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by Herbert Spencer

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Title: Essays on Education and Kindred Subjects
       Everyman's Library

Author: Herbert Spencer

Commentator: Charles W. Eliot

Release Date: August 11, 2005 [EBook #16510]

Language: English

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_EVERYMAN, I will go with thee,
and be thy guide,
In thy most need to go by thy side_




HERBERT SPENCER


Born at Derby in 1820, the son of a teacher,
from whom he received most of his education.
Obtained employment on the London and
Birmingham Railway. After the strike of 1846
he devoted himself to journalism, and in
1848 was sub-editor of _The Economist_.

He died in 1903.




HERBERT SPENCER

Essays on Education
AND KINDRED SUBJECTS

INTRODUCTION BY
CHARLES W. ELIOT

DENT: LONDON
EVERYMAN'S LIBRARY
DUTTON: NEW YORK




_Made in Great Britain
at the
Aldine Press · Letchworth · Herts
for
J.M. DENT & SONS LTD
Aldine House · Bedford Street · London
First published in Everyman's Library 1911
Last reprinted 1963_

NO. _504_




INTRODUCTION


The four essays on education which Herbert Spencer published in a single
volume in 1861 were all written and separately published between 1854
and 1859. Their tone was aggressive and their proposals revolutionary;
although all the doctrines--with one important exception--had already
been vigorously preached by earlier writers on education, as Spencer
himself was at pains to point out. The doctrine which was comparatively
new ran through all four essays; but was most amply stated in the essay
first published in 1859 under the title "What Knowledge is of Most
Worth?" In this essay Spencer divided the leading kinds of human
activity into those which minister to self-preservation, those which
secure the necessaries of life, those whose end is the care of
offspring, those which make good citizens, and those which prepare
adults to enjoy nature, literature, and the fine arts; and he then
maintained that in each of these several classes, knowledge of science
was worth more than any other knowledge. He argued that everywhere
throughout creation faculties are developed through the performance of
the appropriate functions; so that it would be contrary to the whole
harmony of nature "if one kind of culture were needed for the gaining of
information, and another kind were needed as a mental gymnastic." He
then maintained that the sciences are superior in all respects to
languages as educational material; they train the memory better, and a
superior kind of memory; they cultivate the judgment, and they impart an
admirable moral and religious discipline. He concluded that "for
discipline, as well as for guidance, science is of chiefest value. In
all its effects, learning the meaning of things is better than learning
the meaning of words." He answered the question "what knowledge is of
most worth?" with the one word--science.

This doctrine was extremely repulsive to the established profession of
education in England, where Latin, Greek, and mathematics had been the
staples of education for many generations, and were believed to afford
the only suitable preparation for the learned professions, public life,
and cultivated society. In proclaiming this doctrine with ample
illustration, ingenious argument, and forcible reiteration, Spencer was
a true educational pioneer, although some of his scientific
contemporaries were really preaching similar doctrines, each in his own
field.

The profession of teaching has long been characterised by certain
habitual convictions, which Spencer undertook to shake rudely, and even
to deride. The first of these convictions is that all education,
physical, intellectual, and moral, must be authoritative, and need take
no account of the natural wishes, tendencies, and motives of the
ignorant and undeveloped child. The second dominating conviction is that
to teach means to tell, or show, children what they ought to see,
believe, and utter. Expositions by the teacher and books are therefore
the true means of education. The third and supreme conviction is that
the method of education which produced the teacher himself and the
contemporary or earlier scholars, authors, and publicists, must be the
righteous and sufficient method. Its fruits demonstrate its soundness,
and make it sacred. Herbert Spencer, in the essays included in the
present volume, assaulted all three of these firm convictions.
Accordingly, the ideas on education which he put forth more than fifty
years ago have penetrated educational practice very slowly--particularly
in England; but they are now coming to prevail in most civilised
countries, and they will prevail more and more. Through him, the
thoughts on education of Comenius, Montaigne, Locke, Milton, Rousseau,
Pestalozzi, and other noted writers on this neglected subject are at
last winning their way into practice, with the modifications or
adaptations which the immense gains of the human race in knowledge and
power since the nineteenth century opened have shown to be wise.

For teachers and educational administrators it is interesting to observe
the steps by which Spencer's doctrines--and especially his doctrine of
the supreme value of science--have advanced towards acceptance in
practice. In general, the advance has been brought about through the
indirect effects of the enormous industrial, social, and political
changes of the last fifty years. The first practical step was the
introduction of laboratory teaching of one or more of the sciences into
the secondary schools and colleges. Chemistry and physics were the
commonest subjects selected. These two subjects had been taught from
books even earlier; but memorising science out of books is far less
useful as training than memorising grammars and vocabularies. The
characteristic discipline of science can be imparted only through the
laboratory method. The schoolmasters and college faculties who took this
step by no means admitted Spencer's contention that science should be
the universal staple at all stages of child development. On the
contrary, they believed, as most people do to-day, that the mind of the
young child cannot grasp the processes and generalisations of science,
and that science is no more universally fitted to develop mental power
than the classics or mathematics. Indeed, experience during the past
fifty years seems to have proved that fewer minds are naturally inclined
to scientific study than to linguistic or historical study; so that if
some science is to be learnt by everybody, the amount of such study
should be limited to acquiring in one or two sciences knowledge of the
scientific method in general. So much scientific training is indeed
universally desirable; because good training of the senses to observe
accurately is universally desirable, and the collecting, comparing, and
grouping of many facts teach orderliness in thinking, and lead up to
something which Spencer valued highly in education--"a rational
explanation of phenomena."

Science having obtained a foothold in secondary schools and colleges, an
adequate development of science-teaching resulted from the introduction
of options or elections for the pupils among numerous different courses,
in place of a curriculum prescribed for all. The elaborate teaching of
many sciences was thus introduced. The pupil or student saw and recorded
for himself; used books only as helps and guides in seeing, recording,
and generalising; proceeded from the known to the unknown; and in short,
made numerous applications of the doctrines which pervade all Spencer's
writings on education. In the United States these methods were
introduced earlier and have been carried farther than in England; but
within the last few years the changes made in education have been more
extensive and rapid in England than in any other country;--witness the
announcements of the new high schools and the re-organised grammar
schools, of such colleges as South Kensington, Armstrong, King's, the
University College (London), and Goldsmiths', and of the new municipal
universities such as Victoria, Bristol, Sheffield, Birmingham,
Liverpool, and Leeds. The new technical schools also illustrate the
advent of instruction in applied science as an important element in
advanced education. Such institutions as the Seafield Park Engineering
College, the City Guilds of London Institute, the City of London
College, and the Battersea Polytechnic are instances of the same
development. Some endowed institutions for girls illustrate the same
tendencies, as, for example, the Bedford College for Women and the Royal
Holloway College. All these institutions teach sciences in considerable
variety, and in the way that Spencer advocated,--not so much because
they have distinctly accepted his views, as because modern industrial
and social conditions compel the preparation in science of young people
destined for various occupations and services indispensable to modern
society. The method of the preparation is essentially that which he
advocated.

Spencer's propositions to the effect that the study of science was
desirable for artisans, artists, and, in general, for people who were to
get their livings through various skills of hand and eye, were received
with great incredulity, not to say derision--particularly when he
maintained that some knowledge of the theory which underlies an art was
desirable for manual practitioners of the art; but the changes of the
last fifty years in the practice of the arts and trades may be said to
have demonstrated that his views were thoroughly sound. The applications
of science in the arts and trades have been so numerous and productive,
that widespread training in science has become indispensable to any
nation which means to excel in the manufacturing industries, whether of
large scale or small scale. The extraordinary popularity of evening
schools and correspondence schools in the United States rests on the
need which young people employed in the various industries of the
country feel of obtaining more theoretical knowledge about the physical
or chemical processes through which they are earning a livelihood. The
Young Men's Christian Associations in the American cities have become
great centres of evening instruction for just such young persons. The
correspondence schools are teaching hundreds of thousands of young
people at work in machine-shops, mills, mines, and factories, who
believe that they can advance themselves in their several occupations by
supplementing their elementary education with correspondence courses,
taken while they are at work earning a livelihood in industries that
rest ultimately on applications of science.

Spencer's objection to the constant exercise of authority and compulsion
in schools, families, and the State is felt to-day much more widely than
it was in 1858, when he wrote his essay on moral education. His proposal
that children should be allowed to suffer the natural consequences of
their foolish or wrong acts does not seem to the present generation--any
more than it did to him--to be applicable to very young children, who
need protection from the undue severity of many natural penalties; but
the soundness of his general doctrine that it is the true function of
parents and teachers to see that children habitually experience the
normal consequences of their conduct, without putting artificial
consequences in place of them, now commands the assent of most persons
whose minds have been freed from the theological dogmas of original sin
and total depravity. Spencer did not expect the immediate adoption of
this principle; because society as a whole was not yet humane enough. He
admitted that the uncontrollable child of ill-controlled adults might
sometimes have to be scolded or beaten, and that these barbarous methods
might be "perhaps the best preparation such children can have for the
barbarous society in which they are presently to play a part." He hoped,
however, that the civilised members of society would by and by
spontaneously use milder measures; and this hope has been realised in
good degree, with the result that happiness in childhood is much
commoner and more constant than it used to be. Parents and teachers are
beginning to realise that self-control is a prime object in moral
education, and that this self-control cannot be practised under a regime
of constant supervision, unexplained commands, and painful punishments,
but must be gained in freedom. Some large-scale experience with American
secondary schools which prepare boys for admission to college has been
edifying in this respect. The American colleges, as a rule, do not
undertake to exercise much supervision over their students, but leave
them free to regulate their own lives in regard to both work and play.
Now it is the boys who come from the secondary schools where the
closest supervision is maintained that are in most danger of falling
into evil ways when they first go to college.

Spencer put very forcibly a valuable doctrine for which many earlier
writers on the theory of education had failed to get a hearing--the
doctrine, namely, that all instruction should be pleasurable and
interesting. Fifty years ago almost all teachers believed that it was
impossible to make school-work interesting, or life-work either; so that
the child must be forced to grind without pleasure, in preparation for
life's grind; and the forcing was to be done by experience of the
teacher's displeasure and the infliction of pain. Through the slow
effects of Spencer's teaching and of the experience of practical
teachers who have demonstrated that instruction can be made pleasurable,
and that the very hardest work is done by interested pupils because they
are interested, it has gradually come to pass that his heresy has become
the prevailing judgment among sensible and humane teachers. The
experience of many adults, hard at work in the modern industrial,
commercial, and financial world, has taught them that human beings can
make their intensest application only to problems in which they are
personally interested for one reason or another, and that freemen work
much harder than slaves, because they feel within themselves strong
motives for exertion which slaves cannot possibly feel. So, many
intelligent adults, including many parents and teachers, have come to
believe it possible that children will learn to do hard work, both in
school and in after life, through the free play of interior motives
which appeal to them, and prompt them to persistent exertion.

The justice of Spencer's views about training through pleasurable
sensation and achievement in freedom rather than through uninterested
work and pain inflicted by despotic government, is well illustrated by
the recent improvements in the discipline of reformatories for boys and
girls and young men and women. It has been demonstrated that the only
useful reformatories are those which diminish the criminal's liberty of
action as little as possible, require him to perform productive labour,
educate him for a trade or other useful occupation, and offer him the
reward of an abridgment of sentence in return for industry and
self-control. Repression and compulsion under penalties however severe
fail to reform, and often make bad moral conditions worse. Instruction,
as much freedom as is consistent with the safety of society, and an
appeal to the ordinary motives of emulation, satisfaction in
achievement, and the desire to win credit, can, and do, reform.

