from the particular to the general; without losing the particular he grasps together the whole realm of the particular in the general, or, in more significant language, in mastering the cause of anything he grasps together and comprehends an indefinite series of effects. He is not obliged to hold the details, that is to say, memorize all the facts and hold their details in a store-house. He can see them all in a principle; he can see in a cause its possible consequences. Understanding the meteoric process he can readily explain any step in it-clouds, rain, snow, evaporation, fog, etc. Without this knowledge of the general, which always rests on some insight into causal process real or supposed, man would be bound down to the present fact before his senses. But with this knowledge man is able to see in the present fact its past history; he is able, moreover, to see in the present fact its future as a possible fact, which he may realize by an act of his will.

Man differs from the animal in this great power of seeing ideals and in reinforcing sense-perception by adding to each thing or fact before his senses the vision of its past and the vision of its future. Man thus becomes comprehending; he explains the fact by its process of evolution; he becomes practical or a will power through effecting some change or modification in the thing or fact in order to realize his vision of its ideal.

A false psychology tells us that we derive all our knowledge from sense perception. We see form or shape and color; feel, taste, smell, or hear, hardness, flavor, odor, and sound; but we do not by any of these learn the idea of causal process. This comes through thinking and is an original acquisition which thinking mind brings with it. By this idea of causal process all the data of sense are transformed radically. They are given us in sense perception as independent realities. In thinking them by the aid of causality we make all these matters of sense perception into phenomena, or effects and manifestations of underlying causes which are not visible or tangible, not flavors, sounds, nor odors.

No generalization is possible without ascending from the immediate thing or fact to the causal energy. By their common causal energy we unite objects into classes, we unite the various heterogeneous things such as acorns, oak-leaves, roots, saplings, trees, oak-wood in one causal process of the oak.

Without the idea of causality we could never distinguish external objects from our feelings, and hence experience never could begin. Man goes back from the fact to its producing cause. But he goes back of its producing cause to a deeper cause that unites two or more series of producing causes, back of the oak and pine to tree in general; back of tree and grass and lichen to plant in general; back of plant and animal to life in general. Man's power of thought rises from thing to cause and from cause to cause, leaving a smaller and smaller residuum of mere sense-data and yet getting nearer the underlying reality which causes all these sense-data.

This is the great point for educators to observe. We do not get at the true reality by sense-perception but by thought. Force is never perceived directly by the senses; a thing is here and a thing is there, but motion is not perceived, only inferred; force is only inferred. Thought puts together this fact and that, this present one and that past one, and unites them by the idea of causality, and the idea of force is born.

So thought produces the idea of space, pure space containing all, infinite in extent, and yet not material, not to be perceived by any of the senses. With the ideas of space and time-ideas that thought generates of itself in order to think the data of sense-perception into a consistent whole-with these ideas of space and time the idea of quantity is evolved and mathematics becomes possible.

In mathematics man beholds not merely a few data of sense-perception but the universal conditions of all sense-perception. The laws of quantity, as formulated in arithmetic, geometry, and the calculus, give us the logical conditions of the existence of all matter and all motion, not only all that exists, but all that may or can exist.

Now this must be borne in mind when we make comparison of the educational effect on the mind of a child produced by learning arithmetic and geometry with that produced by learning how to make a box or a joint, or weld two pieces of iron. Grant that all these processes are educative, at least in the first process of their acquirement. To make a box requires special applications of knowledge of a special kindmeasurement, adaptation, dividing with the saw, the use of the hammer and nails. It is special, and there is something learned regarding the texture of wood and nails, some skill or knack acquired in the hand-' ling of tools-some pleasurable feeling of self at the consciousness of what one can accomplish by his labor. But in the study of mathematics there is an immeasurably higher feeling of self in the perception of the power of the intellect not merely to know passively, but to know actively, not merely to know the small portion of the universe presented to its immediate senses, but to know the conditions of existence of all matter near and remote, now, in the past, and in all future time. What a glimpse of the dignity and commanding eminence of mind arises through the study of geometry! The three angles of any triangle are equal to two right angles-the pupil need never measure one real triangle to know this. On the basis of the ratios of the sides of the rightangled triangle to one another man proceeds to measure all things inaccessible to manual measurement; he measures the distance of the sun and of the fixed stars. Compare the feeling of selfhood that is gained by the soul in the use of the tools of thought with that gained by any form of manual labor.

In learning arithmetic the boy learns to quantify and measure all. things numerically. It is not co-ordinate with the knowledge of carpentering, but it underlies it; at least there can be no use of the carpenter's rule without some arithmetic.

But the school studies are for the most part given to a knowledge of human nature and human combination rather than to a knowledge of material things. This is due to the fact already seen, namely, that man is a social being, and is all that he is as a spiritual being-an educative being through this fact of organized existence in institutions. AH science, all literature, all art, the whole world of learning, in fact, takes its rise in man's dependence on society. Society is the miraculous instrumentality by which each individual aids every other, and in turn is aided by all. In food, clothing, and shelter he brings by commerce all productions of all climes to his market, collecting from all and distributing to each.

In matters of human experience it is still better, because the aggregate of human wisdom does not have to be divided in distributing it. Each man may receive it whole if he will only learn the symbols in which it is stored up. If a child will learn how to read and write he may learn the experience of the race through the countless ages of its existence. He may, by scientific books and periodicals, see the world through the senses of myriads of trained specialists devoting whole lives to the inventory of nature. What is immensely more than this, he may think with their brains and assist his feeble powers of observation and reflection by the gigantic aggregate of the mental labor of the race. This is the great meaning of school education: to give to the pupil the use of the means for availing himself of the mental products of the race. Compared with what he receives from the race, the productions of the most original of men are a mere speck in a wide field of view. Every one may add something to the aggregate of the world's knowledge, but he must, if he is educated and rises above the brute, receive infinitely more than he gives.

