Wollstonecraft and Godwin: The Inner-Workings of a Love Story - by Katie Mastrucci

Beneath every great love story lies a solid foundation, an anchor which secures the two lovers on common ground. Such foundations appear in many forms. Some consist of emotion alone, while others are a delicate mix of politics, religion, philosophy, and sentiment. The relationship between Mary Wollstonecraft and William Godwin was one based on the latter kind of foundation. Their love story was unconventional to say the least and tragically cut short with the death of Mary Wollstonecraft in 1797. Yet despite the superficial details of their relationship, which may seem unfamiliar, even odd, to modern-day readers of their life together, the core of their relationship, its pulse, strikes a chord within us all. Within their love story lie the traces of every love story: the passion and the shared values required to sustain it. Though on the surface, the views of Wollstonecraft and Godwin may not exactly mirror each other, the crux of their individual ideologies was the same, for they both shared an undying belief in the importance of friendship, the equality of all people, the necessity of personal freedom, and the promising power of political reform.

After understanding the nature of their relationship, the fabric of their forged bond, two questions leap out of the woodwork: Had Wollstonecraft survived childbirth, would her and Godwin’s marriage have stood the test of time, or would the strain of some of their differing opinions and contradicting views on women, politics and religion have been too much for their love to bear? And secondly, does their union serve as a model for modern marriage? Though we may never know if such a unique union would have survived, by analyzing the relationship as well as the hearts and minds of Wollstonecraft and Godwin as revealed through their writings, I will make an argument in this paper for the ultimate sustainability of their marriage as one based on common beliefs and shared values. It is my conviction, however, that although the Wollstonecraft-Godwin union may have survived and even thrived had Mary lived, it only partially serves as an exemplary model of marriage for modern society. The times have changed; certain pressures and prejudices that once suffocated men and women of the late eighteenth century are now tolerable, if not nonexistent, and therefore, a new model of marriage is needed to address the unique challenges of men and women today, just as Wollstonecraft’s and Godwin’s marriage sought to address the unique challenges of their own times. But what can be preserved of their union is the foundation on which it stood, the common principles and mutual beliefs that gave it strength, for that is the foundation that all lovers seek but few ever find.

Throughout the course of this paper, I will be using a variety of primary and secondary sources to support my thesis. For the historical background of the Wollstonecraft-Godwin love story, I will mainly reference Lyndall Gordon’s Vindication: A Life of Mary Wollstonecraft (2005), supplemented by William Godwin’s Memoirs of the Author of ‘A Vindication of the Rights of Woman’ (originally published 1798), “The Second Common Reader” by Virginia Woolf (1932), Mitzi Myers’s article “Godwin’s Memoirs of Wollstonecraft: The Shaping of Self and Subject” (1981) as well as a selection from the writings of Margaret Fuller (1941). All of these sources present the relationship in a relatively positive light, as will I. I will then present the individual intellectual, sociopolitical and religious views of Wollstonecraft and Godwin by making use of their own writings, including a compilation entitled The Anarchist Writings of William Godwin (1986) from which I will extract excerpts from his third edition of Enquiry Concerning Political Justice (1798), his Essays Never Before Published (1873) and his Of Population: An Enquiry concerning the Power of Increase in the Numbers of Mankind, being an Answer to Mr. Malthus’s Essay on that Subject (1820) as well as Wollstonecraft’s A Vindication of the Rights of Men (1790), A Vindication of the Rights of Woman (1792), Letters written during a short residence in Sweden, Norway and Denmark (1796) and Godwin & Mary: Letters of William Godwin and Mary Wollstonecraft (1966).

I will also draw from the section on Mary Wollstonecraft in Jane Duran’s Eight Women Philosophers: Theory, Politics, and Feminism (2006), Jenny Davidson’s article “‘Professed Enemies of Politeness’: Sincerity and the Problem of Gender in Godwin’s Enquiry Concerning Political Justice and Wollstonecraft’s Vindication of the Rights of Woman” (2000) and a chapter entitled “For the love of God” from Barbara Taylor’s book Mary Wollstonecraft and the Feminist Imagination (2003) as well as a lecture she gave on “Mary Wollstonecraft and the Solitary Self” on April 12, 2007 at the University of Notre Dame. While the primary sources illustrate the intricate union Wollstonecraft and Godwin shared, the secondary sources, especially Woolf’s essay and Gordon’s Vindication, make favorable predictions concerning the fate of their marriage, predictions I share as well. But this is where their theorizing ends and where I intend to go further. By combining these various sources, I hope to show that their relationship was founded on shared beliefs and common values, ranging from politics to education to philosophy to ethics; and that their marriage was indeed, as Virginia Woolf termed it, “that most fruitful experiment” and one that would have passed the test of time (176).

