rising to the flat top, crowned with a temple dedicated to Belus or the Sun god. Images partly human, partly animal, represented the divine. The lion, the eagle, the quadruped and bird, the human face, these were united to make the symbol of a divine being who could not be manifested in a purely human form.

The Egyptian religion, though it surpassed the Persian in that it conceived the divine as much more near human life, still resorted to animal forms to obtain the peculiarly divine attributes. There were the sacred bulls Apis and Mnevis, the goat of Mendes, sacred hawks and ibis, and such divinities as Isis-Hathor, with a cow's head; Touaris, with a crocodile's head; Thoth, with the head of an ibis; Horus, with the head of a hawk; but Ammon and Ptha and Osiris with human heads and bodies. Thus we see that the Egyptian wavered between the purely human and the animal form as the image of the divine. So long as it is possible for a religion to permit the representation of the divine by an animal form, that religion has not yet conceived God as pure self-consciousness or reason. Its art can not arrive at gracefulness. As a consequence of this defect, however, it can not account for the origin and destiny of the world in such a way as to explain the problem of the human soul. It is an insoluble enigma whose type is a sphinx. The Sphinx is the rude rock out of which it arises, symbolizing inorganic nature; then the lion's body, typifying by the king of beasts the highest of organic beings below man; then the human face, looking up inquiringly to the heavens. Its question seems to be: "Thus far: what next?" Does the human break the continuity of the circle of nature within which there goes on a perpetual revolution of birth, growth, and decay, or does the human perish with the animal and plant and lose his individuality? How can his individuality be preserved without the body? The Egyptian's highest thought was this enigma. He combined the affirmative and nega tive elements of this problem, conceiving that man survives death but will have a resurrection and need his particular body again, which therefore must be preserved by embalming it. The body of Osiris had to be embalmed by Isis. The sacred animals, bulls and others, were embalmed upon death.

They had not learned that the image of God is man, and, more definitely, man's reason or self-consciousness. It was a great step beyond the heathen religion of Asia and Africa therefore for the Greek religion to conceive the divine as dwelling in human form, however defective it was in respect to its doctrine of the particular attributes of man that are the true image of God. Hence we have the explanation why it is that Greek art has become the conventional expression of the beautiful for all the civilized world. It alone aims at the expression of personal freedom in the body and therefore always achieves gracefulness. Christian art as such strives to show the soul as struggling to free itself from the body. All cultivated peoples will prefer ornament and works of art that show the triumph of the soul over matter to the manifestation of the predominance of matter or the struggle of the soul to free itself. Art studies should therefore find their center in the history of Greek art.

III. THE INTELLECTUAL VALUE OF TOOL WORK." Man, like the animal, has natural wants, which he must gratify in order to live on the earth. While the animal needs food, and to some extent shelter, man needs food and shelter and clothing. In order to get possession of these things he must struggle for them and wrest them from nature, depriving plants and animals of their vital principles and converting them to his own uses. Whereas the plant feeds upon soil and atmosphere in so far as it finds them in immediate contact with itself, and the animal is able to seek a new environment and use its limbs as tools or instruments with which to seize upon the means of supplying its wants, man on the other hand, although less endowed with strength

a A paper read by W. T. Harris before the National Educational Association, in Nashville, Tenn., July 15, 1889.

than many of the animals, and with scanty natural provision for clothing, yet is able to surpass the animal in gratification of his wants, by cunningly aiding his natural forces and instruments by invented ones. He devises instruments out of natural materials, mineral, animal, and vegetable substances and their chemic elements, of such efficiency as to enable him to command the resources of land and sea and air.

Whatever seems at first a limitation to him, or a hostile might threatening him with destruction, or imposing upon him the necessity of drudgery for daily assistance, becomes by and by an auxiliary power friendly to man after he has conquered it by the magic of his intellect.

