All these subjects, therefore, have as one of their aims the training of the powers of thought (judgment and reasoning); and philosophical teaching should never lose sight of this. Thinking is a difficult business,—an art which is practiced, to be sure, in every field of study, but one for which the philosophical branches provide unusual opportunity and material. It has become a habit with many of recent years to decry the study of logic as an antiquated discipline, but it still remains, if properly taught, an excellent means of cultivating clear thinking; there is no reason why a consciousness of correct ways of thinking and of the methods employed in reaching reliable judgments should not prove useful to every one.

We should say, therefore, that the study of philosophy has a high cultural value: it encourages the student to reflect upon himself and his human and natural surroundings (society and nature) and to come to grips with reality; it frees him from the incubus of transmitted opinions and borrowed beliefs, and makes him earn his spiritual possessions in the sweat of his face,—mindful of Goethe's warning that "he alone deserves freedom and life who is compelled to battle for them day by day";—it helps him to see things in their right relations, to acquire the proper intellectual and volitional attitude toward his world through an understanding of its meaning and an appreciation of its values; in short, it strengthens him in his struggle to win his soul, to become a person. This is its ideal; and in seeking to realize it, philosophy coöperates with the other studies in the task of developing human beings, in preparing men for complete living, and is therefore practical in a noble sense of the term. It has a high disciplinary value in that it trains the powers of analysis and judgment, at least in the fields in which it operates. And the habit acquired there of examining judgments, hypotheses, and beliefs critically and impartially, of testing them in the light of experience and of reason, cannot fail to prove helpful wherever clear thinking is a requisite.

The teacher should keep all these aims in view in organizing his material and applying his methods. He should not forget that philosophy is above all things a reflection upon life; he should endeavor to train his pupils in the art of interpreting human experience, of grasping its meaning. His chief concern should be to make thinkers of them, not to fasten upon them a final philosophic creed,—not to give them a philosophy, but to teach them how to philosophize. If he succeeds in arousing in them a keen intellectual interest and a love of truth, and in developing in them the will and the power to think a problem through to the bitter end, he will have done more for them than would have been possible by furnishing them with ready-made formulas. There is nothing so hopelessly dead as a young man without the spirit of intellectual adventure, with his mind made up, with the master's ideas so deeply driven into his head that his intellectual career is finished. The Germans call such a person vernagelt, a term that fitly describes the case. What should be aimed at is the cultivation of the mind so that it will broaden with enlarging experience, that it will be hospitable to new ideas and yet not be overwhelmed by them, that it will preserve inviolate its intellectual integrity and keep fresh the spirit of inquiry. Such a mind may be safely left to work out its own salvation in the quest for a Weltanschauung.

"Young, all lay in dispute; I shall know, being old."

In emphasizing the need of such central aims in instruction we do not wish to be understood as not appreciating the utilitarian value of the philosophical branches and their importance as a preparation for professional activity. Like all knowledge, these subjects have their worth not merely as means of developing human personality but also as means of equipping the student with such knowledge of facts, methods, and theories as will prove useful to him in his other studies and in the daily affairs of life. The teacher, the physician, the lawyer, the clergyman, the artist, the engineer, the business man, will be benefited by an understanding of the workings of the human mind, of the laws of human thinking, and of the principles of human conduct. It is not absolutely necessary, however, in our opinion, that separate classes specially designed for the different professions be formed in the colleges; after all, it is the same human mind that operates in all the fields of human activity, and a knowledge of mental life in general will serve the purposes of every vocation. Doubtless, courses in psychology, logic, and ethics, for example, might be offered having in view the particular needs of prospective members of the various callings, but such courses would, in order to meet the situation, presuppose an acquaintance with the respective professional fields in question which only students well along in their professional studies could be expected to possess. Courses of this character might profitably be given for the benefit of professional students who have already taken the introductory subjects necessary to their proper understanding.

It is not easy to determine the most favorable period in a student's college career at which philosophical subjects should be taught. The more mature the student is, the more successful the instruction is apt to be; but this may be said of many other studies. There is no reason why an intelligent freshman may not begin the study of psychology and logic and perhaps of some other introductory philosophical branches; but as a rule better results may be obtained by admitting only such persons to these classes as have familiarized themselves with university methods.