The Wollstonecraft-Godwin relationship may have been founded on shared values, forged by similar views and triggered by passion, but their life philosophies and political attitudes never mirrored each other exactly by any means, and this discrepancy can be clearly seen in William Godwin’s writings. And yet somehow, they were able to overlook their differences. They forged a loving if unconventional bond, and for as long as time allowed them, they made it last. Considering the stifling sociopolitical circumstances in which they lived, I believe their marriage would have ultimately succeeded had Mary survived the dangers of childbirth and medical incompetence. But fortunately for us, those circumstances, for the most part, no longer exist. Women no longer feel as great a pressure to get married upon becoming pregnant. There is greater equality of the sexes. Women today can raise children single-handedly. They no longer live in a society that practices coverture, for women are now citizens. They can hold property in their own name, inherit wealth, and pass on their inheritance to their children. And so it is because of these changes that I believe the Wollstonecraft-Godwin union need no longer be a model for modern society to follow. We are in need of a new model of marriage, one that incorporates both the basic principles advanced by Wollstonecraft and Godwin as a foundation for lasting love as well as the sociopolitical changes that time’s passing brings.

In order to examine this intriguing relationship, one must begin at its inception. Mary Wollstonecraft and William Godwin first met on November 13, 1791 at the table of Joseph Johnson, the well-known printer and Mary’s faithful publisher. The first meeting did not go well. Godwin had come to hear Thomas Paine speak, but Paine proved to be a man of few words, and so the evening was spent in argument with Wollstonecraft over Voltaire and religion (Gordon, 144). Neither looked forward to seeing the other again, and the arguments continued when they met a few other times during the course of 1792. They each went their separate ways, Godwin to his writings and Wollstonecraft to her first real relationship with the American businessman Gilbert Imlay. Though the relationship proved disastrous due to Imlay’s long absences and repeated infidelities, Mary made one last effort to salvage what she could from it and went to Scandinavia at Imlay’s behest to conduct a business transaction. While traveling among the Scandinavian isles, Mary penned a book of letters depicting her journey and the passions it inspired, ostensibly addressed to Imlay, but always meant to be published. The work, published as A Short Residence in Sweden, Norway and Denmark in 1796, was described by Godwin as “a book of travels that so irresistibly seizes on the heart…a book calculated to make a man in love with its author” (Memoirs, 95). And so, after several years of bickering and disagreement, Godwin was in love.

Yet even this book of beautiful prose and sublime images could not recall Imlay to Mary’s arms. Upon return to England, Mary learned from her estranged lover’s cook that he had a new mistress, and Mary, tortured by the shock of her abandonment and his betrayal, attempted suicide soon after, throwing herself, fully clothed and soaked through, over a bridge into the Thames. She was soon rescued and her body resuscitated, but her heart had suffered a near fatal blow and would prove long in recovery. Yet just when Mary’s heart seemed to have splintered beyond repair, Godwin appeared to nurse her wounded spirit and ameliorate her melancholy disposition. Or rather, Mary presented herself to be healed, boldly knocking at the door of his London home on April 14, 1796 (Gordon, 293). Unlike many others of their time, Godwin accepted Mary into his social circle, despite the questionable nature of her so-called “marriage” to Imlay and the doubtful legitimacy of her daughter, Fanny. He did not shun Mary but “respected [her] for trampling upon the idiotic convention[s] by which women’s lives were tied down” (Woolf, 174). They soon resumed their once stormy relationship on more amiable grounds, attending the same dinners and visiting each other for tea, and by August of that year, friendship had ripened into love (Gordon, 312).

The nature of their love relationship was unconventional, to say the least. Their first attempts at love-making had been awkward and unsuccessful. They dined separately in the evenings and reunited in the late hours of the night. Their relationship remained a secret to the world. Contact mainly took the form of love letters, even though they lived right around the corner. Despite its strange clothing and inauspicious beginnings, this was love, and it proved to be exactly what the doctor ordered to mend Mary’s broken heart. Unlike her relationship with Imlay, what Mary shared with Godwin was a union based on friendship and mutual respect, with each party retaining their independence, as well as their residences. Unfortunately, as Godwin and Wollstonecraft faithfully adhered to misguided notions concerning contraception, their romance would not remain a secret for long. By late December 1796, Mary was sure she was pregnant and fully aware that she stood precariously between a rock and a hard place (Gordon, 327). The question of marriage plagued her. If she gave birth as Mrs. Imlay, her newborn child would be illegitimate. If she did marry Godwin, assuming he would consent to such a union, the true nature of her previous relationship with Imlay would be exposed and her daughter Fanny would be the bastard. Either way, Mary would be ostracized.

