposed to be her confidant. Women are very clever and know how to +conceal their cleverness; the more she frets in private, the more +pains she takes to please me; she feels that her fate is in my +hands. + +I console and comfort her; I make myself answerable for her lover, +or rather for her husband; let her be as true to him as he to +her and I promise they shall be married in two years' time. She +respects me enough to believe that I do not want to deceive her. +I am guarantor to each for the other. Their hearts, their virtue, +my honesty, the confidence of their parents, all combine to reassure +them. But what can reason avail against weakness? They part as if +they were never to meet again. + +Then it is that Sophy recalls the regrets of Eucharis, and fancies +herself in her place. Do not let us revive that fantastic affection +during his absence "Sophy," say I one day, "exchange books with +Emile; let him have your Telemachus that he may learn to be like +him, and let him give you his Spectator which you enjoy reading. +Study the duties of good wives in it, and remember that in two years' +time you will undertake those duties." The exchange gave pleasure +to both and inspired them with confidence. At last the sad day +arrived and they must part. + +Sophy's worthy father, with whom I had arranged the whole business, +took affectionate leave of me, and taking me aside, he spoke +seriously and somewhat emphatically, saying, "I have done everything +to please you; I knew I had to do with a man of honour; I have only +one word to say. Remembering your pupil has signed his contract of +marriage on my daughter's lips." + +What a difference in the behaviour of the two lovers! Emile, +impetuous, eager, excited, almost beside himself, cries aloud +and sheds torrents of tears upon the hands of father, mother, and +daughter; with sobs he embraces every one in the house and repeats +the same thing over and over again in a way that would be ludicrous +at any other time. Sophy, pale, sorrowful, doleful, and heavy-eyed, +remains quiet without a word or a tear, she sees no one, not even +Emile. In vain he takes her hand, and clasps her in his arms; she +remains motionless, unheeding his tears, his caresses, and everything +he does; so far as she is concerned, he is gone already. A sight +more moving than the prolonged lamentations and noisy regrets of her +lover! He sees, he feels, he is heartbroken. I drag him reluctantly +away; if I left him another minute, he would never go. I am delighted +that he should carry this touching picture with him. If he should +ever be tempted to forget what is due to Sophy, his heart must +have strayed very far indeed if I cannot bring it back to her by +recalling her as he saw her last. + +OF TRAVEL + +Is it good for young people to travel? The question is often asked +and as often hotly disputed. If it were stated otherwise--Are +men the better for having travelled?--perhaps there would be less +difference of opinion. + +The misuse of books is the death of sound learning. People think +they know what they have read, and take no pains to learn. Too much +reading only produces a pretentious ignoramus. There was never so +much reading in any age as the present, and never was there less +learning; in no country of Europe are so many histories and books +of travel printed as in France, and nowhere is there less knowledge +of the mind and manners of other nations. So many books lead us to +neglect the book of the world; if we read it at all, we keep each +to our own page. If the phrase, "Can one become a Persian," were +unknown to me, I should suspect on hearing it that it came from +the country where national prejudice is most prevalent and from +the sex which does most to increase it. + +A Parisian thinks he has a knowledge of men and he knows only +Frenchmen; his town is always full of foreigners, but he considers +every foreigner as a strange phenomenon which has no equal in the +universe. You must have a close acquaintance with the middle classes +of that great city, you must have lived among them, before you can +believe that people could be at once so witty and so stupid. The +strangest thing about it is that probably every one of them has +read a dozen times a description of the country whose inhabitants +inspire him with such wonder. + +To discover the truth amidst our own prejudices and those of the +authors is too hard a task. I have been reading books of travels +all my life, but I never found two that gave me the same idea of +the same nation. On comparing my own scanty observations with what +I have read, I have decided to abandon the travellers and I regret +the time wasted in trying to learn from their books; for I am +quite convinced that for that sort of study, seeing not reading is +required. That would be true enough if every traveller were honest, +if he only said what he saw and believed, and if truth were not +tinged with false colours from his own eyes. What must it be when +we have to disentangle the truth from the web of lies and ill-faith? + +Let us leave the boasted resources of books to those who are content +to use them. Like the art of Raymond Lully they are able to set +people chattering about things they do not know. They are able to +set fifteen-year-old Platos discussing philosophy in the clubs, and +teaching people the customs of Egypt and the Indies on the word of +Paul Lucas or Tavernier. + +I maintain that it is beyond dispute that any one who has only seen +one nation does not know men; he only knows those men among whom +he has lived. Hence there is another way of stating the question +about travel: "Is it enough for a well-educated man to know his +fellow-countrymen, or ought he to know mankind in general?" Then +there is no place for argument or uncertainty. See how greatly the +solution of a difficult problem may depend on the way in which it +is stated. + +But is it necessary to travel the whole globe to study mankind? Need +we go to Japan to study Europeans? Need we know every individual +before we know the species? No, there are men so much alike that it +is not worth while to study them individually. When you have seen +a dozen Frenchmen you have seen them all. Though one cannot say +as much of the English and other nations, it is, however, certain +that every nation has its own specific character, which is derived +by induction from the study, not of one, but many of its members. +He who has compared a dozen nations knows men, just he who has +compared a dozen Frenchmen knows the French. + +To acquire knowledge it is not enough to travel hastily through a +country. Observation demands eyes, and the power of directing them +towards the object we desire to know. There are plenty of people +who learn no more from their travels than from their books, because +they do not know how to think; because in reading their mind is +at least under the guidance of the author, and in their travels +they do not know how to see for themselves. Others learn nothing, +because they have no desire to learn. Their object is so entirely +different, that this never occurs to them; it is very unlikely +that you will see clearly what you take no trouble to look for. The +French travel more than any other nation, but they are so taken up +with their own customs, that everything else is confused together. +There are Frenchmen in every corner of the globe. In no country +of the world do you find more people who have travelled than in +France. And yet of all the nations of Europe, that which has seen +most, knows least. The English are also travellers, but they travel +in another fashion; these two nations must always be at opposite +extremes. The English nobility travels, the French stays at home; +the French people travel, the English stay at home. This difference +does credit, I think, to the English. The French almost always +travel for their own ends; the English do not seek their fortune +in other lands, unless in the way of commerce and with their hands +full; when they travel it is to spend their money, not to live by +their wits; they are too proud to cringe before strangers. This +is why they learn more abroad than the French who have other fish +to fry. Yet the English have their national prejudices; but these +prejudices are not so much the result of ignorance as of feeling. +The Englishman's prejudices are the result of pride, the Frenchman's +are due to vanity. + +Just as the least cultivated nations are usually the best, so those +travel best who travel least; they have made less progress than we +in our frivolous pursuits, they are less concerned with the objects +of our empty curiosity, so that they give their attention to what +is really useful. I hardly know any but the Spaniards who travel +in this fashion. While the Frenchman is running after all the +artists of the country, while the Englishman is getting a copy of +some antique, while the German is taking his album to every man +of science, the Spaniard is silently studying the government, the +manners of the country, its police, and he is the only one of the +four who from all that he has seen will carry home any observation +useful to his own country. + +The ancients travelled little, read little, and wrote few books; +yet we see in those books that remain to us, that they observed each +other more thoroughly than we observe our contemporaries. Without +going back to the days of Homer, the only poet who transports us +to the country he describes, we cannot deny to Herodotus the glory +of having painted manners in his history, though he does it rather +by narrative than by comment; still he does it better than all our +historians whose books are overladen with portraits and characters. +Tacitus has described the Germans of his time better than any +author has described the Germans of to-day. There can be no doubt +that those who have devoted themselves to ancient history know more +about the Greeks, Carthaginians, Romans, Gauls, and Persians than +any nation of to-day knows about its neighbours. + +It must also be admitted that the original characteristics of +different nations are changing day by day, and are therefore more +difficult to grasp. As races blend and nations intermingle, those +national differences which formerly struck the observer at first +sight gradually disappear. Before our time every nation remained +more or less cut off from the rest; the means of communication were +fewer; there was less travelling, less of mutual or conflicting +interests, less political and civil intercourse between nation and +nation; those intricate schemes of royalty, miscalled diplomacy, +were less frequent; there were no permanent ambassadors resident +at foreign courts; long voyages were rare, there was little foreign +trade, and what little there was, was either the work of princes, +who employed foreigners, or of people of no account who had no +influence on others and did nothing to bring the nations together. +The relations between Europe and Asia in the present century are +a hundredfold more numerous than those between Gaul and Spain in +the past; Europe alone was less accessible than the whole world is +now. + +Moreover, the peoples of antiquity usually considered themselves +as the original inhabitants of their country; they had dwelt there +so long that all record was lost of the far-off times when their +ancestors settled there; they had been there so long that the +place had made a lasting impression on them; but in modern Europe +the invasions of the barbarians, following upon the Roman conquests, +have caused an extraordinary confusion. The Frenchmen of to-day +are no longer the big fair men of old; the Greeks are no longer +beautiful enough to serve as a sculptor's model; the very face of +the Romans has changed as well as their character; the Persians, +originally from Tartary, are daily losing their native ugliness +through the intermixture of Circassian blood. Europeans are no longer +Gauls, Germans, Iberians, Allobroges; they are all Scythians, more +or less degenerate in countenance, and still more so in conduct. + +This is why the ancient distinctions of race, the effect of soil +and climate, made a greater