There is a theory afloat, extensively prevalent, and probably influencing many persons who have never stated it definitely to themselves, that the human ideal is composed of two elements, the male and the female, each requiring the other as its complement; and that the realisation of this ideal is to be found in no single human being, man or woman, but in the union of individuals by marriage, or by some sort of vague marriage of the whole race. The conception of character which rests on the broad basis of a common humanity falls into the background, and there is substituted for it a dual theory, with distinctly different forms of male and female excellence. Persons who take this view are naturally governed by it in their conceptions of what women ought to be. Having framed a more or less definite idea of the masculine character, in constructing the feminine helpmeet they look out, if not for the directly opposite, for what they would call the complementary qualities, and the conclusion quickly follows, that whatever is manly must be unwomanly, and vice versâ. The advocates of this view usually hold in connexion with it certain doctrines, such as, that the man is intended for the world, woman for the home; man’s strength is in the head, woman’s in the heart; the man’s function is to protect, woman’s to soothe and comfort; men must work, and women must weep: everywhere we are to have a sharply marked division, often honestly mistaken for the highest and most real communion. Closely connected with these separatist doctrines is the double moral code, with its masculine and feminine virtues, and its separate law of duty and honour for either sex.
The general acceptance of the theory is not surprising. It gratifies the logical instinct; and many persons, hastily taking for granted that it is the only conception of the relations between men and women which recognises real distinctions, assume it to be the only one which satisfies the craving of the æsthetic sense for harmony and fitness. Unfortunately it is not workable. We make the world even more puzzling than it is by nature, when we shut our eyes to the facts of daily life; and we know, as a fact, that women have a part in the world, and that men are by no means ciphers in the home circle—we know that a man who should be all head would be as monstrous an anomaly as a woman all heart—that men require the protection of law, and women are not so uniformly prosperous as to be independent of comfort and consolation—men have no monopoly of working, nor women of weeping. The sort of distinction it is attempted to establish, though not without an element of truth when rightly understood, is for the most part artificial, plausible in appearance, but breaking down under the test of experience. When overstrained, and made the foundation of a divided moral code, it is misleading in proportion to its attractiveness.
Happily this theory, though deeply and widely and most subtilely influential, is not completely dominant. People who go to church, and who read their Bibles, are perpetually reminded of one type and exemplar, one moral law. The theory of education of our English Church recognises no distinction of sex. The baptized child is signed with the sign of the cross, ‘in token that hereafter he—or she—shall not be ashamed to confess the faith of Christ crucified, and manfully to fight under His banner, against sin, the world, and the devil; and to continue Christ’s faithful soldier and servant to his—or her—life’s end.’ The sponsors are charged to provide that the child be ‘virtuously brought up to lead a godly and a Christian life, remembering always that baptism doth represent unto us our profession, which is to follow the example of our Saviour Christ, and to be made like unto Him.’ The catechism in which the child is to be instructed, gives no hint of separate standards of duty. The catechumens are required to give an account of their duty towards God and towards their neighbour. The latter supplies a statement of social obligations, in which, if anywhere, we should surely find a distinction laid down between the duties of men and those of women. But no such distinction appears. In Confirmation, the children, having come to years of discretion, ratify and confirm in their own persons what has gone before, still without a hint of divergent duties. The same principle appears in the formularies of the Scotch Church. The Shorter Catechism teaches that ‘God created man, male and female, after His own image, in knowledge, righteousness, and holiness, with dominion over the creatures;’ and that ‘man’s chief end is to glorify God, and to enjoy Him for ever.’
Here all is clear and consistent. Thoroughly to carry out the Christian theory would no doubt lead to some startling consequences; but the theory itself is intelligible and workable. Can the same be said of any other of the standards or tests by which educators might shape their work? The only intelligible principle on which modern writers show anything like unanimity, is that women are intended to supply, and ought to be made, something which men want. What that may be, it is not easy to discover. We are met at the outset by a difficulty as to the nature of the want. We may want what we like, or we may want what will do us good—and the two qualities are not always combined. Usually, however, it is taken for granted that, in this case, men like what is good for them; and it only remains, therefore, to be ascertained what it is that they like.
There is no lack of evidence. English literature is full of oracular information on the subject. Mr Anthony Trollope says: ‘We like women to be timid.’ Mr Helps complains that ‘women are not taught to be courageous. Indeed, to some persons courage may seem as unnecessary for women as Latin and Greek. Yet there are few things that would tend to make women happier in themselves, and more acceptable to those with whom they live, than courage.... So far from courage being unfeminine, there is a peculiar grace and dignity in those beings who have little active power of attack or defence, passing through danger with a moral courage which is equal to that of the strongest.’
Abundance of applause has been bestowed upon Miss Nightingale and the other ‘heroines of the Crimea,’ whose enterprise certainly required no small share of masculine resolution. On the other hand, a writer on the position of women confesses to ‘an admiration for the commonplace, unambitious kind of old maid, who is content to do good in her own neighbourhood, and among the few persons whom she really knows—who takes a lively interest in the welfare of her nephews and nieces, and who regales herself occasionally with tea and gossip.’
One writer tells us that there are things for which women are exclusively fitted. ‘In the first place, women have the power of pleasing. Accomplishments are cultivated as instrumental to the successful exercise of this power, and therefore are not to be rejected on the ground that they waste the time that might be given to mathematics. The common sense of the world has long ago settled that men are to be pleased, and women are to please. Accordingly women acquire an agreeable expertness at the piano, and view the acquisition as a solemn duty.’ Another, in answer to the question, what ought all young ladies to learn, says, ‘Accomplishments are quite a secondary matter. If men do not get tired of the songs, they soon get tired of the singer, if she can do nothing but sing. What is really wanted in a woman is, that she should be a permanently pleasant companion. So far as education can give or enhance pleasantness, it does so by making the view of life wide, the wit ready, the faculty of comprehension vivid.’
One authority, delightfully contented with things as they are, assures us that, ‘humanly speaking, the best sort of British young lady is all that a woman can be expected to be—civil, intelligent, enthusiastic, decorous, and, as a rule, prettier than in any other country. We are perfectly satisfied with what we have got.’ Another, less happily constituted, asserts that ‘all good judges and good teachers lament the present system of girls’ education. It is all cramming, and with such very poor results. After all is over, girls know very little and care about less. Most girls are decidedly stupid, and what good can cramming of the most barren and repulsive kind do to stupid girls? We should consider what we want women to be. That they should be trained to be good and generous is by far the first thing.... The next thing is that they should be well-mannered and healthy. The third requisite is, that they should know how to express themselves—should have a right standard in judging books and men, and public and private life.... The fourth requisite is, that they should know how to bear rule in a household.... These are all the essentials.’
Another view is, that a woman should be ‘a gentle tyrant, capricious indeed, yet generous and kindhearted withal, varying in mood, now clouded, now serene, though given less to tears than laughter, and bright with gleams of hopeful sunshine like the spring. She should be no dunce, no ignoramus, this enviable woman; she should not have stopped in her education when the governess’s back was turned, nor hold that to play Mr Chappell’s music creditably is the one aim and end of all instruction; she should know enough to take her part in topics of general conversation, to read the Times with interest, and talk about the leading article without a yawn; she should be fond enough of learning to find that her leisure seldom hangs heavy on her hands; and if (though it is almost too much to expect) she has sufficient patience with the process of induction to be able to reason on any subject for two minutes together without jumping to a conclusion either way, we may well congratulate ourselves on having drawn the great prize in the lottery of life.’ Mr Coventry Patmore seems to prefer that the gentle tyranny and the capriciousness should be on the other side.