Hence, in comparing the educative effect of learning to read with the educative effect of learning the carpenter's trade, we must consider this difference of scope. The one leads to knowledge of a few tools and a limited sphere of the botany of trees--an empirical, but not scientific, knowledge of a few wood textures, a few simple processes of combination into shapes for use or ornament-all of which brings also a limited knowledge of self and of human nature. Its whole educative effect is exhausted in a brief time at the manual training school; for we are told by authorities that manual training for educative purposes must not be carried far enough to produce skill. On the other hand, the education of learning to read, although it is an efficient process of education while in school, yet it is followed by its greatest educative effects afterward throughout life; for the person is destined to use this knowledge of reading daily as a key by which to unlock the treasures of all human learning. The school has given him possession of the means of permanent and continuous self-education. It is the difference between a piece of baked bread, which nourishes for the day, and the seed-corn, which is

1 See Professor Woodward's excellent remarks on the educative limits of manual training in his book.

the possibility of countless harvests. Education that educates the child in the art of self-education is that which the aggregate experience of mankind has chosen for the school. The course of study involves the mastery of letters or the means of intercommunication with the race; the means, too, of preserving the harvest of observation and reflection. It, moreover, involves the use of letters in certain fundamental studies, so as to show the pupil how to master the great general classes of books. It initiates him into the use of mathematical books, showing him how to understand them by persistent attention and thought, showing him that memorizing the words of the arithmetic does not master the book, but that it is necessary to think out for one's self every statement and see the necessity of it. The mathematical province of letters reveals to the child the realm of man's victory over nature, because having invented mathematics it is only a question of detail-"divide and conquer"-to subdue all nature.

Then comes geography, lifting a curtain and showing the child his race divided into peoples and nations round the globe, all working at something that he himself needs, and the spectacle of the world-com. merce bringing to him over all seas the desired articles.

Then there is history, lifting another curtain and showing the doings of man in the past. Man reveals human nature by his actions. Each one reveals to himself a small fragment of human nature, but he does not know much of human nature until he looks into history; for history reveals the higher self of man as organized in institutions. For the first time man comes to know his substantial self when he comes to study history. His little self beholds his colossal self.

Then there is literature, which shows in its prose and poetry the collisions which individuals have made with institutions-Macbeth and Othello, Paris and Helen, Œdipus and Faust. It completes for us the revelation of human nature, and more than all other studies is humanizing and civilizing. The school initiates the child into this realm through the intense bursts of impassioned prose and poetry that the school readers contain, showing in these all the varieties of style to be mastered, and how to master them; how to ascend from the mere colloquial vocabulary, which the child brings with him from the family, to the literary styles adequate to express deep thought or fine shades of emotion.

The school also makes a study of language in itself-it teaches grammar, the most difficult of all school studies, and the most educative of subtle powers of thought.

But, it is objected to me here: Does not nature give us the material of thought, and language only the symbols of thought? Is not language an arbitrary symbol and nature the eternal reality? I remember saying this once myself when I was a youth in college, and the thought so oppressed my mind that I did not have patience to remain and graduate, but I left college midway in the course.

Afterward, when I came to clear up my thoughts, I began to see

that I lived in two worlds-the world of nature and the world of man. Moreover, the world of man was much more complex than that of nature, and, strange as it then seemed, the world of man was really much closer to me than the world of nature. It enwrapped me, so to speak, like a garment-a clothing for the mind. Think of nature with its two kingdoms, the organic and inorganic, and the human world with its three provinces,—the realizations of (1) the will; (2) of the intellect; (3) of the creative imagination. For example, there is the province of institutions, with laws and customs and usages, national forms of government, religious systems, moral codes, political methods, etc., as the embodiment of human will, revealing the nature of human will, just as the habits of ants and bees reveal ant and bee nature. If things and realities are the material of thought, what material of thought is so important for our examination as human institutional growth? Is it a product of arbitrary will? It is at least as much a reality as the habits and actions of animals and plants in which the botanist and zoölogist discover the nature of animals and plants. More than this, these laws and customs are the most dread reality that we know of. It is a matter of life and death to ignore the laws of the state-it is a matter of wasting all one's strength uselessly to disobey the behests of custom, however slight. What is so close to man as his wrappage of customs and usages? This is his bond of union with his fellow-men.

If it is admitted that these products of man's will are realities and material for thought, think of their vast complexity and extent. But the products of man's intellect are the multifarious sciences, and fragments of sciences, all his philosophic theories and all his inventions in the arts. Within this division there is the province of language-a vast complex system with a structure all its own, yet revealing the structure of thought itself, just as forms and usages and laws reveal the nature of the human will. And is not language a reality-is it not the material vehicle of thought, and does it not exist as an object for thought and scientific consideration? In its language lies embalmed the deepest peculiarity or idiosyncrasy of a people's growth. It is worth while to study a steam-engine, an arbitrary product of man's inventive mind, because the steam-engine is the instrument for the annihilation of distance and separation. It renders intercommunication easy and cheap. It assists in producing civilization by bringing about spiritual communion. But infinitely more important to study is the structure of language because it is the invention of the soul as a direct and adequate means of expressing its internal acts and states-its thoughts, volitions, and feelings. By language social union and civilization are realized. To study the grammar and vocabulary of a language is to gain an insight into the structure of soul itself, and at the same time to gauge the spiritual development of the people who spoke it. Even the smattering of grammar taught in schools has the great educative effect of turning the mind of the pupil inward so far as to seize definitions and classify words by the meaning that they have. It is a study of the