difference between nation and nation +in respect of temperament, looks, manners, and character than can +be distinguished in our own time, when the fickleness of Europe +leaves no time for natural causes to work, when the forests are +cut down and the marshes drained, when the earth is more generally, +though less thoroughly, tilled, so that the same differences between +country and country can no longer be detected even in purely physical +features. + +If they considered these facts perhaps people would not be in such +a hurry to ridicule Herodotus, Ctesias, Pliny for having described +the inhabitants of different countries each with its own peculiarities +and with striking differences which we no longer see. To recognise +such types of face we should need to see the men themselves; no +change must have passed over them, if they are to remain the same. +If we could behold all the people who have ever lived, who can +doubt that we should find greater variations between one century +and another, than are now found between nation and nation. + +At the same time, while observation becomes more difficult, it +is more carelessly and badly done; this is another reason for the +small success of our researches into the natural history of the +human race. The information acquired by travel depends upon the +object of the journey. If this object is a system of philosophy, the +traveller only sees what he desires to see; if it is self-interest, +it engrosses the whole attention of those concerned. Commerce and +the arts which blend and mingle the nations at the same time prevent +them from studying each other. If they know how to make a profit +out of their neighbours, what more do they need to know? + +It is a good thing to know all the places where we might live, so +as to choose those where we can live most comfortably. If every +one lived by his own efforts, all he would need to know would be +how much land would keep him in food. The savage, who has need of +no one, and envies no one, neither knows nor seeks to know any other +country but his own. If he requires more land for his subsistence +he shuns inhabited places; he makes war upon the wild beasts +and feeds on them. But for us, to whom civilised life has become +a necessity, for us who must needs devour our fellow-creatures, +self-interest prompts each one of us to frequent those districts +where there are most people to be devoured. This is why we all +flock to Rome, Paris, and London. Human flesh and blood are always +cheapest in the capital cities. Thus we only know the great nations, +which are just like one another. + +They say that men of learning travel to obtain information; not so, +they travel like other people from interested motives. Philosophers +like Plato and Pythagoras are no longer to be found, or if they +are, it must be in far-off lands. Our men of learning only travel +at the king's command; they are sent out, their expenses are paid, +they receive a salary for seeing such and such things, and the +object of that journey is certainly not the study of any question +of morals. Their whole time is required for the object of their +journey, and they are too honest not to earn their pay. If in any +country whatsoever there are people travelling at their own expense, +you may be sure it is not to study men but to teach them. It is +not knowledge they desire but ostentation. How should their travels +teach them to shake off the yoke of prejudice? It is prejudice that +sends them on their travels. + +To travel to see foreign lands or to see foreign nations are two +very different things. The former is the usual aim of the curious, +the latter is merely subordinate to it. If you wish to travel as +a philosopher you should reverse this order. The child observes +things till he is old enough to study men. Man should begin by +studying his fellows; he can study things later if time permits. + +It is therefore illogical to conclude that travel is useless +because we travel ill. But granting the usefulness of travel, does +it follow that it is good for all of us? Far from it; there are +very few people who are really fit to travel; it is only good for +those who are strong enough in themselves to listen to the voice +of error without being deceived, strong enough to see the example +of vice without being led away by it. Travelling accelerates the +progress of nature, and completes the man for good or evil. When +a man returns from travelling about the world, he is what he will +be all his life; there are more who return bad than good, because +there are more who start with an inclination towards evil. In the +course of their travels, young people, ill-educated and ill-behaved, +pick up all the vices of the nations among whom they have sojourned, +and none of the virtues with which those vices are associated; but +those who, happily for themselves, are well-born, those whose good +disposition has been well cultivated, those who travel with a real +desire to learn, all such return better and wiser than they went. +Emile will travel in this fashion; in this fashion there travelled +another young man, worthy of a nobler age; one whose worth was the +admiration of Europe, one who died for his country in the flower +of his manhood; he deserved to live, and his tomb, ennobled by his +virtues only, received no honour till a stranger's hand adorned it +with flowers. + +Everything that is done in reason should have its rules. Travel, +undertaken as a part of education, should therefore have its rules. +To travel for travelling's sake is to wander, to be a vagabond; to +travel to learn is still too vague; learning without some definite +aim is worthless. I would give a young man a personal interest +in learning, and that interest, well-chosen, will also decide the +nature of the instruction. This is merely the continuation of the +method I have hitherto practised. + +Now after he has considered himself in his physical relations +to other creatures, in his moral relations with other men, there +remains to be considered his civil relations with his fellow-citizens. +To do this he must first study the nature of government in general, +then the different forms of government, and lastly the particular +government under which he was born, to know if it suits him to live +under it; for by a right which nothing can abrogate, every man, +when he comes of age, becomes his own master, free to renounce the +contract by which he forms part of the community, by leaving the +country in which that contract holds good. It is only by sojourning +in that country, after he has come to years of discretion, that +he is supposed to have tacitly confirmed the pledge given by his +ancestors. He acquires the right to renounce his country, just as +he has the right to renounce all claim to his father's lands; yet +his place of birth was a gift of nature, and in renouncing it, he +renounces what is his own. Strictly speaking, every man remains in +the land of his birth at his own risk unless he voluntarily submits +to its laws in order to acquire a right to their protection. + +For example, I should say to Emile, "Hitherto you have lived under +my guidance, you were unable to rule yourself. But now you are +approaching the age when the law, giving you the control over your +property, makes you master of your person. You are about to find +yourself alone in society, dependent on everything, even on your +patrimony. You mean to marry; that is a praiseworthy intention, +it is one of the duties of man; but before you marry you must know +what sort of man you want to be, how you wish to spend your life, +what steps you mean to take to secure a living for your family +and for yourself; for although we should not make this our main +business, it must be definitely considered. Do you wish to be +dependent on men whom you despise? Do you wish to establish your +fortune and determine your position by means of civil relations which +will make you always dependent on the choice of others, which will +compel you, if you would escape from knaves, to become a knave +yourself?" + +In the next place I would show him every possible way of using his +money in trade, in the civil service, in finance, and I shall show +him that in every one of these there are risks to be taken, every +one of them places him in a precarious and dependent position, and +compels him to adapt his morals, his sentiments, his conduct to +the example and the prejudices of others. + +"There is yet another way of spending your time and money; you may +join the army; that is to say, you may hire yourself out at very +high wages to go and kill men who never did you any harm. This trade +is held in great honour among men, and they cannot think too highly +of those who are fit for nothing better. Moreover, this profession, +far from making you independent of other resources, makes them all +the more necessary; for it is a point of honour in this profession +to ruin those who have adopted it. It is true they are not all +ruined; it is even becoming fashionable to grow rich in this as in +other professions; but if I told you how people manage to do it, +I doubt whether you would desire to follow their example. + +"Moreover, you must know that, even in this trade, it is no longer +a question of courage or valour, unless with regard to the ladies; +on the contrary, the more cringing, mean, and degraded you are, the +more honour you obtain; if you have decided to take your profession +seriously, you will be despised, you will be hated, you will very +possibly be driven out of the service, or at least you will fall a +victim to favouritism and be supplanted by your comrades, because +you have been doing your duty in the trenches, while they have been +attending to their toilet." + +We can hardly suppose that any of these occupations will be much +to Emile's taste. "Why," he will exclaim, "have I forgotten the +amusements of my childhood? Have I lost the use of my arms? Is +my strength failing me? Do I not know how to work? What do I care +about all your fine professions and all the silly prejudices of +others? I know no other pride than to be kindly and just; no other +happiness than to live in independence with her I love, gaining +health and a good appetite by the day's work. All these difficulties +you speak of do not concern me. The only property I desire is +a little farm in some quiet corner. I will devote all my efforts +after wealth to making it pay, and I will live without a care. Give +me Sophy and my land, and I shall be rich." + +"Yes, my dear friend, that is all a wise man requires, a wife and +land of his own; but these treasures are scarcer than you think. +The rarest you have found already; let us discuss the other. + +"A field of your own, dear Emile! Where will you find it, in what +remote corner of the earth can you say, 'Here am I master of myself +and of this estate which belongs to me?' We know where a man may +grow rich; who knows where he can do without riches? Who knows +where to live free and independent, without ill-treating others +and without fear of being ill-treated himself! Do you think it is +so easy to find a place where you can always live like an honest man? +If there is any safe and lawful way of living without intrigues, +without lawsuits, without dependence on others, it is, I admit, +to live by the labour of our hands, by the cultivation of our own +land; but where is the state in which a man can say, 'The earth +which I dig is my own?' Before choosing this happy spot, be sure +that you will find the peace you desire; beware lest an unjust +government, a persecuting religion, and evil habits should disturb +you in your home. Secure yourself against the excessive taxes which +devour the fruits of your labours, and the endless lawsuits which +consume your capital. Take care that you can live rightly without +having to pay court to intendents, to their deputies, to judges, +to priests, to powerful neighbours, and to knaves of every kind, +who are always ready to annoy you if you neglect them. Above all, +secure yourself from annoyance on the part of the rich and great; +remember that their estates may anywhere adjoin your Naboth's