1. Education

We can forgive much to an author who could, within fifteen months, send forth La Nouvelle Héloïse (February, 1761), The Social Contract (April, 1762), and Émile (May, 1762). All three were published in Amsterdam, but Émile was published also in Paris, with governmental permission secured at great risk by the kindly Malesherbes. Marc-Michel Rey, the Amsterdam publisher, deserves a passing salute. Having made unexpected profits from Héloïse, he settled upon Thérèse a life annuity of three hundred livres; and foreseeing a greater sale for Émile than for Du Contrat social (which he had bought for a thousand livres), he paid Jean-Jacques six thousand livres for the new and longer manuscript.

The book originated partly from discussions with Mme. d’Épinay on the education of her son, and took its first form as a minor essay written “to please a good mother who was able to think”—Mme. de Chenonceaux, daughter of Mme. Dupin. Rousseau thought of it as a sequel to La Nouvelle Héloïse: how should Julie’s children be brought up? For a moment he doubted whether a man who had sent all his children to a foundling asylum, and who had failed as a tutor in the Mably family, was fit to talk on parentage and education; but as usual he found it pleasant to give his imagination free rein, unhampered by experience. He studied Montaigne’s Essays, Fénelon’s Télémaque, Rollin’s Traité des études, and Locke’s Some Thoughts on Education. His own first Discourse was a challenge to him, for it had pictured man as good by nature but spoiled by civilization, including education. Could that natural goodness be preserved and developed by right education? Helvétius had just given an affirmative answer in De l’Esprit (1758), but he had presented an argument rather than a plan.

Rousseau began by rejecting existing methods as teaching, usually by rote, worn-out and corrupt ideas; as trying to make the child an obedient automaton in a decaying society; as preventing the child from thinking and judging for himself; as deforming him into a mediocrity and brandishing platitudes and classic tags. Such schooling suppressed all natural impulses, and made education a torture which every child longed to avoid. But education should be a happy process of natural unfolding, of learning from nature and experience, of freely developing one’s capacities into full and zestful living. It should be the “art of training men”:41 the conscious guidance of the growing body to health, of the character to morality, of the mind to intelligence, of the feelings to self-control, sociability, and happiness.

Rousseau would have wanted a system of public instruction by the state, but as public instruction was then directed by the Church, he prescribed a private instruction by an unmarried tutor who would be paid to devote many years of his life to his pupil. The tutor should withdraw the child as much as possible from its parents and relatives, lest it be infected with the accumulated vices of civilization. Rousseau humanized his treatise by imagining himself entrusted with almost full authority over the rearing of a very malleable youth called Émile. It is quite incredible, but Rousseau managed to make these 450 pages the most interesting book ever written on education. When Kant picked up Émile he became so absorbed that he forgot to take his daily walk.42

If nature is to be the tutor’s guide, he will give the child as much freedom as safety will allow. He will begin by persuading the nurse to free the babe from swaddling clothes, for these impede its growth and the proper development of its limbs. Next, he will have the mother suckle her child instead of turning it over to a wet nurse; for the nurse may injure the child by harshness or neglect, or may earn from it, by conscientious care, the love that should naturally be directed to the mother as the first source and bond of family unity and moral order. Here Rousseau wrote lines that had an admirable effect upon the young mothers of the rising generation:

Would you restore all men to their primal duties?—begin with the mother; the results will surprise you. Every evil follows in the train of this first sin. … 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, brothers, and sisters cease to exist. They are almost strangers; how should they love one another? Each thinks of himself.

But when mothers deign to nurse their own children, there 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 will by itself restore mutual affection. The charms of home are the best antidote of vice. The noisy play of children, which we thought so trying, becomes a delight; mother and father … grow dearer to each other; the marriage tie is strengthened. … Thus the cure of this one evil would work a widespread reformation; nature would regain her rights. When women become good mothers men will become good husbands and fathers.43

These famous paragraphs made breast feeding by mothers part of the change in manners that began in the final decade of Louis XV’s reign. Buffon had issued a similar appeal a decade before, but it had not reached the women of France. Now the fairest breasts in Paris made their debut as organs of maternity as well as bewitchments of sex.