We should recommend that every student in the college devote at least three hours a week for four terms to the study of psychology, logic, ethics, and the history of philosophy. In case not all these fundamental courses can be taken, the student will most likely derive the greatest benefit by giving a year to the study of the history of philosophy, or one term to the introduction to philosophy, where he has only that much time at his disposal. It seems easier, however, to arouse a philosophical interest in the average student through a study of the basal philosophical questions from the standpoint of contemporaneous thinking than through the study of the history of philosophy. He is generally lacking in the historic sense, and is apt to be wearied and even confused by the endless procession of systems. This is particularly the case when the teacher fails to emphasize sufficiently the progressive nature of philosophical thinking in its history, when he regards this as a mere succession of ideas rather than as a more or less logical unfolding of problems and solutions—as a continuous effort on the part of the universal mind, so to speak, to understand itself and the world. A course in the introduction to philosophy acquainting the student with the aims of philosophy and its relation to other fields of study, and placing before him an account of the most important problems of metaphysics and epistemology as well as of the solutions which have been offered by the great thinkers, together with such criticisms and suggestions as may stimulate his thought, will awaken in him a proper appreciation of a deeper study of the great systems and lead him to seek light from the history of philosophy.

The place and relative worth of the various methods of instruction in the province of philosophy will, of course, depend, among other things, upon the character of the particular subject taught and the size and quality of the class. In nearly all the introductory philosophical branches in which the classes are large the lecture method will prove a valuable auxiliary. In no case, however, should this method be employed exclusively; and in formal logic, it should be used rather sparingly. Ample opportunity should always be given in smaller groups for raising questions and discussing important issues with a view to clearing up obscure points, overcoming difficulties, developing the student's powers of thought, and enabling him to exercise his powers of expression. It is also essential that the student be trained in the difficult art of reading philosophical works. It is wise as a rule to refer him to a good textbook, which should be carefully studied, to passages or chapters in other standard manuals, and in historical study to the writings of the great masters. And frequent opportunity to express himself in the written word must be afforded him; to this end written reports giving the thought of an author in the student's own language, occasional critical essays, and written examinations appealing not only to his memory but to his intelligence should be required during the term. Such exercises keep the student's interest alive, increase his stock of knowledge, develop maturity and independence of thought, and create a sense of growing intellectual power. The written tests encourage members of the class to review the work gone over and to discuss with one another important phases of it; in the effort to organize their knowledge they obtain a much better grasp of the subject than would have been possible without such an intensive re-appraisal of the material.

In the course on formal logic a large part of the time should be spent in examining and criticizing examples of the processes of thought studied (definitions, arguments, methods employed in reaching knowledge) and in applying the principles of correct thinking in written discourses. It is a pity that we have no comprehensive work containing the illustrative material needed for the purpose. As it is, the teacher will do well to select his examples from scientific works, speeches, and the textbooks used in other classes. As every one knows, nothing is so likely to deaden the interest and to make the study of logic seem trivial as the use of the puerile examples found in many of the older treatises. With the proper material this subject can be made one of the most interesting and profitable courses in the curriculum,—in spite of what its modern detractors may say.

In the history of philosophy the lectures and textbook should be supplemented by the reading of the writings of the great philosophers. Wherever it is possible, the learner should be sent to the sources themselves. It will do him good to finger the books and to find the references; and by and by he may be tempted to read beyond the required assignment—a thing greatly to be encouraged, and out of the question so long as he limits himself to some one's selections from the writings of the philosophers.

In the advanced courses the research method may be introduced; special problems may be assigned to the student who has acquired a knowledge of the fundamentals, to be worked out under the guidance of the instructor.

In the lecture intended for beginners the teacher should seek to arouse in his hearers an interest in the subject and the desire to plunge more deeply into it. He should not bewilder the student with too many details and digressions but present the broad outlines of the field, placing before him the essentials and leaving him to fill in the minutiæ by a study of the books of reference. Each lecture ought to constitute an organic whole, as it were, in which the different parts are held together by a central idea; and its connection with the subject matter of the preceding lectures should be kept before the hearer's mind. All this requires careful and conscientious preparation on the part of the teacher, who must understand the intellectual quality of his class and avoid "shooting over their heads" as well as going to the other extreme of aiming below the level of their mental capacities. Lecturing that is more than mere entertainment is an art which young instructors sometimes look upon as an easy acquisition and which older heads, after long years of experience, often despair of ever mastering. The lecture aims to do what books seldom accomplish—to infuse life and spirit into the subject; and this ideal a living personality may hope to realize where a dead book fails.

