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+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]
+
+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.
+
+
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+
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+
+
+
+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
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
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