As indicated in my post of last August 21, I am giving a very short course, specifically on this site, on the classics of leadership literature. (See the post for how “classic” is defined.)
The posts will be drawn from my edited collection, Leadership: Essential Selections on Power, Authority, and Influence (McGraw-Hill, 2010). While here I can provide only short bursts of texts, my hope is they prompt you to dig deeper.
The selections are grouped into three parts. Part I comprises classics About Leadership. Part II is a compilation of Literature as Leadership. And Part III consists of selections by Leaders in Action. Leaders who have used words – written, oral, or both – as instruments of leadership.
Today’s classic is the first entry in Part II of the book, titled, Literature as Leadership. The idea that writing can be an act of leadership initially seems astonishing. But it is not, or it should not be. After all, writing is communicating. It is using words to send a message, in this case about change. Specifically, every writer in this part of the book themselves was a leader. A leader who sought to create change by so persuasively making a case that people would feel compelled to act. The eight men and four women who fall into this category all set out to right what they deeply believed was a wrong. Remarkably, they did – they changed the world. Moreover, they wrote so well that we read them still.
Today’s writer as leader – or, if you prefer, leader as writer – is Mary Wollstonecraft. She is the first of three women in this section, each of whom were compelled to lead women to a different place. A place in which they were not just permitted to be but encouraged to be stronger and more independent than they were at the time of writing.
All writers must be read in the context of their time – Wollstonecraft arguably more than most because above all she was a figure of The Enlightenment. Which is to say that she like her luminous contemporaries – such as writer and revolutionist Thomas Paine – was the product of a period during which absolute power was moving away from those at the top and toward those in the middle and even at the bottom.
For most women the world that Wollstonecraft knew was exceedingly difficult. Children, for example, belonged to their father not their mother. Since divorce was impossible, this meant that if a woman had the temerity to leave the man to whom she was married, she had no choice but to leave her children behind. Marital rape was moreover legal – though in 1782 a law was passed that required husbands who beat their wives to use a stick no wider than a thumb.
Wollstonecraft was nothing if not ladylike. She wrote with delicacy – though her style should not be misunderstood. Beneath what might seem to the contemporary reader language that was formal and sometimes even flowery, was a message of fierce urgency. All women, Wollstonecraft warned, especially young women, should take care not to be misled by the flatteries of men. All women should be schooled. They should understand that only by being educated could they protect themselves against the danger of being discarded by a man. For men would deny them strength “both of mind and body.” Men would flatter them at first, but then, later, discard them as carelessly as they would a faded flower. To be clear: Wollstonecraft was not a man-hater. Rather she was clear-eyed about the plight of women and hellbent on doing what she could to lessen it.
From “A Vindication of the Rights of Women,” Mary Wollstonecraft, 1792.
- The conduct and manners of women, in fact, evidently prove that their minds are not in a healthy state; for, like the flowers which are planted in too rich a soil, strength and usefulness are sacrificed to beauty; and the flaunting leaves, after having pleased a fastidious eye, fade, disregarded on the stalk, long before the season when they ought to have arrived at maturity.
- My own sex, I hope, will excuse me, if I treat them like rational creatures, instead of flattering their fascinating graces, and viewing them as if they were in a state of perpetual childhood, unable to stand alone., I earnestly wish to point out in what true dignity and human happiness consists – I wish to persuade women to endeavor to acquire strength, both of mind and body, and to convince them that the soft phrases, susceptibility of heart, delicacy of sentiment, and refinement of taste are almost synonymous with epithets of weakness, and that those beings who are only the objects of pity and that kind of love, which has been termed its sister, will soon become objects of contempt.