Rousseau divided the educational career of his pupil into three periods: twelve years of childhood, eight of youth, and an indeterminate age of preparation for marriage and parentage, for economic and social life. In the first period education is to be almost entirely physical and moral; books and book learning, even religion, must await the development of the mind; till he is twelve Émile will not know a word of history, and will hardly have heard any mention of God.44 Education of the body must come first. So Émile is brought up in the country, as the only place where life can be healthy and natural.

Men are not made to be crowded together in anthills, 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 overcrowded cities. … Man’s breath is fatal to his fellows. … Man is devoured by our towns. In a few generations the race dies out or becomes degenerate; it needs renewal, and is always renewed from the country. Send your children out to renew themselves; send them to regain in the open field the strength lost in the foul air of our crowded cities.45

Encourage the boy to love nature and the outdoors, to develop habits of simplicity, to live on natural foods. Is there any food more delectable than that which has been grown in one’s own garden? A vegetarian diet is the most wholesome, and leads to the least ailments.46

The indifference of children toward meat is one proof that the taste for meat is unnatural. Their preference is for vegetable foods, milk, pastry, fruit, etc. Beware of changing this natural taste and making your children flesh-eaters. Do this, if not for their health, then for the sake of their character. How can we explain away the fact that great meat-eaters are usually fiercer and more cruel than other men?47

After proper food, good habits. Émile is to be taught to rise early. “We saw the sun rise in midsummer, we shall see it rise at Christmas; … we are no lie-abeds, we enjoy the cold.”48 Émile washes often, and as he grows stronger he reduces the warmth of the water, till “at last he bathes winter and summer in cold, even in ice water. To avoid risk, this change is slow, gradual, imperceptible.”49 He rarely uses any headgear, and he goes barefoot all the year round except when leaving his house and garden. “Children should be accustomed to cold rather than heat; great cold never does them any harm if they are exposed to it soon enough.”50 Encourage the child’s natural liking for activity. “Don’t make him sit still when he wants to run about, nor run when he wants to be quiet. … Let him run, jump, and shout to his heart’s content.”51 Keep doctors away from him as long as you can.52 Let him learn by action rather than by books or even by teaching; let him do things himself; just give him materials and tools. The clever teacher will arrange problems and tasks, and will let his pupil learn by hitting a thumb and stubbing a toe; he will guard him from serious injury but not from educative pains.

Nature is the best guide, and should be followed this side of such injury:

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. … Never punish your pupil, for he does not know what it means to do wrong. Never make him say, “Forgive me.” … Wholly unmoral in his actions, he can do nothing morally wrong, and he deserves neither punishment nor reproof. … First leave the germ of his character free to show itself; do not constrain him in anything; so you will better see him as he really is.53

However, he will need moral education; without it he will be dangerous and miserable. But don’t preach. If you want your pupil to learn justice and kindness, be yourself just and kind, and he will imitate you. “Example! Example! Without it you will never succeed in teaching children anything.”54 Here too you can find a natural basis. Both goodness and wickedness (from the viewpoint of society) are innate in man; education must encourage the good and discourage the bad. Self-love is universal, but it can be modified until it sends a man into mortal peril to preserve his family, his country, or his honor. There are social instincts that preserve the family and the group as well as egoistic instincts that preserve the individual.55 Sympathy (pitié) may be derived from self-love (as when we love the parents who nourish and protect us), but it can flower into many forms of social behavior and mutual aid. Hence some kind of conscience seems universal and innate.