In order, however, that the philosophical lecture may not fail of its purpose, the hearer must be more than a mere listener; he must bring with him an alert mind that grasps meanings and can follow thought-sequences. And he cannot keep his attention fixed upon the discourse and understand the relations of its parts unless other senses coöperate with the sense of hearing and unless the motor centers are called into play also. He should carefully cultivate the art of taking notes, an accomplishment in which the average student is sadly lacking and to acquire which he needs the assistance of the instructor, which he seldom receives. An examination of the student's notebook frequently reveals such a woeful lack of discrimination on the writer's part that one is led to doubt the wisdom of following this method at all; wholly unimportant things are set down in faithful detail and essential ones wholly ignored. The hour spent in the lecture room, however, can and should be made a fruitful means of instruction, one that will awaken processes of thought and leave its mark. But in order to get the best result, the student should be urged to study his notes and the books to which he has been referred while the matters discussed in the lecture are still fresh in his mind; he will be able to clear up points he did not fully grasp, see connections that have escaped him, understand the force of arguments which he missed; and he will assume a more independent and critical attitude toward what he has heard than was possible on the spur of the moment, when he was driven on and could not stop and reflect. At home, in the quiet of his study, he can organize the material, see the parts of the discourse in their relations to each other, and re-create the whole as it lived and moved in the mind of the teacher. In doing this work he is called on to exercise his thinking and takes an important step forward. It is for this reason that I am somewhat skeptical of the value of the syllabus prepared by the teacher for the use of classes in philosophy,—it does for the student what he should do for himself. Whatever value the syllabus may have in other fields of study, its use in the philosophical branches ought to be discouraged. The great weakness of the lecture method lies in its tendency to relieve the hearer of the necessity of doing his own thinking, to leave him passive, to feed him with predigested food; and this defect is augmented by providing him with "helps" which rob him of the benefit and pleasure of putting the pieces of the puzzle-picture together himself.

However, even at its best, the lecture method, unless supplemented in the ways already indicated, runs the danger of making the student an intellectual sponge, a mere absorber of knowledge, or a kind of receptacle for professors to shoot ideas into. As was said before, the student must cultivate the art of reading books and of expressing his thoughts by means of the spoken and written word. At the early stages and in some fields of philosophical study, however, the reading of many books may confuse the beginner and leave his mind in a state of bewilderment. It is indispensable that he acquire the working concepts and the terminology of the subject, and to this end it is generally wise to limit his reading until he has gained sufficient skill in handling his tools, as it were. In the elementary courses many members of the class will be unable to do more than follow the lectures and study the textbook; the more gifted ones, however, should be encouraged to extend the range of their reading under the guidance of the instructor.

An answer to the question concerning the desired sequence of courses in philosophy will depend upon many considerations,—upon one's conception of philosophy and of the various subjects generally embraced under it, upon one's notion of the aims of philosophical instruction, upon one's estimate of the difficulties encountered by the student in the study of the different branches of it, and so on. There is wide divergence of opinion among thinkers on all these points. Philosophy is variously conceived as metaphysics, as theory of knowledge, as the science of mind (Geisteswissenschaft), as the science of values (Werttheorie), or as all of these together. Logic is conceived by some thinkers as dependent upon psychology, by others as the presupposition of all the sciences, including psychology. Ethics is regarded both as a branch of psychology, or as dependent upon psychology, and as an independent study having nothing whatever to do with psychology. Psychology itself is treated both as a natural science, its connection with philosophy being explained as a historical survival, and as the fundamental study upon which all the other subjects of the philosophical department must rest. Where there is such a lack of agreement, it will not be easy to map out a sequential course of study that will satisfy everybody. Even when philosophy is defined in the old historic sense as an attempt to reach a theory of the world and of life, men may differ as to the exact order in which the basal studies should be pursued. By many the history of philosophy is considered the best introduction to the entire field, while others would place it at the end of the series of fundamentals (psychology, logic, ethics), holding that a student who has studied these will be best equipped for a study that includes the history of their development. As a matter of fact, given students of mature mind and the necessary general preparation, either order may be justified. The average underclassman is, however, too immature to plunge at once into the study of the history of philosophy, and the present writer would recommend that it be preceded by courses in general psychology, logic and ethics. The average sophomore will have little difficulty in following courses in psychology and logic; and it is immaterial which of these he takes up first. The course in the theory of ethics should come in the junior or senior year and after the student has gained some knowledge of psychology (preferably from a book like Stout's Manual of Psychology). And it would be an advantage if the course in ethics could be preceded by a study of the development of moral ideas, of the kind, let us say, presented in Hobhouse's Morals in Evolution. For reasons already stated, the entire course in philosophy should be inaugurated by the Introduction to Philosophy. Advanced courses in metaphysics and the theory of knowledge should come at the end and follow the history of philosophy. The ideal sequence would, therefore, be in the view of the present writer: Introduction to Philosophy, Psychology or Logic, the Development of Moral Ideas, Theory of Ethics, History of Philosophy, Metaphysics, and Theory of Knowledge. It must be admitted, however, that a rigorous insistence upon this scheme in the American college, in which freedom of election is the rule, would impair the usefulness of the department of philosophy. Few students will be willing to take all these subjects, and there is no reason why an intelligent junior or senior should not be admitted to a course in ethics or the history of philosophy without having first studied the other branches. A person possessing sufficient maturity of mind to pursue these studies will be greatly benefited by them even when he comes to them without previous preparation; and it would be a pity to deprive him of the opportunity to become acquainted with a field in which some of the ablest thinkers have exercised their powers. At all events, he should not leave college without having had a course in the history of philosophy, which will open up a new world to him and may perhaps stimulate him to read the best books in the other branches later on.

