I HAVE already several times publicly expressed my views on the subject of the principles of education, especially the higher education of the college and the university.1 My readers are, therefore, already aware of my earnest advocacy of a sound and broad general culture as the only foundation of worthy activity in any intellectual field, and, therefore, as the necessary basis of all special cultures. To summarize my views in a single example, taken from my own department: If I desired to make a pupil of mine an accomplished practical geologist, I would first of all make him a thoroughly cultured man; i. e., I would give such general culture as would be suitable as a basis for activity in any intellectual pursuit. He must choose for himself which. If science be his choice, I would next make him a general scientist; i.e., I would push his knowledge of fundamental scientific principles beyond the point necessary for general culture. If, now, interest or taste should decide him in favor of geology, I would next strive to make him an accomplished geologist; i. e., I would concentrate his strengthened and disciplined powers upon this department. And, finally, I would complete the work by practice in the museum, the laboratory, and the field. In a word, the general culture must precede the special, and form its basis; but the special culture must follow the general, and form its completion-a completion absolutely necessary, and becoming daily more and more necessary, for success in the higher intellectual pursuits of modern life.

This law of general culture as the basis of all worthy activity, which I have so often insisted on in the field of intellectual education, I wish now to extend so as to embrace our whole complex nature, and thus, if possible, to give a conception of an ideal

1 "Principles of a Liberal Education" (Southern Presbyterian Review, 1859); "The School, the College, and the University" (Princeton Review, March, 1880).

culture, or rather of a perfect humanity to be realized by culture.

Running through all the divisions and subdivisions of our complex nature-physical, intellectual, and moral—and through all the functions, faculties, and powers of each of these, and binding all together into organic unity, I find a law of mutual dependence and mutual help, but strictly limited and conditioned by a contrary law of mutual antagonism. The law of mutual help is the normal, the fundamental, the universal law. The contrary law of mutual antagonism comes into play only as limiting the other— only through the limitation of our vitality, and as the result of excess in some one direction. The sum of our vitality is limited. If, therefore, we consume all in bodily exertion, nothing will be left over for intellectual and moral activity. If, on the contrary, our whole vitality is consumed in mental effort, the body and moral nature must proportionally suffer. The same holds good among the faculties of each of these primary divisions. Excess in the exercise of one faculty is obviously at the expense of energy in other faculties. But within the limits of excess, the law of mutual help alone reigns, and the greater the sum of our vital energy, the farther is the limit within which this law operates. The true ground of the plea for general culture is found in the first law; while that of the plea for special culture in the fierce struggle of modern life, which too often necessitates excessive activity in limited directions, is found in the second law.

Now many, in these times, seem to think that the second law-the law of mutual antagonism-is the more universal, fundamental, and normal; and hence the cry for special culture, even at the expense of the general. They see plainly the mutual antagonism, but do not acknowledge the mutual help. They think, for example, that the cultivation of scientific thought and the

practice of scientific methods necessarily dwarfs the imagination; while, contrarily, the cultivation of the imagination by the study and enjoyment of art, literature, and poetry unfits the student for the earnest and successful pursuit of science. And therefore they say we must, even in early life, choose between the two lines of education, for we cannot unite them. But in reality nothing can be farther from truth than such a view Within due limits these two departments. are in the highest degree mutually helpfu' The study of science only chastens the imagination, without lessening its power; while the study of art and the cultivation of the imagination quickens the perceptions of law, without lessening the power of observation. I have greatly surprised some persons by asserting, as the result of my own experience, that the cultivation and enjoyment of art even of that most limited and emotional of all arts, music-is helpful to the man of science, especially in his highest efforts; viz., in the generalization of facts and the perception of law. It must be so; for all art is founded on the perception of harmonic relations, and all science on the perception of law. But these are the same; for what is natural law but harmonic relation? Only the harmonic relations of art are perceived intuitively (i. e., by processes which elude analysis), and affect mainly the feelings; while the harmonic relations of science are attained by more formal methods, and affect mainly the reason. But even in science great truths are, in the first instance, perceived by faculties closely akin to those which perceive the beauties of art; i. e., by intuition, by scientific imagination, by genius. It is only the subsequent verification which is relegated to an entirely different faculty. The great truths are taken rough from the quarry of nature by intuition, but they are afterward shaped and fitted, each to its place in the temple of science, by more formal methods. These two-science and art-may seem, and indeed are in their lower parts, widely separated; but traced upwards, they converge more and more, until they finally meet in one.

