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In the seventeenth century, men stepped out of the pages of political philosophy as equal and free, their subjection to government a matter of artifice, manufactured through the social contract. By contrast, women’s subjection to men appeared as the creation of nature. Less rational and less virtuous than their counterparts, so the story went, they were rightfully inferior to them. This article examines some pre-modern writers, including Jane Anger, Rachel Speght, Judith Drake, and Mary Astell, who wanted to re-carve the boundaries of nature. They argued that with regard to reason and virtue, men and women have equal capacities. They proposed that gender is a construct of power, not of nature. In so doing they marked out anti-essentialist territory that has become central to modern feminism. I propose, however, that their interventions become most legible (and no less urgent) if we situate them in their own contexts, and in particular in the context of the discipline of logic – the art of reason and the bedrock of an early modern education. These writers used recognisably logical tactics to prove the reason of women, and in so doing donned the mask of the logician, thereby doubly claiming for themselves the mark of a rational man. But they also turned to logic, as logicians since Aristotle had done, to cure the sickness and sophisms of their minds. They appropriated and refigured the obstacles to knowledge, identifying three impediments that beset women: the constitutive power of words; the internalised focus on a woman’s externality; and the mental corruption caused by oppression. I Towards the end of the seventeenth century, political authority was increasingly reenvisaged as the product of human artifice, manufactured through the social contract. However, the power relation between women and men remained stubbornly in the social imaginary as the creation of nature. Men now stepped out of the pages of political philosophy as equal and free, so that – in theory – the only way in which one of them could find themselves legitimately subject to another would be if they wanted it, if they agreed to it. The hierarchy between men and women, by contrast, was often represented, and legitimised, as a result of natural inequality between the sexes. The subordination of women had long been justified on the grounds of their essential inferiority; I do not know if it is customary to quote from the eponymous hero of this Society, but, as Aristotle declared in The Politics, ‘the male is by nature superior, and the female inferior; and the one rules, and other is ruled’ (Aristotle 1996, p. 17). QED. 1 I am deeply grateful to Susan James for inviting me to speak to The Aristotelian Society, to Helen Beebee for hosting me so spectacularly when the moment came, to the audience for their imaginative and probing questions, to Guy Longworth for his brilliant, detailed comments subsequently, and to Josephine Salverda for steering me so generously and patiently through to submission. I thank Laura Gowing and Susie Orbach for their transformative thoughts on the paper. I am indebted to my fellow University and College Union members. If it were not for the strike of 2018 I would have continued with my plan to deliver a paper on Hume. Singing songs on the picket line changed my mind. Fighting for my mind: feminist logic at the edge of enlightenment, Hannah Dawson 2 Author’s accepted manuscript for Proceedings of the Aristotelian Society, 2018, Vol. CXVIII, Part 3 (For Deposit in Pure) This kind of inference reveals why nature has always been a central battleground for feminism: if one can prove that women are naturally equal to men, indeed if one can explode the very idea of nature in relation to gender – the idea of men qua men, or women qua women, having any essential moral, mental, or behavioural characteristics – then the de facto dominance of men is exposed as having no foundation in justice. It might be objected that while men and women might be equal, they are not the same. They might be equal in rights, in personhood, but they are essentially different, with different aptitudes, desires and priorities. This would explain why, for example, as a matter of ‘choice’, in Britain in 2018 we find a majority of men in parliament and at the top of businesses, and women still do the lioness’s share of the childcare. Modern feminists have responded that there are no relevant essential differences that adequately explain the organisation of the human world along gendered lines (Butler 1990; Fine 2010; Haslanger 2012). Gender is a construct, as the mantra goes, and any appeal to nature to elucidate or justify either inequality, or distinctions of character, must be ruled out of court. This article is going to consider a number of pre-modern women who ventured onto the battleground of nature: Christine de Pizan (1364-1430), Jane Anger (fl. 1588), Rachel Speght (1597?