Many schools, both public and private, have now adopted--in most cases
unconsciously--many of Spencer's more detailed suggestions. The
laboratory method of instruction, for example, now common for scientific
subjects in good schools, is an application of his doctrines of concrete
illustration, training in the accurate use of the senses, and
subordination of book-work. Many schools realise, too, that learning by
heart and, in general, memorising from books are not the only means of
storing the mind of a child. They should make parts of a sound
education, but should not be used to the exclusion of learning through
eye, ear, and hand. Spencer pointed out with much elaboration that
children acquire in their early years a vast amount of information
exclusively through the incessant use of their senses. To-day teachers
know this fact, and realise much better than the teachers of fifty years
ago did, that all through the school and college period the pupils
should be getting a large part of their new knowledge through the
careful application of their own powers of observation, aided, indeed,
by books and pictures which record the observations, old and new, of
other people. The young human being, unlike the puppy or the kitten, is
not confined to the use of his own senses as sources of information and
discovery; but can enjoy the fruits of a prodigious width and depth of
observation acquired by preceding generations and adult members of his
own generation. A recent illustration of this extension of the method of
observation in teaching to observations made by other people is the new
method of giving moral instruction to school children through
photographs of actual scenes which illustrate both good morals and bad,
the exhibition of the photographs being accompanied by a running oral
comment from the teacher. In this kind of moral instruction it seems to
be possible to interest all kinds of children, both civilised and
barbarous, both ill-bred and well-bred. The teaching comes through the
eye, for the children themselves observe intently the pictures which the
lantern throws on the screen; but the striking scenes thus put before
them probably lie in most instances quite outside the region of their
own experiences.

The essay on "What Knowledge is of Most Worth?" contains a hot
denunciation of that kind of information which in most schools used to
usurp the name of history. It is enough to say of this part of Spencer's
educational doctrine that all the best historical writers since the
middle of the nineteenth century seem to have adopted the principles
which he declared should govern the writing of history. As a result, the
teaching of history in schools and colleges has undergone a profound
change. It now deals with the nature and action of government, central,
local, and ecclesiastical, with social observances, industrial systems,
and the customs which regulate popular life, out-of-doors and indoors.
It depicts also the intellectual condition of the nation and the
progress it has made in applied science, the fine arts, and legislation,
and includes descriptions of the peoples' food, shelters, and
amusements. To this result many authors and teachers have contributed;
but Spencer's violent denunciation of history as it was taught in his
time has greatly promoted this important reform.

Many twentieth-century teachers are sure to put in practice Spencer's
exhortation to teach children to draw with pen and pencil, and to use
paints and brush. He maintained that the common omission of drawing as
an important element in the training of children was in contempt of some
of the most obvious of nature's suggestions with regard to the natural
development of human faculties; and the better recent practice in some
English and American schools verifies his statement; nevertheless some
of the best secondary schools in both countries still fail to recognise
drawing and painting as important elements in liberal education.

Modern society as yet hardly approaches the putting into effective
practice of the sound views which Spencer set forth with great detail in
his essay on "Physical Education." The instruction given in schools and
colleges on the care of the body and the laws of health is still very
meagre; and in certain subjects of the utmost importance no instruction
whatever is given, as, for example, in the normal methods of
reproduction in plants and animals, in eugenics, and in the ruinous
consequences of disregarding sexual purity and honour. In one respect
his fundamental doctrine of freedom, carried into the domain of physical
exercise, has been extensively adopted in England, on the Continent,
and in America. He taught that although gymnastics, military drill, and
formal exercises of the limbs are better than nothing, they can never
serve in place of the plays prompted by nature. He maintained that "for
girls as well as boys the sportive activities to which the instincts
impel are essential to bodily welfare." This principle is now being
carried into practice not only for school-children, but for operatives
in factories, clerks, and other young persons whose occupations are
sedentary and monotonous. For all such persons, free plays are vastly
better than formal exercises of any sort.

The wide adoption of Spencer's educational ideas has had to await the
advent of the new educational administration and the new public interest
therein. It awaited the coming of the state university in the United
States and of the city university in England, the establishment of
numerous technical schools, the profound modifications made in grammar
schools and academies, and the multiplication in both countries of the
secondary schools called high schools. In other words, his ideas
gradually gained admission to a vast number of new institutions of
education, which were created and maintained because both the
governments and the nations felt a new sense of responsibility for the
training of the future generations. These new agencies have been created
in great variety, and the introduction of Spencer's ideas has been much
facilitated by this variety. These institutions were national, state, or
municipal. They were tax-supported or endowed. They charged tuition
fees, or were open to competent children or adults without fee. They
undertook to meet alike the needs of the individual and the needs of the
community; and this undertaking involved the introduction of many new
subjects of instruction and many new methods. Through their variety they
could be sympathetic with both individualism and collectivism. The
variety of instruction offered is best illustrated in the strongest
American universities, some of which are tax-supported and some endowed.
These universities maintain a great variety of courses of instruction in
subjects none of which was taught with the faintest approach to adequacy
in American universities sixty years ago; but in making these extensions
the universities have not found it necessary to reduce the instruction
offered in the classics and mathematics. The traditional cultural
studies are still provided; but they represent only one programme among
many, and no one is compelled to follow it. The domination of the
classics is at an end; but any student who prefers the traditional path
to culture, or whose parents choose that path for him, will find in
several American universities much richer provisions of classical
instruction than any university in the country offered sixty years ago.
The present proposals to widen the influence of Oxford University do not
mean, therefore, that the classics, history, and philosophy are to be
taught less there, but only that other subjects are to be taught more,
and that a greater number and variety of young men will be prepared
there for the service of the nation.

The new public interest in education as a necessary of modern industrial
and political life has gradually brought about a great increase in the
proportional number of young men and women whose education is prolonged
beyond the period of primary or elementary instruction; and this
multitude of young people is preparing for a great variety of callings,
many of which are new within sixty years, having been brought into being
by the extraordinary advances of applied science. The advent of these
new callings has favoured the spread of Spencer's educational ideas. The
recent agitation in favour of what is called vocational training is a
vivid illustration of the wide acceptance of his arguments. Even the
farmers, their farm-hands, and their children must nowadays be offered
free instruction in agriculture; because the public, and especially the
urban public, believes that by disseminating better methods of tillage,
better seed, and appropriate manures, the yield of the farms can be
improved in quality and multiplied in quantity. In regard to all
material interests, the free peoples are acting on the principle that
science is the knowledge of most worth. Spencer's doctrine of natural
consequences in place of artificial penalties, his view that all young
people should be taught how to be wise parents and good citizens, and
his advocacy of instruction in public and private hygiene, lie at the
roots of many of the philanthropic and reformatory movements of the day.

On the whole, Herbert Spencer has been fortunate among educational
philosophers. He has not had to wait so long for the acceptance of his
teachings as Comenius, Montaigne, or Rousseau waited. His ideas have
been floated on a prodigious tide of industrial and social change, which
necessarily involved wide-spread and profound educational reform.

This introduction deals with Spencer's four essays on education; but in
the present volume are included three other famous essays written by him
during the same period (1854-59) which produced the essays on education.
All three are germane to the educational essays, because they deal with
the general law of human progress, with the genesis of that science
which Spencer thought to be the knowledge of most worth, and with the
origin and function of music, a subject which he maintained should play
an important part in any scheme of education.

                                                       CHARLES W. ELIOT.




SELECT BIBLIOGRAPHY

WORKS. _The Proper Sphere of Government_, 1843; _Social Statics_, 1850;
_Theory of Population_ (_Westminster Review_), April 1852; _The
Development of Hypothesis_ (_The Leader_), 20th March 1852; _The
Ultimate Laws of Physiology_ (_National Review_), April 1857; _Essays,
Scientific, Political and Speculative_, 2 vols., 1858-63; _Education_,
1861; _A System of Synthetic Philosophy_ (12 vols., 1862-96), made up as
follows: _First Principles_, 1862; _Principles of Biology_, 2 vols.,
1864-7; _Principles of Psychology_, 2 vols., 1870-2; _Principles of
Sociology_, 3 vols., 1876-96; _Ceremonial Institutions_, 1879;
_Principles of Morality_, 2 vols., 1879-93 (vol. i, part I published as
_Data of Ethics_, 1879; part 4 as _Justice_, 1891); _Political
Institutions_, 1882. Meanwhile the following works were also published:
_The Classification of the Sciences_, 1864; _The Study of Sociology_,
1872; _Descriptive Sociology_, 1873; _The Man versus the State_, 1884;
_The Factors of Organic Evolution_, 1887; _The Inadequacy of Natural
Selection_, 1893. Spencer's _Autobiography_ appeared posthumously, 2
vols., 1904.

COLLECTED EDITION. Nineteen volumes, 1861-1902.

BIOGRAPHY AND CRITICISM. T. Funk-Brentano, _Les Sophistes grecs et les
Sophistes contemporains_ (Mill and Spencer), 1879; F.H. Collins, _An
Epitome of the Synthetic Philosophy_, 1889; H. Sidgwick, _Lectures on
the Ethics of Green, Spencer and Martineau_, 1902; 'The Philosophy of
Herbert Spencer' (in _The Philosophy of Kant and Other Lectures_, 1905);
D. Duncan, _An Introduction to the Philosophy of Spencer_, 1904; _Life
and Letters of Herbert Spencer_, 1908; J. Royce, _Herbert Spencer. An
Estimate and a Review_, 1904; J.A. Thomson, _Herbert Spencer_, 1906;
W.H. Hudson, _Herbert Spencer_, 1916; J. Rumney, _Herbert Spencer's
Sociology_, 1934; R.C.K. Ensor, _Some Reflections on Herbert Spencer's
Doctrine_, 1946.




CONTENTS


                                                                    PAGE
_Introduction_ by Charles W. Eliot                                   vii

PART I

EDUCATION: INTELLECTUAL, MORAL, AND PHYSICAL

WHAT KNOWLEDGE IS OF MOST WORTH?                                       1

INTELLECTUAL EDUCATION                                                45

MORAL EDUCATION                                                       84

PHYSICAL EDUCATION                                                   116

PART II

ESSAYS ON KINDRED SUBJECTS

PROGRESS: ITS LAW AND CAUSE                                          153

ON MANNERS AND FASHION                                               198

ON THE GENESIS OF SCIENCE                                            239

ON THE PHYSIOLOGY OF LAUGHTER                                        298

ON THE ORIGIN AND FUNCTION OF MUSIC                                  310




ORIGINAL PREFACE

TO

EDUCATION: INTELLECTUAL, MORAL, AND PHYSICAL


The four chapters of which this work consists, originally appeared as
four Review-articles: the first in the _Westminster Review_ for July
1859; the second in the _North British Review_ for May 1854; and the
remaining two in the _British Quarterly Review_ for April 1858 and for
April 1859. Severally treating different divisions of the subject, but
together forming a tolerably complete whole, I originally wrote them
with a view to their republication in a united form; and they would some
time since have thus been issued, had not a legal difficulty stood in
the way. This difficulty being now removed, I hasten to fulfil the
intention with which they were written.

That in their first shape these chapters were severally independent, is
the reason to be assigned for some slight repetitions which occur in
them: one leading idea, more especially, reappearing twice. As, however,
this idea is on each occasion presented under a new form, and as it can
scarcely be too much enforced, I have not thought well to omit any of
the passages embodying it.

Some additions of importance will be found in the chapter on
Intellectual Education; and in the one on Physical Education there are a
few minor alterations. But the chief changes which have been made, are
changes of expression: all of the essays having undergone a careful
verbal revision.

                                                                    H.S.
LONDON, _May 1861_




SPENCER'S ESSAYS




PART I--ON EDUCATION

WHAT KNOWLEDGE IS OF MOST WORTH?


It has been truly remarked that, in order of time, decoration precedes
dress. Among people who submit to great physical suffering that they may
have themselves handsomely tattooed, extremes of temperature are borne
with but little attempt at mitigation. Humboldt tells us that an Orinoco
Indian, though quite regardless of bodily comfort, will yet labour for a
fortnight to purchase pigment wherewith to make himself admired; and
that the same woman who would not hesitate to leave her hut without a
fragment of clothing on, would not dare to commit such a breach of
decorum as to go out unpainted. Voyagers find that coloured beads and
trinkets are much more prized by wild tribes than are calicoes or
broadcloths. And the anecdotes we have of the ways in which, when shirts
and coats are given, savages turn them to some ludicrous display, show
how completely the idea of ornament predominates over that of use. Nay,
there are still more extreme illustrations: witness the fact narrated by
Capt. Speke of his African attendants, who strutted about in their
goat-skin mantles when the weather was fine, but when it was wet, took
them off, folded them up, and went about naked, shivering in the rain!
Indeed, the facts of aboriginal life seem to indicate that dress is
developed out of decorations. And when we remember that even among
ourselves most think more about the fineness of the fabric than its
warmth, and more about the cut than the convenience--when we see that
the function is still in great measure subordinated to the
appearance--we have further reason for inferring such an origin.

It is curious that the like relations hold with the mind. Among mental
as among bodily acquisitions, the ornamental comes before the useful.
Not only in times past, but almost as much in our own era, that
knowledge which conduces to personal well-being has been postponed to
that which brings applause. In the Greek schools, music, poetry,
rhetoric, and a philosophy which, until Socrates taught, had but little
bearing upon action, were the dominant subjects; while knowledge aiding
the arts of life had a very subordinate place. And in our own
universities and schools at the present moment, the like antithesis
holds. We are guilty of something like a platitude when we say that
throughout his after-career, a boy, in nine cases out of ten, applies
his Latin and Greek to no practical purposes. The remark is trite that
in his shop, or his office, in managing his estate or his family, in
playing his part as director of a bank or a railway, he is very little
aided by this knowledge he took so many years to acquire--so little,
that generally the greater part of it drops out of his memory; and if he
occasionally vents a Latin quotation, or alludes to some Greek myth, it
is less to throw light on the topic in hand than for the sake of effect.
If we inquire what is the real motive for giving boys a classical
education, we find it to be simply conformity to public opinion. Men
dress their children's minds as they do their bodies, in the prevailing
fashion. As the Orinoco Indian puts on paint before leaving his hut, not
with a view to any direct benefit, but because he would be ashamed to be
seen without it; so, a boy's drilling in Latin and Greek is insisted on,
not because of their intrinsic value, but that he may not be disgraced
by being found ignorant of them--that he may have "the education of a
gentleman"--the badge marking a certain social position, and bringing a
consequent respect.

This parallel is still more clearly displayed in the case of the other
sex. In the treatment of both mind and body, the decorative element has
continued to predominate in a greater degree among women than among men.
Originally, personal adornment occupied the attention of both sexes
equally. In these latter days of civilisation, however, we see that in
the dress of men the regard for appearance has in a considerable degree
yielded to the regard for comfort; while in their education the useful
has of late been trenching on the ornamental. In neither direction has
this change gone so far with women. The wearing of earrings,
finger-rings, bracelets; the elaborate dressings of the hair; the still
occasional use of paint; the immense labour bestowed in making
habiliments sufficiently attractive; and the great discomfort that will
be submitted to for the sake of conformity; show how greatly, in the
attiring of women, the desire of approbation overrides the desire for
warmth and convenience. And similarly in their education, the immense
preponderance of "accomplishments" proves how here, too, use is
subordinated to display. Dancing, deportment, the piano, singing,
drawing--what a large space do these occupy! If you ask why Italian and
German are learnt, you will find that, under all the sham reasons given,
the real reason is, that a knowledge of those tongues is thought
ladylike. It is not that the books written in them may be utilised,
which they scarcely ever are; but that Italian and German songs may be
sung, and that the extent of attainment may bring whispered admiration.
The births, deaths, and marriages of kings, and other like historic
trivialities, are committed to memory, not because of any direct
benefits that can possibly result from knowing them: but because society
considers them parts of a good education--because the absence of such
knowledge may bring the contempt of others. When we have named reading,
writing, spelling, grammar, arithmetic, and sewing, we have named about
all the things a girl is taught with a view to their actual uses in
life; and even some of these have more reference to the good opinion of
others than to immediate personal welfare.

Thoroughly to realise the truth that with the mind as with the body the
ornamental precedes the useful, it is requisite to glance at its
rationale. This lies in the fact that, from the far past down even to
the present, social needs have subordinated individual needs, and that
the chief social need has been the control of individuals. It is not, as
we commonly suppose, that there are no governments but those of
monarchs, and parliaments, and constituted authorities. These
acknowledged governments are supplemented by other unacknowledged ones,
that grow up in all circles, in which every man or woman strives to be
king or queen or lesser dignitary. To get above some and be reverenced
by them, and to propitiate those who are above us, is the universal
struggle in which the chief energies of life are expended. By the
accumulation of wealth, by style of living, by beauty of dress, by
display of knowledge or intellect, each tries to subjugate others; and
so aids in weaving that ramified network of restraints by which society
is kept in order. It is not the savage chief only, who, in formidable
war-paint, with scalps at his belt, aims to strike awe into his
inferiors; it is not only the belle who, by elaborate toilet, polished
manners, and numerous accomplishments, strives to "make conquests;" but
the scholar, the historian, the philosopher, use their acquirements to
the same end. We are none of us content with quietly unfolding our own
individualities to the full in all directions; but have a restless
craving to impress our individualities upon others, and in some way
subordinate them. And this it is which determines the character of our
education. Not what knowledge is of most real worth, is the
consideration; but what will bring most applause, honour, respect--what
will most conduce to social position and influence--what will be most
imposing. As, throughout life, not what we are, but what we shall be
thought, is the question; so in education, the question is, not the
intrinsic value of knowledge, so much as its extrinsic effects on
others. And this being our dominant idea, direct utility is scarcely
more regarded than by the barbarian when filing his teeth and staining
his nails.

       *       *       *       *       *

If there requires further evidence of the rude, undeveloped character of
our education, we have it in the fact that the comparative worths of
different kinds of knowledge have been as yet scarcely even
discussed--much less discussed in a methodic way with definite results.
Not only is it that no standard of relative values has yet been agreed
upon; but the existence of any such standard has not been conceived in a
clear manner. And not only is it that the existence of such a standard
has not been clearly conceived; but the need for it seems to have been
scarcely even felt. Men read books on this topic, and attend lectures on
that; decide that their children shall be instructed in these branches
of knowledge, and shall not be instructed in those; and all under the
guidance of mere custom, or liking, or prejudice; without ever
considering the enormous importance of determining in some rational way
what things are really most worth learning. It is true that in all
circles we hear occasional remarks on the importance of this or the
other order of information. But whether the degree of its importance
justifies the expenditure of the time needed to acquire it; and whether
there are not things of more importance to which such time might be
better devoted; are queries which, if raised at all, are disposed of
quite summarily, according to personal predilections. It is true also,
that now and then, we hear revived the standing controversy respecting
the comparative merits of classics and mathematics. This controversy,
however, is carried on in an empirical manner, with no reference to an
ascertained criterion; and the question at issue is insignificant when
compared with the general question of which it is part. To suppose that
deciding whether a mathematical or a classical education is the best is
deciding what is the proper _curriculum_, is much the same thing as to
suppose that the whole of dietetics lies in ascertaining whether or not
bread is more nutritive than potatoes!

The question which we contend is of such transcendent moment, is, not
whether such or such knowledge is of worth but what is its _relative_
worth? When they have named certain advantages which a given course of
study has secured them, persons are apt to assume that they have
justified themselves; quite forgetting that the adequateness of the
advantages is the point to be judged. There is, perhaps, not a subject
to which men devote attention that has not _some_ value. A year
diligently spent in getting up heraldry, would very possibly give a
little further insight into ancient manners and morals. Any one who
should learn the distances between all the towns in England, might, in
the course of his life, find one or two of the thousand facts he had
acquired of some slight service when arranging a journey. Gathering
together all the small gossip of a county, profitless occupation as it
would be, might yet occasionally help to establish some useful
fact--say, a good example of hereditary transmission. But in these
cases, every one would admit that there was no proportion between the
required labour and the probable benefit. No one would tolerate the
proposal to devote some years of a boy's time to getting such
information, at the cost of much more valuable information which he
might else have got. And if here the test of relative value is appealed
to and held conclusive, then should it be appealed to and held
conclusive throughout. Had we time to master all subjects we need not be
particular. To quote the old song:--

  Could a man be secure
  That his day would endure
  As of old, for a thousand long years,
  What things might he know!
  What deeds might he do!
  And all without hurry or care.

"But we that have but span-long lives" must ever bear in mind our
limited time for acquisition. And remembering how narrowly this time is
limited, not only by the shortness of life, but also still more by the
business of life, we ought to be especially solicitous to employ what
time we have to the greatest advantage. Before devoting years to some
subject which fashion or fancy suggests, it is surely wise to weigh
with great care the worth of the results, as compared with the worth of
various alternative results which the same years might bring if
otherwise applied.

In education, then, this is the question of questions, which it is high
time we discussed in some methodic way. The first in importance, though
the last to be considered, is the problem--how to decide among the
conflicting claims of various subjects on our attention. Before there
can be a rational _curriculum_, we must settle which things it most
concerns us to know; or, to use a word of Bacon's, now unfortunately
obsolete--we must determine the relative values of knowledges.

       *       *       *       *       *

To this end, a measure of value is the first requisite. And happily,
respecting the true measure of value, as expressed in general terms,
there can be no dispute. Every one in contending for the worth of any
particular order of information, does so by showing its bearing upon
some part of life. In reply to the question--"Of what use is it?" the
mathematician, linguist, naturalist, or philosopher, explains the way in
which his learning beneficially influences action--saves from evil or
secures good--conduces to happiness. When the teacher of writing has
pointed out how great an aid writing is to success in business--that is,
to the obtainment of sustenance--that is, to satisfactory living; he is
held to have proved his case. And when the collector of dead facts (say
a numismatist) fails to make clear any appreciable effects which these
facts can produce on human welfare, he is obliged to admit that they are
comparatively valueless. All then, either directly or by implication,
appeal to this as the ultimate test.

How to live?--that is the essential question for us. Not how to live in
the mere material sense only, but in the widest sense. The general
problem which comprehends every special problem is--the right ruling of
conduct in all directions under all circumstances. In what way to treat
the body; in what way to treat the mind; in what way to manage our
affairs; in what way to bring up a family; in what way to behave as a
citizen; in what way to utilise those sources of happiness which nature
supplies--how to use all our faculties to the greatest advantage of
ourselves and others--how to live completely? And this being the great
thing needful for us to learn, is, by consequence, the great thing which
education has to teach. To prepare us for complete living is the
function which education has to discharge; and the only rational mode
of judging of an educational course is, to judge in what degree it
discharges such function.

This test, never used in its entirety, but rarely even partially used,
and used then in a vague, half conscious way, has to be applied
consciously, methodically, and throughout all cases. It behoves us to
set before ourselves, and ever to keep clearly in view, complete living
as the end to be achieved; so that in bringing up our children we may
choose subjects and methods of instruction, with deliberate reference to
this end. Not only ought we to cease from the mere unthinking adoption
of the current fashion in education, which has no better warrant than
any other fashion; but we must also rise above that rude, empirical
style of judging displayed by those more intelligent people who do
bestow some care in overseeing the cultivation of their children's
minds. It must not suffice simply to _think_ that such or such
information will be useful in after life, or that this kind of knowledge
is of more practical value than that; but we must seek out some process
of estimating their respective values, so that as far as possible we may
positively _know_ which are most deserving of attention.

Doubtless the task is difficult--perhaps never to be more than
approximately achieved. But, considering the vastness of the interests
at stake, its difficulty is no reason for pusillanimously passing it by;
but rather for devoting every energy to its mastery. And if we only
proceed systematically, we may very soon get at results of no small
moment.

Our first step must obviously be to classify, in the order of their
importance, the leading kinds of activity which constitute human life.
They may be naturally arranged into:--1. those activities which directly
minister to self-preservation; 2. those activities which, by securing
the necessaries of life, indirectly minister to self-preservation; 3.
those activities which have for their end the rearing and discipline of
offspring; 4. those activities which are involved in the maintenance of
proper social and political relations; 5. those miscellaneous activities
which fill up the leisure part of life, devoted to the gratification of
the tastes and feelings.

That these stand in something like their true order of subordination, it
needs no long consideration to show. The actions and precautions by
which, from moment to moment, we secure personal safety, must clearly
take precedence of all others. Could there be a man, ignorant as an
infant of surrounding objects and movements, or how to guide himself
among them, he would pretty certainly lose his life the first time he
went into the street; notwithstanding any amount of learning he might
have on other matters. And as entire ignorance in all other directions
would be less promptly fatal than entire ignorance in this direction, it
must be admitted that knowledge immediately conducive to
self-preservation is of primary importance.

