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Sincerely,
Russell Keppner
TJEd.org Administrator
This lecture was originally given at the 1st Annual Alumni and Friends Gala in conjunction with the GWCAn abbreviation of George Wythe University (formerly George Wythe College), a private liberal arts college headquartered in Cedar City, Utah, which Dr. Oliver DeMille helped found, and where he formerly served as president. There are also plans underway for building a much larger campus in Monticello, Utah, and plans have also been announced for a remote campus in Alberta, Canada. 2004 Commencement Ceremonies.
There is a widespread myth that feminism came about in the 20th Century, that—along with Civil Rights and Environmentalism—feminism is one of our great modern advances. The truth is that feminism has a much earlier origin.
Adam and Eve left the Garden hand in hand, and as you might recall their leaving was not just Adam’s doing. Nor did Eve walk six paces behind, or even one. They walked together. Ancient feminism, started by the initiative of Eve, and spurred on in the East by Taoist thought of Yin and Yang, and in West by the Odysseus-Penelope tradition, has one focused objective: the maintenance of the marriage union. In all three traditions equality was never in question, and the feminine provided spark, spice and initiative.
In the ancient stories it is woman who takes this initiative, woman who teaches that all other vows in society are only as strong as the marriage vow, woman who instills steel in young hearts—hearts which will not bend to temptation or loose traditions.
It is ironic then that modern feminism has attacked the marriage vows, pushing for religious, traditional and even legal approval of breaking them, of disconnecting us from each other, of replacing wholeness with individual license.
Eve didn’t need to be emancipated. Only where the marriage vows fail is there domination of male or female.
Where Eve epitomizes this role of marital oneness, Sarah and Abraham include children into the Whole. Thus oneness is not just a marriage, but a family. Again, Sarah takes a primary role in this story, especially during their most trying times in Egypt. Her role reaches climax when she is reunited with husband in Pharoah’s presence. For perhaps the first time in history, man-made government acknowledges the legality and binding force of marriage. Now the whole world, as well as God, adds its witness to marriage vows and promises to treat the children of the union accordingly. This familial union, broader than marriage, is so essential that barren Sarah approaches Abraham to bring them children through her handmaid.
Like Eve, Sarah sees generations ahead and takes initiative.
Eve and Sarah are not the cowering ancient woman we’ve been taught to pity, nor are they brow-beaten slaves of controlling husbands in a world dominated only by men. They are strong, feminine, worthy of emulation. Even the worst of them in the record, such as Medusa and Helen, are bad precisely because of their power—not because of their weakness. And tales of modern heroines abound and belie the myth of the frailty of the feminine character. Despite centuries of European convention to the contrary, our American Founding Mothers knew the truth about women and society, and Tocqueville commented on the contrast and the quality of feminine strength that so marked our American culture.
Like the stories of our first matriarchs there are a hundred others: including Rebecca, Rachel, Penelope, Joan and both Abigails. Together they are the founders of the West. Their descendents and heirs, Tocqueville’s heroic pioneer women who carved out homes in the wilderness, walked across the plains, and taught eight generations of the freest people in history, often while pregnant or nursing, were no less feminine, no less amazing.
We must be like them.
We owe a debt of gratitude to those pioneering women and include among them others in more recent times. We tend to gloss over the patronizing contempt (and often vicious abuse) they endured to retrieve our American culture from the backward European norm.
It’s obvious to virtually everyone today that women should strive for excellence without artificial obstacles and that their voice is invaluable in the Great Debate. And because of the examination of men’s and women’s roles, we are in a better position to make conscious, informed choices about how we live and interact. Conservatives in particular are perhaps a little smug about their power to disagree with radical feminists in the arena of ideas; it is a discussion that, without the efforts of the “feminists” would never have taken place (nor any other discussion, with women being taken seriously).
This being said, the more unfortunate impact of 20th Century feminism is antithetical to its aims: not strong, amazing women who know the power and beauty of their mission, but rather women who are doubtful and tentative, even as they assertively rationalize their insecurities. If they have careers, they fear they’re missing something. If they are homemakers, they fear they’re missing something. If married, they’re lectured about independence; if single, they’re cautioned about it.
This is the legacy of modern feminism—doubt. Not independence. Not emancipation. Not opportunity. Not equality. Just doubt.
We as women who benefit from the example of our ancient mothers and the sacrifices of our 18th to 20th century sisters may now take the reins and define female leadership for our generation and the generations that follow. But we must correct some of the excesses as well as the failures of last century’s narrow feminism.
