The Forerunner, Volume 1 (1909 1910)

C >> Charlotte Perkins Gilman >> The Forerunner, Volume 1 (1909 1910)

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This kept me interested and happy for quite a while; so much so that I
quite forgot to be angry at other things. There was _such_ a change in
all kinds of business, following the mere printing of truth in the
newspapers. It began to appear as if we had lived in a sort of
delirium--not really knowing the facts about anything. As soon as we
really knew the facts, we began to behave very differently, of course.

What really brought all my enjoyment to an end was women. Being a
woman, I was naturally interested in them, and could see some things
more clearly than men could. I saw their real power, their real
dignity, their real responsibility in the world; and then the way they
dress and behave used to make me fairly frantic. 'Twas like seeing
archangels playing jackstraws--or real horses only used as
rocking-horses. So I determined to get after them.

How to manage it! What to hit first! Their hats, their ugly, inane,
outrageous hats--that is what one thinks of first. Their silly,
expensive clothes--their diddling beads and jewelry--their greedy
childishness--mostly of the women provided for by rich men.

Then I thought of all the other women, the real ones, the vast majority,
patiently doing the work of servants without even a servant's pay--and
neglecting the noblest duties of motherhood in favor of house-service;
the greatest power on earth, blind, chained, untaught, in a treadmill.
I thought of what they might do, compared to what they did do, and my
heart swelled with something that was far from anger.

Then I wished--with all my strength--that women, all women, might
realize Womanhood at last; its power and pride and place in life; that
they might see their duty as mothers of the world--to love and care for
everyone alive; that they might see their dirty to men--to choose only
the best, and then to bear and rear better ones; that they might see
their duty as human beings, and come right out into full life and work
and happiness!

I stopped, breathless, with shining eyes. I waited, trembling, for
things to happen.

Nothing happened.

You see, this magic which had fallen on me was black magic--and I had
wished white.

It didn't work at all, and, what was worse, it stopped all the other
things that were working so nicely.

Oh, if I had only thought to wish permanence for those lovely
punishments! If only I had done more while I could do it, had half
appreciated my privileges when I was a Witch!

[Untitled]

"I can understand," says Eugene Wood, "how some women want to vote. And
I can understand how some women do not want to vote."

"But I can't understand how some women do not want other women to vote."

BELIEVING AND KNOWING

What is Believing--psychologically? What does the brain do when it
"believes" that is different from what it does when it "knows"?

There is a difference. When you know a thing you don't have to believe
it. There is no effort, and no credit attached, in knowing; but this
act of "believing" has long been held as both difficult and worthy.

There seems to be not only a clearly marked distinction between knowing
and believing, but a direct incompatibility. It may be said roughly
that the less we know the more we believe, and the more we know the less
we believe. The credulity of the child, the savage, and the less
educated classes in society, is in sharp contrast with the relative
incredulity of the adult civilized human, and the more highly educated.

There is a difference also shown in our mental sensations as to a thing
believed and a thing known. If a man tells you that grass is red and
the sky yellow, you merely think him color blind--It does not anger you
nor alter your opinion. If he tells you that two and two make ten, you
think him ignorant, weak-minded, but your view is not changed, nor are
you enraged by him. But if he contradicts you on some religious dogma
you are hurt and angry. Why? As a matter of direct
physicho-psychological action, why?

To make a physical comparison, it is like the difference between being
pushed against when you stand square on your feet, and pushed when you
stand on one leg.

Or again, the thing you know is like something nailed down, or planted
and growing; the thing you believe like something held up by main force,
and quite likely to be joggled or blown away. "Do not try to shake my
faith!" protests the believer. He does not object to your trying to
shake his knowledge.

If the new knowledge you bring him is evidently a matter of fact, if his
brain rationally perceives that he was wrong about this thing, and you
are right, he removes his incorrect idea and establishes the correct
one, with no more disagreeable sensation than a little sense of
shame:--not that, if he was wise enough to admit ignorance gracefully.

But the new faith you bring him is quite another matter. He hangs on to
his old faith as if there was a virtue in the mental attitude of
belief--aha! now we are on the track! He has been taught that there is!

We receive knowledge and faith in quite different ways, with quite
different emphasis. The child learns--and learns--and learns--every day
of his life; learns year after year, as long as his brain is able to
receive impressions. This vast mass of knowledge is for the most part
received indiscriminately and assorted by the brain after its own
fashion.

