Professional Documents
Culture Documents
Textbook The Routledge Companion To Feminist Philosophy 1St Edition Ann Garry Ebook All Chapter PDF
Textbook The Routledge Companion To Feminist Philosophy 1St Edition Ann Garry Ebook All Chapter PDF
https://textbookfull.com/product/the-routledge-companion-to-
shakespeare-and-philosophy-craig-bourne/
https://textbookfull.com/product/the-routledge-companion-to-
philosophy-of-psychology-sarah-robins/
https://textbookfull.com/product/the-routledge-companion-to-
performance-philosophy-routledge-companions-1st-edition-laura-
cull-o-maoilearca-editor/
https://textbookfull.com/product/the-routledge-companion-to-
philosophy-of-social-science-1st-edition-lee-mcintyre/
The Routledge Companion to Eighteenth Century
Philosophy First Issued To Paperback Edition Garrett
https://textbookfull.com/product/the-routledge-companion-to-
eighteenth-century-philosophy-first-issued-to-paperback-edition-
garrett/
https://textbookfull.com/product/the-routledge-companion-to-the-
philosophy-of-race-1st-edition-paul-c-taylor-editor/
https://textbookfull.com/product/the-routledge-companion-to-
comics-1st-edition-frank-bramlett/
https://textbookfull.com/product/the-routledge-companion-to-
critical-accounting-1st-edition-robin-roslender/
https://textbookfull.com/product/the-routledge-companion-to-
sounding-art-1st-edition-marcel-cobussen/
p.i
Forthcoming
Edited by
Ann Garry, Serene J. Khader,
and Alison Stone
p.iv
and by Routledge
2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN
The right of the editors to be identified as the authors of the editorial material, and of the
authors for their individual chapters, has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and
78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any
form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented,
including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system,
without permission in writing from the publishers.
CONTENTS
Notes on Contributors
Introduction
ANN GARRY, SERENE J. KHADER, AND ALISON STONE
PART I
Engaging the Past
p.vi
11 Feminist Pragmatism
V. DENISE JAMES
12 Feminist Phenomenology
ALIA AL-SAJI
PART II
Body, Mind, and World
PART III
Knowledge, Language, and Science
p.vii
p.viii
PART V
Ethics, Politics, and Aesthetics
Aesthetics
Ethics
42 Feminist Metaethics
ANITA SUPERSON
p.ix
46 Feminist Bioethics
WENDY A. ROGERS
Social and Political Philosophy
Index
p.x
NOTES ON CONTRIBUTORS
Susan J. Brison, Eunice and Julian Cohen Professor for the Study of Ethics
and Human Values at Dartmouth, has written Aftermath: Violence and the
Remaking of a Self (2002), co-written Debating the Ethics of Pornography:
Sex, Violence, and Harm (forthcoming), and published numerous articles
on free speech theory and on gender-based violence.
p.xi
Carla Fehr holds the Wolfe Chair in Scientific and Technological Literacy
in the Philosophy Department at the University of Waterloo in Ontario,
Canada. She works in philosophy of biology, feminist epistemology, and
socially relevant philosophy of Science.
p.xii
Heidi Grasswick is the George Nye and Anne Walker Boardman Professor
of Mental and Moral Science in the Department of Philosophy at
Middlebury College and is affiliated with the Gender, Sexuality, and
Feminist Studies Program. Her research spans questions of feminist
epistemology, social epistemology, and the connections between the
epistemic and the ethical.
p.xv
p.xvi
INTRODUCTION
Ann Garry, Serene J. Khader, and Alison Stone
p.2
p.3
With her mother now convalescent, the year 1824 opened to find
Miss Mitford more composed in mind. She was still turning over in
her mind her friend Macready’s great commission, but as he had
bade her take plenty of time, she occupied herself with gathering
together and polishing the Lady’s Magazine articles on country life
with a view to their publication in volume form. Mr. George B.
Whittaker, of Ave Maria Lane—“papa’s godson, by-the-by”—was the
chosen publisher and we may be certain that there was much
fussing and discussion between the parties concerned before the
details were finally arranged. Mr. Whittaker was, according to his
godfather’s daughter, “a young and dashing friend of mine, this year
sheriff of London, and is, I hear, so immersed in his official dignities
as to have his head pretty much turned topsy-turvy, or rather, in
French phraseology, to have lost that useful appendage; so I should
not wonder now, if it did not come out, till I am able to get to town
and act for myself in the business, and I have not yet courage to
leave mamma.”