vineyard. +If unluckily for you some great man buys or builds a house near +your cottage, make sure that he will not find a way, under some +pretence or other, to encroach on your lands to round off his estate, +or that you do not find him at once absorbing all your resources +to make a wide highroad. If you keep sufficient credit to ward off +all these disagreeables, you might as well keep your money, for it +will cost you no more to keep it. Riches and credit lean upon each +other, the one can hardly stand without the other. + +"I have more experience than you, dear Emile; I see more clearly +the difficulties in the way of your scheme. Yet it is a fine scheme +and honourable; it would make you happy indeed. Let us try to carry +it out. I have a suggestion to make; let us devote the two years +from now till the time of your return to choosing a place in +Europe where you could live happily with your family, secure from +all the dangers I have just described. If we succeed, you will +have discovered that true happiness, so often sought for in vain; +and you will not have to regret the time spent in its search. If +we fail, you will be cured of a mistaken idea; you will console +yourself for an inevitable ill, and you will bow to the law of +necessity." + +I do not know whether all my readers will see whither this suggested +inquiry will lead us; but this I do know, if Emile returns from his +travels, begun and continued with this end in view, without a full +knowledge of questions of government, public morality, and political +philosophy of every kind, we are greatly lacking, he in intelligence +and I in judgment. + +The science of politics is and probably always will be unknown. +Grotius, our leader in this branch of learning, is only a child, +and what is worse an untruthful child. When I hear Grotius praised +to the skies and Hobbes overwhelmed with abuse, I perceive how +little sensible men have read or understood these authors. As a +matter of fact, their principles are exactly alike, they only differ +in their mode of expression. Their methods are also different: +Hobbes relies on sophism; Grotius relies on the poets; they are +agreed in everything else. In modern times the only man who could +have created this vast and useless science was the illustrious +Montesquieu. But he was not concerned with the principles of +political law; he was content to deal with the positive laws of +settled governments; and nothing could be more different than these +two branches of study. + +Yet he who would judge wisely in matters of actual government is +forced to combine the two; he must know what ought to be in order +to judge what is. The chief difficulty in the way of throwing light +upon this important matter is to induce an individual to discuss +and to answer these two questions. "How does it concern me; and +what can I do?" Emile is in a position to answer both. + +The next difficulty is due to the prejudices of childhood, the +principles in which we were brought up; it is due above all to the +partiality of authors, who are always talking about truth, though +they care very little about it; it is only their own interests +that they care for, and of these they say nothing. Now the nation +has neither professorships, nor pensions, nor membership of the +academies to bestow. How then shall its rights be established by +men of that type? The education I have given him has removed this +difficulty also from Emile's path. He scarcely knows what is meant +by government; his business is to find the best; he does not want +to write books; if ever he did so, it would not be to pay court to +those in authority, but to establish the rights of humanity. + +There is a third difficulty, more specious than real; a difficulty +which I neither desire to solve nor even to state; enough that I am +not afraid of it; sure I am that in inquiries of this kind, great +talents are less necessary than a genuine love of justice and a +sincere reverence for truth. If matters of government can ever be +fairly discussed, now or never is our chance. + +Before beginning our observations we must lay down rules of procedure; +we must find a scale with which to compare our measurements. Our +principles of political law are our scale. Our actual measurements +are the civil law of each country. + +Our elementary notions are plain and simple, being taken directly +from the nature of things. They will take the form of problems +discussed between us, and they will not be formulated into principles, +until we have found a satisfactory solution of our problems. + +For example, we shall begin with the state of nature, we shall see +whether men are born slaves or free, in a community or independent; +is their association the result of free will or of force? Can the +force which compels them to united action ever form a permanent +law, by which this original force becomes binding, even when another +has been imposed upon it, so that since the power of King Nimrod, +who is said to have been the first conqueror, every other power +which has overthrown the original power is unjust and usurping, +so that there are no lawful kings but the descendants of Nimrod or +their representatives; or if this original power has ceased, has +the power which succeeded it any right over us, and does it destroy +the binding force of the former power, so that we are not bound to +obey except under compulsion, and we are free to rebel as soon as +we are capable of resistance? Such a right is not very different +from might; it is little more than a play upon words. + +We shall inquire whether man might not say that all sickness comes +from God, and that it is therefore a crime to send for the doctor. + +Again, we shall inquire whether we are bound by our conscience to +give our purse to a highwayman when we might conceal it from him, +for the pistol in his hand is also a power. + +Does this word power in this context mean something different from +a power which is lawful and therefore subject to the laws to which +it owes its being? + +Suppose we reject this theory that might is right and admit the +right of nature, or the authority of the father, as the foundation +of society; we shall inquire into the extent of this authority; what +is its foundation in nature? Has it any other grounds but that of +its usefulness to the child, his weakness, and the natural love +which his father feels towards him? When the child is no longer +feeble, when he is grown-up in mind as well as in body, does not +he become the sole judge of what is necessary for his preservation? +Is he not therefore his own master, independent of all men, even +of his father himself? For is it not still more certain that the +son loves himself, than that the father loves the son? + +The father being dead, should the children obey the eldest brother, +or some other person who has not the natural affection of a father? +Should there always be, from family to family, one single head to +whom all the family owe obedience? If so, how has power ever come +to be divided, and how is it that there is more than one head to +govern the human race throughout the world? + +Suppose the nations to have been formed each by its own choice; we +shall then distinguish between right and fact; being thus subjected +to their brothers, uncles, or other relations, not because they +were obliged, but because they choose, we shall inquire whether +this kind of society is not a sort of free and voluntary association? + +Taking next the law of slavery, we shall inquire whether a man can +make over to another his right to himself, without restriction, +without reserve, without any kind of conditions; that is to say, +can he renounce his person, his life, his reason, his very self, +can he renounce all morality in his actions; in a word, can he +cease to exist before his death, in spite of nature who places him +directly in charge of his own preservation, in spite of reason and +conscience which tell him what to do and what to leave undone? + +If there is any reservation or restriction in the deed of slavery, +we shall discuss whether this deed does not then become a true +contract, in which both the contracting powers, having in this respect +no common master, [Footnote: If they had such a common master, he +would be no other than the sovereign, and then the right of slavery +resting on the right of sovereignty would not be its origin.] +remain their own judge as to the conditions of the contract, and +therefore free to this extent, and able to break the contract as +soon as it becomes hurtful. + +If then a slave cannot convey himself altogether to his master, +how can a nation convey itself altogether to its head? If a slave +is to judge whether his master is fulfilling his contract, is not +the nation to judge whether its head is fulfilling his contract? + +Thus we are compelled to retrace our steps, and when we consider +the meaning of this collective nation we shall inquire whether some +contract, a tacit contract at the least, is not required to make +a nation, a contract anterior to that which we are assuming. + +Since the nation was a nation before it chose a king, what made it +a nation, except the social contract? Therefore the social contract +is the foundation of all civil society, and it is in the nature of +this contract that we must seek the nature of the society formed +by it. + +We will inquire into the meaning of this contract; may it not be +fairly well expressed in this formula? As an individual every one +of us contributes his goods, his person, his life, to the common +stock, under the supreme direction of the general will; while as +a body we receive each member as an indivisible part of the whole. + +Assuming this, in order to define the terms we require, we shall +observe that, instead of the individual person of each contracting +party, this deed of association produces a moral and collective body, +consisting of as many members as there are votes in the Assembly. +This public personality is usually called the body politic, which +is called by its members the State when it is passive, and the +Sovereign when it is active, and a Power when compared with its +equals. With regard to the members themselves, collectively they +are known as the nation, and individually as citizens as members +of the city or partakers in the sovereign power, and subjects as +obedient to the same authority. + +We shall note that this contract of association includes a mutual +pledge on the part of the public and the individual; and that each +individual, entering, so to speak, into a contract with himself, +finds himself in a twofold capacity, i.e., as a member of the +sovereign with regard to others, as member of the state with regard +to the sovereign. + +We shall also note that while no one is bound by any engagement to +which he was not himself a party, the general deliberation which +may be binding on all the subjects with regard to the sovereign, +because of the two different relations under which each of them is +envisaged, cannot be binding on the state with regard to itself. +Hence we see that there is not, and cannot be, any other fundamental +law, properly so called, except the social contract only. This does +not mean that the body politic cannot, in certain respects, pledge +itself to others; for in regard to the foreigner, it then becomes +a simple creature, an individual. + +Thus the two contracting parties, i.e., each individual and the +public, have no common superior to decide their differences; so we +will inquire if each of them remains free to break the contract at +will, that is to repudiate it on his side as soon as he considers +it hurtful. + +To clear up this difficulty, we shall observe that, according to +the social pact, the sovereign power is only able to act through +the common, general will; so its decrees can only have a general +or common aim; hence it follows that a private individual cannot +be directly injured by the sovereign, unless all are injured, which +is impossible, for that would be to want to harm oneself. Thus the +social contract has no need of any warrant but the general power, +for it can only be broken by individuals, and they are not therefore +freed from their engagement, but punished for having broken it. + +To decide all such questions rightly, we must always bear in mind +that the nature of the social pact is private and peculiar to +itself, in that the nation only contracts with itself, i.e., the +people as a whole as sovereign, with the individuals as subjects; +this condition is essential to the construction and working of the +political machine, it alone makes pledges lawful, reasonable, and +secure, without which it would be absurd, tyrannical, and liable +to the grossest abuse. + +Individuals having only submitted themselves to the sovereign, and +the sovereign power being only the general will, we shall see that +every man in obeying the sovereign only obeys himself, and how much +freer are we under the social part than in the state of nature. + +Having compared natural and civil liberty with regard to persons, +we will compare them as to property, the rights of ownership and +the rights of sovereignty, the private and the common domain. If +the sovereign power rests upon the right of ownership, there is no +right more worthy of respect; it is inviolable and sacred for the +sovereign power, so long as it remains a private individual right; as +soon as it is viewed as common to all the citizens, it is subject +to the common will, and this will may destroy it. Thus the sovereign +has no right to touch the property of one or many; but he may +lawfully take possession of the property of all, as was done in +Sparta in the time of Lycurgus; while the abolition of debts by +Solon was an unlawful deed. + +Since nothing is binding on the subjects except the general will, +let us inquire how this will is made manifest, by what signs we may +recognise it with certainty, what is a law, and what are the true +characters of the law? This is quite a fresh subject; we have still +to define the term law. + +As soon as the nation considers one or more of its members, the +nation is divided. A relation is established between the whole and +its part which makes of them two separate entities, of which the +part is one, and the whole, minus that part, is the other. But the +whole minus the part is not the whole; as long as this relation +exists, there is no longer a whole, but two unequal parts. + +On the other hand, if the whole nation makes a law for the whole +nation, it is only considering itself; and if a relation is set +up, it is between the whole community regarded from one point of +view, and the whole community regarded from another point of view, +without any division of that whole. Then the object of the statute +is general, and the will which makes that statute is general too. +Let us see if there is any other kind of decree which may bear the +name of law. + +If the sovereign can only speak through laws, and if the law can +never have any but a general purpose, concerning all the members +of the state, it follows that the sovereign never has the power +to make any law with regard to particular cases; and yet it is +necessary for the preservation of the state that particular cases +should also be dealt with; let us see how this can be done. + +The decrees of the sovereign can only be decrees of the general +will, that is laws; there must also be determining decrees, decrees +of power or government, for the execution of those laws; and these, +on the other hand, can only have particular aims. Thus the decrees +by which the sovereign decides that a chief shall be elected is +a law; the decree by which that chief is elected, in pursuance of +the law, is only a decree of government. + +This is a third relation in which the assembled people may be +considered, i.e., as magistrates or executors of the law which it +has passed in its capacity as sovereign. [Footnote: These problems +and theorems are mostly taken from the Treatise on the Social +Contract, itself a summary of a larger work, undertaken without +due consideration of my own powers, and long since abandoned.] + +We will now inquire whether it is possible for the nation to deprive +itself of its right of sovereignty, to bestow it on one or more +persons; for the decree of election not being a law, and the people +in this decree not being themselves sovereign, we do not see how +they can transfer a right which they do not possess. + +The essence of sovereignty consisting in the general will, it is +equally hard to see how we can be certain that an individual will +shall always be in agreement with the general will. We should +rather assume that it will often be opposed to it; for individual +interest always tends to privileges, while the common interest +always tends to equality, and if such an agreement were possible, +no sovereign right could exist, unless the agreement were either +necessary or indestructible. + +We will inquire if, without violating the social pact, the heads of +the nation, under whatever name they are chosen, can ever be more +than the officers of the people, entrusted by them with the duty +of carrying the law into execution. Are not these chiefs themselves +accountable for their administration, and are not they themselves +subject to the laws which it is their business to see carried out? + +If the nation cannot alienate its supreme right, can it entrust +it to others for a time? Cannot it give itself a master, cannot it +find representatives? This is an important question and deserves +discussion. + +If the nation can have neither sovereign nor representatives we +will inquire how it can pass its own laws; must there be many laws; +must they be often altered; is it easy for a great nation to be +its own lawgiver? + +Was not the Roman people a great nation? + +Is it a good thing that there should be great nations? + +It follows from considerations already established that there is +an intermediate body in the state between subjects and sovereign; +and this intermediate body, consisting of one or more members, is +entrusted with the public administration, the carrying out of the +laws, and the maintenance of civil and political liberty. + +The members of this body are called magistrates or kings, that is +to say, rulers. This body, as a whole, considered in relation to +its members, is called the prince, and considered in its actions +it is called the government. + +If we consider the action of the whole body upon itself, that is +to say, the relation of the whole to the whole, of the sovereign +to the state, we can compare this relation to that of the extremes +in a proportion of which the government is the middle term. The +magistrate receives from the sovereign the commands which he gives +to the nation, and when it is reckoned up his product or his power +is in the same degree as the product or power of the citizens +who are subjects on one side of the proportion and sovereigns on +the other. None of the three terms can be varied without at once +destroying this proportion. If the sovereign tries to govern, and +if the prince wants to make the laws, or if the subject refuses to +obey them, disorder takes the place of order, and the state falls +to pieces under despotism or anarchy. + +Let us suppose that this state consists of ten thousand citizens. +The sovereign can only be considered collectively and as a body, +but each individual, as a subject, has his private and independent +existence. Thus the sovereign is as ten thousand to one; that is +to say, every member of the state has, as his own share, only one +ten-thousandth part of the sovereign power, although he is subject +to the whole. Let the nation be composed of one hundred thousand +men, the position of the subjects is unchanged, and each continues +to bear the whole weight of the laws, while his vote, reduced to the +one hundred-thousandth part, has ten times less influence in the +making of the laws. Thus the subject being always one, the sovereign +is relatively greater as the number of the citizens is increased. +Hence it follows that the larger the state the less liberty. + +Now the greater the disproportion between private wishes and the +general will, i.e., between manners and laws, the greater must be +the power of repression. On the other side, the greatness of the +state gives the depositaries of public authority greater temptations +and additional means of abusing that authority, so that the more +power is required by the government to control the people, the more +power should there be in the sovereign to control the government. + +From this twofold relation it follows that the continued proportion +between the sovereign, the prince, and the people is not an arbitrary +idea, but a consequence of the nature of the state. Moreover, it +follows that one of the extremes, i.e., the nation, being constant, +every time the double ratio increases or decreases, the simple +ratio increases or diminishes in its turn; which cannot be unless +the middle term is as often changed. From this we may conclude that +there is no single absolute form of government, but there must +be as many different forms of government as there are states of +different size. + +If the greater the numbers of the nation the less the ratio between +its manners and its laws, by a fairly clear analogy, we may also +say, the more numerous the magistrates, the weaker the government. + +To make this principle clearer we will distinguish three essentially +different wills in the person of each magistrate; first, his +own will as an individual, which looks to his own advantage only; +secondly, the common will of the magistrates, which is concerned +only with the advantage of the prince, a will which may be called +corporate, and one which is general in relation to the government +and particular in relation to the state of which the government +forms part; thirdly, the will of the people, or the sovereign will, +which is general, as much in relation to the state viewed as the +whole as in relation to the government viewed as a part of the +whole. In a perfect legislature the private individual will should +be almost nothing; the corporate will belonging to the government +should be quite subordinate, and therefore the general and sovereign +will is the master of all the others. On the other hand, in the +natural order, these different wills become more and more active in +proportion as they become centralised; the general will is always +weak, the corporate will takes the second place, the individual +will is preferred to all; so that every one is himself first, then +a magistrate, and then a citizen; a series just the opposite of +that required by the social order. + +Having laid down this principle, let us assume that the government +is in the hands of one man. In this case the individual and the +corporate will are absolutely one, and therefore this will has +reached the greatest possible degree of intensity. Now the use of +power depends on the degree of this intensity, and as the absolute +power of the government is always that of the people, and therefore +invariable, it follows that the rule of one man is the most active +form of government. + +If, on the other hand, we unite the government with the supreme +power, and make the prince the sovereign and the citizens so many +magistrates, then the corporate will is completely lost in the general +will, and will have no more activity than the general will, and it +will leave the individual will in full vigour. Thus the government, +though its absolute force is constant, will have the minimum of +activity. + +These rules are incontestable in themselves, and other considerations +only serve to confirm them. For example, we see the magistrates +as a body far more active than the citizens as a body, so that the +individual will always counts for more. For each magistrate usually +has charge of some particular duty of government; while each citizen, +in himself, has no particular duty of sovereignty. Moreover, the +greater the state the greater its real power, although its power +does not increase because of the increase in territory; but the +state remaining unchanged, the magistrates are multiplied in vain, +the government acquires no further real strength, because it is +the depositary of that of the state, which I have assumed to be +constant. Thus, this plurality of magistrates decreases the activity +of the government without increasing its power. + +Having found that the power of the government is relaxed in +proportion as the number of magistrates is multiplied, and that +the more numerous the people, the more the controlling power must +be increased, we shall infer that the ratio between the magistrates +and the government should be inverse to that between subjects and +sovereign, that is to say, that the greater the state, the smaller +the government, and that in like manner the number of chiefs should +be diminished because of the increased numbers of the people. + +In order to make this diversity of forms clearer, and to assign +them their different names, we shall observe in the first place +that the sovereign may entrust the care of the government to the +whole nation or to the greater part of the nation, so that there +are more citizen magistrates than private citizens. This form of +government is called Democracy. + +Or the sovereign may restrict the government in the hands of a lesser +number, so that there are more plain citizens than magistrates; +and this form of government is called Aristocracy. + +Finally, the sovereign may concentrate the whole government in the +hands of one man. This is the third and commonest form of government, +and is called Monarchy or royal government. + +We shall observe that all these forms, or the first and second at +least, may be less or more, and that within tolerably wide limits. +For the democracy may include the whole nation, or may be confined +to one half of it. The aristocracy, in its turn, may shrink from +the half of the nation to the smallest number. Even royalty may be +shared, either between father and son, between two brothers, or in +some other fashion. There were always two kings in Sparta, and in +the Roman empire there were as many as eight emperors at once, and +yet it cannot be said that the empire was divided. There is a point +where each form of government blends with the next; and under the +three specific forms there may be really as many forms of government +as there are citizens in the state. + +Nor is this all. In certain respects each of these governments is +capable of subdivision into different parts, each administered in +one of these three ways. From these forms in combination there may +arise a multitude of mixed forms, since each may be multiplied by +all the simple forms. + +In all ages there have been great disputes as to which is the best +form of government, and people have failed to consider that each +is the best in some cases and the worst in others. For ourselves, +if the number of magistrates [Footnote: You will remember that +I mean, in this context, the supreme magistrates or heads of the +nation, the others being only their deputies in this or that respect.] +in the various states is to be in inverse ratio to the number of +the citizens, we infer that generally a democratic government is +adapted to small states, an aristocratic government to those of +moderate size, and a monarchy to large states. + +These inquiries furnish us with a clue by which we may discover +what are the duties and rights of citizens, and whether they can +be separated one from the other; what is our country, in what does +it really consist, and how can each of us ascertain whether he has +a country or no? + +Having thus considered every kind of civil society in itself, we +shall compare them, so as to note their relations one with another; +great and small, strong and weak, attacking one another, insulting +one another, destroying one another; and in this perpetual action +and reaction causing more misery and loss of life than if men had +preserved their original freedom. We shall inquire whether too much +or too little has not been accomplished in the matter of social +institutions; whether individuals who are subject to law and to +men, while societies preserve the independence of nature, are not +exposed to the ills of both conditions without the advantages of +either, and whether it would not be better to have no civil society +in the world rather than to have many such societies. Is it not +that mixed condition which partakes of both and secures neither? + + "Per quem neutrum licet, nec tanquam in bello paratum esse, nec + tanquam in pace securum."--Seneca De Trang: Animi, cap. I. + +Is it not this partial and imperfect association which gives rise +to tyranny and war? And are not tyranny and war the worst scourges +of humanity? + +Finally we will inquire how men seek to get rid of these difficulties +by means of leagues and confederations, which leave each state +its own master in internal affairs, while they arm it against any +unjust aggression. We will inquire how a good federal association +may be established, what can make it lasting, and how far the rights +of the federation may be stretched without destroying the right of +sovereignty. + +The Abbe de Saint-Pierre suggested an association of all the states +of Europe to maintain perpetual peace among themselves. Is this +association practicable, and supposing that it were established, +would it be likely to last? These inquiries lead us straight to all +the questions of international law which may clear up the remaining +difficulties of political law. Finally we shall lay down the real +principles of the laws of war, and we shall see why Grotius and +others have only stated false principles. + +I should not be surprised if my pupil, who is a sensible young man, +should interrupt me saying, "One would think we were building our +edifice of wood and not of men; we are putting everything so exactly +in its place!" That is true; but remember that the law does not +bow to the passions of men, and that we have first to establish +the true principles of political law. Now that our foundations are +laid, come and see what men have built upon them; and you will see +some strange sights! + +Then I set him to read Telemachus, and we pursue our journey; we +are seeking that happy Salentum and the good Idomeneus made wise +by misfortunes. By the way we find many like Protesilas and no +Philocles, neither can Adrastes, King of the Daunians, be found. +But let our readers picture our travels for themselves, or take +the same journeys with Telemachus in their hand; and let us not +suggest to them painful applications which the author himself avoids +or makes in spite of himself. + +Moreover, Emile is not a king, nor am I a god, so that we are not +distressed that we cannot imitate Telemachus and Mentor in the good +they did; none know better than we how to keep to our own place, +none have less desire to leave it. We know that the same task +is allotted to all; that whoever loves what is right with all his +heart, and does the right so far as it is in his power, has fulfilled +that task. We know that Telemachus and Mentor are creatures of the +imagination. Emile does not travel in idleness and he does more +good than if he were a prince. If we were kings we should be no +greater benefactors. If we were kings and benefactors we should +cause any number of real evils for every apparent good we supposed +we were doing. If we were kings and sages, the first good deed we +should desire to perform, for ourselves and for others, would be +to abdicate our kingship and return to our present position. + +I have said why travel does so little for every one. What makes it +still more barren for the young is the way in which they are sent +on their travels. Tutors, more concerned to amuse than to instruct, +take them from town to town, from palace to palace, where if they +are men of learning and letters, they make them spend their time +in libraries, or visiting antiquaries, or rummaging among old +buildings transcribing ancient inscriptions. In every country they +are busy over some other century, as if they were living in another +country; so that after they have travelled all over Europe at great +expense, a prey to frivolity or tedium, they return, having seen +nothing to interest them, and having learnt nothing that could be +of any possible use to them. + +All capitals are just alike, they are a mixture of all nations and +all ways of living; they are not the place in which to study the +nations. Paris and London seem to me the same town. Their inhabitants +have a few prejudices of their own, but each has as many as the +other, and all their rules of conduct are the same. We know the +kind of people who will throng the court. We know the way of living +which the crowds of people and the unequal distribution of wealth +will produce. As soon as any one tells me of a town with two hundred +thousand people, I know its life already. What I do not know about +it is not worth going there to learn. + +To study the genius and character of a nation you should go to the +more remote provinces, where there is less stir, less commerce, +where strangers seldom travel, where the inhabitants stay in one +place, where there are fewer changes of wealth and position. Take +a look at the capital on your way, but go and study the country +far away from that capital. The French are not in Paris, but in +Touraine; the English are more English in Mercia than in London, +and the Spaniards more Spanish in Galicia than in Madrid. In these +remoter provinces a nation assumes its true character and shows +what it really is; there the good or ill effects of the government +are best perceived, just as you can measure the arc more exactly +at a greater radius. + +The necessary relations between character and government have been +so clearly pointed out in the book of L'Esprit des Lois, that one +cannot do better than have recourse to that work for the study of +those relations. But speaking generally, there are two plain and +simple standards by which to decide whether governments are good or +bad. One is the population. Every country in which the population +is decreasing is on its way to ruin; and the countries in which +the population increases most rapidly, even were they the poorest +countries in the world, are certainly the best governed. [Footnote: +I only know one exception to this rule--it is China.] But this +population must be the natural result of the government and the +national character, for if it is caused by colonisation or any other +temporary and accidental cause, then the remedy itself is evidence +of the disease. When Augustus passed laws against celibacy, those +laws showed that the Roman empire was already beginning to decline. +Citizens must be induced to marry by the goodness of the government, +not compelled to marry by law; you must not examine the effects +of force, for the law which strives against the constitution has +little or no effect; you should study what is done by the influence +of public morals and by the natural inclination of the government, +for these alone produce a lasting effect. It was the policy of +the worthy Abbe de Saint-Pierre always to look for a little remedy +for every individual ill, instead of tracing them to their common +source and seeing if they could not all be cured together. You +do not need to treat separately every sore on a rich man's body; +you should purify the blood which produces them. They say that in +England there are prizes for agriculture; that is enough for me; +that is proof enough that agriculture will not flourish there much +longer. + +The second sign of the goodness or badness of the government and +the laws is also to be found in the population, but it is to be +found not in its numbers but in its distribution. Two states equal +in size and population may be very unequal in strength; and the +more powerful is always that in which the people are more evenly +distributed over its territory; the country which has fewer large +towns, and makes less show on this account, will always defeat the +other. It is the great towns which exhaust the state and are the +cause of its weakness; the wealth which they produce is a sham +wealth, there is much money and few goods. They say the town of +Paris is worth a whole province to the King of France; for my own +part I believe it costs him more than several provinces. I believe +that Paris is fed by the provinces in more senses than one, and +that the greater part of their revenues is poured into that town +and stays there, without ever returning to the people or to the +king. It is inconceivable that in this age of calculators there +is no one to see that France would be much more powerful if Paris +were destroyed. Not only is this ill-distributed population not +advantageous to the state, it is more ruinous than depopulation +itself, because depopulation only gives as produce nought, and +the ill-regulated addition of still more people gives a negative +result. When I hear an Englishman and a Frenchman so proud of the +size of their capitals, and disputing whether London or Paris has +more inhabitants, it seems to me that they are quarrelling as to +which nation can claim the honour of being the worst governed. + +Study the nation outside its towns; thus only will you really get +to know it. It is nothing to see the apparent form of a government, +overladen with the machinery of administration and the jargon +of the administrators, if you have not also studied its nature as +seen in the effects it has upon the people, and in every degree of +administration. The difference of form is really shared by every +degree of the administration, and it is only by including every +degree that you really know the difference. In one country you +begin to feel the spirit of the minister in the manoeuvres of his +underlings; in another you must see the election of members of +parliament to see if the nation is really free; in each and every +country, he who has only seen the towns cannot possibly know what +the government is like, as its spirit is never the same in town +and country. Now it is the agricultural districts which form the +country, and the country people who make the nation. + +This study of different nations in their remoter provinces, and +in the simplicity of their native genius, gives a general result +which is very satisfactory, to my thinking, and very consoling to +the human heart; it is this: All the nations, if you observe them +in this fashion, seem much better worth observing; the nearer they +are to nature, the more does kindness hold sway in their character; +it is only when they are cooped up in towns, it is only when they +are changed by cultivation, that they become depraved, that certain +faults which were rather coarse than injurious are exchanged for +pleasant but pernicious vices. + +From this observation we see another advantage in the mode of +travel I suggest; for young men, sojourning less in the big towns +which are horribly corrupt, are less likely to catch the infection +of vice; among simpler people and less numerous company, they will +preserve a surer judgment, a healthier taste, and better morals. +Besides this contagion of vice is hardly to be feared for Emile; +he has everything to protect him from it. Among all the precautions +I have taken, I reckon much on the love he bears in his heart. + +We do not know the power of true love over youthful desires, because +we are ourselves as ignorant of it as they are, and those who have +control over the young turn them from true love. Yet a young man +must either love or fall into bad ways. It is easy to be deceived +by appearances. You will quote any number of young men who are said +to live very chastely without love; but show me one grown man, a +real man, who can truly say that his youth was thus spent? In all +our virtues, all our duties, people are content with appearances; +for my own part I want the reality, and I am much mistaken if there +is any other way of securing it beyond the means I have suggested. + +The idea of letting Emile fall in love before taking him on his +travels is not my own. It was suggested to me by the following +incident. + +I was in Venice calling on the tutor of a young Englishman. It was +winter and we were sitting round the fire. The tutor's letters were +brought from the post office. He glanced at them, and then read +them aloud to his pupil. They were in English; I understood not a +word, but while he was reading I saw the young man tear some fine +point lace ruffles which he was wearing, and throw them in the fire +one after another, as quietly as he could, so that no one should +see it. Surprised at this whim, I looked at his face and thought +I perceived some emotion; but the external signs of passion, though +much alike in all men, have national differences which may easily +lead one astray. Nations have a different language of facial expression +as well as of speech. I waited till the letters were finished and +then showing the tutor the bare wrists of his pupil, which he did +his best to hide, I said, "May I ask the meaning of this?" + +The tutor seeing what had happened began to laugh; he embraced his +pupil with an air of satisfaction and, with his consent, he gave +me the desired explanation. + +"The ruffles," said he, "which Mr. John has just torn to pieces, +were a present from a lady in this town, who made them for him not +long ago. Now you must know that Mr. John is engaged to a young +lady in his own country, with whom he is greatly in love, and she +well deserves it. This letter is from the lady's mother, and I will +translate the passage which caused the destruction you beheld. + +"'Lucy is always at work upon Mr. John's ruffles. Yesterday Miss +Betty Roldham came to spend the afternoon and insisted on doing +some of her work. I knew that Lucy was up very early this morning +and I wanted to see what she was doing; I found her busy unpicking +what Miss Betty had done. She would not have a single stitch in +her present done by any hand but her own.'" + +Mr. John went to fetch another pair of ruffles, and I said to his +tutor: "Your pupil has a very good disposition; but tell me is +not the letter from Miss Lucy's mother a put up job? Is it not an +expedient of your designing against the lady of the ruffles?" "No," +said he, "it is quite genuine; I am not so artful as that; I have +made use of simplicity and zeal, and God has blessed my efforts." + +This incident with regard to the young man stuck in my mind; it +was sure to set a dreamer like me thinking. + +But it is time we finished. Let us take Mr. John back to Miss Lucy, +or rather Emile to Sophy. He brings her a heart as tender as ever, +and a more enlightened mind, and he returns to his native land all +the bettor for having made acquaintance with foreign governments +through their vices and foreign nations through their virtues. +I have even taken care that he should associate himself with some +man of worth in every nation, by means of a treaty of hospitality +after the fashion of the ancients, and I shall not be sorry if this +acquaintance is kept up by means of letters. Not only may this be +useful, not only is it always pleasant to have a correspondent in +foreign lands, it is also an excellent antidote against the sway +of patriotic prejudices, to which we are liable all through our +life, and to which sooner or later we are more or less enslaved. +Nothing is better calculated to lessen the hold of such prejudices +than a friendly interchange of opinions with sensible people whom +we respect; they are free from our prejudices and we find ourselves +face to face with theirs, and so we can set the one set of prejudices +against the other and be safe from both. It is not the same thing +to have to do with strangers in our own country and in theirs. +In the former case there is always a certain amount of politeness +which either makes them conceal their real opinions, or makes them +think more favourably of our country while they are with us; when +they get home again this disappears, and they merely do us justice. +I should be very glad if the foreigner I consult has seen my country, +but I shall not ask what he thinks of it till he is at home again. + +When we have spent nearly two years travelling in a few of the +great countries and many of the smaller countries of Europe, when +we have learnt two or three of the chief languages, when we have +seen what is really interesting in natural history, government, +arts, or men, Emile, devoured by impatience, reminds me that our +time is almost up. Then I say, "Well, my friend, you remember the +main object of our journey; you have seen and observed; what is +the final result of your observations? What decision have you come +to?" Either my method is wrong, or he will answer me somewhat after +this fashion-- + +"What decision have I come to? I have decided to be what you made +me; of my own free will I will add no fetters to those imposed +upon me by nature and the laws. The more I study the works of men +in their institutions, the more clearly I see that, in their efforts +after independence, they become slaves, and that their very freedom +is wasted in vain attempts to assure its continuance. That they +may not be carried away by the flood of things, they form all sorts +of attachments; then as soon as they wish to move forward they are +surprised to find that everything drags them back. It seems to me +that to set oneself free we need do nothing, we need only continue +to desire freedom. My master, you have made me free by teaching +me to yield to necessity. Let her come when she will, I follow her +without compulsion; I lay hold of nothing to keep me back. In our +travels I have sought for some corner of the earth where I might +be absolutely my own; but where can one dwell among men without +being dependent on their passions? On further consideration I have +discovered that my desire contradicted itself; for were I to hold +to nothing else, I should at least hold to the spot on which I had +settled; my life would be attached to that spot, as the dryads were +attached to their trees. I have discovered that the words liberty +and empire are incompatible; I can only be master of a cottage by +ceasing to be master of myself. + + "'Hoc erat in votis, modus agri non ita magnus.' + Horace, lib. ii., sat. vi. + +"I remember that my property was the origin of our inquiries. You +argued very forcibly that I could not keep both my wealth and my +liberty; but when you wished me to be free and at the same time +without needs, you desired two incompatible things, for I could +only be independent of men by returning to dependence on nature. +What then shall I do with the fortune bequeathed to me by my +parents? To begin with, I will not be dependent on it; I will cut +myself loose from all the ties which bind me to it; if it is left +in my hands, I shall keep it; if I am deprived of it, I shall not +be dragged away with it. I shall not trouble myself to keep it, +but I shall keep steadfastly to my own place. Rich or poor, I shall +be free. I shall be free not merely in this country or in that; I +shall be free in any part of the world. All the chains of prejudice +are broken; as far as I am concerned I know only the bonds of +necessity. I have been trained to endure them from my childhood, +and I shall endure them until death, for I am a man; and why should +I not wear those chains as a free man, for I should have to wear +them even if I were a slave, together with the additional fetters +of slavery? + +"What matters my place in the world? What matters it where I am? +Wherever there are men, I am among my brethren; wherever there +are none, I am in my own home. So long as I may be independent and +rich, and have wherewithal to live, and I shall live. If my wealth +makes a slave of me, I shall find it easy to renounce it. I have +hands to work, and I shall get a living. If my hands fail me, I +shall live if others will support me; if they forsake me I shall +die; I shall die even if I am not forsaken, for death is not the +penalty of poverty, it is a law of nature. Whensoever death comes +I defy it; it shall never find me making preparations for life; it +shall never prevent me having lived. + +"My father, this is my decision. But for my passions, I should be +in my manhood independent as God himself, for I only desire what +is and I should never fight against fate. At least, there is only +one chain, a chain which I