That next after direct self-preservation comes the indirect
self-preservation which consists in acquiring the means of living, none
will question. That a man's industrial functions must be considered
before his parental ones, is manifest from the fact that, speaking
generally, the discharge of the parental functions is made possible only
by the previous discharge of the industrial ones. The power of
self-maintenance necessarily preceding the power of maintaining
offspring, it follows that knowledge needful for self-maintenance has
stronger claims than knowledge needful for family welfare--is second in
value to none save knowledge needful for immediate self-preservation.

As the family comes before the State in order of time--as the bringing
up of children is possible before the State exists, or when it has
ceased to be, whereas the State is rendered possible only by the
bringing up of children; it follows that the duties of the parent demand
closer attention than those of the citizen. Or, to use a further
argument--since the goodness of a society ultimately depends on the
nature of its citizens; and since the nature of its citizens is more
modifiable by early training than by anything else; we must conclude
that the welfare of the family underlies the welfare of society. And
hence knowledge directly conducing to the first, must take precedence of
knowledge directly conducing to the last.

Those various forms of pleasurable occupation which fill up the leisure
left by graver occupations--the enjoyments of music, poetry, painting,
etc.--manifestly imply a pre-existing society. Not only is a
considerable development of them impossible without a long-established
social union; but their very subject-matter consists in great part of
social sentiments and sympathies. Not only does society supply the
conditions to their growth; but also the ideas and sentiments they
express. And, consequently, that part of human conduct which constitutes
good citizenship, is of more moment than that which goes out in
accomplishments or exercise of the tastes; and, in education,
preparation for the one must rank before preparation for the other.

Such then, we repeat, is something like the rational order of
subordination:--That education which prepares for direct
self-preservation; that which prepares for indirect self-preservation;
that which prepares for parenthood; that which prepares for citizenship;
that which prepares for the miscellaneous refinements of life. We do not
mean to say that these divisions are definitely separable. We do not
deny that they are intricately entangled with each other, in such way
that there can be no training for any that is not in some measure a
training for all. Nor do we question that of each division there are
portions more important than certain portions of the preceding
divisions: that, for instance, a man of much skill in business but
little other faculty, may fall further below the standard of complete
living than one of but moderate ability in money-getting but great
judgment as a parent; or that exhaustive information bearing on right
social action, joined with entire want of general culture in literature
and the fine arts, is less desirable than a more moderate share of the
one joined with some of the other. But, after making due qualifications,
there still remain these broadly-marked divisions; and it still
continues substantially true that these divisions subordinate one
another in the foregoing order, because the corresponding divisions of
life make one another _possible_ in that order.

Of course the ideal of education is--complete preparation in all these
divisions. But failing this ideal, as in our phase of civilisation every
one must do more or less, the aim should be to maintain _a due
proportion_ between the degrees of preparation in each. Not exhaustive
cultivation in any one, supremely important though it may be--not even
an exclusive attention to the two, three, or four divisions of greatest
importance; but an attention to all:--greatest where the value is
greatest; less where the value is less; least where the value is least.
For the average man (not to forget the cases in which peculiar aptitude
for some one department of knowledge, rightly makes pursuit of that one
the bread-winning occupation)--for the average man, we say, the
desideratum is, a training that approaches nearest to perfection in the
things which most subserve complete living, and falls more and more
below perfection in the things that have more and more remote bearings
on complete living.

In regulating education by this standard, there are some general
considerations that should be ever present to us. The worth of any kind
of culture, as aiding complete living, may be either necessary or more
or less contingent. There is knowledge of intrinsic value; knowledge of
quasi-intrinsic value; and knowledge of conventional value. Such facts
as that sensations of numbness and tingling commonly precede paralysis,
that the resistance of water to a body moving through it varies as the
square of the velocity, that chlorine is a disinfectant,--these, and the
truths of Science in general, are of intrinsic value: they will bear on
human conduct ten thousand years hence as they do now. The extra
knowledge of our own language, which is given by an acquaintance with
Latin and Greek, may be considered to have a value that is
quasi-intrinsic: it must exist for us and for other races whose
languages owe much to these sources; but will last only as long as our
languages last. While that kind of information which, in our schools,
usurps the name History--the mere tissue of names and dates and dead
unmeaning events--has a conventional value only: it has not the remotest
bearing on any of our actions; and is of use only for the avoidance of
those unpleasant criticisms which current opinion passes upon its
absence. Of course, as those facts which concern all mankind throughout
all time must be held of greater moment than those which concern only a
portion of them during a limited era, and of far greater moment than
those which concern only a portion of them during the continuance of a
fashion; it follows that in a rational estimate, knowledge of intrinsic
worth must, other things equal, take precedence of knowledge that is of
quasi-intrinsic or conventional worth.

One further preliminary. Acquirement of every kind has two values--value
as _knowledge_ and value as _discipline_. Besides its use for guiding
conduct, the acquisition of each order of facts has also its use as
mental exercise; and its effects as a preparative for complete living
have to be considered under both these heads.

These, then, are the general ideas with which we must set out in
discussing a _curriculum_:--Life as divided into several kinds of
activity of successively decreasing importance; the worth of each order
of facts as regulating these several kinds of activity, intrinsically,
quasi-intrinsically, and conventionally; and their regulative influences
estimated both as knowledge and discipline.

       *       *       *       *       *

Happily, that all-important part of education which goes to secure
direct self-preservation, is in great part already provided for. Too
momentous to be left to our blundering, Nature takes it into her own
hands. While yet in its nurse's arms, the infant, by hiding its face
and crying at the sight of a stranger, shows the dawning instinct to
attain safety by flying from that which is unknown and may be dangerous;
and when it can walk, the terror it manifests if an unfamiliar dog comes
near, or the screams with which it runs to its mother after any
startling sight or sound, shows this instinct further developed.
Moreover, knowledge subserving direct self-preservation is that which it
is chiefly busied in acquiring from hour to hour. How to balance its
body; how to control its movements so as to avoid collisions; what
objects are hard, and will hurt if struck; what objects are heavy, and
injure if they fall on the limbs; which things will bear the weight of
the body, and which not; the pains inflicted by fire, by missiles, by
sharp instruments--these, and various other pieces of information
needful for the avoidance of death or accident, it is ever learning. And
when, a few years later, the energies go out in running, climbing, and
jumping, in games of strength and games of skill, we see in all these
actions by which the muscles are developed, the perceptions sharpened,
and the judgment quickened, a preparation for the safe conduct of the
body among surrounding objects and movements; and for meeting those
greater dangers that occasionally occur in the lives of all. Being thus,
as we say, so well cared for by Nature, this fundamental education needs
comparatively little care from us. What we are chiefly called upon to
see, is, that there shall be free scope for gaining this experience and
receiving this discipline--that there shall be no such thwarting of
Nature as that by which stupid schoolmistresses commonly prevent the
girls in their charge from the spontaneous physical activities they
would indulge in; and so render them comparatively incapable of taking
care of themselves in circumstances of peril.

This, however, is by no means all that is comprehended in the education
that prepares for direct self-preservation. Besides guarding the body
against mechanical damage or destruction, it has to be guarded against
injury from other causes--against the disease and death that follow
breaches of physiologic law. For complete living it is necessary, not
only that sudden annihilations of life shall be warded off; but also
that there shall be escaped the incapacities and the slow annihilation
which unwise habits entail. As, without health and energy, the
industrial, the parental, the social, and all other activities become
more or less impossible; it is clear that this secondary kind of direct
self-preservation is only less important than the primary kind; and
that knowledge tending to secure it should rank very high.

It is true that here, too, guidance is in some measure ready supplied.
By our various physical sensations and desires, Nature has insured a
tolerable conformity to the chief requirements. Fortunately for us, want
of food, great heat, extreme cold, produce promptings too peremptory to
be disregarded. And would men habitually obey these and all like
promptings when less strong, comparatively few evils would arise. If
fatigue of body or brain were in every case followed by desistance; if
the oppression produced by a close atmosphere always led to ventilation;
if there were no eating without hunger, or drinking without thirst; then
would the system be but seldom out of working order. But so profound an
ignorance is there of the laws of life, that men do not even know that
their sensations are their natural guides, and (when not rendered morbid
by long--continued disobedience) their trustworthy guides. So that
though, to speak teleologically, Nature has provided efficient
safeguards to health, lack of knowledge makes them in a great measure
useless.

If any one doubts the importance of an acquaintance with the principles
of physiology, as a means to complete living, let him look around and
see how many men and women he can find in middle or later life who are
thoroughly well. Only occasionally do we meet with an example of
vigorous health continued to old age; hourly do we meet with examples of
acute disorder, chronic ailment, general debility, premature
decrepitude. Scarcely is there one to whom you put the question, who has
not, in the course of his life, brought upon himself illnesses which a
little information would have saved him from. Here is a case of
heart-disease consequent on a rheumatic fever that followed reckless
exposure. There is a case of eyes spoiled for life by over-study.
Yesterday the account was of one whose long-enduring lameness was
brought on by continuing, spite of the pain, to use a knee after it had
been slightly injured. And to-day we are told of another who has had to
lie by for years, because he did not know that the palpitation he
suffered under resulted from overtaxed brain. Now we hear of an
irremediable injury which followed some silly feat of strength; and,
again, of a constitution that has never recovered from the effects of
excessive work needlessly undertaken. While on every side we see the
perpetual minor ailments which accompany feebleness. Not to dwell on the
pain, the weariness, the gloom, the waste of time and money thus
entailed, only consider how greatly ill-health hinders the discharge of
all duties--makes business often impossible, and always more difficult;
produces an irritability fatal to the right management of children; puts
the functions of citizenship out of the question; and makes amusement a
bore. Is it not clear that the physical sins--partly our forefathers'
and partly our own--which produce this ill-health, deduct more from
complete living than anything else? and to a great extent make life a
failure and a burden instead of a benefaction and a pleasure?

Nor is this all. Life, besides being thus immensely deteriorated, is
also cut short. It is not true, as we commonly suppose, that after a
disorder or disease from which we have recovered, we are as before. No
disturbance of the normal course of the functions can pass away and
leave things exactly as they were. A permanent damage is done--not
immediately appreciable, it may be, but still there; and along with
other such items which Nature in her strict account-keeping never drops,
it will tell against us to the inevitable shortening of our days.
Through the accumulation of small injuries it is that constitutions are
commonly undermined, and break down, long before their time. And if we
call to mind how far the average duration of life falls below the
possible duration, we see how immense is the loss. When, to the numerous
partial deductions which bad health entails, we add this great final
deduction, it results that ordinarily one-half of life is thrown away.

Hence, knowledge which subserves direct self-preservation by preventing
this loss of health, is of primary importance. We do not contend that
possession of such knowledge would by any means wholly remedy the evil.
It is clear that in our present phase of civilisation, men's necessities
often compel them to transgress. And it is further clear that, even in
the absence of such compulsion, their inclinations would frequently lead
them, spite of their convictions, to sacrifice future good to present
gratification. But we _do_ contend that the right knowledge impressed in
the right way would effect much; and we further contend that as the laws
of health must be recognised before they can be fully conformed to, the
imparting of such knowledge must precede a more rational living--come
when that may. We infer that as vigorous health and its accompanying
high spirits are larger elements of happiness than any other things
whatever, the teaching how to maintain them is a teaching that yields in
moment to no other whatever. And therefore we assert that such a course
of physiology as is needful for the comprehension of its general truths,
and their bearings on daily conduct, is an all-essential part of a
rational education.

Strange that the assertion should need making! Stranger still that it
should need defending! Yet are there not a few by whom such a
proposition will be received with something approaching to derision. Men
who would blush if caught saying Iphigénia instead of Iphigenía, or
would resent as an insult any imputation of ignorance respecting the
fabled labours of a fabled demi-god, show not the slightest shame in
confessing that they do not know where the Eustachian tubes are, what
are the actions of the spinal cord, what is the normal rate of
pulsation, or how the lungs are inflated. While anxious that their sons
should be well up in the superstitions of two thousand years ago, they
care not that they should be taught anything about the structure and
functions of their own bodies--nay, even wish them not to be so taught.
So overwhelming is the influence of established routine! So terribly in
our education does the ornamental over-ride the useful!