Had Mr. Whittaker known what was in store for him he would
probably have lost his head; but neither author nor publisher had the
faintest notion that the modest volume, then projecting, was to be the
forerunner of a series destined to take the world by storm and to be
the one effort—apart from dramatic and sonneteering successes,
which were to fade into obscurity—by which alone the name of Mary
Russell Mitford was to be remembered.
Its modest title— Our Village—was the author’s own choice, and it
was to consist of essays and characters and stories, chiefly of
country life, in the manner of the Sketch Book, but without
sentimentality or pathos—two things abhorred by the author—and to
be published with or without its author’s name, as it might please the
publisher. “At all events,” wrote Miss Mitford to Sir William, “the
author has no wish to be incognita; so I tell you as a secret to be
told.”
“When you see Our Village,” she continued, “(which if my sheriff
be not bestraught, I hope may happen soon), you will see that my
notions of prose style are nicer than these galloping letters would
give you to understand.”
The excitement of preparing for the press revived her old interest
in life and stirred her once again to indulge in that free and
blithesome correspondence which had been so unceremoniously
dropped when her domestic troubles seemed so overpowering. Her
introduction to Macready had been followed by an introduction to his
sister whom, as usual, Miss Mitford found to be all that was
charming. In her impulsive fashion she quickly divined the characters
of both and wrote of her impressions to her confidant, Sir William.
“They are very fascinating people, of the most polished and delightful
manners, and with no fault but the jealousy and unreasonableness
which seem to me the natural growth of the green-room. I can tell
you just exactly what Mr. Macready would have said of me and
Julian. He would have spoken of me as a meritorious and amiable
person, of the play as a first-rate performance, and of the treatment
as ‘infamous!’ ‘scandalous!’ ‘unheard-of!’—would have heaped every
phrase of polite abuse which the language contains on the Covent
Garden manager; and then would have concluded as follows:—‘But
it is Miss Mitford’s own fault—entirely her own fault. She is, with all
her talent, the weakest and most feeble-minded woman that ever
lived. If she had put matters into my hands—if she had withdrawn
The Foscari—if she had threatened the managers with a lawsuit—if
she had published her case—if she had suffered me to manage for
her; she would have been the queen of the theatre. Now, you will
see her the slave of Charles Kemble. She is the weakest woman that
ever trode the earth.’ This is exactly what he would have said; the
way in which he talks of me to every one, and most of all to myself.
‘Is Mr. Macready a great actor?’ you ask. I think that I should answer,
‘He might have been a very great one.’ Whether he be now I doubt.
A very clever actor he certainly is; but he has vitiated his taste by his
love of strong effects, and been spoilt in town and country; and I
don’t know that I do call him a very great actor ... I have a physical
pleasure in the sound of Mr. Macready’s voice, whether talking, or
reading, or acting (except when he rants). It seems to me very
exquisite music, with something instrumental and vibrating in the
sound, like certain notes of the violoncello. He is grace itself; and he
has a great deal of real sensibility, mixed with some trickery.”
Miss Mitford’s Cottage at Three Mile Cross, as it is to-day (1913), with the sign of
the Swan Inn on the one hand, and Brownlow’s shop on the other.
Was Our Village its author’s announcement to all and sundry, that
come what might, whether of want, drudgery, or disillusionment, she
could still carry her head high, look the world in the face— and
smile? Probably it was. A strong case can be made out for the view
that, apart altogether from her love of rurality, Our Village was a
deliberate glorification of the simple life which had been forced upon
her, a deliberate pronouncement that Home was still Home, though it
had been transferred from the magnificence of Bertram House with
its retinue of servants, to an extremely humble cottage set between a
village “general” on the one side and a village inn upon the other.
With all the success which now seemed to crowd upon our author,
the year was not without its anxieties for, shortly after her mother’s
recovery, her father was taken suddenly ill and, as was his wont on
such occasions, required a great deal of attention. He made a fairly
speedy recovery, however, and in July we read of him and Mrs.