There are but few departments of knowledge to which we have attached
arbitrary ideas of superiority; and those fortunately, are all old ones.
Knowledge of "the classics" was once kept in the same box with social
standing, if not with orthodoxy; and to this day an error in spelling or
grammar will condemn a person far more than entire ignorance of
physiology or mechanics. Knowledge is a vast range, an unlimited range,
visibly subject to extension; each new peak surmounted showing us many
more. We learn, unlearn, and relearn, without much opposition or
criticism, so long as our little bunch of specialties is assured--the
spelling, for instance.

But when it comes to believing, disbelieving, and rebelieving--that is a
different matter. Certain things were given us to believe--in our
racial infancy--before we knew much of anything, and were therefore far
more capable of believing. These articles of belief were sincerely held
to be the most important matters; and they were too; because, if any
stronger minded race infant refused to believe them, he was
ostracised--or executed. What a man believed, or disbelieved, was the
keynote of life--in that interesting race infancy of ours. All the
other mental processes were as nothing compared to this. Knowledge?
There was none to speak of. Doubt was a crime. Inquiry was the
beginning of doubt.

The dogmas inserted did change, though slowly; but their importance in
the scheme of life did not change. Whatever else the man might or might
not be the first question was, "Art thou a Believer?" And he was. What
he believed might be the One Absolute Truth; or one of many contemptible
heresies; but he was always a believer.

They began with the helpless little children, and told them as the most
important basic truths, whatsoever religious doctrines were current at
the time; and renewed this process with every generation until this very
day--and are still at it. Many of the most pronounced free-thinkers not
only prefer to have their women still "devout," but insist on putting
their children through the old course of instruction.

So, in the course of these unbroken ages; under a combined treatment of
rigid "natural selection"--the elimination of the unfit, who were burned
or beheaded--and of the heaviest social pressure, in both education and
imitation; we have developed in the race mind a special area for
"believing" as distinct front knowing. This area is abnormally
sensitive because in those long ages behind us, it was the very vital
base of life itself. If your Belief was steady and intact, you were
permitted to live. If it was in the least degree wavering you were in
danger. Is it any wonder we object so automatically to anyone's trying
to "shake our faith?"

The change of the last century in this regard has been not only in the
sudden opening up of new fields of knowledge; not only in the adoption
of entire new methods in the acquisition of knowledge; not only in the
rapid popularization of knowledge; but most of all in a new relation of
ideas. We are beginning dimly to grasp something of the real scheme of
life; to get our sense of the basic verities from observation of facts.
That underlying scheme of life which the brain as an organ hungers for,
is now opening to us in the field of ascertained fact.

A broad deep satisfying conception of life may now be gathered from the
open book of natural law, both the perception of and the inspiration to
right living are to be found there; all matters of calm clear easily
held knowledge. When one knows enough to build a working religion on
established facts, one does not have so much need of that extra capacity
of believing.

You may also believe what you know--but it isn't necessary.

It will be a wonderful thing for the world when in every mind the
beautiful truths of life shall be common knowledge. You may believe in
an alleged father you have never seen; but when you live with your
father you know him.

THE KINGDOM

"Where is Heaven?" asked the Person.
"I want Heaven--to enjoy it;
I want Heaven, recompensing
For the evils I have suffered--
All the terrible injustice,
All the foolish waste and hunger--
Where is Heaven? Can I get there?"

Then the Priest expounded Heaven:
"Heaven is a place for dead men;
After you are dead you'll find it,
_If_"--and here the Priest was earnest--
"_If_ you do the things I tell you--
Do exactly what is ordered!
It will cost you quite a little--
You must pay a price for Heaven--
You must pay before you enter."

"Am I sure of what I'm getting?"
Asked the mean, suspicious Person.
"What you urge is disagreeable;
What you ask is quite expensive;
Am I sure of getting Heaven?"

Then the Priest prepared a potion,
Made of Concentrated Ages,
Made of Many Mingled Feelings--
Highest Hope and Deepest Terror--
Mixed our best and worst together,
Reverence and Love and Service,
Coward Fear and rank Self-Interest--
Gave him this when he was little,
Pumped it in before the Person
Could examine his prescription.
So the Person, thus instructed,
Now believed the things he told him;
Paid the price as he was able,
Died--the Priest said, went to Heaven--
None came back to contradict him!