Cast your eyes over every nation of the world, peruse every volume of its history; amid all these strange and cruel forms of worship, in this amazing variety of manners and customs, you will everywhere find the same [basic] ideas of good and evil. … There is, at the bottom of our hearts, an inborn principle of justice and virtue by which, despite our maxims, we judge our own actions, or those of others, to be good or evil; and it is this principle that we call conscience.56

Whereupon Rousseau breaks out into an apostrophe which we shall find almost literally echoed in Kant:

Conscience! Conscience! Divine instinct, immortal voice from heaven; sure guide of 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 intellect and reason which knows no principle.57

So intellectual education must come only after the formation of moral character. Rousseau laughs at Locke’s advice to reason with children:

Those children who have been constantly reasoned with strike me as exceptionally silly. Of all human faculties reason … is the last and choicest growth—and you would use this 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.58

No; we must, rather, retard mental education. “Keep the child’s mind [intellect] idle as long as you can .”59 If he has opinions before he is twelve you may be sure they will be absurd. And don’t bother him yet with science; this is an endless chase, in which everything that we discover merely adds to our ignorance and our foolish pride.60 Let your pupil learn by experience the life and workings of nature; let him enjoy the stars without pretending to trace their history.

At the age of twelve intellectual education may begin, and Émile may read a few books. He may make a transition from nature to literature by reading Robinson Crusoe, for that is the story of a man who, on his island, went through the various stages through which men passed from savagery to civilization. But by the age of twenty Émile will not have read many books. He will quite ignore the salons and the philosophes. He will not bother with the arts, for the only true beauty is in nature.61 He will never be “a musician, an actor, or an author.”62 Rather, he will have acquired sufficient skill in some trade to earn his living with his hands if that should ever be necessary. (Many a tradeless émigré, thirty years later, would regret having laughed, as Voltaire did, at Rousseau’s “gentilhomme menuisier”— gentleman carpenter.63) In any case Émile (though he is heir to a modest fortune) must serve society either manually or mentally. “The man who eats in idleness what he has not earned is a thief.”64

2. Religion

Finally, when Émile is about eighteen, we may talk to him about God.

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 he may not yet be ready to learn about it.... If I had to depict the most heartbreaking 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.... No doubt there is not a moment to be lost if we must 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.65

Despite this proclamation, which infuriated the Archbishop of Paris, Rousseau now aimed his sharpest shafts at the philosophes. Picture Voltaire or Diderot reading this:

I consulted the philosophes. … I found them all alike proud, assertive, dogmatic; professing—even in their so-called skepticism—to know everything; proving nothing, scoffing at one another. This last trait … struck me as the only point in which they were right. Braggarts in attack, they are weaklings in defense. Weigh their arguments, they are all destructive; count their voices, each speaks for himself alone. … There is not one of them who, if he chanced to discover the difference between falsehood and truth, would not prefer his own lie to the truth which another had discovered. Where is the philosophe who would not deceive the whole world for his own glory?66

While he continued to condemn intolerance, Rousseau, reversing Bayle, denounced atheism as more dangerous than fanaticism. He offered to his readers a “profession of faith” by which he hoped to turn the tide from the atheism of d’Holbach, Helvétius, and Diderot back to belief in God, free will, and immortality. He remembered the two abbés—Gaime and Gatier—whom he had met in his youth; he welded them into an imaginary vicar in Savoy; and he put into the mouth of this village curé the feelings and arguments that justified (in Rousseau’s view) a return to religion.

The vicaire savoyard is pictured as the priest of a small parish in the Italian Alps. He privately admits to some skepticism: he doubts the divine inspiration of the Prophets, the miracles of the Apostles and the saints, and the authenticity of the Gospels;67 and, like Hume, he asks, “Who will venture to tell me how many eyewitnesses are required to make a miracle credible?”68 He rejects petitional prayer; our prayers should be hymns to the glory of God, and expressions of submission to His will.69 Many items in the Catholic creed seem to him to be superstition or mythology.70 Nevertheless he feels that he can best serve his people by saying nothing of his doubts, and practicing kindness and charity to all (believers and unbelievers alike), and performing faithfully all the ritual of the Roman Church. Virtue is necessary to happiness; belief in God, free will, heaven, and hell is necessary to virtue; religions, despite their crimes, have made men and women more virtuous, at least less cruel and villainous, than they might otherwise have been. When these religions preach doctrines that seem unreasonable, or weary us with ceremony, we should silence our doubts for the sake of the group.

