a new relation with the world for which there is no death; on one side he sees the new light, on the other he witnesses its action on his fellows after being refracted through himself; and this experience gives him an immovable faith in the stability, immortality, and eternal growth of life. Faith in immortality cannot be received from another; you cannot convince yourself of it by argument. To have this faith you must have immortality; you must have established with the world in the present life the new relation of love, which the world is no longer wide enough to contain. The above résumé gives a most inadequate idea of Count Tolstoy's philosophy of life, but it is sufficient to bring out the salient points, to wit, his idea of the failure of man's ordinary life, of the necessity, in the course of nature, of loving self-renunciation, and of the resulting growth in love and the realization of immortality on earth. "But this is sheer mysticism," is doubtless the first objection. Yes, it assuredly is, but that is no argument against it. Mysticism is nothing but the recognition of the other world as a palpable fact instead of as an abstract theory. All religions had their origin in mysticism, and in so far as they have wandered away from it, just so far have they fallen into formalism. Mysticism is really religion at first hand, such as the faith of General Gordon, who used to say that he believed in the "real presence," meaning, as he explained, the actual manifestation of God in his own soul. It is not becoming for those at least who profess to put their confidence in Him who said "The kingdom of God is within you," to quarrel with the man who finds it there. In short, all Christians should be more or less mystics. If, then, admitting that the treatise on "Life" is in fact inystical, we compare it with the works of those to whom the name of mystic is usually given, we are at once struck by the remarkable sanity of the Russian author. The practice of exploring the unseen world is often dangerous for those who attempt it, but Count Tolstoy has escaped the vagaries of Boehmen, the visions of Swedenborg, and the hysterical excesses of St. Theresa. And the reason of his freedom from these extravagances is not far to seek. He opens a door into the invisible, but it is not the door of mere contemplation, of quietism, of retirement into self. There is something morbid in the very idea of making deliberate excursions into another sphere. Here lies the mistake of the Christian ascetics, of the Persian Sufis, of the Hindoo Buddhists, and of the Theosophists of to-day. We may well suspect any form of religion which withdraws a man's interests and labors from this world; its corner-stone must be selfishness in spite of any disguises. Count Tolstoy's door to the mysteries, however, is simply active love for mankind. According to him, preoccupation in working for the happiness of others has a reflex action in the depth of our being which makes us feel eternal life. It is this intensely practical side of his mysticism which preserves its equilibrium. Other mystics have made much of love, but it has almost always been an internal love of the Deity which discouraged action and gave free scope to a diseased imagination. Of all the old mystics the German Tauler bears perhaps the greatest resemblance to Count Tolstoy, and Vaughan refers to his remarkable combination of inward aspiration and outward love and service (Vaughan's "Hours with the Mystics," fifth edition, vol. i, pp. 251, 256). It is noticeable, too, that Swedenborg speaks of offices of charity as the means of conjunction with heaven ("Heaven and Hell," i, 360). Lawrence Oliphant, who owed much to Swedenborg, professed opinions substantially identical with those of Count Tolstoy, but the final outcome of his theological speculations, with its detailed account of things celestial and terrestrial, makes the simplicity of the latter conspicuous by contrast. Trances and visions may be very edifying to him who indulges in them, but they are very apt to unfit him for leadership of the masses of mankind, for these cannot follow him, and it is best that they should not. The proper answer for me to make to the member of the Theosophical Society who wishes to convert me to his belief in the seven planets and the astral body and Karma and Devachan is that these things are none of my business. Granted that I am an immortal being, still this life is too short to study eternity in. But when a man comes to me laying stress on my duties here on earth and promising me the proof of the truth of his doctrines in my own consciousness, I can well afford to give him a hearing. Count Tolstoy makes no claim to novelty for his teaching. It is that of Christianity-of the Christianity of the Sermon on the Mount as distinguished from that of the Council of Nicæa. He virtually says to us: "Renounce your selfish ends; love all men-all creatures-and devote your life to them. You will then be conscious of possessing eternal life and for