5. THE INFLUENCE OF ART UPON

EDUCATION.

BY PROFESSOR GEORGE L. RAYMOND, L.H.D., PRINCETON

UNIVERSITY.

[Read Tuesday evening, August 30.]

Human intelligence is a manifestation of many different tendencies, but all may be resolved into three,- those having their sources in the understanding, in the will, and in the emotions; and the departments in which mainly the three are respectively expressed are science,― not philosophy, for this is a broader term, derived from a different principle of classification,— religion, and art. Science, as a development of the understanding, begins in observation and tends toward knowledge; religion, as a development of the will, begins in conscience and tends toward conduct; and art, as a development of the emotions, begins in imagination and tends toward sentiment. It must not be supposed, however, though we can thus in conception separate the three departments, that there is ever a time when in practice they fail to act conjointly or mutually to affect one another. When we examine some of the oldest monuments of the world,-like the Pyramids of Egypt, it is difficult to tell the results of which of the three we are studying. Mathematicians and astronomers say of science; moralists and theologians, of religion; and archæologists and artists, of art. So with the older civilizations of the world,— those of Judæa, Greece, Rome. The physician or the jurist traces in them as many indications of the science of the laws of health or government as the ritualist or the rationalist does of the religions of theism or stoicism, or as the littérateur or the critic does of the arts of poetry or sculpture.

The dark ages rendered men equally unable to carry on scientific observations, to recognize the spiritual claims of a human brother, or to reproduce his bodily lineaments. When the Renaissance began to dawn, it is difficult to determine from which the sky first gathered redness,- from the flash of Roger Bacon's

gunpowder, the light of Wycliffe's Bible, or the fire of Dante's hell. When it was bright enough to see clearly, no one knows which was the foremost in drafting the plan of progress, the compasses of Copernicus, the pen of Luther, or the pencil of Raphael. Even in the same country, great leaders in all three departments always appear together,- in Italy, Columbus, Savonarola, and Angelo; in Spain, James of Mallorca, Loyola, and Calderon; in France; Descartes, Bossuet, and Molière; in Germany, Humboldt, Schleiermacher, and Goethe; in England, Watt, Wesley, and Reynolds. In fact, the three seem as inseparably connected in indicating sovereignty over civilization as were of old the three prongs of the trident of Neptune in indicating sovereignty over the sea.

When things go together, they usually belong together. When they belong together, no one of them can be at its best without the presence of the others. The bearing of this fact upon the subject before us is sometimes overlooked. There are scientists who think that, when they give forth a word from their department, they have about as much need of re-enforcement from the utterances of religion as a locomotive engineer for a penny whistle. There are religionists who think that they can get along without the mathematical exactness of science about as well as the leader of a processional without a marionette-show; while both are inclined to an impression that art may actually interfere with their success, as much as a liveried footman with that of a country doctor. Nevertheless, art not only furnishes important aid to the full development of the other two, but is even essential to it. If neglecting knowledge, toward which science tends, religion lacks intelligence, and art observation. If caring nothing for conduct, at which religion aims, science lacks practicality, and art inspiration. If destitute of imagination and sentiment, which art cultivates, science becomes divorced from philosophy, and religion from refinement. It was in the dark ages, when they had no art, that the test of a sage was the ability to repeat by rote long, senseless incantations; and the test of a saint was to fulfil the rule, scrupulously passed for his guidance by the councils of the Church, that he should never wash himself.

But to indicate more specifically what is meant. Science has to do mainly with matter, religion with spirit, and art with both; for by matter we mean the external world and its appearances, which art must represent, and by spirit we mean the internal

world of thoughts and emotions, which also art must represent. The foundations of art, therefore, rest in the realms both of science and of religion; and its superstructure is the bridge between them. Nor can you get from the one to the other, or enjoy the whole of the territory in which humanity was made to live, without using the bridge. Matter and spirit are like water and steam. They are separate in reality: we join them in conception. So with science and religion, and the conception which brings both into harmonious union is a normal development of only art. In unfolding this line of thought, it seems best to show how art develops the powers of the mind,- first, in the same direction as does science; and, second, in the same as does religion,- and, under each head, so far as possible, to show, in addition, how art develops them conjointly also in both directions.