Even from the standpoint of philosophy religion is essentially right. The Vicar begins like Descartes: “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.”71 He makes short work of Berkeley: “The cause of my sensations is outside of me, for they affect me whether I have any reason for them or not; they are produced and destroyed independently of me. … Thus other entities exist besides myself.” A third step answers Hume and anticipates Kant: “I find that I have the power of comparing my sensations, so I am endowed with an active force” for dealing with experience.72 This mind cannot be interpreted as a form of matter; there is no sign of a material or mechanical process in the act of thought. How an immaterial mind can act upon a material body is beyond our understanding; but it is a fact immediately perceived, and not to be denied for the sake of some abstract reasoning. Philosophers must learn to recognize that something may be true even if they cannot understand it—and especially when it is of all truths the one most immediately perceived.

The next step (the Vicar admits) is mere reasoning. I do not perceive God, but I reason that just as in my voluntary actions there is a mind as the perceived cause of motion, so there is probably a cosmic mind behind the motions of the universe. God is unknowable, but I feel that He is there and everywhere. I see design in a thousand instances, from the structure of my eyes to the movements of the stars; I should no more think of attributing to chance (however often multiplied [à la Diderot]) the adjustment of means to ends in living organisms and the system of the world, than I would ascribe to chance the delectable assemblage of letters in printing the Aeneid.73

If there is an intelligent deity behind the marvels of the universe, it is incredible that He will allow justice to be permanently defeated. If only to avoid the desolating belief in the victory of evil, I must believe in a good God assuring the triumph of good. Therefore I must believe in an afterlife, in a heaven of reward for virtue; and though I am revolted by the idea of hell, and would rather believe that the wicked suffer hell in their own hearts, yet I will accept even that awful doctrine if it is necessary for controlling the evil impulses of mankind. In that case I would implore God not to make the pains of hell everlasting.74 Hence the doctrine of purgatory, as a place of abbreviable punishment for all but the most persistent and unrepentant sinners, is more humane than the division of all the dead between the forever blessed and the eternally damned. Granted that we cannot prove the existence of heaven, how cruel it is to take from the people this hope that solaces them in their grief and sustains them in their defeats!75Without belief in God and an afterlife morality is imperiled and life is meaningless, for in an atheistic philosophy life is a mechanical accident passing through a thousand sufferings to an agonizing and eternal death.

Consequently we must accept religion as, all in all, a vital boon to mankind. Nor need we make much account of the different sects into which Christianity has been torn; they are all good if they improve conduct and nourish hope. It is ridiculous and indecent to suppose that those who have other creeds, gods, and sacred scriptures than our own will be “damned.” “If there were but one religion on earth, and all beyond its pale were condemned to eternal punishment, … the God of that religion would be the most unjust and cruel of tyrants.”76 So Émile will not be taught any particular form of Christianity, “but we will give him the means to choose for himself according to the right use of his reason.”77 The best way is to continue in the religion that we inherited from our parents or our community. And to Rousseau himself his imaginary Vicar’s counsel is: “Return to your own country, go back to the religion of your fathers, follow it in sincerity of heart, and never forsake it; it is very simple and very holy; in no other religion is the morality purer, or the doctrine more satisfying to reason.”78

Rousseau, in 1754, had anticipated this counsel—had returned to Geneva and its creed; however, he had not kept his promise to come and dwell there after settling his affairs in France. In the Letters from the Mountain which he wrote ten years later he repudiated, as we shall see, most of the faith of his fathers. In his final decade we shall find him advising religion to others, but giving hardly any sign of religious belief or practice in his daily life. Protestants and Catholics, Calvinists and Jesuits, joined in attacking him and his vicarious “Profession of Faith” as essentially un-Christian.79 The education he proposed for Émile shocked Christian readers as in effect irreligious, for they suspected that an average youth brought up to no religion would not adopt one later except for social convenience. Despite his formal acceptance of Calvinism Rousseau rejected the doctrine of original sin and the redemptive role of the death of Christ. He refused to accept the Old Testament as the word of God, and thought the New Testament “full of incredible things, things repugnant to reason,”80 but he loved the Gospels as the most moving and inspiring of all books.

