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ing. There are utilities higher and utilities lower, and under no circumstances will the true teacher ever permit the former to be sacrificed to the latter. This would be done if, in its zeal for fitting the child for self-support, the school were to neglect to lay the foundation for that higher intellectual and spiritual life which constitutes humanity's full stature. This foundation is made ready only if proper emphasis be laid, from the kindergarten to the college, on those studies whose subject matter is the direct production of intelligence and will, and which can, therefore, make direct appeal to man's higher nature. The sciences and their applications are capable of use, even from the standpoint of this higher order of utilities, because of the reason they exhibit and reveal. Man's rational freedom is the goal, and the sciences are the lower steps on the ladder that reaches to it.

Splendid confirmation of this view of science is found in the great Belfast address in which Professor Tyndall stormed the strongholds of prejudice one-and-twenty years ago. Said Professor Tyndall:*

"Science itself not unfrequently derives motive power from an ultra-scientific source. Some of its greatest discoveries have been made under the stimulus of a non-scientific ideal. This was the case amongst the ancients, and it has been so amongst ourselves. Mayer, Joule, and Colding, whose names are associated with the greatest of modern generalizations, were thus influenced. With his usual insight, Lange at one place remarks that “it is not always the objectively correct and intelligible that helps man most, or leads most quickly to the fullest and truest knowledge. As the sliding body upon the brachystochrone reaches its end sooner than by the straighter road of the inclined plane, so through the swing of the ideal we often arrive at the naked truth more rapidly than by the more direct processes of the understanding. Whewell speaks of enthusiasm of temper as a hindrance to science; but he means the enthusiasm of weak heads. There is a strong and resolute enthusiasm in which science finds an ally; and it is to the lowering of this fire, rather than to the diminution of intellectual insight, that the lessening productiveness of men of science in their mature years is to be ascribed. Mr. Buckle sought to detach intellectual achievement from moral force. He gravely erred; for without moral force to whip it into action, the achievements of the intellect would be poor indeed.

"It has been said that science divorces itself from literature; but the statement, like so many others, arises from lack of knowledge. A glance at the less technical writings of its leaders-of its Helm

*Presidential Address, British Association for the Advancement of Science, Belfast, 1874.

holtz, its Huxley, and its Du Bois-Reymond-would show what breadth of literary culture they command. Where among modern writers can you find their superiors in clearness and vigor of literary style? Science desires not isolation, but freely combines with every effort toward the bettering of man's estate. Single-handed, and supported not by outward sympathy but by inward force, it has built at least one great wing of the many-mansioned home which man in his totality demands. And if rough walls and protruding rafter ends indicate that on one side the edifice is still incomplete, it is only by wise combination of the parts required with those already irrevocably built that we can hope for completeness. There is no necessary incongruity between what has been accomplished and what remains to be done. The moral glow of Socrates, which we all feel by ignition, has in it nothing incompatible with the physics of Anaxagoras which he so much scorned, but which he would hardly scorn to-day.

"The world embraces not only a Newton, but a Shakespeare; not only a Boyle, but a Raphael; not only a Kant, but a Beethoven; not only a Darwin, but a Carlyle. Not in each of these, but in all, is human nature whole. They are not opposed, but supplementary; not mutually exclusive, but reconcilable. And if, unsatisfied with them all, the human mind, with the yearning of a pilgrim for his distant home, will still turn to the Mystery from which it has emerged, seeking so to fashion it as to give unity to thought and faith-so long as this is done, not only without intolerance or bigotry of any kind but with the enlightened recognition that ultimate fixity of conception is here unattainable, and that each succeeding age must be held free to fashion the mystery in accordance with its own needs—then, casting aside all the restrictions of materialism, I would affirm this to be a field for the noblest exercise of what, in contrast with the knowing faculties, may be called the creative faculties of man.”

The actions of the lower animals are conditioned by sensations and momentary impulses. Man, on the other hand, is enabled to raise himself above fleeting sensations to the realm of ideas, and in that realm he finds his real life. Similarly, man's will gradually frees itself from bondage to a chain of causes determined for it from without, and attains to a power of independent self-determination according to durable and continuing ends of action. This constitutes character, which, in Mr. Emerson's fine phrase, is the moral order seen through the medium of an individual nature. Freedom of the will is not, then, a metaphysical notion, nor is it obtained from nature or seen in nature. It is a development in the life of the human soul. Freedom and rationality are two names for the same thing, and their

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highest development is the end of human life. This development is not, as Locke thought, a process arising without the mind and acting upon it, a passive and pliable recipient. Much less is it one that could be induced in the statute of Condillac and Bonnet. It is the very life of the soul itself.

There is a striking passage in “The Marble Faun” in which Hawthorne suggests the idea that the task of the sculptor is not, by carving, to impress a figure upon the marble, but rather, by the touch of genius, to set free the glorious form that the cold grasp of the stone imprisons. With similar insight, Browning puts these words into the mouth of his Paracelsus:

Truth is within ourselves; it takes no rise
From outward things, whate'er you may believe,
There is an inmost center in us all,
Where truth abides in fullness; and around,
Wall upon wall, the gross flesh hems it in,
This perfect, clear perception.

