"Fashionable Education" (1821)

BY REVEREND TIMOTHY DWIGHT

IN a former letter I mentioned the attention, generally given to edu cation by the inhabitants of Boston. I will now communicate to you some observations concerning a mode of education adopted to some extent, as I believe, both here and in many other places; particularly those which are wealthy and populous. In almost all instances, where it is pursued at all, it is chiefly confined to people of fashion.

The end, proposed by the parents, is to make their children objects of admiration. The means, though not sanctioned are certainly characterized, by the end. That I have not mistaken the end may be easily proved by a single resort to almost any genteel company. To such company the children of the family are regularly introduced: and the praise of the guests is administered to them as regularly, as the dinner or the tea, is served up. Commendation is rung through all its changes: and you may hear, both in concert and succession, "beautiful children;" "fine children;" "sweet children;" "lovely children;" "what a charming family!" "what a delightful family!" "you are a fine little fellow;" "you are a sweet little girl:" "My son, can’t you speak one of your pieces before this good company?" "Caroline, where is your work?" "Susan, bring Miss Caroline’s work, and show it to that lady:" "Susan, bring with you the picture, which she finished last week:" with many other things of a similar nature. Were you to pass a twelve month in this country, and to believe all that you heard said by people, not destitute of respectability; whatever opinion you might form of the parents, you would suppose, that the children were a superiour race of beings, both in person and mind; and that beauty, genius, grace, and loveliness, had descended to this world in form, and determined to make these States their future residence.

The means of effectuating this darling object are the communication of what are called accomplishments. The children are solicitously taught music, dancing, embroidery, ease, confidence, graceful manners, &c. &c. To these may be added what is called reading, and travelling. . . .

The thoughts of a Boy, thus educated, are spent upon the colour, quality, and fashion, of his clothes, and upon the several fashions to which his dress is to be successively conformed; upon his bow, his walk, his mode of dancing, his behaviour in company, and his nice observance of the established rules of good breeding. To mingle without awkwardness or confusion in that empty, unmeaning chat, those mere vibrations of the tongue, termed fashionable conversation, is the ultimate aim of his eloquence; and to comprehend, and to discuss, without impropriety the passing topics of the day, the chief object of his mental exertions. When he reads, he reads, only to appear with advantage in such conversation. When he acts, he acts, only to be admired by those who look on. Novels, plays, and other trifles of a similar nature, are the customary subjects of his investigation. Voyages, travels, biography, and sometimes history, limit his severe researches. By such a mind thinking will be loathed, and study regarded with terrour. In the pursuits, to which it is devoted, there is nothing to call forth, to try, or to increase, its strength. Its powers, instead of being raised to new degrees of energy, are never exercised to the extent, in which they already exist. His present capacity cannot be known for want of trial. What that capacity might become cannot be even conjectured. Destitute of that habit of labouring, which alone can render labour pleasing, or even supportable, he dreads exertion as a calamity. The sight of a Classic author gives him a chill: a lesson in Locke, or Euclid, a mental ague. . . .

On girls, this unfortunate system induces additional evils. Miss, the darling of her father and the pride of her mother, is taught from the beginning to regard her dress as a momentous concern. She is instructed in embroidery merely that she may finish a piece of work, which from time to time is to be brought out, to be seen, admired, and praised, by visitors; or framed, and hung up in the room, to be still more frequently seen, admired and praised. She is taught music, only that she may perform a few times, to excite the same admiration, and applause, for her skill on the forte piano. She is taught to draw, merely to finish a picture, which, when richly framed, and ornamented, is hung up, to become an altar for the same incense. Do not misunderstand me. I have no quarrel with these accomplishments. So far as they contribute to make the subject of them more amiable, useful, or happy, I admit their value. It is the employment of them, which I censure; the sacrifice, made by the parent of his property, and his child at the shrine of vanity.

The Reading of girls is regularly lighter than that of boys. When the standard of reading for boys is set too low, that for girls will be proportionally lowered. Where boys investigate books of sound philosophy, and labour in mathematical and logical pursuits; girls read history, the higher poetry, and judicious discourses in morality, and religion. When the utmost labour of boys is bounded by history, biography, and the pamphlets of the day: girls sink down to songs, novels, and plays.