Can a book at once so grand and so simple be the work of men? Is it possible that he whose history is contained therein is no more than a man? … What gentleness and purity in his actions, what a touching grace in his teachings! How lofty are his sayings, how profoundly wise are his sermons, how just and discriminating are his replies! What man, what sage can live, suffer, and die without weakness or ostentation? … If the life and death of Socrates are those of a philosopher, the life and death of Christ are those of a God.81

3. Love and Marriage

When Rousseau ended the fifty pages of the Savoyard Vicar and turned back to Émile, he faced the problems of sex and marriage.

Should he tell his pupil about sex? Not till he asks about it; then tell him the truth.82 But do everything consistent with truth and health to retard sexual consciousness. In any case don’t stimulate it.

When the critical age approaches, present to young people such spectacles as will restrain rather than excite them sexually. … Remove them from great cities, where the flaunted attire and boldness of the women hasten and anticipate the promptings of nature, where everything offers to their view pleasures of which they should know nothing till they are of an age to choose for themselves.... If their taste for the arts keeps them in town, guard them … from a dangerous idleness. Choose carefully their company, their occupations, and their pleasures; show them nothing but modest and pathetic pictures, … and nourish their sensibility without stimulating their senses.83

Rousseau worried about the dire results of a practice about which he seems to have had firsthand experience:

Never leave the young man night or day, and at least share his room. Never let him go to bed till he is sleepy, and let him rise as soon as he awakes.... 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 effects of … the most fatal habit which a young man can acquire.

And he lays down the law to his pupil:

If you cannot master your passions, dear Émile, 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 slavery to women than from yourself.84

But don’t let your associates tease you into a brothel! “Why do these young men want to persuade you? Because they wish to seduce you. … Their only motive is a secret spite because they see you are better than they are; they want to drag you down to their level.”

It is better to marry. But whom? The tutor describes his ideal of a girl, a woman, and a wife, and strives to imprint that ideal upon Émile’s mind as a guide and a goal in searching for a mate. Rousseau feared masculine, domineering, immodest women; he saw the fall of civilization in the rule of increasingly masculine women over increasingly feminine men. “In every land the men are the sort that the women make them; … restore women to womanhood, and we shall be men again.”85 “The women of Paris usurp the rights of one sex without wishing to renounce those of the other; consequently they possess none in their fullness.”86 They do these things better in Protestant countries, where modesty is not a jest among sophists but a promise of faithful motherhood.87 A woman’s place is in the home, as among the ancient Greeks; she should accept her husband as a master, but in the home she should be supreme.88 In that way the health of the race will be preserved.

The education of girls should aim to produce such women. They should be educated at home, by their mothers; they should learn all the arts of the home, from cooking to embroidery. They should get much religion, and as early as possible, for this will help them to modesty, virtue, and obedience. A daughter should accept without question the religion of her mother, but a wife should accept the religion of her husband.89 In any case let her avoid philosophy and scorn to be a salonnière .90 However, a girl should not be suppressed into a dull timidity; “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”; let her go to balls and sports, even to theaters—under proper supervision and in good company.91Her mind should be kept active and alert if she is ever to be a fit wife for a thinking man. And she “may be allowed a certain amount of coquetry” as part of the complex game by which she tests her suitors and chooses her mate.92 The proper study of womankind is man.93

When this ideal of girlhood and womanhood has been fixed in Émile’s hopes he may go out and seek a mate. He, not his parents or his tutor, shall make the choice, but he owes it to them, and to their loving care of him through many years, to consult them respectfully. You wish to go to the big city and look at the girls who are on display there? Very well; we shall go to Paris; you will see for yourself what these exciting demoiselles are. So Émile lives a while in Paris, mingles in “society.” But he finds there no girl of the kind his sly tutor has described. “Then farewell, Paris, far-famed Paris, with all your noise and smoke and dirt, where the women have ceased to believe in honor and the men in virtue. We are in search of love, happiness, innocence; the farther we go from Paris, the better.”94

And so tutor and pupil are back in the country; and lo, in a quiet hamlet far from the madding crowd they come upon Sophie. Here (“Book V”) Rousseau’s treatise becomes a love story, idealized but delightful, and told with the skill of an accomplished writer. After those long discourses on education, politics, and religion he returns to romance, and while Thérèse is busy with housework he resumes his dreams of that gentle woman whom he has found only in scattered moments of his wanderings; and he names her from his latest flame.