*

"We want Heaven," said the People;
We believe in God and Heaven;
Where God is, there must be Heaven;
God is Here--and this is Heaven."

Then they saw the earth was lovely;
Life was sweet, and love eternal;
Then they learned the joy of living,
Caught a glimpse of what Life might be,
What it could be--should be--would be--
When the People chose to have it!

Then they bought no further tickets
Of the sidewalk speculators;
They no longer gave their children
The "spring medicine" of Grandma.
They said, "We will take no chances
Of what happens after dying;
We perceive that Human Beings,
Wise, and sweet, and brave, and tender,
Strong, and beautiful, and noble,
Living peaceably together,
In a universal garden,
With the Sciences for Soldiers,
With the Allied Arts for Angels,
With the Crafts and Trades for Servants,
With all Nature for the Teacher,
And all People for the Students,
Make a very pleasant Heaven.
We can see and understand it,
We believe we'd really like some;
Now we'll set to work and make it!

So they set to work, together,
In the Faith that rests on Knowledge,
In the Hope that's born of Wisdom.
In the Love that grows with Practise
And proceeded to make Heaven.

*

And God smiled. He had been tired
Of the everlasting dead men,
Of the hungry, grasping dead men;
He had always wanted live ones--
Wanted them to build the Kingdom!

PRIZE CHILDREN

A prosperous farmer, driving a valuable horse, will exhibit with pride
the "points" of his swift roadster--the fine action, the speed and
endurance. He himself sits stoop-shouldered and muscle-bound; strong,
it may be, but slow and awkward, with bad teeth and poor digestion; by
no means a model human being either in "points" or "action."

He never thinks of these things.

A virtuous housewife, running a comfortable house, has a justifiable
pride in the cleanliness, comfort and convenience of the place, in its
beautiful appointments and conveniences, and in her own. fine clothes!
She herself is stout, short-legged, incapable of any swift agility of
action; a brief run leaves her panting; she would be grotesque as a
statue; and her internal housekeeping is by no means as efficient as a
doctor would approve.

She never thinks of these things.

The same farmer will show you his stock--sheep, swine, fowls, cattle;
point out their superiority and talk learnedly of the best methods of
improvement. The same housewife will show you her fine needlework, her
fine cooking, and discuss patterns and recipes with gusto. Both the
farmer and his wife took prizes at the county fair--he for pigs and
poultry, she for pies.

Now look at their children.

She gathers little Johnny into her motherly arms. "Johnny was always
delicate!" she says tenderly. "He's a little backward because he's
delicate. Mother's boy!" And she kisses his smooth head as he nestles
up to her. "Adelaide had better go and lie down. Adelaide's not
strong. They work her too hard in school."

Jim looks sturdy enough, and makes noise enough, but the expert
perceives that Jimmy has adenoids, breathes through his mouth, is really
undersized.

Here is the oldest boy, a tall, heavy fellow; but what a complexion!
"Quite natural for boys of that age; yes, he's real sensitive about it."

*

Well? They are "good children." When properly dressed, they compare
favorably with other people's children.

None of them would take any prizes in an exhibition of Human Stock.
There are no such prizes. As to the exhibition--that is continuous. We
are so used to the exhibition, and to its pitiful average, that we have
no ideals left.

Neither the farmer nor his wife ever thought of a Human Standard;
whether they came up to it, or if their children did, or of how they
might improve the breed.

We take humanity as we find it. We admire "beauty," or what we call
beauty; but we don't care enough for it to try to increase it. We are
concerned about our health after we lose it, but give small thought to
lifting the average. Young men vie with one another in athletic sports,
and have certain ideals, perhaps, of "military bearing," and the kind of
chest and chin a man should have; but all their ideals put together do
not make us as beautiful and strong as we have a right to be.

Then arise those who come to us talking largely of eugenics; wanting us
to breed super-men and super-women; talk[ing of improving] the race by
right selection. There is a lot of sense in this; we could do wonders
that way; of course, if we would. Certain obstacles arise, however.
Men and women seem to love each other on other grounds than physical
superiority. Those physically superior do not always have the most
superior children. Then, again, the physically superior children do not
always hold out through life, somehow.