Man, as inventor of tools and machines and the combiner of nature's forces, presents for us the most interesting object in the universe. Let us take a survey of him as the maker of tools and the wielder of them. Intellectual and moral power unite to give man this power of invention. It is intellectual cunning which discovers the powers and adaptations of things and converts them to his uses. It is the moral power of self-conquest that enables man to sacrifice the ease and comfort of the present moment and to endure privation, in order by industry and patient attention to accumulate a capital of physical means and acquired experience sufficient to produce an invention.

The first step above the brute instinct begins when man looks beyond things as he sees them existing before him and commences to consider their possibilities; he begins to add to his external seeing an internal seeing; the world begins to assume a new aspect; each object appears to be of larger scope than its present existence, for there is a sphere of possibility environing it, a sphere which the sharpest animal eyes of lynx or eagle can not see, but which man, endowed with this new faculty of inward sight, perceives at once. To this insight into possibilities there loom up uses and adaptations, transformations and combinations in a long series stretching into the infinite behind each finite real thing. The bodily eyes see the real objects, but can not see the infinite trails; they are invisible except to the inward eyes of the mind.

What we call directive power on the part of man, his combining and organizing power, all rests on this power to see beyond the real things before the senses to the ideal possibilities invisible to the brute. The more clearly man sees these ideals the more perfectly he can construct for himself another set of conditions than those in which he finds himself. Men as tool workers, as managers of machines, participate in this higher kind of perception in different degrees, but all have it to some extent. The lowest human laborer has the dimmest notions of these ideals; they are furnished him by others; he is told what to do; he furnishes the hands to work with and someone else furnishes the brains or most of the brain work. Unless a directing mind is near by to help at every moment with the details of some ideal, the rude laborer ceases his work, having no knowledge of what is required next. His capacity to grasp an ideal is very small; he can only take it in tiny fragments-small patterns dealt out to him as a hand by the directing brain of the overseer or "boss."

It seems a waste of power to have two brains to govern one pair of hands. It is evidently desirable to have each laborer developed in his brain, so as to be able to see ideals as well as to realize them by his hands.

The development of this desirable power we call education of the intellect, and its chief means is science. Science is the systematized results of observation. Each fact in the world is placed in the light of all the other facts. All facts are made to help explain each fact. This is science. Now, each fact represents only one of the many possible states of existence which a thing may have. When one state of existence is real the others are mere possibilities, or, as they are called, "potentialities." Thus water may exist as liquid, or vapor, or ice, but when it is ice the liquid and vapor states are mere potentialities.

Science collects about each subject all its phases of existence under different conditions; it teaches the student to look at a thing as a whole and see in it not only what is visible before his senses, but what also is not realized and remains dormant or potential. The

-scientifically educated laborer, therefore, is of a higher type than the mere "hand laborer," because he has learned to see in each thing its possibilities. He sees each thing in the perspective of its history. Here, then, in the educated laborer we have a hand belonging to a brain that directs, or that can intelligently comprehend a detailed statement of an ideal to be worked out. The laborer and the "boss" are united in one man.

There are, as we have said, different degrees of educated capacity, due to the degree in which this power of seeing invisible potentialities or ideals is developed. The lowest humanity needs constant direction and works only under the eye of an overseer; it can work with advantage only at simple processes; by repetition it acquires skill at a simple manipulation. The incessant repetition of one muscular act deadens into habit and less and less brain work goes to its performance. When a process is reduced to simple steps, however, it is easy to invent some sort of machine that can perform it as well or better than the human drudge. Accordingly, division of labor gives occasion to labor-saving machinery. The human drudge can not compete with the machine and is thrown out of employment and goes to the almshouse or perhaps starves. If he could only be educated and learn to see ideals, he could have a place as manager of the machine. The machine requires an alert intellect to direct and control it, but a mere "hand" can not serve its purpose. The higher development of man produced by science therefore acts as a goad to spur on the lower orders of humanity to become educated intellectually. Moreover, the education in science enables the laborer to easily acquire an insight into the construction and management of machines. This makes it possible for him to change his vocation readily. There is a greater and greater resemblance of each process of human labor to every other now that an age of machinery has arrived. The differences of manipulation are grown less, because the machine is assuming the handwork and leaving only the brain work for the laborer. Hence there opens before labor a great prospect of freedom in the future. Each person can choose a new vocation and succeed in it without long and tedious apprenticeship, provided that he is educated, in general science.