shall ever wear, a chain of which I may +be justly proud. Come then, give me my Sophy, and I am free." + +"Dear Emile, I am glad indeed to hear you speak like a man, and +to behold the feelings of your heart. At your age this exaggerated +unselfishness is not unpleasing. It will decrease when you have +children of your own, and then you will be just what a good father +and a wise man ought to be. I knew what the result would be before +our travels; I knew that when you saw our institutions you would be +far from reposing a confidence in them which they do not deserve. +In vain do we seek freedom under the power of the laws. The laws! +Where is there any law? Where is there any respect for law? Under +the name of law you have everywhere seen the rule of self-interest +and human passion. But the eternal laws of nature and of order +exist. For the wise man they take the place of positive law; they +are written in the depths of his heart by conscience and reason; +let him obey these laws and be free; for there is no slave but the +evil-doer, for he always does evil against his will. Liberty is +not to be found in any form of government, she is in the heart of +the free man, he bears her with him everywhere. The vile man bears +his slavery in himself; the one would be a slave in Geneva, the +other free in Paris. + +"If I spoke to you of the duties of a citizen, you would perhaps +ask me, 'Which is my country?' And you would think you had put me +to confusion. Yet you would be mistaken, dear Emile, for he who +has no country has, at least, the land in which he lives. There is +always a government and certain so-called laws under which he has +lived in peace. What matter though the social contract has not been +observed, if he has been protected by private interest against the +general will, if he has been secured by public violence against +private aggressions, if the evil he has beheld has taught him to +love the good, and if our institutions themselves have made him +perceive and hate their own iniquities? Oh, Emile, where is the +man who owes nothing to the land in which he lives? Whatever that +land may be, he owes to it the most precious thing possessed by +man, the morality of his actions and the love of virtue. Born in +the depths of a forest he would have lived in greater happiness +and freedom; but being able to follow his inclinations without a +struggle there would have been no merit in his goodness, he would +not have been virtuous, as he may be now, in spite of his passions. +The mere sight of order teaches him to know and love it. The public +good, which to others is a mere pretext, is a real motive for him. +He learns to fight against himself and to prevail, to sacrifice +his own interest to the common weal. It is not true that he gains +nothing from the laws; they give him courage to be just, even in +the midst of the wicked. It is not true that they have failed to +make him free; they have taught him to rule himself. + +"Do not say therefore, 'What matter where I am?' It does matter +that you should be where you can best do your duty; and one of +these duties is to love your native land. Your fellow-countrymen +protected you in childhood; you should love them in your manhood. +You should live among them, or at least you should live where you +can serve them to the best of your power, and where they know where +to find you if ever they are in need of you. There are circumstances +in which a man may be of more use to his fellow-countrymen outside +his country than within it. Then he should listen only to his own +zeal and should bear his exile without a murmur; that exile is one +of his duties. But you, dear Emile, you have not undertaken the +painful task of telling men the truth, you must live in the midst +of your fellow-creatures, cultivating their friendship in pleasant +intercourse; you must be their benefactor, their pattern; your +example will do more than all our books, and the good they see you +do will touch them more deeply than all our empty words. + +"Yet I do not exhort you to live in a town; on the contrary, one +of the examples which the good should give to others is that of a +patriarchal, rural life, the earliest life of man, the most peaceful, +the most natural, and the most attractive to the uncorrupted heart. +Happy is the land, my young friend, where one need not seek peace +in the wilderness! But where is that country? A man of good will +finds it hard to satisfy his inclinations in the midst of towns, +where he can find few but frauds and rogues to work for. The welcome +given by the towns to those idlers who flock to them to seek their +fortunes only completes the ruin of the country, when the country +ought really to be repopulated at the cost of the towns. All the +men who withdraw from high society are useful just because of their +withdrawal, since its vices are the result of its numbers. They are +also useful when they can bring with them into the desert places +life, culture, and the love of their first condition. I like +to think what benefits Emile and Sophy, in their simple home, may +spread about them, what a stimulus they may give to the country, +how they may revive the zeal of the unlucky villagers. + +"In fancy I see the population increasing, the land coming under +cultivation, the earth clothed with fresh beauty. Many workers and +plenteous crops transform the labours of the fields into holidays; I +see the young couple in the midst of the rustic sports which they +have revived, and I hear the shouts of joy and the blessings of +those about them. Men say the golden age is a fable; it always will +be for those whose feelings and taste are depraved. People do not +really regret the golden age, for they do nothing to restore it. +What is needed for its restoration? One thing only, and that is an +impossibility; we must love the golden age. + +"Already it seems to be reviving around Sophy's home; together you +will only complete what her worthy parents have begun. But, dear +Emile, you must not let so pleasant a life give you a distaste for +sterner duties, if every they are laid upon you; remember that the +Romans sometimes left the plough to become consul. If the prince +or the state calls you to the service of your country, leave all +to fulfil the honourable duties of a citizen in the post assigned +to you. If you find that duty onerous, there is a sure and honourable +means of escaping from it; do your duty so honestly that it will +not long be left in your hands. Moreover, you need not fear the +difficulties of such a test; while there are men of our own time, +they will not summon you to serve the state." + +Why may I not paint the return of Emile to Sophy and the end of +their love, or rather the beginning of their wedded love! A love +founded on esteem which will last with life itself, on virtues +which will not fade with fading beauty, on fitness of character +which gives a charm to intercourse, and prolongs to old age the +delights of early love. But all such details would be pleasing but +not useful, and so far I have not permitted myself to give attractive +details unless I thought they would be useful. Shall I abandon +this rule when my task is nearly ended? No, I feel that my pen is +weary. Too feeble for such prolonged labours, I should abandon +this if it were not so nearly completed; if it is not to be left +imperfect it is time it were finished. + +At last I see the happy day approaching, the happiest day of +Emile's life and my own; I see the crown of my labours, I begin to +appreciate their results. The noble pair are united till death do +part; heart and lips confirm no empty vows; they are man and wife. +When they return from the church, they follow where they are led; +they know not where they are, whither they are going, or what is +happening around them. They heed nothing, they answer at random; +their eyes are troubled and they see nothing. Oh, rapture! Oh, +human weakness! Man is overwhelmed by the feeling of happiness, he +is not strong enough to bear it. + +There are few people who know how to talk to the newly-married +couple. The gloomy propriety of some and the light conversation +of others seem to me equally out of place. I would rather their +young hearts were left to themselves, to abandon themselves to an +agitation which is not without its charm, rather than that they +should be so cruelly distressed by a false modesty, or annoyed by +coarse witticisms which, even if they appealed to them at other +times, are surely out of place on such a day. + +I behold our young people, wrapped in a pleasant languor, giving +no heed to what is said. Shall I, who desire that they should enjoy +all the days of their life, shall I let them lose this precious +day? No, I desire that they shall taste its pleasures and enjoy +them. I rescue them from the foolish crowd, and walk with them in +some quiet place; I recall them to themselves by speaking of them +I wish to speak, not merely to their ears, but to their hearts, +and I know that there is only one subject of which they can think +to-day. + +"My children," say I, taking a hand of each, "it is three years +since I beheld the birth of the pure and vigorous passion which is +your happiness to-day. It has gone on growing; your eyes tell me +that it has reached its highest point; it must inevitably decline." +My readers can fancy the raptures, the anger, the vows of Emile, +and the scornful air with which Sophy withdraws her hand from mine; +how their eyes protest that they will adore each other till their +latest breath. I let them have their way; then I continue: + +"I have often thought that if the happiness of love could continue +in marriage, we should find a Paradise upon earth. So far this has +never been. But if it were not quite impossible, you two are quite +worthy to set an example you have not received, an example which +few married couples could follow. My children, shall I tell you +what I think is the way, and the only way, to do it?" + +They look at one another and smile at my simplicity. Emile thanks +me curtly for my prescription, saying that he thinks Sophy has a +better, at any rate it is good enough for him. Sophy agrees with +him and seems just as certain. Yet in spite of her mockery, I think +I see a trace of curiosity. I study Emile; his eager eyes are fixed +upon his wife's beauty; he has no curiosity for anything else; and +he pays little heed to what I say. It is my turn to smile, and I +say to myself, "I will soon get your attention." + +The almost imperceptible difference between these two hidden impulses +is characteristic of a real difference between the two sexes; it +is that men are generally less constant than women, and are sooner +weary of success in love. A woman foresees man's future inconstancy, +and is anxious; it is this which makes her more jealous. [Footnote: +In France it is the wives who first emancipate themselves; and +necessarily so, for having very little heart, and only desiring +attention, when a husband ceases to pay them attention they +care very little for himself. In other countries it is not so; it +is the husband who first emancipates himself; and necessarily so, +for women, faithful, but foolish, importune men with their desires +and only disgust them. There may be plenty of exceptions to these +general truths; but I still think they are truths.] When his +passion begins to cool she is compelled to pay him the attentions +he used to bestow on her for her pleasure; she weeps, it is her +turn to humiliate herself, and she is rarely successful. Affection +and kind deeds rarely win hearts, and they hardly ever win them +back. I return to my prescription against the cooling of love in +marriage. + +"It is plain and simple," I continue. "It consists in remaining +lovers when you are husband and wife." + +"Indeed," said Emile, laughing at my secret, "we shall not find +that hard." + +"Perhaps you will find it harder than you think. Pray give me time +to explain. + +"Cords too tightly stretched are soon broken. This is what happens +when the marriage bond is subjected to too great a strain. The +fidelity imposed by it upon husband and wife is the most sacred of +all