Both Godwin and Wollstonecraft knew that a decision must be made quickly, and so despite Mary’s former misgivings about marriage and Godwin’s public repudiation of the institution he termed the “worst of all laws,” the two were married quietly on March 29, 1797 and once the ceremony was over, returned to their separate lodgings as if nothing of import had occurred (Gordon quoting Political Justice (1793), 331). Communication continued by letter, and only in public did Wollstonecraft introduce herself as “Mary Godwin” (Gordon, 333). Yet even handled with such delicacy and tact, their marriage could not escape the public’s scathing response. As word got around that the two had wed, their supposed friends connected the dots and realized Mary’s marriage to Imlay was a fraud. With vicious alacrity, many within their social circle snubbed them, and though the numerous betrayals pained them, Wollstonecraft and Godwin knew they could not turn back and so held their heads high. Despite the derisive stares, Godwin had the “courage to love and honor this woman in the face of the world’s sentence” (Fuller, 149). In the meantime, Godwin’s attachment to Mary and Fanny grew, and both were anxious for the birth of their child. On August 30, 1797, after eighteen hours of labor and aided by a hospital midwife, Mary gave birth to a daughter, Mary Godwin (Gordon, 357-58).

Though the birth of their first child was supposed to be a happy and momentous occasion, serious complications arose. The placenta, which is usually discharged after a baby’s birth, did not come away but remained attached to the uterus. They soon called in a doctor who proceeded to “[pull] it out in bits, torturing and resuscitating his patient, and almost certainly introducing an infection” (Gordon, 359). A few days later, Mary showed the first signs of sepsis. Other doctors were brought in, but the prognosis was hopeless. Mary was dying. On September 9, with Mary looking worse than ever, Godwin stayed by her bed until one in the morning, until the doctor bid him sleep. He woke again at six and sat with Mary until she finally breathed her last at twenty minutes to eight on the tenth of September, 1797. His diary for that fatal day “sets down the precise time, underscored by there wordless lines across the page” (Gordon, 361).

Godwin did not attend his wife’s burial but stayed behind, distraught in his rooms. The pain soon pushed him to work, and almost immediately after his wife’s remains had been interred, he began reading her novels Mary, a Fiction (1788) and Maria; or the Wrongs of Woman (1798) and then proceeded to dive into her letters. With an obsessive dedication, Godwin spent the next several months formulating a biography of his wife, which he titled Memoirs of the Author of ‘A Vindication of the Rights of Woman’, to be published in January 1798 (Gordon, 364). Although Godwin’s intent was to present to the world a true biography of his beloved, indicative of her passion and her genius, her courage and her resilience, her trials and her triumphs, the public was less than pleased. Much of literate and well-bred society was shocked by Godwin’s frank portrayal of Wollstonecraft’s life, shocked not only by the sexual escapades and the attempted suicides it laid bare, but also by the apparent coldness with which Godwin had “stripped her naked,” as the poet Robert Southey remarked (372). Godwin revealed to the world everything concerning Wollstonecraft’s relations with Fuseli, Imlay and even Godwin himself, admitting that they only married to legitimize their unborn child, and so, through the publication of Memoirs, Wollstonecraft had become “a horrible example of voracious female sexuality run wild” (Myers, 301).Godwin even made a point of claiming that as Wollstonecraft lay upon her deathbed moments before her life passed away, “not one word of religious cast fell from her lips” (Memoirs, 118). The Memoirs were, in a word, and on many levels, scandalous. Despite Godwin’s good intentions, his biography tainted Mary Wollstonecraft’s reputation for decades to come. And it is only now that we can look back through the lens of time and see her life and their relationship for what they were. Only now can we examine their love story and discover what made it work.