It would not be possible, of course, to prescribe all the fundamental philosophical courses, even if it were desirable,—few faculties would go so far,—but it would be wise to require every candidate for the bachelor's degree to give at least six hours of his time (three hours a term, on the two-term basis) to one or two of the elementary courses, preferably in the sophomore year. Ethics and the history of philosophy could then be chosen as electives and be followed by the more advanced and specialized courses.

We have already touched upon some of the debatable questions in the sphere of philosophical education. The dispute concerning the place of psychology in the scheme of philosophical instruction has its cause in differences of view concerning the aims, nature, and methods of that subject. Philosophers ask for an introductory course in psychology which shall serve as a propaedeutic to the philosophical studies, while teachers of education wish to have it treated in a way to throw light upon educational methods and theory. "Some biologists treat mental phenomena as mere correlates of physiological processes.... Others, including a number of psychologists also, regard psychological phenomena as fully explicable in terms of behavior, and as constituting therefore a phase of biological science." The Committee of the American Psychological Association on the Academic Status of Psychology recommends "that the Association adopt the principle that the undergraduate psychological curriculum in every college or university, great or small, should be planned from the standpoint of psychology and in accordance with psychological ideals, rather than to fit the needs and meet the demands of some other branch of learning."[45] This declaration of principle might lead to peace between the philosophers and the psychologists if there were agreement concerning the "psychological ideals" in accordance with which the subject is to be studied. The desideratum of the philosophers is a psychology which will give the student an understanding of the various phases of mental life; but they do not believe that this can be reached by an exclusive use of the natural-scientific method. The objection of some psychologists, that the philosophers wish to inject metaphysics into the study of mental processes, is met by the rejoinder that the natural-scientific psychology is itself based upon an unconscious metaphysics, and a false one at that. What the philosophers desire is psychological courses which will do full justice to the facts of the mental life and not falsify them to meet the demands of a scientific theory or method—courses of the kind given in European universities by men whose reputation as psychologists is beyond suspicion.

We have likewise alluded, in this chapter, to the controversy over the need and nature of an introductory course in philosophy. Of those who favor such a philosophical propaedeutic some recommend the History of Philosophy, others an Introduction to Philosophy of the type described in the preceding pages. Some teachers regard as the ideal course a study of the evolving attitudes of the individual toward the world, after the manner of Hegel's Phenomenology of the Spirit; some the Philosophy of History; some Kulturgeschichte, that is, the study of "the evolution of science, morality, art, religion, and political life,—in short, the history of institutions"; some the study of the great literatures; and some would seek the approach to the subject through the religious interest.[46] It is plain that the History of Philosophy will receive help from all these sources; and a wise teacher will make frequent use of them. Nor can the course in the Introduction to Philosophy afford to ignore them; it will do well to lay particular stress upon the philosophical attitudes, the embryonic philosophies which are to be found in the great literatures, in the great religions, in science, and in the common sense of mankind. Wherever the human mind is at work, there philosophical conceptions,—world-views, crude or developed,—play their part; and they form the background of the lives of peoples as well as of individuals. In the systems of the great thinkers they are formulated and made more or less consistent; but everywhere they are the result of the mind's yearning to understand the meaning of life in its manifold expressions. When the student comes to see that philosophy is simply an attempt to do what mankind has always been doing and will always continue to do, in a rough way, that it is "only an unusually obstinate attempt to think clearly and consistently,"—to continue the process of thinking to the bitter end,—his attitude toward it will be one of intelligent interest and respect. But not one of these subjects taken by itself will serve the purpose of an introductory course.