Today there are three major schools of thought on the role and future of women: Modern Feminism, Reactionary Feminism, and Anti-Feminism.
Liberals don’t want to admit it, but Reactionary Feminism and Anti-Feminism are growing. Conservatives are thrilled with the trend, as more and more young women choose to have families, but in reality there is a big problem with this trend. The truth is that many Reactionary and Anti-Feminists, who tend not to rant against men and who really like being mothers, are still conflicted. The competing voices have left them doubting, frustrated, wondering if they missed “what could have been . . . .”
And this is the big lie, the real tragedy of modern feminism. By defining a controversy between being a fulfilled career woman contributing to society on the one side, and an unfulfilled, barefoot and pregnant house wife on the other, Modern Feminism has convinced our generation that women must choose between home, hearth and family and societal leadership.
The result is that as young women choose home making, they stoically turn inward, focus on their own family, work on the side or stay home, and wistfully watch the world move on without them. The tragedy is that many women, and also men, have believed this lie. What cunning deceit!! Somehow “career” became a counterfeit for stateswomanship! So women believe they must choose between their maternal instinct to raise their children well and their feminine ambition to initiate change and lead worthy causes.
They are convinced that these are the only two choices—home or career—and that if you choose home, you must leave the public arena.
So here we are in 2004: the men are often too busy making a living to change the world, and the women have been convinced that they must either work or watch from the sidelines. What sad, tragic irony.
This is an illness. What is needed is a healthy dose of medicine—Historical Feminism—and a resurgence of natural feminine ambition. Maternal ambition literally changes the world in ways no career could.
There are at least three ways women must change the world:
First, it takes a mother to raise a village. For me, a mother is any adult woman who mentors youth, who helps them grow into contributing, happy adults. There are as many ways to get involved as there are women, but all of us must do it. And the marital or maternal status of a women has nothing to do with her fully participating in this mission.
There is a power that women bring to the table, the power of shaping a community—of changing its very heart—a power that lasts for generations, not just between elections.
This power is best expressed by the woman who sets out to raise her great grandchildren. At first this seems obvious. A woman who raises her own children successfully will of course have direct and indirect impact on her grandchildren and a wonderful influence on her great-grandchildren. But this is only the start.
Every great-grandchild is directly raised by twelve people. There are others who will influence the child, but twelve who directly raise, mentor, teach, lead, counsel and help the child reach adulthood. The power of womanhood is to directly train all twelve of these people, so that when her great-grandchild is raised, he or she is raised correctly and well.
The twelve people are the great-grandchild’s:
These are the twelve most influential people on the life of your perhaps yet unborn great-grandchild. And if you don’t raise them right, who will?
What an incredible challenge! Our role as women is to raise these twelve people right!
No elected official can do all this, no judge, no senator, no CEO, no high school principal, no Hollywood executive, no media mogul or Federal Reserve banker. No President or Pope can do this. They just aren’t powerful enough. No matter how successful such men or women may be in their sphere, they don’t have the power to raise these twelve people effectively. No constitution, law or policy has such power, but every woman has it, is born with it, can reach deep down inside and bring it to the surface, can spend her life doing it.
If this seems overwhelming, welcome to womanhood.
Thank goodness for husbands who provide love and support, and the necessities of life, so we have a real chance of success in this incredibly daunting task. Fortunately, while husbands each provide for one family, using all their effort and focus, women can organize together, divide the task for training these twelve people and work in closely bonded teams—all toward the same goal.
What are you doing to raise these twelve people? Of course, some of them are your own children. This is the primary area of your focus. And womanhood requires us to effectively train all twelve of these people. Our great-grandsons and granddaughters desperately depend upon our success.
So here is the great flaw in Reactionary and Anti-Feminism—one says women should be like men, the other says that women should focus only on their immediate children. The first is wrong and the second is too narrow. Women have power over generations—and we must use this power or see others usurp and misuse it. In our modern world the void left by women who don’t magnify this power is being filled by government. Shame on us for that!
Raising these twelve people requires us to take action beyond the walls of our own homes. This is the role of women. Our most important work takes place in our homes, and our vital mission expands from within those walls to raising these twelve people. What a task is womanhood! What a mission is motherhood!
Whether you are married or single, in a career or not, every women must raise these twelve. For those women who have careers, for whatever reason, exerting this power may be more challenging. But it will take all we have to give, regardless of our status. And it will be worth it.