            Through a careful examination of the published works and personal love letters of Mary Wollstonecraft and William Godwin, it becomes quite evident that beneath their passion lay a solid foundation of shared values and common beliefs. Wollstonecraft and Godwin adhered to similar moral codes and lived by the same core values, and among the most important of these was a firm belief in monogamy. Unlike the generation of “free love” Romantics that was to follow, Wollstonecraft and Godwin believed that love was between one man and one woman. As Wollstonecraft wrote in her Vindication of the Rights of Woman (1792), polygamy is a “physical degradation” that debases women in making them inferior to men, for “nature never intended that a man should have more than one wife” (147, 149). Mary still ached from the pain caused by Imlay’s infidelities, and she would not allow such a breach of trust to occur again. Although it proves difficult to find Godwin’s opinion concerning monogamy in his writings, “there was fidelity in all [his] relationships and, given his respect for women, it would be natural for him to extend fidelity to ‘the sensual intercourse’” (Gordon quoting Political Justice (1793), 313). Both had eyes only for each other, and more importantly, both recognized that friendship was key. In Godwin’s own words, their romance “was friendship melting into love” (Memoirs, 104). And in a similar vein, Wollstonecraft proclaimed that “love, from its very nature, must be transitory,” but “the most holy band of society is friendship” (Rights of Woman, 99).

            Another quality which both Wollstonecraft and Godwin valued in themselves and in each other was independence: independence of spirit, independence of thought, even independence of residence. “Independence I have long considered as the grand blessing of life, the basis of every virtue” (Wollstonecraft, Rights of Men, 67). Mary Wollstonecraft firmly believed that only when men and women were free and independent creatures capable of employing their own reason could they truly cultivate virtue, “for how can a being be generous who has nothing of its own? Or, virtuous, who is not free” (Wollstonecraft, Rights of Woman, 236)? Godwin wholeheartedly agreed. In his famous work Enquiry Concerning Political Justice (1793: first edition), Godwin eloquently wrote: “Man is an intellectual being. There is no way to make him virtuous but in calling forth his intellectual powers…but by making him independent” (Anarchist Writings quoting Political Justice (1798), 80). There was a definite understanding between the two that this was to be a union of independent equals. This independence even extended to their living arrangements. When the relationship first began, they lived in their own homes right down the street from each other, and when they married in March of 1797, nothing changed. They each retired to their individual residences as if nothing had happened. Both recognized the deleterious effects of dependence and servitude in a relationship, and both were determined to set a new precedent.

            When it came to issues of a more platonic and public nature, such as morality and politics, even then their views often aligned. Morality was a major issue for both of these philosophical and political writers. Godwin, on the one hand, had an entirely utilitarian approach to morality and ethics. He believed that “morality is that system of conduct which is determined by a consideration of the greatest general good,” “that system which teaches us to contribute upon all occasions, to the extent of our power, to the well-being and happiness of every intellectual and sensitive existence” (Anarchist Writings quoting Political Justice, 64). And virtues were those qualities which tended to produce the greatest general good. Godwin adhered to a very strict, clear, concise view of morality. All moral questions were presented in black and white; there was no gray area, no conflict, never an instance of two opposing goods. For Mary Wollstonecraft, however, morality often did pose a conflict between opposing interests. Mary fully recognized the societal benefits that could result from a utilitarian take on morality; this view even played into her argument for women’s rights: “Would men but generously snap our chains, and be content with rational fellowship instead of slavish obedience, they would find us more observant daughters, more affectionate sisters, more faithful wives, more reasonable mothers – in a word, better citizens” (Wollstonecraft, Rights of Woman, 240). If women were but free and educated citizens, they would be able to use their reason to develop virtue, thereby becoming beacons of true morality instead of golden idols of false modesty. But Wollstonecraft’s view on morality was not so clear-cut, for she also recognized the importance of domestic ties in the cultivation of virtue. “Public affections, as well as public virtues, must ever grow out of the private character,” for it is the “exercise of youthful sympathies” that “forms the moral temperature” (256). For Wollstonecraft, it is those domestic affections and that sense of familial duty that give children their first taste of virtue, their first glimpse of a moral life. “Till esteem and love are blended together in the first affection…morality will stumble at the threshold” (250).

            There are also many parallels between the sociopolitical views of Wollstonecraft and Godwin, and both philosophers would remain quite vocal about them throughout their lives. Both harbored an intense antipathy to tyranny, whether it be in the form of monarchical power or outright despotism. To Wollstonecraft and Godwin, oppressive tyrants are the assassins of reason and the thieves of virtue. “Tyranny, in whatever part of society it rears its brazen front, will ever undermine morality” (Wollstonecraft, Rights of Men, 69). When despotic men and governmental bodies rule with an iron fist and an ambitious but empty mind, all of humanity is debased. When people are systematically oppressed by a despotic regime, they are deprived of the ability to let their own reason dictate their judgment as well as the potential to cultivate the virtue that enables them to become willingly good citizens instead of mindless slaves. Godwin believed that political government was nothing more than “organized deception” and describes it as “that brute engine…the only perennial cause of the vices of mankind” (Davidson, 601; Godwin, Anarchist Writings quoting Political Justice, 92).

