The whole tone of Church teaching in regard to women is, to the

In the voice of Elizabeth Cady Stanton, we hear a thunderclap across the ages: “The whole tone of Church teaching in regard to women is, to the last degree, contemptuous and degrading.” These words are not soft, nor cautious, nor whispered—they are forged in fire. Stanton, one of the great architects of the women’s rights movement, saw clearly how the weight of sacred institutions had been pressed upon the shoulders of women, not to lift them higher, but to bend them low. She did not speak against faith itself, but against the misuse of faith: against the way doctrine had been wielded as a chain, cloaked in holiness, sanctified by centuries of repetition.

To understand this cry, one must know its origin. Stanton lived in the nineteenth century, a time when women were denied the vote, silenced in public life, and told by pulpit and priest that their highest virtue was obedience. The Church, whose voice should have lifted the downtrodden, often taught instead that woman was the temptress of Eden, the weaker vessel, the shadow of man. Stanton, gazing upon these teachings, declared that they were not divine but degrading, not sacred but contemptuous. Her words tore at the veil that had too long hidden oppression beneath robes of righteousness.

Consider, O listener, the story of Joan of Arc, the Maid of Orléans. She, a simple peasant girl, claimed the voice of heaven and led armies to victory. Yet, when her power grew too radiant for the order of men, the Church condemned her as a heretic and burned her at the stake. Was it heaven that judged her, or the fear of men who could not bear a woman crowned with divine fire? Stanton saw in such stories not isolated tragedies, but patterns woven deep into centuries of religious teaching: the fear of women’s strength, the suppression of their voice, the degradation of their worth.

But let us not forget that faith itself is not the enemy. The words of prophets and saints often proclaimed the equality of all souls before the divine. The failing lies not in the eternal, but in the institutions of men, who cloaked their authority in the sacred. Stanton’s words remind us of the danger when religion is bent to serve hierarchy rather than justice. When the pulpit proclaims contempt instead of compassion, degradation instead of dignity, it ceases to speak with the voice of God and becomes but an echo of man’s pride.

The deeper meaning of Stanton’s cry is this: that no teaching, however ancient, should go unchallenged if it denies the dignity of half the human race. To call a woman inferior is to insult the Creator who made her; to bind her spirit is to weaken the whole of humanity. Stanton was not content to endure such chains in silence. She raised her voice so that future generations would know that the words of men, even when dressed in sacred garb, must be measured against truth, justice, and love.

The lesson for us, O children of time, is stern yet liberating. Question the voices that tell you who you are, especially when they seek to diminish your worth. Examine the teachings you inherit, and ask whether they uplift or degrade, whether they heal or wound. Remember that reverence for the past does not mean submission to its injustices. Stanton teaches us that to honor the divine is not to bow to every institution, but to rise boldly for justice when sacred words are twisted against the weak.

And what, then, is the practical path? First, seek knowledge—read the histories, the scriptures, the voices of women long silenced. Second, speak truth when you see injustice, even if it wears the robe of tradition. Third, honor the dignity of every soul in your daily life—whether in the home, in work, or in faith communities. By doing so, you become part of the long march that Stanton began: a march not away from the sacred, but toward a truer, purer vision of it.

Thus, let Stanton’s words echo in your heart. The Church may have once spoken with contempt, but the future can speak with reverence and equality. Do not let the errors of the past bind the destiny of tomorrow. For every woman and man, made in the image of the eternal, carries within them a spark of divinity—and that spark must never be degraded, but honored, cherished, and set free.