The higher education of women — Key Ideas to Explore

The Rhetoric of Definition

Davies repeatedly exposes how definitions shift when applied to women. She quotes Milton's description of a 'complete and generous education' as fitting a man 'to perform justly, skilfully, and magnanimously all the offices, both private and public, of peace and war.' The language appears inclusive, she notes, but as soon as Milton details the curriculum 'between twelve and one-and-twenty,' it becomes clear he is thinking of boys only. This technique—quoting a broad principle, then showing its narrow application—recurs throughout the text.

She also cites F. D. Maurice's definition of education's end as forming 'a nation of living, orderly men,' and points out the tacit reservation that this applies only to men in the exclusive sense. By foregrounding these rhetorical maneuvers, Davies trains her reader to detect the gap between stated ideals and actual practice. The effect is cumulative: each example reinforces her central claim that female education cannot be adequately discussed until the terms of the debate are honestly defined.

Domestic Work and the Surplus of Time

One of Davies's most concrete arguments concerns the changing nature of household labor. She observes that 'the married ladies of former days' performed a vast amount of household business that their successors 'cannot possibly do, simply because it is not there to be done.' Machinery and improved services have reduced domestic work to about an hour a day for a woman with good servants. This leaves a surplus of time and energy.

Davies then poses the question: may a married woman legitimately spend that surplus on professional work or unpaid public services? She acknowledges the fear that a profession might lead to neglect of domestic duties, but counters that every career has its snares. The true safeguard, she argues, is not restraint but 'a vivid sense of all that is involved in the closer relationships' and 'a steadfast habit of submission to duty.' She adds wryly that public opinion is already 'trumpet-tongued' against neglect, making it unlikely to be 'dangerously attractive.'

The Movement from Abstract to Concrete

Davies's chapter titles trace a deliberate progression: 'Introductory,' 'Ideals,' 'Things as They Are,' 'Things as They Might Be,' 'Professional and Domestic Life,' 'Specific Suggestions,' and 'Conclusion.' This structure enacts her method. She begins by clearing the ground of definitional confusion, then examines prevailing ideals, then contrasts them with actual conditions. Only after establishing this foundation does she move to proposals.

The movement is not merely linear. Within chapters, Davies often circles back to earlier points, testing them against new evidence. For instance, after discussing ideals, she returns to the domestic sphere to show how ideals of womanhood conflict with the practical reality of reduced household labor. This recursive pattern gives the argument a sense of thoroughness; no objection is dismissed without consideration. The reader is led step by step, with each new section building on the previous one.

Recurring Images of Restriction and Expansion

Throughout the text, Davies uses spatial and physical imagery to contrast restriction with expansion. She speaks of 'narrow interests and responsibilities' versus 'larger and more genial interests.' The domestic sphere is described as a 'field' that has been 'invaded and taken possession of by machinery.' Women who might have been occupied with household business now face a 'surplus' of time—a term that suggests both excess and opportunity.

Davies also employs the image of a 'pitfall' to describe hidden temptations, contrasting it with the 'open and well understood' temptations of professional life. The implication is that restriction itself creates hidden dangers, while open choices allow for conscious moral decision-making. This recurring contrast between confinement and freedom, hidden and visible, reinforces her argument that education should expand women's horizons rather than narrow them to a single domestic ideal.

Davies writes with a lawyer's precision and a reformer's patience. She does not demand immediate change but builds a case that is difficult to refute because it proceeds from premises her opponents already accept. Readers will find that the book's power lies less in fiery rhetoric than in its steady accumulation of logical pressure. Pay attention to how Davies handles objections: she often concedes a point before turning it to her advantage. This is a work that rewards careful reading, not for its conclusions alone, but for the method by which they are reached.

I have often thought, shelving these two volumes years apart, how the quiet insistence of Emily Davies—that a mind deserves its rigorous due—echoes in the patient scholarship of A history of Slavic studies in the United States — Context and Discussion. Each, in its own era, argues for a field once deemed peripheral, asking only to be taken seriously. Their kinship is a whispered, steady thing.