The narrowness of the existing conception of woman's independence and
emancipation; the dread of love for a man who is not her social equal;
the fear that love will rob her of her freedom and independence; the
horror that love or the joy of motherhood will only hinder her in the
full exercise of her profession--all these together make of the
emancipated modern woman a compulsory vestal, before whom life, with its
great clarifying sorrows and its deep, entrancing joys, rolls on without
touching or gripping her soul.
Emancipation as understood by the majority of its adherents and
exponents, is of too narrow a scope to permit the boundless joy and
ecstasy contained in the deep emotion of the true woman, sweetheart,
mother, in freedom.
The tragic fate of the self-supporting or economically free woman does
not consist of too many, but of too few experiences. True, she surpasses
her sister of past generations in knowledge of the world and human
nature; and it is because of that that she feels deeply the lack of
life's essence, which alone can enrich the human soul and without which
the majority of women have become mere professional automatons.
That such a state of affairs was bound to come was foreseen by those who
realized that in the domain of ethics, there still remained many
decaying ruins of the time of the undisputed superiority of man; ruins
that are still considered useful. And, which is more important, a goodly
number of the emancipated are unable to get along without them. Every
movement that aims at the destruction of existing institutions and the
replacement thereof with such as are more advanced, more perfect, has
followers, who in theory stand for the most extreme radical ideas, and
who, nevertheless, in their every-day practice, are like the next best
Philistine, feigning respectability and clamoring for the good opinion
of their opponents. There are, for example, Socialists, and even
Anarchists, who stand for the idea that property is robbery, yet who
will grow indignant if anyone owe them the value of a half-dozen pins.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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