 And it is not just the institutionalized forms of tyranny which both Wollstonecraft and Godwin attack; they also use their pens and voices to target the arbitrary and oppressive power that arises in society due to social inequality and class distinctions. In a denunciation of the class system, Godwin poses a rhetorical question: “Can any system be more worthy of disapprobation than that which converts nineteen-twentieths of [‘the whole human species’] into beasts of burden, annihilates so much thought, renders impossible so much virtue, and extirpates so much happiness” (Anarchist Writings quoting Political Justice, 110)? To Godwin and Mary, the hereditary powers and privileges of the aristocracy prove to be some of the most corruptive and corrosive forms of tyranny. “The defects of civilization occur largely because privilege – especially that which is unearned – prevents individuals from developing their capacities, and allows them to sink into ‘vice’” (Duran quoting Rights of Woman, 111). In Wollstonecraft’s own words: “The indolent puppet of a court first becomes a luxurious monster, or fastidious sensualist, and then makes the contagion which his unnatural state spread, the instrument of tyranny” (Rights of Woman, 86).

 While both Wollstonecraft and Godwin recognize that the lesser tyrants generated by the class system are merely reflections of the greater tyrants at the national, institutionalized level, Mary Wollstonecraft goes a step further, claiming that the seeds of tyranny have been sewn in the family as well, when the husband oppresses his wife and the father tyrannizes over his children. And domestic tyranny is just as inimical to society, if not more so, than the despotism practiced by the monarch or the noble, for as Wollstonecraft wrote in her Vindication of the Rights of Men (1790), “Tyrants of every denomination, from the weak king to the weak father of a family…are all eager to crush reason” (69). It is this close examination of the extant tyranny of her time that allowed Wollstonecraft to bridge the tyranny of men over men to the same tyranny that men inflict upon women. “Riches and hereditary honours have made cyphers of women,” while “idleness has produced a mixture of gallantry and despotism into society, which leads…men…to tyrannize over their sisters, wives, and daughters,” and the result of such despotic conduct can be nothing but the debasement of all (Wollstonecraft, Rights of Woman,93). “[Women] may be convenient slaves, but slavery will have its constant effect, degrading the master and the abject dependent” (Rights of Men, 69).

 Unlike Godwin, Wollstonecraft has a feminist agenda. Throughout her life, and most poignantly and persuasively in her 1792 work A Vindication of the Rights of Woman, Wollstonecraft fought for the civil rights and intellectual freedom of one half of the human race, arguing that female independence and equality would benefit not only the individual women but society as a whole. Independence “was the first necessity for a woman; not grace or charm, but energy and courage and the power to put her will into effect were her necessary qualities” (Woolf, 169-70). Education and citizenship were also key components of Wollstonecraft’s feminist program, for it was her belief that “society as a whole can function more efficiently – and make best use of the talents of its individual members – if all are educated and taught to make good use of their personal characteristics and talents;” “the well-educated woman with a formed mind is a better companion and parent than one who has never been allowed to learn” (Duran, 113, 108).  And therefore, “to render [a woman] really virtuous and useful, she must not…want, individually, the protection of civil laws” (Wollstonecraft, Rights of Woman, 236). Wollstonecraft believed that when every individual was recognized as a citizen and a valued member of society, virtue would flourish and all would benefit. Although it is difficult to ascertain Godwin’s views on women’s rights, as his political works almost exclusively refer to men, his support of his wife’s endeavors and his respect for her views as well as his publishing of some of her political works after her death all suggest that though he may not have been an outspoken feminist, he saw the merit in a fight for women’s rights. Even if he could not agree with her, he would be forced to respect her views, for “she lived a life completely in tune with her call for liberty and freedom…Few women can have lived as completely an embodied life of freedom as Wollstonecraft” (Duran, 107-8).

 Where Wollstonecraft and Godwin really begin to diverge, however, is in the domains of religion and personality. Religion had always been a touchy subject for the two. When they first met at Joseph Johnson’s home in 1791, religion was one of the few subjects on which they spoke, or rather, argued. William Godwin was an outspoken and unyielding atheist. To him, “religion was the generous ebullition of men who let their imaginations loose on the grandest of subjects, and wandered without restraint in the unbounded field of enquiry” (Godwin, Anarchist Writings quoting Political Justice, 86).Mary, on the other hand, while no adherent to an established religion, was a lifelong believer in the reason, beauty and grace of God. It was her firm conviction that “access to God is through reason rather than mindless faith or overheated enthusiasm…For Wollstonecraft, eros [“– the love which links humanity to the divine”] was the core of the religious experience” (Taylor, “For the Love of God”, 108-9). Mary ardently believed that God is the source of all reason, the genitor of all virtue, the bestower of purpose to life. To her mind, reason was “an emanation of divinity, the tie that connects the creature with the Creator;” and “the only solid foundation for morality” was “the character of the supreme Being” (Rights of Woman, 127, 118).

