 which are of no
use to him, when nature has been stifled by the passions they have
implanted in him, this sham article is sent to a tutor. The tutor
completes the development of the germs of artificiality which he finds
already well grown, he teaches him everything except self-knowledge
and self-control, the arts of life and happiness. When at length
this infant slave and tyrant, crammed with knowledge but empty of
sense, feeble alike in mind and body, is flung upon the world, and
his helplessness, his pride, and his other vices are displayed,
we begin to lament the wretchedness and perversity of mankind. We
are wrong; this is the creature of our fantasy; the natural man is
cast in another mould.

Would you keep him as nature made him? Watch over him from his
birth. Take possession of him as soon as he comes into the world
and keep him till he is a man; you will never succeed otherwise.
The real nurse is the mother and the real teacher is the father.
Let them agree in the ordering of their duties as well as in their
method, let the child pass from one to the other. He will be better
educated by a sensible though ignorant father than by the cleverest
master in the world. For zeal will atone for lack of knowledge,
rather than knowledge for lack of zeal. But the duties of public
and private business! Duty indeed! Does a father's duty come last.
[Footnote: When we read in Plutarch that Cato the Censor, who ruled
Rome with such glory, brought up his own sons from the cradle,
and so carefully that he left everything to be present when their
nurse, that is to say their mother, bathed them; when we read
in Suetonius that Augustus, the master of the world which he had
conquered and which he himself governed, himself taught his grandsons
to write, to swim, to understand the beginnings of science, and that
he always had them with him, we cannot help smiling at the little
people of those days who amused themselves with such follies, and
who were too ignorant, no doubt, to attend to the great affairs
of the great people of our own time.] It is not surprising that
the man whose wife despises the duty of suckling her child should
despise its education. There is no more charming picture than
that of family life; but when one feature is wanting the whole is
marred. If the mother is too delicate to nurse her child, the father
will be too busy to teach him. Their children, scattered about
in schools, convents, and colleges, will find the home of their
affections elsewhere, or rather they will form the habit of caring
for nothing.  Brothers and sisters will scarcely know each other;
when they are together in company they will behave as strangers.
When there is no confidence between relations, when the family
society ceases to give savour to life, its place is soon usurped
by vice. Is there any man so stupid that he cannot see how all this
hangs together?

A father has done but a third of his task when he begets children
and provides a living for them. He owes men to humanity, citizens
to the state. A man who can pay this threefold debt and neglect to
do so is guilty, more guilty, perhaps, if he pays it in part than
when he neglects it entirely. He has no right to be a father if
he cannot fulfil a father's duties. Poverty, pressure of business,
mistaken social prejudices, none of these can excuse a man from his
duty, which is to support and educate his own children. If a man
of any natural feeling neglects these sacred duties he will repent
it with bitter tears and will never be comforted.

But what does this rich man do, this father of a family, compelled,
so he says, to neglect his children? He pays another man to perform
those duties which are his alone. Mercenary man! do you expect to
purchase a second father for your child? Do not deceive yourself;
it is not even a master you have hired for him, it is a flunkey,
who will soon train such another as himself.

There is much discussion as to the characteristics of a good
tutor.  My first requirement, and it implies a good many more, is
that he should not take up his task for reward. There are callings
so great that they cannot be undertaken for money without showing
our unfitness for them; such callings are those of the soldier and
the teacher.

"But who must train my child?" "I have just told you, you should
do it yourself." "I cannot." "You cannot! Then find a friend. I
see no other course."

A tutor! What a noble soul! Indeed for the training of a man one
must either be a father or more than man. It is this duty you would
calmly hand over to a hireling!

The more you think of it the harder you will find it. The tutor
must have been trained for his pupil, his servants must have been
trained for their master, so that all who come near him may have
received the impression which is to be transmitted to him. We must
pass from education to education, I know not how far. How can a
child be well educated by one who has not been well educated himself!

Can such a one be found? I know not. In this age of degradation who
knows the height of virtue to which man's soul may attain? But let
us assume that this prodigy has been discovered. We shall learn
what he should be from the consideration of his duties. I fancy the
father who realises the value of a good tutor will contrive to do
without one, for it will be harder to find one than to become such
a tutor himself; he need search no further, nature herself having
done half the work.

Some one whose rank alone is known to me suggested that I should
educate his son. He did me a great honour, no doubt, but far from
regretting my refusal, he ought to congratulate himself on my
prudence. Had the offer been accepted, and had I been mistaken in
my method, there would have been an education ruined; had I succeeded,
things would have been worse--his son would have renounced his
title and refused to be a prince.

I feel too deeply the importance of a tutor's duties and my own
unfitness, ever to accept such a post, whoever offered it, and
even the claims of friendship would be only an additional motive
for my refusal. Few, I think, will be tempted to make me such an
offer when they have read this book, and I beg any one who would
do so to spare his pains. I have had enough experience of the task
to convince myself of my own unfitness, and my circumstances would
make it impossible, even if my talents were such as to fit me for
it. I have thought it my duty to make this public declaration to
those who apparently refuse to do me the honour of believing in
the sincerity of my determination. If I am unable to undertake the
more useful task, I will at least venture to attempt the easier
one; I will follow the example of my predecessors and take up, not
the task, but my pen; and instead of doing the right thing I will
try to say it.

I know that in such an undertaking the author, who ranges at will
among theoretical systems, utters many fine precepts impossible
to practise, and even when he says what is practicable it remains
undone for want of details and examples as to its application.

I have therefore decided to take an imaginary pupil, to assume on
my own part the age, health, knowledge, and talents required for
the work of his education, to guide him from birth to manhood, when
he needs no guide but himself. This method seems to me useful for
an author who fears lest he may stray from the practical to the
visionary; for as soon as he departs from common practice he has
only to try his method on his pupil; he will soon know, or the
reader will know for him, whether he is following the development
of the child and the natural growth of the human heart.

This is what I have tried to do. Lest my book should be unduly
bulky, I have been content to state those principles the truth of
which is self-evident. But as to the rules which call for proof, I
have applied them to Emile or to others, and I have shown, in very
great detail, how my theories may be put into practice. Such at
least is my plan; the reader must decide whether I have succeeded.
At first I have said little about Emile, for my earliest maxims
of education, though very different from those generally accepted,
are so plain that it is hard for a man of sense to refuse to accept
them, but as I advance, my scholar, educated after another fashion
than yours, is no longer an ordinary child, he needs a special
system. Then he appears upon the scene more frequently, and towards
the end I never lose sight of him for a moment, until, whatever he
may say, he needs me no