There are two classes of cultured men of all kinds a lower and a higher. The former, in different departments, are wide apart; the latter, closely akin. To illustrate : There are two classes of poets. To the one class belong poets by defect. In these, sentiment and feeling become morbid, and fancy extravagant, for want of thought and judgment to chasten and control. They are like cripples who have become strong in the arms because they want the use of the legs. They are the so-called poets by temperaTo the other class belong poets by

ment.

excess. These are simply men of large intellectual mold and abounding spiritual vitality. They might have been great in any department, but circumstances determined their chief activity in this one. There are also two classes of scientists. The one are scientists because unfit for any thing else. Their capacity is limited to the collection of materials of science. They are hewers of wood and drawers of waterfetchers of brick and mortar. The other class are the true builders; they might have been poets if circumstances had not made them scientists. In a word, as already said, there are two classes of cultured men of all kinds. Some men are cultured beyond sympathy with childhood and youth; and above sympathy with the uncultured classes of men. Their culture may have raised their standpoint, but dwarfed rather than increased their stature. They are pigmies raised on a platform above the heads of the masses; and since men are ever prouder of position than of intellectual stature, they are the vainest of men. But men of true culture are simply men of larger intellectual growth, of greater intellectual stature. They are men who, standing with their feet on the same level of earth with others, in their higher parts rise, by the heads and shoulders, above their fellows. Such are the men who have known the mutual helpfulness of all departments and faculties.

Now, the same law of mutual help which I have thus shown to exist among the powers and faculties of the intellect, and which, therefore, must also exist among the different

Few will doubt, then, the helpful effect of intellectual culture on the moral nature, and thus on the right conduct of life. But how few, how very few, seem to recognize the truth of the converse proposition; viz., the helpful effect of moral culture on the intellectual perception of truth! And yet this is even more profoundly true than the other., Yes, in all the most difficult and important practical questions of life the clear perception of truth is almost wholly conditioned on the purity of the moral sentiments.

This truth is so fundamentally important that I must stop to explain and illustrate it. Pure intellect, I think we will all admit, is wholly characterless, colorless. It is strong or weak, clear or opaque, but not good or bad; character is determined by the moral nature alone. In all questions, therefore, in which the intellect alone is involved-as, for example, in mathematics or the exact sciences-men differ in degree only, not in kind: one man may see more clearly and more of truth than another; but whatever is seen at all is seen alike by all. But as soon as we touch questions in which the feelings, the sentiments, the prejudices, the personal interests-in a word, in which the moral nature is involved; as, for examples, political questions, social questions, moral and religious questions-then men not only see more or less truth, but they also see the same truth differently; they see the same thing differently colored and differently shaped, because the things are seen through and colored and refracted by the medium of the moral nature. In questions of mathematics and the exact sciences we look with naked eyes through a clear, colorless medium; but as soon as it is a question of politics, sociology, ethics, or religion, every man immediately puts on a private pair of moral spectacles, and these are colored of various hues, and of various degrees of intensity, and affected with various degrees and kinds of refraction; and therefore the same things are seen of different colors, shapes, and sizes. Is it not evident, now, that the amount one sees, and the correctness of the notions he forms concerning the things he sees, depend,

not so much on the keenness of his intellectual eye-sight, as upon the clearness of his moral spectacles? Is it not evident that the most important thing to do, if we would see correctly, is not to strengthen the intellectual eye, but to purge the moral medium-not to cultivate the intellect, but to purify the heart? In a word, the moral nature alone gives a true perspective, and therefore the true relative value of things. A dollar may be held so near the eye, or stand so near the affections, as to shut out of view the rest of the world.

Or to put it another way, taking our illustration this time from the field of activity instead of the field of thought: The intellect, as already said, is without character. It is a simple agent, instrument, machine; delicate, subtle, powerful but irresponsible, and therefore working indifferently on any plane, high or low. The moral nature alone determines the plane of activity, whether high or low, whether noble or ignoble, the intellect only determining the efficiency of activity on the plane chosen.