To Mary Wollstonecraft, “adoring and identifying with the divine is the true foundation of self-respect” (Taylor, “For the Love of God”, 129). While traveling amidst the rugged terrain of Scandinavia, Mary witnessed divinity in every sight her eyes beheld, feeling God’s divine presence in every breath she drew. “I pause, again breathless, to trace, with renewed delight, sentiments which entranced me, when, turning my humid eyes from the expanse below the vault above, my sight pierced the fleecy clouds that softened the azure brightness; and, imperceptibly recalling the reveries of childhood, I bowed before the awful throne of my Creator, whilst I rested on its footstool” (Wollstonecraft, Short Residence, 46). Mary Wollstonecraft found “communion with God in solitude” (Taylor, “Mary Wollstonecraft and the Solitary Self”). And God played an integral, if not foundational, part in every political theory or philosophical opinion Wollstonecraft ever conceived. This kind of conviction undoubtedly caused some tension between husband and wife but obviously not enough to render an intimate relationship intolerable.

In addition to their irreconcilable religious beliefs, Wollstonecraft and Godwin also differed in terms of personality and temperament. Godwin was a man of cold, hard reason, of a calculating and cautious mind. He was generally reserved and detached, disinclined to forge emotional attachments. He possessed a great mind but an inexperienced heart. In his Memoirs (1798), Godwin described how he felt when he fell in love with Mary: “I had never loved till now; or, at least, had never nourished a passion to the same growth, or met with an object so consummately worthy” (105). In a letter dated October 6, 1796, Mary asked Godwin if he could be gay without effort, and he replied later that afternoon, in French, no, not without effort (Letters, 42-3). Mary Wollstonecraft, on the other hand, while possessing no less genius, was a woman consumed by the throes of passion. “For years have I endeavoured to calm an impetuous tide – laboring to make my feelings take an orderly course, – It was striving against the stream. – I must love and admire with warmth, or I sink into sadness” (Short Residence, 46). The violence of her emotions is especially evident in her Letters Written during a Short Residence in Sweden, Norway and Denmark (1796), where, in the span of the same day, she relishes in the sublime and natural beauty of the surrounding scene one moment only to drown in the melancholy of her relationship with Imlay the next. Yet despite the conflicting and intense emotions she often feels, she never regrets or bemoans her passionate spirit, for “it is far better to be often deceived than never to trust; to be disappointed in love than never to love” (Wollstonecraft, Rights of Woman, 182).

Although Wollstonecraft and Godwin did not agree on everything, they had similarities enough between them to compensate for their disagreements and the maturity to respect their differences. Despite Godwin’s claim that his wife never appealed to God on her deathbed, he demonstrated earlier in his Memoirs (1798) the profound respect he had for the self-formulated religious views of his wife and equal. “‘When [Mary] walked amidst the wonders of nature, she was accustomed to converse with her God…Her religion was almost entirely of her own creation…The tenets of her system were the growth of her own moral taste, and her religion therefore had always been a gratification, never a terror to her’” (Gordon quoting Memoirs, 370-1). Differing religious beliefs were not enough to separate them, and neither were differing personalities. It is even quite possible that their contrary dispositions drew them closer together. Mary’s passion and Godwin’s stoicism may have complemented each other very well, filling a void in each other’s souls. Each saw what was missing in the other, and together, they were complete. They were each other’s match, each other’s equal and counterpart. Mary taught Godwin how to love, and Godwin, in return, provided Mary with the stability she needed amidst a life of tumultuous passion. And so even though they disagreed on theological issues and often had conflicting temperaments, as evident from their first meeting and their many letters, Wollstonecraft and Godwin were able to overlook their differences, recognize their similarities and forge a loving bond based on friendship, independence, and mutual respect.

Now that the foundational fabric of their relationship has been established, one can begin to consider another larger question: Had Mary survived childbirth, would her marriage to Godwin have survived as well? This question proves much more difficult to answer because all roads lead to speculation and surmise. But an attempt to reach some probable conclusion is possible. Few authors have touched upon this topic, and I had at first been settled upon the belief that their union would have indeed lasted, well past the birth of Mary Godwin, if not until death did them part. Their ideological similarities and complementary dispositions appeared to me to make them a perfect match. But on the 12th of April, 2007, I attended a lecture at the University of Notre Dame given by Professor Barbara Taylor of the University of East London entitled “Mary Wollstonecraft and the Solitary Self,” and in the question-and-answer session that followed, Professor Taylor professed her opinion that the Wollstonecraft-Godwin relationship would have collapsed because Wollstonecraft was ultimately of a self-destructive nature. She did not know how to handle love; she did not know how to love and be loved in a healthy, positive way.