Another moot question is concerned with the use of the "case method," employed in law instruction, in ethics. The case method seeks to know what the moral law is by studying the moral judgments of society; or, more definitely, to quote the words of Professor Coxe,[47] one of its champions: "to discover, if possible, a law running through the judgments which society has made through its duly appointed officials." "Historical cases, properly attested, alone give us the means of objective judgment." There can be no doubt that this method will prove serviceable, if judiciously applied; but its exclusive use either as a method of study or as a method of instruction,—even in an introductory course in ethics,—is not to be recommended.[48] The student will not gain an adequate conception of morality from a study of the varying and often contradictory "historical cases," much less from a study of the judgments which society has made "through its duly appointed officials." The legal "case" literature of our country does indeed furnish valuable and interesting material for ethical study, but it would require a riper mind than that of a beginner to discover and to evaluate the moral principles which lie embodied in it.

The problem of testing the effectiveness of one's teaching presents few difficulties in classes which are small and in which individual instruction is possible. Wherever teacher and student come in close personal contact and opportunity is afforded for full and frequent discussions as well as for written exercises, it is a comparatively easy matter to judge the mental caliber of the members of the class and to determine the extent of their progress. In the case of the large classes, however, which crowd into the lecture halls of the modern university, the task is not so simple. Here every effort should be made to divide such concourses of students into numerous sections, small enough to enable the instructor to become acquainted with those under his charge and to watch their development. The professor who gives the lectures should take one or more of these sections himself in order that he may understand the minds to which he is addressing himself, and govern himself accordingly. The tests should consist of discussions, essays, and written and oral examinations; by means of these it is not impossible to determine whether the aims of the subject have been realized in the instruction or not. But the tasks set should be of such a character as to test the student's power of thought, his ability to understand what he has read and heard with all its implications, his ability to assume a critical attitude toward what he has assimilated, and his ability to try his intellectual wings in independent flights. A person who devotes himself faithfully to his work during the entire term, who puts his mind upon it, takes an active part in the discussions, and is encouraged to express himself frequently by means of the written word, will surely give some indication of the progress he has made, even in a written examination—it being a fair assumption that one who knows will somehow succeed in revealing his knowledge. Care must be taken, of course, that the test is not a mere appeal to the memory; it is only when the examination makes demands upon the student's intelligence that it can be considered a fair measure of the value of philosophical instruction. It must not be forgotten, however, that the examination may reveal not only the weakness of the learner but the weakness of the teacher. It is possible for a student, even in philosophy, to make a fine showing in a written examination by repeating the words of the master which he does not understand, without having derived any real benefit from the course. The teacher may set an examination which will hide the deficiencies of the instruction, and the temptation to do this in large classes which he knows have not been properly taught is great.

Frank Thilly
Cornell University

Bibliography

Coxe, G. C. The Case Method in the Study and Teaching of Ethics. Journal of Philosophy, Psychology, and Scientific Methods, Vol. X, 13, page 337.

Davies, A. E. Education and Philosophy, Journal of Philosophy, Psychology, and Scientific Methods, Vol. VI, 14, page 365.

Hinman, E. L. The Aims of an Introductory Course in Philosophy. Journal of Philosophy, Psychology, and Scientific Methods, Vol. VII, 21, page 561.

Höfler, A. Zur Propädeutik-Frage.

Höfler, A. Zur Reform der philosophischen Propädeutik. Zeitschrift für die Österreichischen Gymnasien, Vol. L, 3, page 255.

Hudson, J. W. Hegel's Conception of an Introduction to Philosophy. Journal of Philosophy, Psychology, and Scientific Methods, Vol. VI, 13, page 337.

—— An Introduction to Philosophy through the Philosophy of History. Journal of Philosophy, Psychology, and Scientific Methods. Vol. VII, 21, page 569.

—— The Aims and Methods of Introduction Courses: A Questionnaire. Journal of Philosophy, Psychology, and Scientific Methods, Vol. IX, 2, page 29.

Lehmann, R. Der deutsche Unterricht, pages 389-437.