* And, to know,
Rather consists in opening out a way
Whence the imprisoned splendor may escape,
Than in effecting entry for a light

Supposed to be without.
This is the poetical form of the truth that I believe is pointed to
by both philosophy and science. It offers us a sure standing-ground
for our educational theory. It reveals to us, not as an hypothesis
but as a fact, education as spiritual growth toward intellectual and
moral perfection, and saves us from the peril of viewing it as an
artificial process according to mechanical formulas. Finally, it as-
sures us, that, while no knowledge is worthless (for it all leads us
back to the common cause and ground of all), yet that knowledge is
of most worth which stands in closest relation to the highest forms
of the activity of that Spirit which is created in the image of Him
who holds nature and man alike in the hollow of His hand.

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The next step in the education of the Indian can hardly be taken, because the first one is not yet complete. This task has been relegated to the government, and the American people have given them

selves over to a culpable lethargy and indifference to this work which has well-nigh ruined it; and I trust that my words to-night, addressed to those who are leaders of the hearts and hands of the people that are to come, will cause them to enlist with me in the effort to solve this question.

The Indian problem is not the Indian's problem. It is the white man's problem. The Indian hasn't brought it about. We have brought it about. The Indian question doesn't trouble the Indian, but it should and does trouble the white man. The Indian question is, upon our body politic, a sore spot, which has gradually poisoned the blood of the nation, which is doing an injury to you and to us all, and it is necessary, for our sake and for the sake of our dear country, that something should be done by the American people to get rid of this disease. It will always be an injury, when in a nation there are races, smaller bodies of people, that are not subject to the same laws that govern the bulk of the nation, but whose habits and training are entirely different. This is the case with the Indians. The Indians are subject to no law. They are not amenable to the law of the land. They have practically no laws among themselves. There is practically an organized, legalized lawlessness among them, and this lawlessness will breed much mischief. Until perhaps a quarter of a century ago, the only means that were used for solving the Indian question were the few philanthropic men and women missionaries working among them, and after a long time they gradually stepped aside, and the schoolmaster stepped in, or rather the schoolmistress stepped in, and she has accomplished now in a shorter time and in a far better way what the bullet could not accomplish during all the years that had passed. Yet the work of the schoolmistress is beset with untold difficulties. It has until lately been beset by difficulties which upset all the good that was sought to be accomplished on this line, through the wiles of the selfish politician; but the schoolmaster is now practically free and untrammeled. It now remains for us to take the next step; that is, the one that can bring full success, which is the education of the Indians. There can be no doubt that an education which inculcates the tastes and establishes the ideals of current American civilization constitutes the proper first step in the work of civilizing the Indians. This work is being fairly well done both in the schools for the Indian youth and by the influences brought to bear on older Indians at the agencies. There are perhaps 250 of these schools, scattered through the land, attended by perhaps 25,000 children, and all of these under the direction of the government. In addition to this, there are many schools conducted by missionary societies and philanthropic associations, in which large numbers of Indian children are being educated, but these schools must not be thought of as being of exactly the same character as our schools. The Indian does not rest upon tradition. He has been in contact with an entirely different social organization, with entirely different ideas from those with which our children are familiar. The Indian school must, of necessity, differ widely from the school for the white man, because, very naturally, the Indian has little taste for literary refinement or literary enjoyment. In fact, he hasn't yet learned to take the first step towards independent life or self-activity, which is the art of selfdependence, taking care of himself, and making his own livelihood. The Indian must first learn self-activity, independence. The next step leads to interesting him in industrial pursuits in the farming districts; in the cattle-raising districts, to herding cattle; and in districts where perhaps manufacturing may be carried on, to manufacturing. In all the districts, it leads to teaching the girls sewing and cooking, and to interesting them in all the work about these boarding schools. Gradually the next step will accustom the Indian to the white man's way of living, teaching him a life of cleanliness and a life of order, leading him to subordinate the various selfish instincts and cultivating the refinements of life, mutual trust, consideration, courtesy, politeness, and so on. I merely wish to impress this one fact upon you, that there is a difference between the Indian and any other class of people with which educators have to deal. It is equally evident that it is practically impossible to cultivate these tastes and to hold fast these ideals under the conditions and influences of tribal life on reservations. The recognition of this impossibility has led the government to the policy of allotments, by which tribal life is to be broken up and the Indian brought into the habits of industry and thrift incident to a life of individual responsibility and self-dependence.

Tribal life is based simply upon the desire to continue the tribe. The traditions of the past are adhered to. The idea of individual development, of which we make so much, does not exist in the typical tribe. There is not the same free government, based upon the development of the individual, as with us; but there is a half-despotic, a halfanarchic government there, which subordinates the individual to the traditions of the tribe, to its customs, etc., and disregards all else. We know these conditions, and upon returning to such conditions the Indian student, who has been taught the ideals of the white man at some of the different Indian schools, has little opportunity to make use of these things in his life. We hear superficial observers, sometimes hostile critics, say, that the Indian student, on his return to the reservation, relapses into the former state of half savagery. What would a student of Harvard or Yale, or perhaps a student of

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