Mitford taking exercise in a “pretty little pony-chaise” the acquisition
of which the daughter proudly records—it was a sign, however slight,
of amended fortunes. Late in the year, Dr. Mitford had a relapse and
became seriously ill, and even when convalescent was left so weak
that he was a source of considerable anxiety to his wife and
daughter. This illness must have convinced Miss Mitford that it would
be futile to count upon her father as a bread-winner, and that
conviction seems to have spurred her to work even harder than
before. The Cromwell and Charles play still simmered in her mind,
while there were a “thousand and one articles for annuals” to be
written, together with the working-up of a new tragedy to be called
Inez de Castro. Not satisfied with all that, she wrote in the July to
William Harness, asking whether he could influence Campbell, then
editing the New Monthly Magazine, to engage for a series—“Letters
from the Country,” or something of that sort—“altogether different, of
course, from Our Village in the scenery and the dramatis personae,
but still something that might admit of description and character, and
occasional story, without the formality of a fresh introduction to every
article. If you liked my little volume well enough to recommend me
conscientiously, and are enough in that prescient editor’s good
graces to secure such an admission, I should like the thing
exceedingly.”
Talfourd wrote urging her to a novel, but this she wisely declined,
and commenced to work, in great haste on still another tragedy
which had been suggested by a re-reading of Gibbon’s Decline and
Fall of the Roman Empire. It was no new project, for she had written
of it “in strict confidence” to Sir William Elford more than a year
before, but it had been left to lie fallow until an opportunity arose for
its execution. When the suggestion was made to Macready he at
once saw the possibilities in the theme and promised to give the play
his best consideration, although he made the significant suggestion
that not only should the author’s name be kept a dead secret, but
that the play should be produced under a man’s name because the
newspapers of the day were so unfair to female writers.
Luckily the haste with which she had started on Rienzi soon
subsided, and it was not ready until 1826 when Macready took it and
the Cromwellian play with him on an American tour, promising to do
nothing with either unless they could be produced in a manner
satisfactory to the author. The original intention had been to produce
Rienzi at Covent Garden that year, but the idea was abandoned.
In the meantime preparations were well advanced for a second
series of Our Village, “my bookseller having sent to me for two
volumes more.” Eventually the series extended to five volumes, the
publication of which ranged over the years 1824 and 1832. Of these
volumes there appeared, from time to time, a number of most
eulogistic reviews, particularly noticeable among them being those of
“Christopher North” in the Noctes Ambrosianae of Blackwood’s
Magazine. In reviewing the third volume he wrote:—“The young
gentlemen of England should be ashamed o’ theirsells fo’ lettin’ her
name be Mitford. They should marry her whether she wull or no, for
she would mak baith a useful and agreeable wife. That’s the best
creetishism on her warks”—a criticism as amusing as it was true.
CHAPTER XVIII
In the previous chapter we mentioned that Rienzi was not ready until
1826 and that its production at Covent Garden during that year was
postponed because of a disagreement between Macready and
Young. As a matter of fact the play was finished to the mutual
satisfaction of its author, and her friends Talfourd and Harness, early
in 1825, but when submitted to Macready he would only accept it on
condition that certain rather drastic alterations were made. In this he
was perfectly justified for, be it remembered, he was not only an
actor of high rank but a critic of remarkable ability—a combination of
scholar and actor which caused him to be consulted on every point
connected with the drama and whose judgment was rarely wrong.
Upon hearing his decision Miss Mitford appears to have lost her
composure—we will charitably remind ourselves that she had put
much labour and thought into this play—and to have rushed off to
consult the two friends who, having read the play, had already
pronounced it ready for presentation. Upon hearing Macready’s
suggestions Harness was considerably piqued, the more so as in
addition to his clerical duties, he was, at this time, enjoying a
considerable reputation as a dramatic critic, his writings in the
magazines being eagerly looked for and as eagerly read when they
appeared. There is no doubt that he, backed up by Talfourd,
counselled Miss Mitford not to adopt Macready’s suggestions, but
Macready was not the man to brook interference from outsiders and
told Miss Mitford that not only must she alter the play in accordance
with his views, but without delay if she required him to produce it.
This naturally placed the author in an awkward position for she knew,