Second, your education is your most valuable asset. I don’t mean this in the narrow sense of education, and I certainly don’t mean formal diplomas or degrees. But you can’t exert more power than you have, and to successfully train the twelve people women must raise, we need all the power we can muster. Education includes our whole heart, and our whole mind—everything we have and all we are. We should never stop improving who we are, our hearts and our minds. With all that hangs in the balance, no woman can settle for anything but the very best education.
Third, raising children is the thing that changes the world the most. Everybody knows this, but Modern Feminism has convinced us that it’s cliché, even patronizing. Eve didn’t think so, nor did Sarah.
Raising children and mentoring the next generation is the most important thing we can do to change the world. It is the primary role of all women and all men, married or single. It is who we are. It is why we were born. We must train up the leaders of the future with confidence, power and grace. We must deliver. We must achieve results. We are the stateswomen of the 21st Century. If we fail, the world will fail. If we shrink, hesitate, or doubt, precious time will be lost. We are the leaders of today. Our choices and our actions are the most important choices and actions occurring in the world today.
Now, the most important thing I have to say: You Can Do It!
Every woman in this room, every woman who reads this, has the power to do it. If you never have biological children of your own, you’ll still train your great grandchildren—a whole generation who will be your heirs, impacted by your choices and how you train their twelve. They depend on you. Don’t let them down. If you are a woman, you have the power to do it. It will depend on your choices.
Consider Abigail Adams, in November of 1775. The great historian Bancroft wrote that she: “was at her home near the foot of Penn Hill charged with the sole care of her little brood of children; managing their farm; keeping house with frugality . . . opening her doors to the houseless and giving with good will a part of her scant portion to the poor; seeking work through her own hands and ever busily occupied, now at the spinning-wheel . . . learning French . . . with the aid of books alone. . . . She herself was still very weak after a violent illness; her house was a hospital in every part . . . . Her youngest son had been rescued from the grave by her nursing. Her mother had been taken away and, after the austere manner of her forefathers, buried without prayer. Winter was hurrying on; during the days family affairs took all her attention, but her long evenings, broken by the sound of the storm on the ocean, or the enemy’s artillery on Boston, were lonesome and melancholy. Ever in the silent night, ruminating on the love and tenderness of her departed parent, she needed the consolation of her husband’s presence; but when she had read the King’s proclamation she willingly gave up her nearest friend . . . to his perilous duties and sent him her cheering message . . . ‘I could not join to-day in the petition of our worthy pastor for a reconciliation [with Great Britain]. Let us renounce them; and instead of supplications, as formerly, for their prosperity, let us beseech the Almighty to blast their counsels and bring naught to all their devices.’”
It is tempting to note that shortly after reading this her husband rose in the Continental Congress and swayed the entire body away from reconciliation and toward revolution. It is tempting to note that her elder son watched her closely during this time, and in addition to her tutoring he felt something like fine steel grow within his breast—something that would not bend, and with him a nation would stand firm. It is tempting to remember that this same son would be torn from her gentle tutoring at age 13 to serve with distinction as America’s ambassador to Russia. It is tempting to see her standing on Penn Hill, watching the cannon threaten her home at the base yet writing: “The cannonade is from our army, and the sight is one of the grandest in nature . . .”
In short, it is tempting to see Abigail in her support role and admire that. But to do so would be to misunderstand Abigail. No doubt she would prefer to be understood this way, but to know Abigail Adams one must turn their attention to the steel in Abigail’s eyes in these trying moments. She took action. She moved the cause of liberty. Because of her actions and decisions her great grandchildren stood free still.
Today their great granddaughters, eight generations later, stand doubtful. They wonder at their roles, they debate and decide and reconsider. They speak of “how hard it is.” They vacillate.
Our daughters must not do the same, nor our granddaughters. That means that we must make the change. The women of today must unconditionally and without apology adopt the full role of womanhood, the glory of maternal ambition, and set out to raise twelve people right. If we succeed, America will succeed. And the world will succeed. But if we fail . . .
We will not fail.
Of women today, Steel is needed. Unbending. Beautiful. And, as Eve, Sarah, and Abigail before us, today’s women must turn steel into gold. The following poem was written of the pioneers by Vilate Raile. It must also be written of every woman here today:
They cut desire into short lengths
And fed it to the hungry fires of courage.
Long after—when the flames had died—
Molten Gold gleamed in the ashes.
They gathered it into bruised palms
And handed it to their children
And their children's children.
Thank you.