Let us begin, then, with the correspondences between the educational influence of the study of art and of science. The end of science is knowledge with reference mainly to the external material world. We must not forget, however, that this world includes our material body, with both its muscular and nervous systems. To acquire this knowledge, the primary condition, and an essential one, a condition important in religion, but not nearly to the same extent,- is keenness of the perceptive powers, accuracy of observation. No man can be an eminent botanist, zoölogist, or mineralogist, who fails to notice, almost at a first glance, and in such a way as to be able to recall, the forms and colors of leaves, bushes, limbs, rocks, or crystals. No man can make a discovery or invention, and thus do that which is chiefly worth doing in science, unless he can perceive, with such retention as to be able to recall, series of outlines and tints, and the orders of their arrangement and sequence. Now can you tell me any study for the young that will cultivate accuracy of observation, that will begin to do this, as can be done by setting them tasks in drawing, coloring, carving, or, if we apply the same principle to the ear as well as the eye, in elocution and music? In order to awaken a realization of how little certain persons perceive in the world, I used to ask my classes how many pillars there were in a certain building that they had passed hundreds of times, or how many stories there were in another building. Scarcely one in six could answer correctly. Is it possible to suppose that one could have avoided noticing such things in case his eyes had been trained to observation through the study of drawing, to say nothing of the

effect of special training in the direction of architecture? Of course, there are men born with keen powers of perception, on which everything at which they glance seems to be photographed. But the majority are not so. They have to be trained to use their eyes as well as their other organs. President Chadbourne, of Williams College, at a time when professor of botany in that institution, was once lost in a fog on the summit of Greylock Mountain. It was almost dark; but, in feeling around among the underbrush, his hand struck something. "I know where we are," he said. "The path is about two hundred feet away from here. There is only one place in it from which you see bushes like these." I used to take walks with an old army general. Time and again, when we came to a ravine or a rolling field, he would stop and point out how he would distribute his forces in the neighborhood, were there to be a battle there. These are examples of the result of cultivating powers of observation in special directions. The advantage of art education, given to the young, is that it cultivates the same powers in all directions. While the nature is pliable to influence, it causes a habit of mind,-in a broad sense, a scientific habit, important in every department in which men need to have knowledge. Not only the botanist and the soldier, but the teacher, the preacher, the lawyer, the politician, the merchant, the banker, is fitted to meet all the requirements of his position in the degree in which his grasp of great and important matters does not let slip the small and apparently insignificant details that enter into them. Some years ago a poor boy from the country, hoping to obtain a position, brought a letter of introduction to a London bank; but he found no place vacant. He turned away disappointed; but, before he had gone far, a messenger overtook and recalled him. The proprietors had decided to make a place for him. Years afterward, when he had become the leading banker of London and the Lord High Treasurer of the kingdom, he was told the reason why he had been thus recalled. As he was leaving the bank, he had noticed a pin on the pavement, and had stooped down, picked it up, and placed it in his waistcoat. The one who saw that single little act had judged, and judged rightly, that he was the sort of boy whose services the bank could not afford to lose.

Observation of this kind contributes to success, not only in the larger relations of life, but still more, perhaps, in the smaller. What is the gem of tact, courtesy, and kindliness in social and

family relations? What but the observation of little things, and of their effects? And notice that the observation of these in one department necessarily goes with the same in other departments. What is the reason that a man of æsthetic culture is the last to come into his home swearing like a cow-boy, cocking his hat over the vases on the mantelpiece, or forcing his boots up into their society? Because this sort of manner is not to his taste. Why not? Because, for one reason, he has learned the value of little matters of appearance; and for any man to learn of them in one department is to apply them in all departments. But, to turn to such things as are especially cultivated by art, what is it that makes a room, when we enter it, seem cheerful and genial? What but the observation of little arrangements that prevent lines from being awry and colors from being discordant? What is the matter with that woman whom we all know,- the woman who, when on Sundays she is waved into the pew in front of us, makes us half believe that the minister has hired her to flag the line of worshippers behind, so as to give them a realizing sense that, even in taking the name of the Lord, they are sometimes miserable sinners. She gets into the street-car, and we feel as if we had disgraced ourselves in bowing to her. She comes to our summer hotel; and the mere fact of recognizing her involves our spending much of the rest of our time in proving to others the contradictory proposition that, notwithstanding her extravagance in lending lavish color to every occasion, she has not yet exhausted all the capital of her gentility. But think what it must be to live perpetually in the glare of such sunshine! Physically, inharmonious colors produce a storm amid the sight-waves, and amid the nerves of the eye, too, and, as all our nerves are connected, amid those of thought, emotion, digestion. In fact, the whole nervous system sails upon waves, just as a ship does; and storms may prove disagreeable. It has not a slight bearing, then, upon comfort, health, geniality, and sanity to be color-blind, or daft, or ignorant. It is not of slight importance to have children trained so that they shall realize that warm colors and cold colors, though not necessarily inducing changes in temperament, may induce changes in temper; that the cheering effects of the room characterized by the one are very different from the sombre effects produced by the presence of the other; that the brilliance of the full hues echoing back wit and mirth in the hall of feasting might not seem at all harmonious to the mood in need of rest and slumber.