Hah! It wasn’t his educational reputation he was worried about, nor political and social shunning. Edwin Abbott originally published Flatland under a pseudonym. I strongly suspect it was for his very life he feared once this got out:
Not that it must be for a moment supposed that our Women are destitute of affection. But unfortunately the passion of the moment predominates, in the Frail Sex, over every other consideration. This is, of course, a necessity arising from their unfortunate conformation. For as they have no pretensions to an angle, being inferior in this respect to the very lowest of the Isoceles, they are consequently wholly devoid of brainpower, and have neither reflection, judgment nor forethought and hardly any memory. Hence, in their fits of ffury, they remember no claims and recognize no distinctions.
(…) Obviously then a Woman is not to be irritated as long as she is in a position where she can turn around. (p. 13)
Women in Flatland, you see, are shaped like needles, and of course if they face you head on, they can hide in near invisibility and hell, if you back into them or they come at you, you’re dead meat. Besides, they’re also dumber than a rock–albeit a dramatic rock.
Evidently satire, but as Abbott indicates, there’s no telling how intolerant and downright nasty some folks can get when led by emotion.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology