Sex education classes are like in-home sales parties for

Hear the voice of Phyllis Schlafly, a woman of fierce conviction, who stood as a defender of what she believed to be the moral order of society. She declared with fire: “Sex education classes are like in-home sales parties for abortions.” These words, born out of the cultural battles of the twentieth century in America, are not soft whispers but sharp arrows meant to pierce the conscience. Whether one agrees or not with her cause, her words reveal the deep fear that instruction without virtue may become corruption, that guidance without morality may become seduction.

For to Schlafly, sex education was not a neutral tool, but a dangerous path that could normalize and encourage what she saw as immorality. She believed that by teaching the young about physical intimacy outside of the context of chastity, family, and marriage, society was preparing them not for virtue but for vice. Her metaphor of “sales parties” was no accident. Just as merchants entice buyers with promises of convenience, she argued that schools might entice youth into choices that could end in despair—choices that would make abortion appear not as tragedy, but as convenience.

The origin of such fiery words lies in the great debates of the 1960s and 70s, when cultural revolutions shook long-standing traditions. As America debated women’s rights, the legalization of abortion, and the place of religion in public life, Schlafly rose as a prominent voice for conservatism. She saw herself as standing against a tide that sought to replace restraint with indulgence. In her view, education without moral grounding was a weapon turned against the innocence of children.

History has shown that she was not the first to sound such alarms. In ancient times, Plato warned that the education of youth must be carefully guarded, for the lessons instilled in the young would shape the destiny of the polis. Likewise, early Christian leaders urged that children be raised with virtue foremost, for knowledge without righteousness was like a sword in the hands of a madman. In this same tradition, Schlafly’s words can be heard as a cry: beware of instruction that teaches skill without guiding the soul.

One might consider the example of societies where sexual freedom was embraced without moral compass, and the consequences that followed. In Rome’s decline, decadence grew, family bonds weakened, and discipline faltered. Many historians trace part of the empire’s fall to the erosion of its moral fabric. Schlafly’s warning echoes such lessons: that if a culture exalts pleasure above virtue, it will find its foundations cracking beneath it.

Yet, even in her sharpness, there lies a truth worth meditating on: education, whatever its form, is never neutral. Every lesson carries values, spoken or unspoken. If sex education is taught without responsibility, it may indeed shape choices that lead to sorrow. If taught with virtue, it may safeguard lives. The danger Schlafly saw was not simply in knowledge itself, but in knowledge unmoored from morality, offered without reverence for the sacredness of life.

Therefore, O listener, take the lesson deeper than the argument of one age. Remember this: whatever you teach the young, you do not merely instruct their minds—you shape their souls. Let education be guided by virtue, let instruction be anchored in wisdom, and let all knowledge be taught in the service of life rather than its destruction. Whether in matters of sexuality, power, or wealth, knowledge without morality can destroy, but knowledge with virtue can save.

And so, heed Schlafly’s warning not merely as a call in a single battle, but as an eternal truth: education is powerful, and power must be guided by principle. Whatever your beliefs on the matter, let this lesson endure—that the shaping of the young is sacred, and every word spoken to them is a seed planted for the future of nations.