This method of breeding and selection is nature's way. It works
well--give it a chance; but it has to be accompanied by a ruthless
slaughter of the unfit, and takes thousands upon thousands of years. We
have a method worth two of that.

We can improve the species after it is born.

That's the great human power, the conscious ability to improve ourselves
and our children. We have the power. We have the knowledge, too--some
of us have it, and all of us can get it.

The trouble is, speaking generally, that we haven't the standards.

Here is where our mothers need new ideals, and new information. A
person who is going to raise cattle ought to know something about
cattle; know what to expect of cattle, and how to produce it. Suppose
we had a course in Humaniculture to study. We have Agricultural
colleges; we study Horticulture, and Floriculture, and Apiculture and
Arboriculture. Why not have a Humanicultural College, and learn
something about how to raise people?

Such a course of study would begin with the theory, illustrating by
picture and model; and later should have practical illustration from the
living model, in nursery and school. The graduate from such a course
would have quite a different idea of human standards.

She would know the true proportions of the human body, and not call a
No. 2 foot "beautiful" on a No. 10 body. She would know what the real
shape of the human body is, and that to alter it arbitrarily is a habit
of the lowest savagery. The shape of the body is the result of its
natural activities, and cannot be altered without injury to them. She
would learn that to interfere with the human shape, moulding it to lines
that have nothing to do with the living structure and its complex
functions, is as offensive and ridiculous as it would be to alter the
shape of a horse.

Should we not laugh to see a horse in corsets? The time is coming when
we shall so laugh to see a woman.

She would learn to measure beauty, human beauty, by full health and
vigor first of all, right proportion, full possession of all natural
power, and that the human animal is by nature swift, agile, active to a
high degree, and should remain so throughout life. So trained, she
would regard being "put on a car" by the elbow as an insult, not a
compliment.

Then at last we should begin to have some notion of what to expect in
children, and how to get it. The girl would look forward not merely to
some vague little ones to love and care for, but to having finer
children than anyone else--if she could! And she would naturally have a
new standard of fatherhood, and sternly refuse to accept disease and the
vice which makes disease.

Then, when the children came, she would know the size and weight that
was normal, the way to feed and clothe the little body so as to promote
the best growth; the kind of exercise and training essential to develop
that legitimate human beauty and power which ought to belong to all of
us.

We have our vulgar "Baby Shows," where fat-cheeked, over-fed younglings
are proudly exhibited. A time is coming when, without public
exhibitions, without prize-money or clamorous vote, we shall raise a new
standard in child culture--and live up to it.

HEAVEN FORBID!

When I was seventeen, you'd find
No youth so brash as I;
Things must be settled to my mind,
Or I'd know why!

I knew it all, and somewhat more,
What I believed was true;
The future held no task in store
I could not do!

If I had died in my youthful pride--
And no man can say when--
Should I have been immortal
As I was then? (Heaven forbid!)

When I was forty-two I stood
Successful, proud and strong;
Little I cared for bad or good--
My purse was long.

My breakfast, newspaper and train,--
My office,--the Exchange--
My work, my pleasure, and my gain--
A narrow range.

If I had died in my business pride--
And no man can say when--
Should I have been immortal
As I was then? (Heaven forbid!)

Now I am old, and yet I keep
Intelligent content;
I wake and sleep in the quiet deep
Of disillusionment.

I don't believe, nor disbelieve--
I simply do not know.
I fear no grave--no heaven crave--
Am quite prepared to go.

But when I die--and I would not stay,
Though a friend should show me how,
Shall I become immortal,
As I am now? (Heaven forbid!)

WHAT DIANTHA DID

CHAPTER VII.

HERESY AND SCHISM.

You may talk about religion with a free and open mind,
For ten dollars you may criticize a judge;
You may discuss in politics the newest thing you find,
And open scientific truth to all the deaf and blind,
But there's one place where the brain must never budge!

CHORUS.

Oh, the Home is Utterly Perfect!
And all its works within!
To say a word about it--
To criticize or doubt it--
To seek to mend or move it--
To venture to improve it--
Is The Unpardonable Sin!

--"Old Song."

Mr. Porne took an afternoon off and came with his wife to hear their
former housemaid lecture. As many other men as were able did the same.
All the members not bedridden were present, and nearly all the guests
they had invited.