I had initially been of the unconditional belief that they could have made it work, but now it seems that I will have to qualify my argument in order to preserve my original sentiment, for I cannot ignore Professor Taylor’s point. Mary’s self-destructiveness is evident throughout her life, from her bouts with melancholy in Scandinavia to her dual attempts at suicide. Mary was raised in a family devoid of love. Her father was an abusive alcoholic who squandered his daughters’ dowries to maintain that vile habit, and her mother’s spirit had broken and retreated under his heavy beatings. Her older brother had been the favorite of her parents and the heir to the entire estate. Mary had never known love, so how could she know how to love? Godwin was a self-proclaimed novice in the art of love, so he could not teach her, and Imlay had proved a poor model for the love that Mary needed. It would seem that the optimistic scholar has reached an impasse, but this is where my argument will bridge the gap and rescue the Wollstonecraft-Godwin union from the barrage of criticism. Mary may not have known love when she was growing up. She may not have had a guide who could teach her the way to love, but this lack of a tutor poses no problem; it is the assumption that one needs a tutor in love at all that is to blame. A child needs no teacher to show him how to love his mother. A mother needs no guide to teach her how to love her son, for the seeds of love were sewn through mutual affection.

The same goes for Mary and Godwin. Love is a road marked by self-discovery, not a guided tour. They might not have known how to love at the start, but they figured it out along the way. Mary’s relationship with Imlay failed because he did not share her values; Imlay had taken a different route and he could not provide her with the kind of love she needed. Godwin, on the other hand, was faithful and honest. Godwin presented one face to the world and one face alone, and so Mary was never deluded by a false image as she was with Imlay’s virtuous frontiersman persona. Mary and Godwin may have been neophytes at love, but they were brave enough to try, knowing it would not be easy. Mary’s self-destructiveness could have easily destroyed whatever bond they shared, especially when confronted with Godwin’s habitual reserve, but I truly believe they could have made their marriage work. Their love would have lasted because their shared values directed them to the same destination; they expected and desired the same things from their relationship. They each recognized the void in themselves that only the other could fill. True love may have been a mystery to them, but they would have discovered it together along the way, for theirs was a marriage between friends, a union of equals, a bond sparked by passion and tempered by mutual respect, and it would have passed the test of time.

Whether or not one agrees with my argument for the ultimate sustainability of their relationship, a greater question is this: Does their union serve as a model for modern marriage? My initial response is yes and no. Although the observable nature of their marriage is incompatible with the demands and social conditions of contemporary life, the foundation of their relationship remains an exemplary model for all to follow. Wollstonecraft and Godwin lived apart before and after their marriage, communicating for the most part by letter. They did so in order to preserve their mutual independence (as well as to escape the watchful eyes of meddlesome neighbors), for both believed that marriage was a risky and often harmful arrangement. To Godwin, cohabitation was “an evil” that “checks the independent progress of mind,” a sign of “cowardice,” while “the institution of marriage is a system of fraud” (Anarchist Writings quoting Political Justice, 82). “Marriage is law, and the worst of all laws…an affair of property, and the worst of all properties…the most odious of all monopolies” by which “two human beings are forbidden by positive institution to follow the dictates of their own mind” (83). Mary felt the same way, except from a more feminist perspective, because to her marriage was often a form of “legal prostitution,” an arrangement that enslaved the wife and chained her to the home, making her the helpless dependent of her husband (Rights of Woman, 239). She was quick to recognize that the “physical limitations placed on women by the social demands of marriage” were inimical to a woman’s health and emotional well-being (Duran, 109). And after all, Wollstonecraft and Godwin only married to legitimize their child: “The principal motive for complying with this ceremony was the circumstance of Mary’s being in a state of pregnancy” (Godwin, Memoirs, 106). The forced nature of their marriage hardly seems to merit exemplar status.