Such, then, undoubtedly, is the mutually helpful relation between the physical, intellectual, and moral natures of man, as also between all the special functions, faculties, and powers of each of these. But no organized unit can exist without, not only mutual helpfulness, but also acknowledged order of supremacy. Not only must there be co-ordination, but also regular subordination. An organism is not a republic, but a kingdom with graduated powers, each under each. Among the great departments of our nature, what, then, is the order of supremacy? for this order must determine our ideal of humanity to be reached by culture.

I think a little reflection will suffice to

show that culture is naught else than conscious evolution, carried out by voluntary rational methods. The laws of evolution (which are the laws of God) work ever upward to higher and higher forms. Thus material evolution has risen, in the geologic history of the earth, from the inorganic to the organic, from the organic to the animate, and from the animate to the rational

and moral. But the material evolution thus completed in man is immediately taken up by man and carried forward on a higher plane, as social evolution. Now at a certain point in this upward movement on the higher rational plane, man turns about to consider the law and the process which has carried him upward thus far, and deliberately applies them to carry on more surely and rapidly the upward progress. This is voluntary conscious progress in society, and culture in the individual. So long as the improvement is unconscious and involuntary, we call it evolution: when it becomes conscious and voluntary, we call it progress, education, culture. The law of evolution and the law of culture are therefore one, and we may illustrate the latter by the former.

Now in all evolution, whether of the cosmos, or of the earth, or of the organic kingdom, or of the individual, or of society, I find a law of successive culmination of higher and higher dominant forces, forms, functions, or principles, each as it rises subordinating all previous and lower ones to itself. My meaning will be more clearly brought out by examples from different kinds of evolution.

a. There was a time in the history of the cosmos when only physical forces operated, chemical forces being held in abeyance by intensity of heat, producing dissociation of the elements. This is the case in the sun still. In the course of untold ages, by gradual cooling, chemical force came into play subordinating physical forces to itself, although resting upon and conditioned by the latter. Ages upon ages again passed, and when favorable conditions had come, and time was ripe, there came into existence-how, we know not-vital force, a far higher form of force, conditioned by the previous lower forces, but subordinating them to its own higher purposes. Ages upon ages again passed, and when the time was fully ripe, and the course of material evolution completely finished, there was introduced on the theater of terrestrial activity-how, we know not-the highest of all forms of force; viz., rational and moral

force, subordinating all, yet conditioned by all. Thus the cosmos became not only higher and higher, but also more and more complex in the play of interacting forces.

b. A precisely similar advance, and following a similar law, may be traced in the succession of organic forms. In the geological history of the earth at first only invertebrates existed; mollusks and crustaceans were rulers of the seas. Next fishes were introduced; then reptiles, birds, mammals, and finally man successively appear, and subordinate previous forms to higher and higher uses; and thus the organic kingdom, taken as a whole, becomes not only higher and higher, but also more and more complex.

c. With the introduction of man the process of evolution does not stop; it is only transferred from a lower to a higher planefrom the animal to the social-and here, therefore, we still find the same law. Primal civilizations, Greek, Roman, and modern civilizations, are successively higher and higher social forms, embodying higher and higher social forces. They arise, culminate, and decline; but as each decays, its characteristic dominant forces and principles are not lost, but incorporated into the next higher form, and subordinated to the next higher dominant forces; and thus the social organism becomes not only higher and higher, but also more and more complexly organized. Thus the characteristic principles and forces of all former civilizations are incorporated into our modern civilization, and subordinated to the higher social forces characteristic of modern times; and we, the children of modern civilization, become "the heirs of all the ages."

d. But the same truth meets us on every side and at every turn; for truth is one, and law is one. We have traced it in the evolution of cosmic forces, in the evolution of organic forms, and in the evolution of society; but we may trace it also in the evolution of the individual animal body. As we pass up the animal scale, whether in the geologic series (i. e., from the earliest to the latest introduced animals), or in the taxonomic series (ie., from the lowest to the