you there will be no death." No appeal is made to argument, but we are asked to test the theory in our own experience, and this it is possible for us to do, for love is to a certain extent at every one's coinmand. Ruysbroeck, the German mystic, says: "Everything depends on will. A man must will right strongly. Will to have humility and love and they are thine" (Vaughan, vol. i, p. 32). This is entirely consistent with the teaching of Christ, for He says, "A new commandment I give unto you, that ye love one another." THE SPIRITUALIZATION OF EDUCATION IN AMERICA. BY LILIAN WHITING. For what need I of book or priest - Emerson. The keynote of the new educational movement may be found in the words of Professor Dewey of the University of Chicago, that "Education is not the preparation for life: it is life"; in the words of Josephine P. Locke, that "The human being is before all mathematical data and information. Attitude of mind, sympathy, responsiveness, living interest-these all come first and precede mere learning"; in the words of Col. Francis W. Parker, that "The common school is the central means to preserve and perpetuate the true democracy." From this trio of truths one may well find his point of departure in any attempt to present a synthetic view of the new movement which it is no exaggeration to call the spiritualization of education in America. What is this new movement? It is development rather than cramming. It is the application of the idea that the child is a human being who comes into this world with a certain definite nature resulting from inherent qualities, and that the true aim and scope of education is to develop these qualities into mental strength and moral power; "to lead," as Dr. Maudsley has well said, "to the continual transference of thoughts and feelings into external actions of a beneficial kind." Some time about the first of October a letter came to me from Miss Josephine P. Locke, supervisor of drawing in the public schools of Chicago, saying that an exhibition of the art work of the pupils was then made in the Art Institute and inviting me to come out to study and write of it. At that moment nothing seemed more impossible than that I could do this, and I replied to that effect, with sincere regrets that it was so. A week passed by during which I had not consciously thought of the matter when one morning I wakened with an absolute conviction that I must go to Chicago and fulfil as best I might the request which I held to be a privilege and an opportunity. Just what unknown and unrecognized spiritual experiences had brought me to this decision is a question of the occult realm and need not here be discussed. It was, however, so important a factor in the experience that one would indeed "reckon ill" who should leave it out. To myself, it served to transfer the entire trip and subsequent observations to the higher plane of life where we are led as actors in the spiritual drama. "When a god wishes to ride," said Emerson, "every chip and stone will bud and shoot out winged feet to carry him." The expression is not too strong. A controlling purpose cuts its own channel through material difficulties, and speedily I-who had thought the journey and its inroads on time an impossible thing-found myself on the delightful Fitchburg route for Chicago where I could at once assert, "I come, I see, I am conquered," changing only the tense of the classic tradition. Two galleries were devoted to the art work of the children from the grammar and primary schools. Prepared to be interested, I was captivated. There was a most remarkable expression of the unfolding and development of the mind of a child. There was evidence that the pupils were awake; that they were beings of vivid perceptions, of keen interests, of latent powers. Here was a drawing which revealed how the child had gone out into Jackson Park and looked around him; that he had discovered for himself architecture, perspective, relation, atmosphere; that objects had a meaning for him; that he was learning to know something about the world in which he lived. Or again, here was a street scene; a bridge, a tree, a bit of landscape, a train of cars, a drawbridge. That children ranging from eight to fifteen could have made some of these drawings seemed incredible. The freedom, the artistic taste, the art of selection and of combination, were all revealed wonderfully. It is a great mistake to suppose that drawing should be taught only to prospective artists. As well assume that no one should have literary tastes developed and cultivated save those who promise to be poets and novelists. Drawing, like music and literature, is one of the means toward symmetrical development. Like those invaluable "nature studies" of Professor Jackman, it is one of the means to stimulate the imagination, to call into exercise creative ability, to interest the mind, to develop those powers which, in after life, are requisite for any form of achievement. The first step toward the drawing is the exercise with |