But this is where the social changes since their time come into play. The physical manifestations of their married life seem odd to contemporary readers but that is only because the times have changed. People today are not burdened by the same pressures as they were. The social conditions which produced their marriage and its unconventional characteristics for the most part no longer exist. Women are now citizens. They enjoy the same legal rights and privileges as men. Women can work outside of the home and provide for their own subsistence without the critical and often disapproving scrutiny of the public eye. Women can be independent, self-sufficient wage earners, and they have been recognized as valuable, irreplaceable members of society. If Wollstonecraft and Godwin had lived in today’s world, they could have married and lived together without fear of losing their independence, and probably would have done so considering the financial benefits and convenience of marriage and cohabitation. And if they had not wished to marry, they need not have felt forced because the social pressures that demanded their marriage lest they suffer the public’s contemptuous gaze have largely diminished. Men and women no longer feel forced to marry upon conceiving a child. Many times, marriage is the result of an unexpected pregnancy, but this need not be the case. Children born out of wedlock are no longer the scorned and ostracized creatures they once were. Mary and Godwin could have lived together, married or not, and had children without the fear of public denigration.

Yet where the physical manifestations of their marriage fall short to modern standards and expectations, the basis of their relationship remains a timeless paradigm for all to emulate. Wollstonecraft and Godwin may not have known much about married life, but they had what was required to make it work. They possessed the very values and principles prescribed for a healthy and lifelong relationship. Like many love relationships, Mary and Godwin had the passion to spark the fire, but unlike many, they also had the solid foundation to keep it going. The two most important components of this foundation were their friendship and their independence. To Wollstonecraft, “friendship is a serious affection; the most sublime of all affections, because it is founded on principle, and cemented by time;” its “calm tenderness” provides the backbone for marriage once the “fever of love” has subsided (Rights of Woman, 151, 99). And even Godwin attests in his Memoirs (1798) that their love began as a friendship. Independence was also a key factor in the foundation of their relationship. Godwin firmly believed that “individuality is of the very essence of intellectual excellence…The truly venerable, and the truly happy, must have the fortitude to maintain his individuality;” “Every man ought to feel his independence, that he can assert the principles of justice and truth” (Anarchist Writings quoting Of Population (1820) p.614 and Essays (1873) p.219, 60-1). Mary Wollstonecraft also recognized independence as a requisite for the application of reason and the cultivation of virtue. For her, independence was the source of “true grace” and “the basis of every virtue;” “every being may become virtuous by the exercise of its own reason” (Rights of Woman, 174, 67, 89).

In addition to their mutual emphasis on friendship and independence, Mary Wollstonecraft and William Godwin also turned out to be the right people for each other, and finding one’s soul mate can often prove much more difficult than finding someone who simply shares one’s values. But somehow, Mary and Godwin found each other; they discovered in each other an intellectual equal and an emotional counterpart. “They schooled each other, mutually tempering their complementary natures, the stoic and the impetuous,…tentatively learning to meld the rational and the romantic into a new fusion, a hope of human wholeness based on unreserved communion” (Myers, 304). Godwin “found in his wife the instructor in emotion he needed” (Myers, 305). And his second edition of Memoirs (1798) recognizes the change that Mary wrought in him, for in a “crucially important autobiographical note…he finds Political Justice ‘essentially defective, in…not yielding a proper attention to the empire of feeling” (Myers quoting Political Justice (1793), 310). Wollstonecraft and Godwin realized that they were each other’s missing piece. Opposites attract for a reason, for together, they were whole. Mary’s passion balanced Godwin’s reserve, and their strong, assertive personalities and keen intellects were sure to keep things interesting. They respected each other, even and especially where they differed. But it was their shared beliefs and common values that allowed a friendship to flourish in the first place. And that is why they continue to serve as a model for modern marriage, or at least its foundation, for they were part reflection and part completion of each other, and that is the mean which every couple seeks but few every find.

Mary Wollstonecraft and William Godwin lived at a time when social and sexual equality were not the norm, and their intimate union and ultimate marriage were anything but conventional. And yet somehow, they made it work. They forged a bond based on friendship, independence and mutual respect that was only strengthened by common values and shared beliefs, and because of this solid base, they would have succeeded where others had failed. They may not have lived together and they may have been forced to legalize their union due to an unexpected pregnancy, and so in these respects, they do seem an inappropriate model for modern marriage, but these details are merely the surface truths of their relationship. The way marriages are conducted and nurtured will change with the dawning of every new age, but the foundation of their love story, the values and principles and complementary dispositions that forged their bond and strengthened their mutual affection, will forever serve as a paradigm for modern love. Human society may change, but human nature will forever seek the same kind of love and emotional fulfillment that it has sought for ages past, and this love story, of two philosophers who were lucky enough to find each other amidst the political upheaval and social inequity of their time, is a revelation of this very truth because it stills speaks to the modern world with the same force and undying passion which it evinced over two-hundred years ago.