If he understands only the theory of one machine, he may direct or manage any form or style of it. He could not so easily learn an entirely different machine unless he had learned the entire theory of machinery. The wider his knowledge and the more general its character, the larger the sphere of his freedom and power. If he knows the scientific theory of nature's forces, he comprehends readily not only the machines, but also all nature's phenomena as manifestations of those forces. Knowledge is educative in proportion to its enlightening power or its general applicability. The knowledge of an art is educative because it gives one command in a sphere of activity; it explains effects and enables the artisan to be both brain and hand to some extent. A science lifts him to a much higher plane educatively, because he can see a wide margin of possibilities or ideals outside of the processes in use, and outside of the tools and machines employed.

Education, then, takes these three steps: First, to do what is directed by authority; secondly, to know the theory of the art or trade as it is and has come down by tradition; thirdly, to know the general science of the subject, and comprehend not only the processes that have been realized, but the possibility of others.

The civilization in which we live is well characterized as a scientific one, and it is making great strides toward the conquest of nature. It demands, too, as we see, an education for all people. There is less and less place left for the mere drudge--all hands and no brains. Machinery can do his work so cheaply that his wages must be very slender. The education demanded, moreover, is not the training in technical skill so much as in science. For the more general training emancipates the laborer from the deadening effects of repetition and habit, the monotony of attending the machine, and opens up a vista of new invention and more useful combinations.

While the student is learning a method of doing something his brain is exercised; when the process has become a habit, it is committed to his hand, and his intellect is not required again except for new combinations. This is true of all machine work, of all tool work. Its theory

is soon exhausted, and the deadening process of habit sets in. Science is perpetually living, always educative. The mind goes from principle to principle; it discovers and inventories new provinces of nature, and applies its principles to their explanation. In reaching vaster unities of nature, it finds deeper principles.

Not the study of tools and machinery, but that of natural science, is more educative, therefore, because it keeps the mind in perpetual activity.

If we pause here and ask ourselves, What is the scope of the inquiry thus far made? we shall be obliged to confess that we have regarded man only in his animal nature-possessing bodily wants of food, clothing, and shelter. We see at once that this is no inventory of man's wants it falls infinitely short of his requirements as a spiritual being. If machinery were invented so that he could get food, clothing, and shelter in abundance and of the finest quality at the cost of a moment's labor each day, all this would be of small account as an item of civilization unless the human energy saved from drudgery had found channels of expenditure in the vocations relating directly to the education of the spiritual nature of man.

Here we come to the all-important distinction between that which belongs only to the nature of a means instrumental to something else different from itself, and that which is an end for itself. The human mind or soul is an end for itself. Matter and the body are only instrumental, only means for the perfection of the soul.

What, we inquire, are the ideals of perfection of the soul, then? For it would seem that all through our industrial processes there should have prevailed a guiding purpose to subordinate all human endeavor to the interest of the mind. We have already taken note of the science of nature as a purely theoretical study, more educative than any form of art because it is the source of inexhaustible activity in the intellect. Nature in time and space is one world for man's scientific mastery. Over against this there is another world for his sciencethe world of mind.

Nature is before us as organic and inorganic realms. Mind reveals itself in three forms— thinking, willing, and feeling. Leaving this psychological point of view, it will be more interesting for us to look at the world of humanity in three aspects. Human nature has revealed itself in institutions, social structures organized so as to make the strong help the weak; the mature assist the immature; the wise the simple. These institutions are the family, civil society, the state or nation, and the church. These institutions are the outgrowth of the human will: In the business of education the youth learns human nature as will in studying history--history taken in a very broad sense. But even history in a narrow sense gives him glimpses of all these institutions acting and reacting upon each of these. One sees the evolution of civilization by the study of history. Here, then, is a branch of study which we must regard as educative in the highest possible degree. Natural science, valuable as it is in emancipating us from drudgery, is rather a science of that which is a means for the development of man as a spiritual being. But history is a science of that which is an end for itself, because it is the exhibition of the structure and evolution of civilization.