Of this reading what, let me ask, are the consequences? By the first novel which she reads, she is introduced into a world, literally new; a middle region between "this spot which men call earth," and that which is formed in Arabian tales. Instead of houses, inhabited by mere men, women and children, she is presented with a succession of splendid palaces, and gloomy castles inhabited by tenants, half human and half angelic, or haunted by downright fiends. Every thing in the character and circumstances, of these beings comes at the wish, or the call of the enchanter. Whatever can supply their wants, suit their wishes, or forward, or frustrate, their designs, is regularly at hand. The heroes are as handsome, as dignified, as brave, as generous, as affectionate, as faithful, and as accomplished, as he supposes will satisfy the demands of his readers. At the same time, they have always a quantum sufficit of money: or, if not, some Relation, dies at the proper time, and leaves them an ample supply. Every heroine is, also a compound of all that is graceful and lovely. Her person is fashioned "by the hand of harmony." Her complexion outvies the snow, and shames the rose. Her features are such, as Milton’s Eve might envy: and her mind is of the same class with those refined beings, to whom this great poet in his list of the celestial Orders gives the elegant name of Virtues. With these delightful inhabitants of Utopia are contrasted iron-handed misers, profligate guardians, traitorous servants, and hags, not excelled by those of Lapland itself. It ought not be omitted, that in this sequestered region the fields, and gardens, are all second-hand copies of paradise. On them whenever it is conveneint, the morning beams with every tint of elegance, and every ray of glory: and, when Aurora has no further use for these fine things, her sister Evening, puts them on herself, and appears scarcely less splendid, or less delightful.

With this ideal world the unfortunate girl corresponds so much, and so long, that she ultimately considers it as her own proper residence. With its inhabitants she converses so frequently, and so habitually, that they become almost her only familiar acquaintance. . . .

With these views, how disappointed must she be by the rugged course of nature? How untoward must be the progress of facts? How coarsely must the voice of truth grate upon her ear? How disgusted must she be to find herself surrounded not by trusty Johns, and faithful Chloes, but by ordinary domestics, chilling her, with rusticity, provoking her by their negligence, insulting her with their impudence, and leaving her service without even giving her warning. Must she not feel, that it is a kind of impertinence in the days to be cloudy, and wet; in the nights to be dark and chilly; in the streets to encumber her with mud, or choke her with dust; and in the prospects, to present nothing but the mere vulgar scenes of this vulgar world.

. . . In a word, the world will become to her a solitude; and its inhabitants, strangers; because her taste for living has become too refined, too dainty, to relish any thing, found in real life.

If she is at all pleasing, and amiable, she will be addressed. But by whom? Not by a Corydon, a Strephon, or even a Grandison. At the best, her suitor will be a being formed of flesh and blood; who intends to live by business, and to acquire reputation by diligence, integrity, and good sense. He is in pursuit of a wife; and, therefore, can hardly wish for an angel. It will be difficult for him to believe, that a being so exalted would assume the marriage vow; do the honours of his table; direct the business of his family; or preside over the education of his children. He has hitherto spent his life, perhaps, in acting vigorously in the counting-room, contending strenuously at the bar, or pursuing with diligence some other business merely human. How can such a being frame his mouth to lisp the pretty things, which alone can be in unison with so delicate an ear? Figure to yourself the disgust, the pain, the surprise, of this silken existence even at the most refined language of honesty, and at the most honourable sentiments of affection, obtruded on her by such a suitor. . . .

I know, that this education is expressly attempted with a view to superiour refinement: but it is not a refinement of the taste, the understanding, or the heart. It is merely a refinement of the imagination; of an imagination, already soft, and sickly; of a sensibility, already excessive; of a relish, already fastidious. To a genuine perfection of taste it bears no more resemblance, than the delicate white of decay to the native fairness of complexion; or than the blush of a hectic to the bloom of health.

It is not here intended, that this mode of education prevails more in Boston, than in other populous places on this continent. Perhaps it prevails less. That it actually exists in such places, that it is fashionable, and that this town has a share in the evil, will not, I believe, be questioned. . . .

Timothy Dwight, (New Haven, 1821), I, 512–519 passi.