rights; but it gives to each too great a power over the other. +Constraint and love do not agree together, and pleasure is not to +be had for the asking. Do not blush, Sophy, and do not try to run +away. God forbid that I should offend your modesty! But your fate +for life is at stake. For so great a cause, permit a conversation +between your husband and your father which you would not permit +elsewhere. + +"It is not so much possession as mastery of which people tire, and +affection is often more prolonged with regard to a mistress than +a wife. How can people make a duty of the tenderest caresses, and +a right of the sweetest pledges of love? It is mutual desire which +gives the right, and nature knows no other. The law may restrict +this right, it cannot extend it. The pleasure is so sweet in itself! +Should it owe to sad constraint the power which it cannot gain from +its own charms? No, my children, in marriage the hearts are bound, +but the bodies are not enslaved. You owe one another fidelity, but +not complaisance. Neither of you may give yourself to another, but +neither of you belongs to the other except at your own will. + +"If it is true, dear Emile, that you would always be your wife's +lover, that she should always be your mistress and her own, be a +happy but respectful lover; obtain all from love and nothing from +duty, and let the slightest favours never be of right but of grace. +I know that modesty shuns formal confessions and requires to be +overcome; but with delicacy and true love, will the lover ever be +mistaken as to the real will? Will not he know when heart and eyes +grant what the lips refuse? Let both for ever be master of their +person and their caresses, let them have the right to bestow them +only at their own will. Remember that even in marriage this pleasure +is only lawful when the desire is mutual. Do not be afraid, my +children, that this law will keep you apart; on the contrary, it +will make both more eager to please, and will prevent satiety. True +to one another, nature and love will draw you to each other." + +Emile is angry and cries out against these and similar suggestions. +Sophy is ashamed, she hides her face behind her fan and says nothing. +Perhaps while she is saying nothing, she is the most annoyed. Yet +I insist, without mercy; I make Emile blush for his lack of delicacy; +I undertake to be surety for Sophy that she will undertake her +share of the treaty. I incite her to speak, you may guess she will +not dare to say I am mistaken. Emile anxiously consults the eyes of +his young wife; he beholds them, through all her confusion, filled +with a, voluptuous anxiety which reassures him against the dangers +of trusting her. He flings himself at her feet, kisses with rapture +the hand extended to him, and swears that beyond the fidelity he +has already promised, he will renounce all other rights over her. +"My dear wife," said he, "be the arbiter of my pleasures as you are +already the arbiter of my life and fate. Should your cruelty cost +me life itself I would yield to you my most cherished rights. I +will owe nothing to your complaisance, but all to your heart." + +Dear Emile, be comforted; Sophy herself is too generous to let you +fall a victim to your generosity. + +In the evening, when I am about to leave them, I say in the most +solemn tone, "Remember both of you, that you are free, that there +is no question of marital rights; believe me, no false deference. +Emile will you come home with me? Sophy permits it." Emile is ready +to strike me in his anger. "And you, Sophy, what do you say? Shall +I take him away?" The little liar, blushing, answers, "Yes." A +tender and delightful falsehood, better than truth itself! + +The next day. ... Men no longer delight in the picture of bliss; +their taste is as much depraved by the corruption of vice as their +hearts. They can no longer feel what is touching or perceive what +is truly delightful. You who, as a picture of voluptuous joys, see +only the happy lovers immersed in pleasure, your picture is very +imperfect; you have only its grosser part, the sweetest charms +of pleasure are not there. Which of you has seen a young couple, +happily married, on the morrow of their marriage? their chaste +yet languid looks betray the intoxication of the bliss they have +enjoyed, the blessed security of innocence, and the delightful +certainty that they will spend the rest of their life together. The +heart of man can behold no more rapturous sight; this is the real +picture of happiness; you have beheld it a hundred times without +heeding it; your hearts are so hard that you cannot love it. Sophy, +peaceful and happy, spends the day in the arms of her tender mother; +a pleasant resting place, after a night spent in the arms of her +husband. + +The day after I am aware of a slight change. Emile tries to look +somewhat vexed; but through this pretence I notice such a tender +eagerness, and indeed so much submission, that I do not think there +is much amiss. As for Sophy she is merrier than she was yesterday; +her eyes are sparkling and she looks very well pleased with herself; +she is charming to Emile; she ventures to tease him a little and +vexes him still more. + +These changes are almost imperceptible, but they do not escape me; +I am anxious and I question Emile in private, and I learn that, +to his great regret, and in spite of all entreaties, he was not +permitted last night to share Sophy's bed. That haughty lady had +made haste to assert her right. An explanation takes place. Emile +complains bitterly, Sophy laughs; but at last, seeing that Emile is +really getting angry, she looks at him with eyes full of tenderness +and love, and pressing my hand, she only says these two words, but +in a tone that goes to his heart, "Ungrateful man!" Emile is too +stupid to understand. But I understand, and I send Emile away and +speak to Sophy privately in her turn. + +"I see," said I, "the reason for this whim. No one could be more +delicate, and no one could use that delicacy so ill. Dear Sophy, do +not be anxious, I have given you a man; do not be afraid to treat +him as such. You have had the first fruits of his youth; he has not +squandered his manhood and it will endure for you. My dear child, +I must explain to you why I said what I did in our conversation of +the day before yesterday. Perhaps you only understood it as a way +of restraining your pleasures to secure their continuance. Oh, +Sophy, there was another object, more worthy of my care. When Emile +became your husband, he became your head, it is yours to obey; this +is the will of nature. When the wife is like Sophy, it is, however, +good for the man to be led by her; that is another of nature's +laws, and it is 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 will be hard for you, but you will control him +if you can control yourself, and what has already happened shows me +that this difficult art is not beyond your courage. You will long +rule him by love if you make your favours scarce and precious, if +you know how to use them aright. If you want to have your husband +always in your power, keep him at a distance. But let your sternness +be the result of modesty not caprice; let him find you modest not +capricious; beware lest in controlling his love you make him doubt +your own. Be all the dearer for your favours and all the more +respected when you refuse them; let him honour his wife's chastity, +without having to complain of her coldness. + +"Thus, my child, he will give you his confidence, he will listen +to your opinion, will consult you in his business, and will decide +nothing without you. Thus you may recall him to wisdom, if he strays, +and bring him back by a gentle persuasion, you may make yourself +lovable in order to be useful, you may employ coquetry on behalf +of virtue, and love on behalf of reason. + +"Do not think that with all this, your art will always serve your +purpose. In spite of every precaution pleasures are destroyed by +possession, and love above all others. But when love has lasted long +enough, a gentle habit takes its place and the charm of confidence +succeeds the raptures of passion. Children form a bond between +their parents, a bond no less tender and a bond which is sometimes +stronger than love itself. When you cease to be Emile's mistress you +will be his friend and wife; you will be the mother of his children. +Then instead of your first reticence let there be the fullest +intimacy between you; no more separate beds, no more refusals, no +more caprices. Become so truly his better half that he can no longer +do without you, and if he must leave you, let him feel that he is +far from himself. You have made the charms of home life so powerful +in your father's home, let them prevail in your own. Every man who +is happy at home loves his wife. Remember that if your husband is +happy in his home, you will be a happy wife. + +"For the present, do not be too hard on your lover; he deserves +more consideration; he will be offended by your fears; do not care +for his health at the cost of his happiness, and enjoy your own +happiness. You must neither wait for disgust nor repulse desire; +you must not refuse for the sake of refusing, but only to add to +the value of your favours." + +Then, taking her back to Emile, I say to her young husband, "One must +bear the yoke voluntarily imposed upon oneself. Let your deserts be +such that the yoke may be lightened. Above all, sacrifice to the +graces, and do not think that sulkiness will make you more amiable." +Peace is soon made, and everybody can guess its terms. The treaty +is signed with a kiss, after which I say to my pupil, "Dear Emile, +all his life through a man needs a guide and counsellor. So far +I have done my best to fulfil that duty; my lengthy task is now +ended, and another will undertake this duty. To-day I abdicate the +authority which you gave me; henceforward Sophy is your guardian." + +Little by little the first raptures subside and they can peacefully +enjoy the delights of their new condition. Happy lovers, worthy +husband and wife! To do honour to their virtues, to paint their +felicity, would require the history of their lives. How often does +my heart throb with rapture when I behold in them the crown of my +life's work! How often do I take their hands in mine blessing God +with all my heart! How often do I kiss their clasped hands! How +often do their tears of joy fall upon mine! They are touched by +my joy and they share my raptures. Their worthy parents see their +own youth renewed in that of their children; they begin to live, +as it were, afresh in them; or rather they perceive, for the first +time, the true value of life; they curse their former wealth, which +prevented them from enjoying so delightful a lot when they were +young. If there is such a thing as happiness upon earth, you must +seek it in our abode. + +One morning a few months later Emile enters my room and embraces +me, saying, "My master, congratulate your son; he hopes soon to +have the honour of being a father. What a responsibility will be +ours, how much we shall need you! Yet God forbid that I should let +you educate the son as you educated the father. God forbid that so +sweet and holy a task should be fulfilled by any but myself, even +though I should make as good a choice for my child as was made for +me! But continue to be the teacher of the young teachers. Advise +and control us; we shall be easily led; as long as I live I shall +need you. I need you more than ever now that I am taking up the +duties of manhood. You have done your own duty; teach me to follow +your example, while you enjoy your well-earned leisure." + +THE END + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Emile, by Jean-Jacques Rousseau + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK EMILE *** + +***** This file should be named 5427.txt or 5427.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/5/4/2/5427/ + +Produced by Steve Harris, Charles Franks and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team. + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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