       *       *       *       *       *

We need not insist on the value of that knowledge which aids indirect
self-preservation by facilitating the gaining of a livelihood. This is
admitted by all; and, indeed, by the mass is perhaps too exclusively
regarded as the end of education. But while every one is ready to
endorse the abstract proposition that instruction fitting youths for the
business of life is of high importance, or even to consider it of
supreme importance; yet scarcely any inquire what instruction will so
fit them. It is true that reading, writing, and arithmetic are taught
with an intelligent appreciation of their uses. But when we have said
this we have said nearly all. While the great bulk of what else is
acquired has no bearing on the industrial activities, an immensity of
information that has a direct bearing on the industrial activities is
entirely passed over.

For, leaving out only some very small classes, what are all men employed
in? They are employed in the production, preparation, and distribution
of commodities. And on what does efficiency in the production,
preparation, and distribution of commodities depend? It depends on the
use of methods fitted to the respective natures of these commodities; it
depends on an adequate acquaintance with their physical, chemical, or
vital properties, as the case may be; that is, it depends on Science.
This order of knowledge which is in great part ignored in our
school-courses, is the order of knowledge underlying the right
performance of those processes by which civilised life is made possible.
Undeniable as is this truth, there seems to be no living consciousness
of it: its very familiarity makes it unregarded. To give due weight to
our argument, we must, therefore, realise this truth to the reader by a
rapid review of the facts.

Passing over the most abstract science, Logic, on the due guidance by
which, however, the large producer or distributor depends, knowingly or
unknowingly, for success in his business-forecasts, we come first to
Mathematics. Of this, the most general division, dealing with number,
guides all industrial activities; be they those by which processes are
adjusted, or estimates framed, or commodities bought and sold, or
accounts kept. No one needs to have the value of this division of
abstract science insisted upon.

For the higher arts of construction, some acquaintance with the more
special division of Mathematics is indispensable. The village carpenter,
who lays out his work by empirical rules, equally with the builder of a
Britannia Bridge, makes hourly reference to the laws of space-relations.
The surveyor who measures the land purchased; the architect in designing
a mansion to be built on it; the builder when laying out the
foundations; the masons in cutting the stones; and the various artizans
who put up the fittings; are all guided by geometrical truths.
Railway-making is regulated from beginning to end by geometry: alike in
the preparation of plans and sections; in staking out the line; in the
mensuration of cuttings and embankments; in the designing and building
of bridges, culverts, viaducts, tunnels, stations. Similarly with the
harbours, docks, piers, and various engineering and architectural works
that fringe the coasts and overspread the country, as well as the mines
that run underneath it. And now-a-days, even the farmer, for the correct
laying-out of his drains, has recourse to the level--that is, to
geometrical principles.

Turn next to the Abstract-Concrete sciences. On the application of the
simplest of these, Mechanics, depends the success of modern
manufactures. The properties of the lever, the wheel-and-axle, etc., are
recognised in every machine, and to machinery in these times we owe all
production. Trace the history of the breakfast-roll. The soil out of
which it came was drained with machine-made tiles; the surface was
turned over by a machine; the wheat was reaped, thrashed, and winnowed
by machines; by machinery it was ground and bolted; and had the flour
been sent to Gosport, it might have been made into biscuits by a
machine. Look round the room in which you sit. If modern, probably the
bricks in its walls were machine-made; and by machinery the flooring was
sawn and planed, the mantel-shelf sawn and polished, the paper-hangings
made and printed. The veneer on the table, the turned legs of the
chairs, the carpet, the curtains, are all products of machinery. Your
clothing--plain, figured, or printed--is it not wholly woven, nay,
perhaps even sewed, by machinery? And the volume you are reading--are
not its leaves fabricated by one machine and covered with these words by
another? Add to which that for the means of distribution over both land
and sea, we are similarly indebted. And then observe that according as
knowledge of mechanics is well or ill applied to these ends, comes
success or failure. The engineer who miscalculates the strength of
materials, builds a bridge that breaks down. The manufacturer who uses a
bad machine cannot compete with another whose machine wastes less in
friction and inertia. The ship-builder adhering to the old model is
out-sailed by one who builds on the mechanically-justified wave-line
principle. And as the ability of a nation to hold its own against other
nations, depends on the skilled activity of its units, we see that on
mechanical knowledge may turn the national fate.

On ascending from the divisions of Abstract-Concrete science dealing
with molar forces, to those divisions of it which deal with molecular
forces, we come to another vast series of applications. To this group of
sciences joined with the preceding groups we owe the steam-engine, which
does the work of millions of labourers. That section of physics which
formulates the laws of heat, has taught us how to economise fuel in
various industries; how to increase the produce of smelting furnaces by
substituting the hot for the cold blast; how to ventilate mines; how to
prevent explosions by using the safety-lamp; and, through the
thermometer, how to regulate innumerable processes. That section which
has the phenomena of light for its subject, gives eyes to the old and
the myopic; aids through the microscope in detecting diseases and
adulterations; and, by improved lighthouses, prevents shipwrecks.
Researches in electricity and magnetism have saved innumerable lives and
incalculable property through the compass; have subserved many arts by
the electrotype; and now, in the telegraph, have supplied us with an
agency by which for the future, mercantile transactions will be
regulated and political intercourse carried on. While in the details of
in-door life, from the improved kitchen-range up to the stereoscope on
the drawing-room table, the applications of advanced physics underlie
our comforts and gratifications.

Still more numerous are the applications of Chemistry. The bleacher, the
dyer, the calico-printer, are severally occupied in processes that are
well or ill done according as they do or do not conform to chemical
laws. Smelting of copper, tin, zinc, lead, silver, iron, must be guided
by chemistry. Sugar-refining, gas-making, soap-boiling,
gunpowder-manufacture, are operations all partly chemical; as are
likewise those which produce glass and porcelain. Whether the
distiller's wort stops at the alcoholic fermentation or passes into the
acetous, is a chemical question on which hangs his profit or loss; and
the brewer, if his business is extensive, finds it pay to keep a chemist
on his premises. Indeed, there is now scarcely any manufacture over some
part of which chemistry does not preside. Nay, in these times even
agriculture, to be profitably carried on, must have like guidance. The
analysis of manures and soils; the disclosure of their respective
adaptations; the use of gypsum or other substance for fixing ammonia;
the utilisation of coprolites; the production of artificial manures--all
these are boons of chemistry which it behoves the farmer to acquaint
himself with. Be it in the lucifer match, or in disinfected sewage, or
in photographs--in bread made without fermentation, or perfumes
extracted from refuse, we may perceive that chemistry affects all our
industries; and that, therefore, knowledge of it concerns every one who
is directly or indirectly connected with our industries.

Of the Concrete sciences, we come first to Astronomy. Out of this has
grown that art of navigation which has made possible the enormous
foreign commerce that supports a large part of our population, while
supplying us with many necessaries and most of our luxuries.

Geology, again, is a science knowledge of which greatly aids industrial
success. Now that iron ores are so large a source of wealth; now that
the duration of our coal-supply has become a question of great interest;
now that we have a College of Mines and a Geological Survey; it is
scarcely needful to enlarge on the truth that the study of the Earth's
crust is important to our material welfare.

And then the science of life--Biology: does not this, too, bear
fundamentally on these processes of indirect self-preservation? With
what we ordinarily call manufactures, it has, indeed, little connection;
but with the all-essential manufacture--that of food--it is inseparably
connected. As agriculture must conform its methods to the phenomena of
vegetal and animal life, it follows that the science of these phenomena
is the rational basis of agriculture. Various biological truths have
indeed been empirically established and acted upon by farmers, while yet
there has been no conception of them as science; such as that particular
manures are suited to particular plants; that crops of certain kinds
unfit the soil for other crops; that horses cannot do good work on poor
food; that such and such diseases of cattle and sheep are caused by such
and such conditions. These, and the every-day knowledge which the
agriculturist gains by experience respecting the management of plants
and animals, constitute his stock of biological facts; on the largeness
of which greatly depends his success. And as these biological facts,
scanty, indefinite, rudimentary, though they are, aid him so
essentially; judge what must be the value to him of such facts when they
become positive, definite, and exhaustive. Indeed, even now we may see
the benefits that rational biology is conferring on him. The truth that
the production of animal heat implies waste of substance, and that,
therefore, preventing loss of heat prevents the need for extra food--a
purely theoretical conclusion--now guides the fattening of cattle: it is
found that by keeping cattle warm, fodder is saved. Similarly with
respect to variety of food. The experiments of physiologists have shown
that not only is change of diet beneficial, but that digestion is
facilitated by a mixture of ingredients in each meal. The discovery that
a disorder known as "the staggers," of which many thousands of sheep
have died annually, is caused by an entozoon which presses on the brain,
and that if the creature is extracted through the softened place in the
skull which marks its position, the sheep usually recovers, is another
debt which agriculture owes to biology.

Yet one more science have we to note as bearing directly on industrial
success--the Science of Society. Men who daily look at the state of the
money-market glance over prices current; discuss the probable crops of
corn, cotton, sugar, wool, silk; weigh the chances of war; and from
these data decide on their mercantile operations; are students of social
science: empirical and blundering students it may be; but still,
students who gain the prizes or are plucked of their profits, according
as they do or do not reach the right conclusion. Not only the
manufacturer and the merchant must guide their transactions by
calculations of supply and demand, based on numerous facts, and tacitly
recognising sundry general principles of social action; but even the
retailer must do the like: his prosperity very greatly depending upon
the correctness of his judgments respecting the future wholesale prices
and the future rates of consumption. Manifestly, whoever takes part in
the entangled commercial activities of a community, is vitally
interested in understanding the laws according to which those activities
vary.

Thus, to all such as are occupied in the production, exchange, or
distribution of commodities, acquaintance with Science in some of its
departments, is of fundamental importance. Each man who is immediately
or remotely implicated in any form of industry (and few are not) has in
some way to deal with the mathematical, physical, and chemical
properties of things; perhaps, also, has a direct interest in biology;
and certainly has in sociology. Whether he does or does not succeed well
in that indirect self-preservation which we call getting a good
livelihood, depends in a great degree on his knowledge of one or more of
these sciences: not, it may be, a rational knowledge; but still a
knowledge, though empirical. For what we call learning a business,
really implies learning the science involved in it; though not perhaps
under the name of science. And hence a grounding in science is of great
importance, both because it prepares for all this, and because rational
knowledge has an immense superiority over empirical knowledge. Moreover,
not only is scientific culture requisite for each, that he may
understand the _how_ and the _why_ of the things and processes with
which he is concerned as maker or distributor; but it is often of much
moment that he should understand the _how_ and the _why_ of various
other things and processes. In this age of joint-stock undertakings,
nearly every man above the labourer is interested as capitalist in some
other occupation than his own; and, as thus interested, his profit or
loss often depends on his knowledge of the sciences bearing on this
other occupation. Here is a mine, in the sinking of which many
shareholders ruined themselves, from not knowing that a certain fossil
belonged to the old red sandstone, below which no coal is found.
Numerous attempts have been made to construct electromagnetic engines,
in the hope of superseding steam; but had those who supplied the money
understood the general law of the correlation and equivalence of
forces, they might have had better balances at their bankers. Daily are
men induced to aid in carrying out inventions which a mere tyro in
science could show to be futile. Scarcely a locality but has its history
of fortunes thrown away over some impossible project.

And if already the loss from want of science is so frequent and so
great, still greater and more frequent will it be to those who hereafter
lack science. Just as fast as productive processes become more
scientific, which competition will inevitably make them do; and just as
fast as joint-stock undertakings spread, which they certainly will; so
fast must scientific knowledge grow necessary to every one.

That which our school-courses leave almost entirely out, we thus find to
be that which most nearly concerns the business of life. Our industries
would cease, were it not for the information which men begin to acquire,
as they best may, after their education is said to be finished. And were
it not for this information, from age to age accumulated and spread by
unofficial means, these industries would never have existed. Had there
been no teaching but such as goes on in our public schools, England
would now be what it was in feudal times. That increasing acquaintance
with the laws of phenomena, which has through successive ages enabled us
to subjugate Nature to our needs, and in these days gives the common
labourer comforts which a few centuries ago kings could not purchase, is
scarcely in any degree owed to the appointed means of instructing our
youth. The vital knowledge--that by which we have grown as a nation to
what we are, and which now underlies our whole existence, is a knowledge
that has got itself taught in nooks and corners; while the ordained
agencies for teaching have been mumbling little else but dead formulas.