-1661?), Judith Drake (fl. 1596-1723), and Mary Astell (1666-1731). They were provoked by the charge that, as women, they were neither rational nor – relatedly – virtuous. They returned fire with two claims: first, that they did have the capacity for reason and virtue, and second, that if they were deficient in these qualities, this was a function not of nature, but of culture and power. It might be an accidental fact that some women were irrational and vicious, but it was not necessarily so. These writers seem therefore to be rehearsing arguments that feminists continue to make, and, certainly, I hope that this article will bring out the relevance of their words. As ever, though, in the history of philosophy, voices from the past speak to us most urgently – not least in the sense that we can hear them most distinctly – if we try to understand them in their terms rather than our own. All of these authors are writing in a Christian framework in which women, like men, are servants of God who must tread one decreed path. The women’s liberation that is fantasised about is therefore illiberal in our sense; it is moral and prescribed, freedom from sin and wayward passion, as well as tyrannical men; it is not the case that anything goes. Moreover, all of these writers, with the possible exception of Astell, subscribed to certain views of natural difference, that in turn underpin certain social arrangements, both of which seem foreign to us now. None of these writers, for example, called for women’s ordinary participation in politics (while this is arguably a moot point since there was limited popular participation per se, even the Fighting for my mind: feminist logic at the edge of enlightenment, Hannah Dawson 3 Author’s accepted manuscript for Proceedings of the Aristotelian Society, 2018, Vol. CXVIII, Part 3 (For Deposit in Pure) Levellers excluded women when they dreamed in Putney of an equal world). These writers, therefore, did not give up on nature in relation to gender, just as writers of the time more generally clung on to nature as a source of normativity (Dawson 2019). However, in certain ways, I argue, the women buck this trend. They thin out nature in relation to gender to such an extent that in crucial respects it seems to disappear altogether. Morally, spiritually, and intellectually, they argue, women might be on a par with men. They were not making this argument in a vacuum. It seems to me that the context that makes the most sense of their texts, that throws their speech acts into relief, and that has been hitherto underappreciated in the literature, is the discipline of early modern logic. Logic was one part of the trivium, and alongside grammar and rhetoric, it constituted the bedrock of an early modern education. While grammar taught one to speak, and rhetoric taught one to speak well, or persuasively, logic taught one to reason. It provided the substantial and proper matter for words, the true res for one’s verba. It was taught at school, by private tutors, and at university. It was disseminated not only in textbooks but in more discursive formats, such as Locke’s popular Essay concerning Human Understanding (1689). In teaching people to think well, it incorporated a second purpose: to know as much as it was possible to know. And in that second purpose was contained a third: as the art of knowledge logic was also the art of virtue, insofar as if one considered things aright, one could see what was truly good and evil, and would act accordingly. But logic was also bound up with goodness in the sense that it promoted an ethics of understanding. It had always, even in its Aristotelian beginnings, been interested in identifying, refuting and eliminating fallacious reasoning. In the course of the seventeenth century, when the discipline became less formal and discursive and more naturalistic and holistic, it was conceived increasingly as medicine for the mind that would cure it of its errors. This is indicated in the title of Locke’s projected Of the Conduct of the Understanding, begun in 1697, published posthumously in 1706, and intended as an additional chapter for his Essay. Logic was as concerned with rooting out falsehood and sophistry, as it was in training the understanding towards truth. Logic therefore both framed the world and reformed the mind. It was the home of reason, truth, and self-improvement, and to dwell there was the mark of a worthy, civilised human being – a being that paradigmatically took the form of a gentleman. 2 On other and overlapping contexts in which these particular texts might be situated, as well as on these texts themselves, see Kahin 1947; Perry 1986; Smith 2001; Speight 2002; Springborg 2005; Broad 2015; Sowaal and Weiss 2016. For further literature on these and other female authors, and more broadly on early modern intersections between women, philosophy, and political thought, see Okin 1979; Pateman 1988; Riley 1988; Sommerville 1995; Hinds 1996; O’Neill 1997; Weil 1999; James 1999; Smith 2002; Hutton 2004; Bennett 2006; Knott and

XII—Fighting for My Mind: Feminist Logic at the Edge of Enlightenment