History is only one of the spiritual sciences. There are sciences that relate to mind as intellect in its essence, such as philosophy and psychology and logic, with kindred sciences like comparative philology offering to us the revelations which different peoples of the earth have made of their mental structure in language. This study deals also with that which is an end for itself. Again, there is the department of literature and art, in which man has portrayed for himself his human nature in the form of feelings and convictions leading outward and upward to thoughts and actions. For the heart is in a certain sense the primitive fountain from which flows the life-thread before it is divided into the strands of intellect and will. Literature shows us this deepest source of civilization. Homer, Dante, Shakespeare, and Goethe reveal prophetically what after ages work out into clear thoughts and actions. Here then is another, and a very important, study of what is always an end for itself.

History, the revelation of the nature of human will; philology and philosophy, the revelation of what is essential in the human intellect, or the divine part of it; literature and the fine arts, the revelation of the human heart!

First, human nature evolves a dim feeling; then develops it into an idea; then realizes it in a deed, and it becomes an institution to bless the race.

There are three departments to the world of human nature, and two departments to the world of nature below man-organic in plant and animal, inorganic in matter and force.

With this survey of human learning, we are now prepared to see what the school has done in the past and present to provide an educative process for the child by giving him a survey of the two worlds in which he lives, the material and spiritual worlds—the world of means to an end outside of itself, and the world which is an end for itself.

School education should open five windows of the soul, and let it look out upon the two departments of nature and the three departments of mind. Now it surprises us at first to see that school education has done this very thing by its course of study. Arithmetic gives the first glimpse of inorganic nature, for it reveals the nature of quantity, and quantity gives the law to time and space, and to all bodies. Then in geography a glimpse is given of organic nature as related to the inorganic on the one hand, and as related to man on the other—a very educative study indeed! Then there is grammar, which looks into the logical structure of the intellect as revealed in language; history, which reveals the human will; literature in the school readers, showing how the great geniuses of the language have revealed the aspirations of the people in impassioned prose and poetry.

The school does something more than give this all-round glimpse of man's fivefold world. The school teaches the pupil how to restrain his animal impulses to prate and chatter, disturbing the work of others, and himself idle; it teaches him the great lesson of industry and perseverance; it teaches him regularity and punctuality, the great virtues that lie at the basis of all human combination; it teaches courtesy and good social behavior; it lays greatest stress on truth-speaking, by showing the pupil in every recitation how important it is to be accurate in statement, and to fix the exact facts by verification and research.

The studies and disciplines of the school therefore open the windows of the intellect upon all points of the horizon of existence, and they train the will to labor at what is most difficult because most unusual for the animal nature. The lower organized human being can work with his hands with pleasure, while it is still a task of great difficulty for him to contemplate ideas or undertake any sustained trains of thought. If youth can be taught to bring their powers to bear on such ideal subjects as arithmetic, grammar, history, and literature, they certainly can with ease give their minds to any form of manual training or the work of external observation, because the greater includes the less, and the studies of pure science are far more difficult to carry on than studies in applied science.

If we now ask the question, What is the comparative value of tool work? we may see our way to reply, Tool work without the theory of construction is educative to some extent, especially in the first stages of its practice. Tool work taught with the theory of machinery, with applied mathematics, is far more educative than mere tool work, and its educative influence lasts for a much longer time. Tool work with its theory and with natural science is permanently educative, and it does much to raise manual labor above drudgery, and especially is this the case if it is studied with the history of ornamentation and with careful cultivation of æsthetic taste.

But when compared with the present course of study in the schools it can not be claimed that manual training opens any new windows of the soul, although it may give a more distinct view from the window that opens toward inorganic nature.

There remains, notwithstanding, a permanently valid place for the manual-training school side by side with apprentice schools for all youths who are old enough to enter a trade, and who are unwilling to carry on any further their purely culture studies. Cultivate the humanities first, and afterwards the industrial faculties. In our civilization there ascend