       *       *       *       *       *

We come now to the third great division of human activities--a division
for which no preparation whatever is made. If by some strange chance not
a vestige of us descended to the remote future save a pile of our
school-books or some college examination papers, we may imagine how
puzzled an antiquary of the period would be on finding in them no sign
that the learners were ever likely to be parents. "This must have been
the _curriculum_ for their celibates," we may fancy him concluding. "I
perceive here an elaborate preparation for many things; especially for
reading the books of extinct nations and of co-existing nations (from
which indeed it seems clear that these people had very little worth
reading in their own tongue); but I find no reference whatever to the
bringing up of children. They could not have been so absurd as to omit
all training for this gravest of responsibilities. Evidently then, this
was the school-course of one of their monastic orders."

Seriously, is it not an astonishing fact, that though on the treatment
of offspring depend their lives or deaths, and their moral welfare or
ruin; yet not one word of instruction on the treatment of offspring is
ever given to those who will by and by be parents? Is it not monstrous
that the fate of a new generation should be left to the chances of
unreasoning custom, impulse, fancy--joined with the suggestions of
ignorant nurses and the prejudiced counsel of grandmothers? If a
merchant commenced business without any knowledge of arithmetic and
book-keeping, we should exclaim at his folly, and look for disastrous
consequences. Or if, before studying anatomy, a man set up as a surgical
operator, we should wonder at his audacity and pity his patients. But
that parents should begin the difficult task of rearing children,
without ever having given a thought to the principles--physical, moral,
or intellectual--which ought to guide them, excites neither surprise at
the actors nor pity for their victims.

To tens of thousands that are killed, add hundreds of thousand that
survive with feeble constitutions, and millions that grow up with
constitutions not so strong as they should be; and you will have some
idea of the curse inflicted on their offspring by parents ignorant of
the laws of life. Do but consider for a moment that the regimen to which
children are subject, is hourly telling upon them to their life-long
injury or benefit; and that there are twenty ways of going wrong to one
way of going right; and you will get some idea of the enormous mischief
that is almost everywhere inflicted by the thoughtless, haphazard system
in common use. Is it decided that a boy shall be clothed in some flimsy
short dress, and be allowed to go playing about with limbs reddened by
cold? The decision will tell on his whole future existence--either in
illnesses; or in stunted growth; or in deficient energy; or in a
maturity less vigorous than it ought to have been, and in consequent
hindrances to success and happiness. Are children doomed to a monotonous
dietary, or a dietary that is deficient in nutritiveness? Their ultimate
physical power, and their efficiency as men and women, will inevitably
be more or less diminished by it. Are they forbidden vociferous play, or
(being too ill-clothed to bear exposure) are they kept indoors in cold
weather? They are certain to fall below that measure of health and
strength to which they would else have attained. When sons and daughters
grow up sickly and feeble, parents commonly regard the event as a
misfortune--as a visitation of Providence. Thinking after the prevalent
chaotic fashion, they assume that these evils come without causes; or
that the causes are supernatural. Nothing of the kind. In some cases the
causes are doubtless inherited; but in most cases foolish regulations
are the causes. Very generally, parents themselves are responsible for
all this pain, this debility, this depression, this misery. They have
undertaken to control the lives of their offspring from hour to hour;
with cruel carelessness they have neglected to learn anything about
these vital processes which they are unceasingly affecting by their
commands and prohibitions; in utter ignorance of the simplest
physiologic laws, they have been year by year undermining the
constitutions of their children; and have so inflicted disease and
premature death, not only on them but on their descendants.

Equally great are the ignorance and the consequent injury, when we turn
from physical training to moral training. Consider the young mother and
her nursery-legislation. But a few years ago she was at school, where
her memory was crammed with words, and names, and dates, and her
reflective faculties scarcely in the slightest degree exercised--where
not one idea was given her respecting the methods of dealing with the
opening mind of childhood; and where her discipline did not in the least
fit her for thinking out methods of her own. The intervening years have
been passed in practising music, in fancy-work, in novel-reading, and in
party-going: no thought having yet been given to the grave
responsibilities of maternity; and scarcely any of that solid
intellectual culture obtained which would be some preparation for such
responsibilities. And now see her with an unfolding human character
committed to her charge--see her profoundly ignorant of the phenomena
with which she has to deal, undertaking to do that which can be done but
imperfectly even with the aid of the profoundest knowledge. She knows
nothing about the nature of the emotions, their order of evolution,
their functions, or where use ends and abuse begins. She is under the
impression that some of the feelings are wholly bad, which is not true
of any one of them; and that others are good however far they may be
carried, which is also not true of any one of them. And then, ignorant
as she is of the structure she has to deal with, she is equally
ignorant of the effects produced on it by this or that treatment. What
can be more inevitable than the disastrous results we see hourly
arising? Lacking knowledge of mental phenomena, with their cause and
consequences, her interference is frequently more mischievous than
absolute passivity would have been. This and that kind of action, which
are quite normal and beneficial, she perpetually thwarts; and so
diminishes the child's happiness and profit, injures its temper and her
own, and produces estrangement. Deeds which she thinks it desirable to
encourage, she gets performed by threats and bribes, or by exciting a
desire for applause: considering little what the inward motive may be,
so long as the outward conduct conforms; and thus cultivating hypocrisy,
and fear, and selfishness, in place of good feeling. While insisting on
truthfulness, she constantly sets an example of untruth by threatening
penalties which she does not inflict. While inculcating self-control,
she hourly visits on her little ones angry scoldings for acts
undeserving of them. She has not the remotest idea that in the nursery,
as in the world, that alone is the truly salutary discipline which
visits on all conduct, good and bad, the natural consequences--the
consequences, pleasurable or painful, which in the nature of things such
conduct tends to bring. Being thus without theoretic guidance, and quite
incapable of guiding herself by tracing the mental processes going on in
her children, her rule is impulsive, inconsistent, mischievous; and
would indeed be generally ruinous were it not that the overwhelming
tendency of the growing mind to assume the moral type of the race
usually subordinates all minor influences.

And then the culture of the intellect--is not this, too, mismanaged in a
similar manner? Grant that the phenomena of intelligence conform to
laws; grant that the evolution of intelligence in a child also conforms
to laws; and it follows inevitably that education cannot be rightly
guided without a knowledge of these laws. To suppose that you can
properly regulate this process of forming and accumulating ideas,
without understanding the nature of the process, is absurd. How widely,
then, must teaching as it is differ from teaching as it should be; when
hardly any parents, and but few tutors, know anything about psychology.
As might be expected, the established system is grievously at fault,
alike in matter and in manner. While the right class of facts is
withheld, the wrong class is forcibly administered in the wrong way and
in the wrong order. Under that common limited idea of education which
confines it to knowledge gained from books, parents thrust primers into
the hands of their little ones years too soon, to their great injury.
Not recognising the truth that the function of books is
supplementary--that they form an indirect means to knowledge when direct
means fail--a means of seeing through other men what you cannot see for
yourself; teachers are eager to give second-hand facts in place of
first-hand facts. Not perceiving the enormous value of that spontaneous
education which goes on in early years--not perceiving that a child's
restless observation, instead of being ignored or checked, should be
diligently ministered to, and made as accurate and complete as possible;
they insist on occupying its eyes and thoughts with things that are, for
the time being, incomprehensible and repugnant. Possessed by a
superstition which worships the symbols of knowledge instead of the
knowledge itself, they do not see that only when his acquaintance with
the objects and processes of the household, the streets, and the fields,
is becoming tolerably exhaustive--only then should a child be introduced
to the new sources of information which books supply: and this, not only
because immediate cognition is of far greater value than mediate
cognition; but also, because the words contained in books can be rightly
interpreted into ideas, only in proportion to the antecedent experience
of things. Observe next, that this formal instruction, far too soon
commenced, is carried on with but little reference to the laws of mental
development. Intellectual progress is of necessity from the concrete to
the abstract. But regardless of this, highly abstract studies, such as
grammar, which should come quite late, are begun quite early. Political
geography, dead and uninteresting to a child, and which should be an
appendage of sociological studies, is commenced betimes; while physical
geography, comprehensible and comparatively attractive to a child, is in
great part passed over. Nearly every subject dealt with is arranged in
abnormal order: definitions and rules and principles being put first,
instead of being disclosed, as they are in the order of nature, through
the study of cases. And then, pervading the whole, is the vicious system
of rote learning--a system of sacrificing the spirit to the letter. See
the results. What with perceptions unnaturally dulled by early
thwarting, and a coerced attention to books--what with the mental
confusion produced by teaching subjects before they can be understood,
and in each of them giving generalisations before the facts of which
they are the generalisations--what with making the pupil a mere passive
recipient of other's ideas, and not in the least leading him to be an
active inquirer or self-instructor--and what with taxing the faculties
to excess; there are very few minds that become as efficient as they
might be. Examinations being once passed, books are laid aside; the
greater part of what has been acquired, being unorganised, soon drops
out of recollection; what remains is mostly inert--the art of applying
knowledge not having been cultivated; and there is but little power
either of accurate observation or independent thinking. To all which
add, that while much of the information gained is of relatively small
value, an immense mass of information of transcendent value is entirely
passed over.

Thus we find the facts to be such as might have been inferred _à
priori_. The training of children--physical, moral, and intellectual--is
dreadfully defective. And in great measure it is so because parents are
devoid of that knowledge by which this training can alone be rightly
guided. What is to be expected when one of the most intricate of
problems is undertaken by those who have given scarcely a thought to the
principles on which its solution depends? For shoe-making or
house-building, for the management of a ship or a locomotive engine, a
long apprenticeship is needful. Is it, then, that the unfolding of a
human being in body and mind is so comparatively simple a process that
any one may superintend and regulate it with no preparation whatever? If
not--if the process is, with one exception, more complex than any in
Nature, and the task of ministering to it one of surpassing difficulty;
is it not madness to make no provision for such a task? Better sacrifice
accomplishments than omit this all-essential instruction. When a father,
acting on false dogmas adopted without examination, has alienated his
sons, driven them into rebellion by his harsh treatment, ruined them,
and made himself miserable; he might reflect that the study of Ethology
would have been worth pursuing, even at the cost of knowing nothing
about Æschylus. When a mother is mourning over a first-born that has
sunk under the sequelæ of scarlet-fever--when perhaps a candid medical
man has confirmed her suspicion that her child would have recovered had
not its system been enfeebled by over-study--when she is prostrate under
the pangs of combined grief and remorse; it is but a small consolation
that she can read Dante in the original.

Thus we see that for regulating the third great division of human
activities, a knowledge of the laws of life is the one thing needful.
Some acquaintance with the first principles of physiology and the
elementary truths of psychology, is indispensable for the right bringing
up of children. We doubt not that many will read this assertion with a
smile. That parents in general should be expected to acquire a knowledge
of subjects so abstruse will seem to them an absurdity. And if we
proposed that an exhaustive knowledge of these subjects should be
obtained by all fathers and mothers, the absurdity would indeed be
glaring enough. But we do not. General principles only, accompanied by
such illustrations as may be needed to make them understood, would
suffice. And these might be readily taught--if not rationally, then
dogmatically. Be this as it may, however, here are the indisputable
facts:--that the development of children in mind and body follows
certain laws; that unless these laws are in some degree conformed to by
parents, death is inevitable; that unless they are in a great degree
conformed to, there must result serious physical and mental defects; and
that only when they are completely conformed to, can a perfect maturity
be reached. Judge, then, whether all who may one day be parents, should
not strive with some anxiety to learn what these laws are.

       *       *       *       *       *

From the parental functions let us pass now to the functions of the
citizen. We have here to inquire what knowledge fits a man for the
discharge of these functions. It cannot be alleged that the need for
knowledge fitting him for these functions is wholly overlooked; for our
school-courses contain certain studies, which, nominally at least, bear
upon political and social duties. Of these the only one that occupies a
prominent place is History.