This new Sophie is the daughter of a once prosperous gentleman who now lives in contented retirement and simplicity. She is healthy, lovely, modest, tender—and useful; she helps her mother with quick and quiet competence in everything; “there is nothing that she cannot do with her needle.”95 Émile finds reason to come again, and she finds reason for his further visits; gradually it dawns upon him that Sophie has all the qualities that his tutor pictured as ideal; what a divine coincidence! After several weeks, he reaches the dizzy height of kissing the hem of her garment. More weeks, and they are betrothed. Rousseau insists that this shall be a formal and solemn ceremony; every measure must be taken—by ritual and elsewise—to exalt, and fix in memory, the sanctity of the marriage bond. Then, when Émile trembles on the edge of bliss, the incredible tutor, throwing liberty and nature to the winds, makes him leave his betrothed for two years of absence and travel to test their affection and fidelity. Émile weeps and obeys. When he returns, still miraculously virginal, he finds Sophie dutifully intact. They marry, and the tutor instructs them on their duties to each other. He bids Sophie be obedient to her husband except in bed and board. “You will long rule him by love if you make your favors scarce and precious; … let Émile honor his wife’s chastity without complaining of her coldness.”96 The book concludes with a triune victory:

One morning … Émile enters my room and embraces me, saying, “My master, congratulate your son; he hopes soon to have the honor 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 well as the father; God forbid that so sweet and holy a task should be fulfilled by any but myself. … 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.... You have done your duty; teach me to follow your example, while you enjoy the leisure you have earned so well.97

After two centuries of laudation, ridicule, and experiment, the world is generally agreed that Émile is beautiful, suggestive, and impossible. Education is a dull subject, for we remember it with pain, we do not care to hear about it, and we resent any further imposition of it after we have served our time at school. Yet of this forbidding topic Rousseau made a charming romance. The simple, direct, personal style captivates us despite some flowery exaltations; we are drawn along and surrender ourselves to the omniscient tutor, though we should hesitate to surrender our sons. Having extolled maternal care and family life, Rousseau takes Émile from his parents and brings him up in antiseptic isolation from the society in which he must later live. Never having brought up children, he does not know that the average child is by “nature” a jealous, acquisitive, domineering little thief; if we wait till he learns discipline without commandments, and industry without instruction, he will graduate into an indolent, shiftless, and anarchic misfit, unwashed, unkempt, and unbearable. And where shall we find tutors willing to give twenty years to educating one child? “That kind of care and attention,” said Mme. de Staël (1810), “. . . would compel every man to devote his whole life to the education of another being, and only grandfathers would at last be freed to attend to their own careers.”98

Probably Rousseau recognized these and other difficulties after he recovered from the ecstasy of composition. At Strasbourg in 1765 an enthusiast came to him bursting with compliments: “You see, sir, a man who brings up his sons on the principles which he had the happiness to learn from your Émile.” “So much the worse, sir, for you and your son!” growled Rousseau.99 In the fifth of his Letters from the Mountain he explained that he had written the book not for ordinary parents but for sages: “I made clear in the preface … that my concern was rather to offer the plan of a new system of education for the consideration of sages, and not a method for fathers and mothers.”100 Like his master Plato, he took the child away from the contagion of his parents in the hope that the child, graduating from a saving education, would then be fit to rear his own children. And like Plato, he “laid up in heaven a pattern” of a perfect state or method, so that “he who desires may behold it, and beholding, may govern himself accordingly.”101 He announced his dream, and trusted that somewhere, to some men and women, it would carry inspiration and make for betterment. It did.

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