So many were the acceptances that a downtown hall had been taken; the
floor was more than filled, and in the gallery sat a block of servant
girls, more gorgeous in array than the ladies below whispering excitedly
among themselves. The platform recalled a "tournament of roses," and,
sternly important among all that fragrant loveliness, sat Mrs. Dankshire
in "the chair" flanked by Miss Torbus, the Recording Secretary, Miss
Massing, the Treasurer, and Mrs. Ree, tremulous with importance in her
official position. All these ladies wore an air of high emprise, even
more intense than that with which they usually essayed their public
duties. They were richly dressed, except Miss Torbus, who came as near
it as she could.

At the side, and somewhat in the rear of the President, on a chair quite
different from "the chair," discreetly gowned and of a bafflingly serene
demeanor, sat Miss Bell. All eyes were upon her--even some opera
glasses.

"She's a good-looker anyhow," was one masculine opinion.

"She's a peach," was another, "Tell you--the chap that gets her is well
heeled!" said a third.

The ladies bent their hats toward one another and conferred in flowing
whispers; and in the gallery eager confidences were exchanged, with
giggles.

On the small table before Mrs. Dankshire, shaded by a magnificent bunch
of roses, lay that core and crux of all parliamentry dignity, the gavel;
an instrument no self-respecting chairwoman may be without; yet which
she still approaches with respectful uncertainty.

In spite of its large size and high social standing, the Orchardina Home
and Culture Club contained some elements of unrest, and when the yearly
election of officers came round there was always need for careful work
in practical politics to keep the reins of government in the hands of
"the right people."

Mrs. Thaddler, conscious of her New York millions, and Madam
Weatherstone, conscious of her Philadelphia lineage, with Mrs. Johnston
A. Marrow ("one of the Boston Marrows!" was awesomely whispered of her),
were the heads of what might be called "the conservative party" in this
small parliament; while Miss Miranda L. Eagerson, describing herself as
'a journalist,' who held her place in local society largely by virtue of
the tacit dread of what she might do if offended--led the more radical
element.

Most of the members were quite content to follow the lead of the solidly
established ladies of Orchard Avenue; especially as this leadership
consisted mainly in the pursuance of a masterly inactivity. When wealth
and aristocracy combine with that common inertia which we dignify as
"conservatism" they exert a powerful influence in the great art of
sitting still.

Nevertheless there were many alert and conscientious women in this large
membership, and when Miss Eagerson held the floor, and urged upon the
club some active assistance in the march of events, it needed all Mrs.
Dankshire's generalship to keep them content with marking time.

On this auspicious occasion, however, both sides were agreed in interest
and approval. Here was a subject appealing to every woman present, and
every man but such few as merely "boarded"; even they had memories and
hopes concerning this question.

Solemnly rose Mrs. Dankshire, her full silks rustling about her, and let
one clear tap of the gavel fall into the sea of soft whispering and
guttural murmurs.

In the silence that followed she uttered the momentous announcements:
"The meeting will please come to order," "We will now hear the reading
of the minutes of the last meeting," and so on most conscientiously
through officer's reports and committees reports to "new business."

Perhaps it is their more frequent practice of religious rites, perhaps
their devout acceptance of social rulings and the dictates of fashion,
perhaps the lifelong reiterance of small duties at home, or all these
things together, which makes women so seriously letter-perfect in
parliamentry usage. But these stately ceremonies were ended in course
of time, and Mrs. Dankshire rose again, even more solemn than before,
and came forward majestically.

"Members---and guests," she said impressively, "this is an occasion
which brings pride to the heart of every member of the Home and Culture
Club. As our name implies, this Club is formed to serve the interests
of The Home--those interests which stand first, I trust, in every human
heart."

A telling pause, and the light patter of gloved hands.

"Its second purpose," pursued the speaker, with that measured delivery
which showed that her custom, as one member put it, was to "first write
and then commit," "is to promote the cause of Culture in this community.
Our aim is Culture in the broadest sense, not only in the curricula of
institutions of learning, not only in those spreading branches of study
and research which tempts us on from height to height"--("proof of
arboreal ancestry that," Miss Eagerson confided to a friend, whose
choked giggle attracted condemning eyes)--"but in the more intimate
fields of daily experience."