But, as already hinted, the information commonly given under this head,
is almost valueless for purposes of guidance. Scarcely any of the facts
set down in our school-histories, and very few of those contained in the
more elaborate works written for adults, illustrate the right principles
of political action. The biographies of monarchs (and our children learn
little else) throw scarcely any light upon the science of society.
Familiarity with court intrigues, plots, usurpations, or the like, and
with all the personalities accompanying them, aids very little in
elucidating the causes of national progress. We read of some squabble
for power, that it led to a pitched battle; that such and such were the
names of the generals and their leading subordinates; that they had each
so many thousand infantry and cavalry, and so many cannon; that they
arranged their forces in this and that order; that they manoeuvred,
attacked, and fell back in certain ways; that at this part of the day
such disasters were sustained, and at that such advantages gained; that
in one particular movement some leading officer fell, while in another a
certain regiment was decimated; that after all the changing fortunes of
the fight, the victory was gained by this or that army; and that so many
were killed and wounded on each side, and so many captured by the
conquerors. And now, out of the accumulated details making up the
narrative, say which it is that helps you in deciding on your conduct as
a citizen. Supposing even that you had diligently read, not only _The
Fifteen Decisive Battles of the World_, but accounts of all other
battles that history mentions; how much more judicious would your vote
be at the next election? "But these are facts--interesting facts," you
say. Without doubt they are facts (such, at least, as are not wholly or
partially fictions); and to many they may be interesting facts. But this
by no means implies that they are valuable. Factitious or morbid opinion
often gives seeming value to things that have scarcely any. A
tulipomaniac will not part with a choice bulb for its weight in gold. To
another man an ugly piece of cracked old china seems his most desirable
possession. And there are those who give high prices for the relics of
celebrated murderers. Will it be contended that these tastes are any
measures of value in the things that gratify them? If not, then it must
be admitted that the liking felt for certain classes of historical facts
is no proof of their worth; and that we must test their worth, as we
test the worth of other facts, by asking to what uses they are
applicable. Were some one to tell you that your neighbour's cat kittened
yesterday, you would say the information was valueless. Fact though it
might be, you would call it an utterly useless fact--a fact that could
in no way influence your actions in life--a fact that would not help you
in learning how to live completely. Well, apply the same test to the
great mass of historical facts, and you will get the same result. They
are facts from which no conclusions can be drawn--_unorganisable_ facts;
and therefore facts of no service in establishing principles of conduct,
which is the chief use of facts. Read them, if you like, for amusement;
but do not flatter your self they are instructive.

That which constitutes History, properly so called, is in great part
omitted from works on the subject. Only of late years have historians
commenced giving us, in any considerable quantity, the truly valuable
information. As in past ages the king was everything and the people
nothing; so, in past histories the doings of the king fill the entire
picture, to which the national life forms but an obscure background.
While only now, when the welfare of nations rather than of rulers is
becoming the dominant idea, are historians beginning to occupy
themselves with the phenomena of social progress. The thing it really
concerns us to know is the natural history of society. We want all facts
which help us to understand how a nation has grown and organised itself.
Among these, let us of course have an account of its government; with as
little as may be of gossip about the men who officered it, and as much
as possible about the structure, principles, methods, prejudices,
corruptions, etc., which it exhibited: and let this account include not
only the nature and actions of the central government, but also those of
local governments, down to their minutest ramifications. Let us of
course also have a parallel description of the ecclesiastical
government--its organisation, its conduct, its power, its relations to
the State; and accompanying this, the ceremonial, creed, and religious
ideas--not only those nominally believed, but those really believed and
acted upon. Let us at the same time be informed of the control exercised
by class over class, as displayed in social observances--in titles,
salutations, and forms of address. Let us know, too, what were all the
other customs which regulated the popular life out of doors and
in-doors: including those concerning the relations of the sexes, and the
relations of parents to children. The superstitions, also, from the more
important myths down to the charms in common use, should be indicated.
Next should come a delineation of the industrial system: showing to what
extent the division of labour was carried; how trades were regulated,
whether by caste, guilds, or otherwise; what was the connection between
employers and employed; what were the agencies for distributing
commodities; what were the means of communication; what was the
circulating medium. Accompanying all which should be given an account of
the industrial arts technically considered: stating the processes in
use, and the quality of the products. Further, the intellectual
condition of the nation in its various grades should be depicted; not
only with respect to the kind and amount of education, but with respect
to the progress made in science, and the prevailing manner of thinking.
The degree of æsthetic culture, as displayed in architecture, sculpture,
painting, dress, music, poetry, and fiction, should be described. Nor
should there be omitted a sketch of the daily lives of the
people--their food, their homes, and their amusements. And lastly, to
connect the whole, should be exhibited the morals, theoretical and
practical, of all classes: as indicated in their laws, habits, proverbs,
deeds. These facts, given with as much brevity as consists with
clearness and accuracy, should be so grouped and arranged that they may
be comprehended in their _ensemble_, and contemplated as
mutually-dependent parts of one great whole. The aim should be so to
present them that men may readily trace the _consensus_ subsisting among
them; with the view of learning what social phenomena co-exist with what
other. And then the corresponding delineations of succeeding ages should
be so managed as to show how each belief, institution, custom, and
arrangement was modified; and how the _consensus_ of preceding
structures and functions was developed into the _consensus_ of
succeeding ones. Such alone is the kind of information respecting past
times which can be of service to the citizen for the regulation of his
conduct. The only history that is of practical value is what may be
called Descriptive Sociology. And the highest office which the historian
can discharge, is that of so narrating the lives of nations, as to
furnish materials for a Comparative Sociology; and for the subsequent
determination of the ultimate laws to which social phenomena conform.

But now mark, that even supposing an adequate stock of this truly
valuable historical knowledge has been acquired, it is of comparatively
little use without the key. And the key is to be found only in Science.
In the absence of the generalisations of biology and psychology,
rational interpretation of social phenomena is impossible. Only in
proportion as men draw certain rude, empirical inferences respecting
human nature, are they enabled to understand even the simplest facts of
social life: as, for instance, the relation between supply and demand.
And if the most elementary truths of sociology cannot be reached until
some knowledge is obtained of how men generally think, feel, and act
under given circumstances; then it is manifest that there can be nothing
like a wide comprehension of sociology, unless through a competent
acquaintance with man in all his faculties, bodily, and mental. Consider
the matter in the abstract, and this conclusion is self-evident.
Thus:--Society is made up of individuals; all that is done in society is
done by the combined actions of individuals; and therefore, in
individual actions only can be found the solutions of social phenomena.
But the actions of individuals depend on the laws of their natures; and
their actions cannot be understood until these laws are understood.
These laws, however, when reduced to their simplest expressions, prove
to be corollaries from the laws of body and mind in general. Hence it
follows, that biology and psychology are indispensable as interpreters
of sociology. Or, to state the conclusions still more simply:--all
social phenomena are phenomena of life--are the most complex
manifestations of life--must conform to the laws of life--and can be
understood only when the laws of life are understood. Thus, then, for
the regulation of this fourth division of human activities, we are, as
before, dependent on Science. Of the knowledge commonly imparted in
educational courses, very little is of service for guiding a man in his
conduct as a citizen. Only a small part of the history he reads is of
practical value; and of this small part he is not prepared to make
proper use. He lacks not only the materials for, but the very conception
of, descriptive sociology; and he also lacks those generalisations of
the organic sciences, without which even descriptive sociology can give
him but small aid.

       *       *       *       *       *

And now we come to that remaining division of human life which includes
the relaxations and amusements filling leisure hours. After considering
what training best fits for self-preservation, for the obtainment of
sustenance, for the discharge of parental duties, and for the regulation
of social and political conduct; we have now to consider what training
best fits for the miscellaneous ends not included in these--for the
enjoyment of Nature, of Literature, and of the Fine Arts, in all their
forms. Postponing them as we do to things that bear more vitally upon
human welfare; and bringing everything, as we have, to the test of
actual value; it will perhaps be inferred that we are inclined to slight
these less essential things. No greater mistake could be made, however.
We yield to none in the value we attach to aesthetic culture and its
pleasures. Without painting, sculpture, music, poetry, and the emotions
produced by natural beauty of every kind, life would lose half its
charm. So far from regarding the training and gratification of the
tastes as unimportant, we believe that in time to come they will occupy
a much larger share of human life than now. When the forces of Nature
have been fully conquered to man's use--when the means of production
have been brought to perfection--when labour has been economised to the
highest degree--when education has been so systematised that a
preparation for the more essential activities may be made with
comparative rapidity--and when, consequently, there is a great increase
of spare time; then will the beautiful, both in Art and Nature, rightly
fill a large space in the minds of all.

But it is one thing to approve of æsthetic culture as largely conducive
to human happiness; and another thing to admit that it is a fundamental
requisite to human happiness. However important it may be, it must yield
precedence to those kinds of culture which bear directly upon daily
duties. As before hinted, literature and the fine arts are made possible
by those activities which make individual and social life possible; and
manifestly, that which is made possible, must be postponed to that which
makes it possible. A florist cultivates a plant for the sake of its
flower; and regards the roots and leaves as of value, chiefly because
they are instrumental in producing the flower. But while, as an ultimate
product, the flower is the thing to which everything else is
subordinate, the florist has learnt that the root and leaves are
intrinsically of greater importance; because on them the evolution of
the flower depends. He bestows every care in rearing a healthy plant;
and knows it would be folly if, in his anxiety to obtain the flower, he
were to neglect the plant. Similarly in the case before us.
Architecture, sculpture, painting, music, and poetry, may truly be
called the efflorescence of civilised life. But even supposing they are
of such transcendent worth as to subordinate the civilised life out of
which they grow (which can hardly be asserted), it will still be
admitted that the production of a healthy civilised life must be the
first consideration; and that culture subserving this must occupy the
highest place.

And here we see most distinctly the vice of our educational system. It
neglects the plant for the sake of the flower. In anxiety for elegance,
it forgets substance. While it gives no knowledge conducive to
self-preservation--while of knowledge that facilitates gaining a
livelihood it gives but the rudiments, and leaves the greater part to be
picked up any how in after life--while for the discharge of parental
functions it makes not the slightest provision--and while for the duties
of citizenship it prepares by imparting a mass of facts, most of which
are irrelevant, and the rest without a key; it is diligent in teaching
whatever adds to refinement, polish, éclat. Fully as we may admit that
extensive acquaintance with modern languages is a valuable
accomplishment, which, through reading, conversation, and travel, aids
in giving a certain finish; it by no means follows that this result is
rightly purchased at the cost of the vitally important knowledge
sacrificed to it. Supposing it true that classical education conduces
to elegance and correctness of style; it cannot be said that elegance
and correctness of style are comparable in importance to a familiarity
with the principles that should guide the rearing of children. Grant
that the taste may be improved by reading the poetry written in extinct
languages; yet it is not to be inferred that such improvement of taste
is equivalent in value to an acquaintance with the laws of health.
Accomplishments, the fine arts, _belles-lettres_, and all those things
which, as we say, constitute the efflorescence of civilisation, should
be wholly subordinate to that instruction and discipline in which
civilisation rests. _As they occupy the leisure part of life, so should
they occupy the leisure part of education._

Recognising thus the true position of aesthetics, and holding that while
the cultivation of them should form a part of education from its
commencement, such cultivation should be subsidiary; we have now to
inquire what knowledge is of most use to this end--what knowledge best
fits for this remaining sphere of activity? To this question the answer
is still the same as heretofore. Unexpected though the assertion may be,
it is nevertheless true, that the highest Art of every kind is based on
Science--that without Science there can be neither perfect production
nor full appreciation. Science, in that limited acceptation current in
society, may not have been possessed by various artists of high repute;
but acute observers as such artists have been, they have always
possessed a stock of those empirical generalisations which constitute
science in its lowest phase; and they have habitually fallen far below
perfection, partly because their generalisations were comparatively few
and inaccurate. That science necessarily underlies the fine arts,
becomes manifest, _à priori_, when we remember that art-products are all
more or less representative of objective or subjective phenomena; that
they can be good only in proportion as they conform to the laws of these
phenomena; and that before they can thus conform, the artist must know
what these laws are. That this _à priori_ conclusion tallies with
experience, we shall soon see.

