Jane Austen and the Manosphere
There is no finer balm for a long day than tea with Miss Jane Austen.
By Ann Burns
No matter what calamity is going on in the world, Jane Austen seems to have already penned the answer. And so, after being discouraged by inane X comments from the battling cultural phenomena of the “manosphere”, I seek solace once again in the words of Austen, as she reminds me there is truly “nothing new under the sun.”
While Austen’s novels are confined, taking place within a limited space with the odd trip to Bath or Box Hill, she wrote during a riveting period in history. While we hear of dreamy officers in their dashing uniforms, we forget that the Napoleonic Wars are going on. The rotten fruits of the French Revolution have already taken root in England, and the dangerous creed of Romanticism is in full swing.
The world Jane Austen inhibits is corroded by pernicious false ideologies and genuine tragedy.
Nevertheless, Austen and her secluded novels brilliantly make use of confined spaces to illustrate the deeper sociological issues afoot. In a living room, we are able to ascertain the dangers of allowing our sensibilities control over our reason. And in a room of young people putting on a play, we bear witness to the shocking divorce of traditional virtue from social values.
Jane Austen is not just a novelist, she is a philosopher, mentor, and dare I say, a mother to so many souls who’ve spent their evenings lost in her wisdom.
And the manosphere? You might be wondering what any of this has to do with Red Pill culture?
Quite a lot actually. While we might fall prey into believing Austen was some sort of antediluvian creature, writing amidst an era of lofty ideals, in reality she is modern. And her stories take place in the wake of modernism, a budding belief that loses sight of the Divine and ardently asserts that the Church needs to do a better job of adapting to the times.
As such, a bizarre separation of morals and manners enters the scene. While it is true that Austen writes in defense of social propriety, she recognizes that manners without morals will get you into a load of trouble.
Let us consider the story of Mansfield Park, arguably Austen’s most profound work. The story centers around the Bertrams and their cousin, Fanny Price. In some ways, Fanny is a Cinderella character, living with relatives and attending to various tasks.
She just lacks the charm and beauty of Cinderella. Conversely, the Bertrams are well educated and well-mannered. They have been raised by a father convicted that he has set them up for every success this world has to offer. While the Bertram children are not as cruel as Cinderella’s step-sisters, they find her dull and are ultimately apathetic towards her existence, save for the son Edmund, who is destined for the clergy.
Then we meet the Crawford siblings, Mary and Henry; glittering and coquettish, they turn heads and inspire racing hearts.
Henry Crawford is what Andrew Tate, Rollo Tomassi, and the crew of manosphere gurus would tout as the ideal man. He possesses enough financial status to make any mother eye him as a quality suitor for her daughter; he is charming, dynamic, and he gets all the ladies.
That is, except Fanny.
You see, while Fanny’s female cousins (who are absolutely besotted with Henry) were raised to prioritize worldly success and superficial niceties, Fanny, on the other hand, knows those attributes in order to be worth anything must be supported by constancy in virtue. Henry is anything but constant; he lives by passion and for passion. But steadfast Fanny isn’t duped into viewing him as “high-value” but understands he is a rake through and through. Her moral character allows her to see him with accuracy.
Naturally, Henry is dismayed by Fanny’s obvious disinterest in him and is determined to make a “hole in her heart.” Yet, in his pursuit of Fanny, Henry genuinely falls in love with her. Another element that is cohesive with the Red Pill ideology. Virtue compels, and men ultimately desire virtuous women.
But, what Austen understands and the armchair manosphere philosophers miss, is that virtuous women won’t simply desire fame and fortune. They want more than worldly glitter. As Fanny states: “I think it ought not to be set down as certain that a man must be acceptable to every woman he may happen to like himself.”
Yes, Henry attempts to clean up his act. And while many readers of the novel fall in love with Henry, (who doesn’t love the reformed-bad-boy trope?) Fanny is dismayed by his lack of self-honesty, and rejects him. What Fanny recognizes is that his character reform isn’t based on true moral conviction. Yes, he is drawn to goodness; he desires to attain it, but his love of pleasure is too strong. He lacks true virtue. At the end of the day, he is effeminate, unwilling to forgo everything (fortune, charm, popularity) for the sake of the good. That is the hard truth Fanny understands: a life of virtue may cost you quite a lot; it’s not easy, as we need to be converted daily.
Fanny’s rejection confirms that Henry’s love for goodness was a love for the affectation of goodness. With Fanny beyond reach, he soon enters into an affair with Maria Bertram, Fanny’s married cousin.
This is not an unusual theme in Austen novels.
The charming yet detestable Mr. Wickham is drawn to Lizzie in Pride and Prejudice.
The cunningly vain Mr. Elliot can’t deny his profound attraction to Anne in Persuasion.
And Mr. Willoughby passionately falls for Marianne in Sense and Sensibility.
Austen has a talent for writing about “bad boys,” or by today’s standards the valuable men who prioritize worldly success and charm.
Novel after novel, we see them falling for good women, with the understanding that goodness is exceedingly attractive.
But the admiration of goodness is not enough when your own character in regards to virtue is inconstant at best; a sort of “make me good, but not yet.” And as a result, none of these men are able to marry the heroine.
Years before Andrew Tate entered the scene, Austen already addressed the problem. Without objective and consistent morals behind charming smiles and success, lurks effeminacy: the unwillingness to sacrifice pleasure in order to do what is right. Sadly, the Red Pill movement confuses effeminacy with masculinity, and consequently forgets the complementarity of the sexes. It excuses male sexual license, while encouraging men to eventually choose a good woman. But the reality is, a good woman will choose a good man. One who willingly gives up his own pursuit of pleasure for the sake of doing what is right and honorable. A good woman will overlook the Henry Crawfords and Mr. Wickhams, and choose Edmund Bertram or Fitzwilliam Darcy.
Austen, unlike the Red Pill agenda, is in tune with reality because she is in tune with objective morality; as such, she offers an antidote by presenting her heroines, who’ve been tried and tested, with equally good men, who have also been tried and tested.
Austen defies both the manosphere and feminists, by revealing the necessity of good men and women and how they truly need each other.
It’s when we nurture our pet vices, clinging to our whims and ego, we become misguided, vicious, and even oppressed and suspicious of the opposite sex. This isn’t behavior worthy of a hero or heroine.
Henry’s fate is scandal and self-destruction, but Fanny’s fate is one of interior joy as she weds Edmund. Her secret is simple albeit difficult: a willingness to always do what is right regardless of the cost. In the end, joy triumphs and the goodness of masculinity and femininity is preserved.
Could the answer to the insane male versus female dialogue we see peppering feminism and the manosphere simply be “Read more Austen? Perhaps. At the very least, it’s a great start. After all, for an overly plugged-in confused culture, reading more Austen can only be described as “truly a fine thing for our girls.”
Ann Burns is the founder of The Feminine Project, an organization dedicated to restoring the joy of womanhood. She is a writer and speaker, and strives to uphold what is truly good and beautiful. Most of all, she is a wife and mother, and loves to share the joy in living each day well.
Great article!
I have not read a Jane Austen book before, but I agree wholeheartedly! I also wish more modern romance books addressed the themes Austen sought to teach in her stories. However, what we get these days is a sloppy erotic bundle of words wrapped up in a spine and marketed as romance. Very sadly, these books perpetuate the problem and do not fix it.
I hope there shall come a time when more Austen-like authors will write real romance, focusing on the human condition, and the consequences of vice and virtue!