Youths preparing for the practice of sculpture have to acquaint
themselves with the bones and muscles of the human frame in their
distribution, attachments, and movements. This is a portion of science;
and it has been found needful to impart it for the prevention of those
many errors which sculptors who do not possess it commit. A knowledge of
mechanical principles is also requisite; and such knowledge not being
usually possessed, grave mechanical mistakes are frequently made. Take
an instance. For the stability of a figure it is needful that the
perpendicular from the centre of gravity--"the line of direction," as it
is called--should fall within the base of support; and hence it happens,
that when a man assumes the attitude known as "standing at ease," in
which one leg is straightened and the other relaxed, the line of
direction falls within the foot of the straightened leg. But sculptors
unfamiliar with the theory of equilibrium, not uncommonly so represent
this attitude, that the line of direction falls midway between the feet.
Ignorance of the law of momentum leads to analogous blunders: as witness
the admired Discobolus, which, as it is posed, must inevitably fall
forward the moment the quoit is delivered.

In painting, the necessity for scientific information, empirical if not
rational, is still more conspicuous. What gives the grotesqueness of
Chinese pictures, unless their utter disregard of the laws of
appearances--their absurd linear perspective, and their want of aerial
perspective? In what are the drawings of a child so faulty, if not in a
similar absence of truth--an absence arising, in great part, from
ignorance of the way in which the aspects of things vary with the
conditions? Do but remember the books and lectures by which students are
instructed; or consider the criticisms of Ruskin; or look at the doings
of the Pre-Raffaelites; and you will see that progress in painting
implies increasing knowledge of how effects in Nature are produced. The
most diligent observation, if unaided by science, fails to preserve from
error. Every painter will endorse the assertion that unless it is known
what appearances must exist under given circumstances, they often will
not be perceived; and to know what appearances must exist, is, in so
far, to understand the science of appearances. From want of science Mr.
J. Lewis, careful painter as he is, casts the shadow of a lattice-window
in sharply-defined lines upon an opposite wall; which he would not have
done, had he been familiar with the phenomena of penumbræ. From want of
science, Mr. Rosetti, catching sight of a peculiar iridescence displayed
by certain hairy surfaces under particular lights (an iridescence caused
by the diffraction of light in passing the hairs), commits the error of
showing this iridescence on surfaces and in positions where it could not
occur.

To say that music, too, has need of scientific aid will cause still more
surprise. Yet it may be shown that music is but an idealisation of the
natural language of emotion; and that consequently, music must be good
or bad according as it conforms to the laws of this natural language.
The various inflections of voice which accompany feelings of different
kinds and intensities, are the germs out of which music is developed. It
is demonstrable that these inflections and cadences are not accidental
or arbitrary; but that they are determined by certain general principles
of vital action; and that their expressiveness depends on this. Whence
it follows that musical phrases and the melodies built of them, can be
effective only when they are in harmony with these general principles.
It is difficult here properly to illustrate this position. But perhaps
it will suffice to instance the swarms of worthless ballads that infest
drawing-rooms, as compositions which science would forbid. They sin
against science by setting to music ideas that are not emotional enough
to prompt musical expression; and they also sin against science by using
musical phrases that have no natural relations to the ideas expressed:
even where these are emotional. They are bad because they are untrue.
And to say they are untrue, is to say they are unscientific.

Even in poetry the same thing holds. Like music, poetry has its root in
those natural modes of expression which accompany deep feeling. Its
rhythm, its strong and numerous metaphors, its hyperboles, its violent
inversions, are simply exaggerations of the traits of excited speech. To
be good, therefore, poetry must pay attention to those laws of nervous
action which excited speech obeys. In intensifying and combining the
traits of excited speech, it must have due regard to proportion--must
not use its appliances without restriction; but, where the ideas are
least emotional, must use the forms of poetical expression sparingly;
must use them more freely as the emotion rises; and must carry them to
their greatest extent, only where the emotion reaches a climax. The
entire contravention of these principles results in bombast or doggerel.
The insufficient respect for them is seen in didactic poetry. And it is
because they are rarely fully obeyed, that so much poetry is inartistic.

Not only is it that the artist, of whatever kind, cannot produce a
truthful work without he understands the laws of the phenomena he
represents; but it is that he must also understand how the minds of
spectators or listeners will be affected by the several peculiarities of
his work--a question in psychology. What impression any art-product
generates, manifestly depends upon the mental natures of those to whom
it is presented; and as all mental natures have certain characteristics
in common, there must result certain corresponding general principles on
which alone art-products can be successfully framed. These general
principles cannot be fully understood and applied, unless the artist
sees how they follow from the laws of mind. To ask whether the
composition of a picture is good is really to ask how the perceptions
and feelings of observers will be affected by it. To ask whether a drama
is well constructed, is to ask whether its situations are so arranged as
duly to consult the power of attention of an audience, and duly to avoid
overtaxing any one class of feelings. Equally in arranging the leading
divisions of a poem or fiction, and in combining the words of a single
sentence, the goodness of the effect depends upon the skill with which
the mental energies and susceptibilities of the reader are economised.
Every artist, in the course of his education and after-life, accumulates
a stock of maxims by which his practice is regulated. Trace such maxims
to their roots, and they inevitably lead you down to psychological
principles. And only when the artist understands these psychological
principles and their various corollaries can he work in harmony with
them.

We do not for a moment believe that science will make an artist. While
we contend that the leading laws both of objective and subjective
phenomena must be understood by him, we by no means contend that
knowledge of such laws will serve in place of natural perception. Not
the poet only, but the artist of every type, is born, not made. What we
assert is, that innate faculty cannot dispense with the aid of organised
knowledge. Intuition will do much, but it will not do all. Only when
Genius is married to Science can the highest results be produced.

As we have above asserted, Science is necessary not only for the most
successful production, but also for the full appreciation, of the fine
arts. In what consists the greater ability of a man than of a child to
perceive the beauties of a picture; unless it is in his more extended
knowledge of those truths in nature or life which the picture renders?
How happens the cultivated gentleman to enjoy a fine poem so much more
than a boor does; if it is not because his wider acquaintance with
objects and actions enables him to see in the poem much that the boor
cannot see? And if, as is here so obvious, there must be some
familiarity with the things represented, before the representation can
be appreciated, then, the representation can be completely appreciated
only when the things represented are completely understood. The fact is,
that every additional truth which a word of art expresses, gives an
additional pleasure to the percipient mind--a pleasure that is missed by
those ignorant of this truth. The more realities an artist indicates in
any given amount of work, the more faculties does he appeal to; the more
numerous ideas does he suggest; the more gratification does he afford.
But to receive this gratification the spectator, listener, or reader,
must know the realities which the artist has indicated; and to know
these realities is to have that much science.

And now let us not overlook the further great fact, that not only does
science underlie sculpture, painting, music, poetry, but that science is
itself poetic. The current opinion that science and poetry are opposed,
is a delusion. It is doubtless true that as states of consciousness,
cognition and emotion tend to exclude each other. And it is doubtless
also true that an extreme activity of the reflective powers tends to
deaden the feelings; while an extreme activity of the feelings tends to
deaden the reflective powers: in which sense, indeed, all orders of
activity are antagonistic to each other. But it is not true that the
facts of science are unpoetical; or that the cultivation of science is
necessarily unfriendly to the exercise of imagination and the love of
the beautiful. On the contrary, science opens up realms of poetry where
to the unscientific all is a blank. Those engaged in scientific
researches constantly show us that they realise not less vividly, but
more vividly, than others, the poetry of their subjects. Whoso will dip
into Hugh Miller's works of geology, or read Mr. Lewes's _Sea-side
Studies_, will perceive that science excites poetry rather than
extinguishes it. And he who contemplates the life of Goethe, must see
that the poet and the man of science can co-exist in equal activity. Is
it not, indeed, an absurd and almost a sacrilegious belief, that the
more a man studies Nature the less he reveres it? Think you that a drop
of water, which to the vulgar eye is but a drop of water, loses anything
in the eye of the physicist who knows that its elements are held
together by a force which, if suddenly liberated, would produce a flash
of lightning? Think you that what is carelessly looked upon by the
uninitiated as a mere snow-flake, does not suggest higher associations
to one who had seen through a microscope the wondrously-varied and
elegant forms of snow-crystals? Think you that the rounded rock marked
with parallel scratches, calls up as much poetry in an ignorant mind as
in the mind of a geologist, who knows that over this rock a glacier slid
a million years ago? The truth is, that those who have never entered
upon scientific pursuits are blind to most of the poetry by which they
are surrounded. Whoever has not in youth collected plants and insects,
knows not half the halo of interest which lanes and hedge-rows can
assume. Whoever has not sought for fossils, has little idea of the
poetical associations that surround the places where imbedded treasures
were found. Whoever at the sea-side has not had a microscope and
aquarium, has yet to learn what the highest pleasures of the sea-side
are. Sad, indeed, is it to see how men occupy themselves with
trivialities, and are indifferent to the grandest phenomena--care not to
understand the architecture of the Heavens, but are deeply interested in
some contemptible controversy about the intrigues of Mary Queen of
Scots!--are learnedly critical over a Greek ode, and pass by without a
glance that grand epic written by the finger of God upon the strata of
the Earth!

We find, then, that even for this remaining division of human
activities, scientific culture is the proper preparation. We find that
aesthetics in general are necessarily based upon scientific principles;
and can be pursued with complete success only through an acquaintance
with these principles. We find that for the criticism and due
appreciation of works of art, a knowledge of the constitution of things,
or in other words, a knowledge of science, is requisite. And we not only
find that science is the handmaid to all forms of art and poetry, but
that, rightly regarded, science is itself poetic.

       *       *       *       *       *

Thus far our question has been, the worth of knowledge of this or that
kind for purposes of guidance. We have now to judge the relative value
of different kinds of knowledge for purposes of discipline. This
division of our subject we are obliged to treat with comparative
brevity; and happily, no very lengthened treatment of it is needed.
Having found what is best for the one end, we have by implication found
what is best for the other. We may be quite sure that the acquirement of
those classes of facts which are most useful for regulating conduct,
involves a mental exercise best fitted for strengthening the faculties.
It would be utterly contrary to the beautiful economy of Nature, if one
kind of culture were needed for the gaining of information and another
kind were needed as a mental gymnastic. Everywhere throughout creation
we find faculties developed through the performance of those functions
which it is their office to perform; not through the performance of
artificial exercises devised to fit them for those functions. The Red
Indian acquires the swiftness and agility which make him a successful
hunter, by the actual pursuit of animals; and through the miscellaneous
activities of his life, he gains a better balance of physical powers
than gymnastics ever give. That skill in tracking enemies and prey which
he had reached after long practice, implies a subtlety of perception far
exceeding anything produced by artificial training. And similarly in all
cases. From the Bushman whose eye, habitually employed in identifying
distant objects that are to be pursued or fled from, has acquired a
telescopic range, to the accountant whose daily practice enables him to
add up several columns of figures simultaneously; we find that the
highest power of a faculty results from the discharge of those duties
which the conditions of life require it to discharge. And we may be
certain, _à priori_, that the same law holds throughout education. The
education of most value for guidance, must at the same time be the
education of most value for discipline. Let us consider the evidence.

One advantage claimed for that devotion to language-learning which forms
so prominent a feature in the ordinary _curriculum_, is, that the memory
is thereby strengthened. This is assumed to be an advantage peculiar to
the study of words. But the truth is, that the sciences afford far wider
fields for the exercise of memory. It is no slight task to remember
everything about our solar system; much more to remember all that is
known concerning the structure of our galaxy. The number of compound
substances, to which chemistry daily adds, is so great that few, save
professors, can enumerate them; and to recollect the atomic
constitutions and affinities of all these compounds, is scarcely
possible without making chemistry the occupation of life. In the
enormous mass of phenomena presented by the Earth's crust, and in the
still more enormous mass of phenomena presented by the fossils it
contains, there is matter which it takes the geological student years of
application to master. Each leading division of physics--sound, heat,
light, electricity--includes facts numerous enough to alarm any one
proposing to learn them all. And when we pass to the organic sciences,
the effort of memory required becomes still greater. In human