Leuchtenberger, G. Die philosophische Propädeutik auf den höheren Schulen.

Overstreet, H. A. Professor Coxe's "Case Method" in Ethics. Journal of Philosophy, Psychology, and Scientific Methods, Vol. X, 17, page 464.

Paulsen, F. German Universities and University Studies. English translation by Frank Thilly and W. W. Elwang, Book III and Book IV.

—— Ueber Vergangenheit und Zukunft der Philosophie im gelehrten Unterricht, Central-Organ für die Interessen des Realschulwesens, Vol. XIV, 1, page 4.

—— Geschichte des gelehrten Unterrichts, Conclusion.

Report of the Committee on the Academic Status of Psychology, published by the American Psychological Association, December, 1914.

Tufts, J. H. Garman as a Teacher. Journal of Philosophy, Psychology, and Scientific Methods, Vol. IV, 10, page 263.

Weissenfels, O. Die Philosophie auf dem Gymnasium. Zeitschrift für das Gymnasialwesen, Vol. LIII, 1, page 1.

Wendt, G. Didaktik und Methodik des deutschen Unterrichts, Handbuch der Erziehungs- und Unterrichtslehre für höhere Schulen.

Footnotes:

[45] The sentences quoted are taken from the Report of this committee, which was published in December, 1914.

[46] See the articles of J. W. Hudson and others in the Bibliography.

[47] See Bibliography.

[48] See Professor Overstreet's Discussion mentioned in the Bibliography.

XV

These methods depend upon the aim; and the aim, we venture to hold, should be eminently practical. The content of ethics is not primarily a matter of whether Kant's judgments are sounder than Mill's or Spencer's. Its subject is human life and the business of right living: how should people—real people, that is, not textbook illustrations—live with one another? This is the essential concern of our subject matter, and in it our student is intimately and practically involved. Charged with the fact, he may deny the impeachment. He refuses to worry over the merits of hedonism versus rigorism, the distinction between hypothetical and categorical imperatives, or the claim of ethics to be called a science. Ethics, that is, as an intellectual discipline through the survey of historic disputations is indeed remote from the concerns that touch his life. But all the time there is no subject of greater interest when approached from the side of its bearing on practical problems. Consider the earnestness with which the student will discuss with his friends such questions as these: What sense is there in a labor strike? Is a conscientious objector justified in refusing military service? Why should any one oppose easy divorce laws? May a lawyer defend a rogue whom he knows to be guilty? Can one change the nature with which he was born? Is violence justified in the name of social reform? If what is right in one age or place is wrong in another, is it fair to object when moral laws are broken? If a practice like prostitution is common, what makes it wrong?

These do not sound like the questions likely to receive a welcome hearing in the classroom; but it is precisely upon the interest in such topics as these that the course in ethics should build; for its subject is right living, a matter in which the student may indeed be assumed to feel a genuine concern. If the questions that he wants answered are not all as broad in their significance as the foregoing, there are others of a more immediate personal kind which arise in his life as a student, as a friend, as a son and brother, problems in which standards of fair play and "decency" are involved, and upon which it may be taken for granted that he has done some thinking, howsoever crude. These interests are invaluable. Out of them the finer product is to be created in the shape of better standards, higher ideals, and habits of moral thoughtfulness, leading in turn to still better standards and still worthier conduct. The course in ethics should be practical in the sense that both its starting point and its final object are found in the student's management of his life.

Consider, for example, how his interest in problems of friendship may be used as the point of departure for an extremely important survey over general questions of right relationship. Just because friendship is so vital a concern of adolescent years, he can be led to read what Aristotle, Kant, Emerson, have to say upon this subject and be introduced as well to that larger life of ideal relationships from which these writers regard the dealings of friends. The topic of right attitudes toward a friend broadens out readily into such considerations as treating persons aright for their own sake or regarding them as ends per se, a dead abstraction when approached as it is by Kant, but a living reality when the students get Aristotle's point about magnanimous treatment of friends. They can then proceed by way of contrast to note, for example, how this magnanimity was limited to friends in the upper levels of Athenian society, and went hand in hand with approval of slave labor and other exploitations which a modern conscience forbids. To give sharper edge to the conception of man as deserving right treatment for his own sake, the class might go on to examine other notable violations of personality in past and present; e.g., slavery (read for instance Sparr's History of the African Slave Trade) or the more recent cruelties toward the natives in the rubber regions of the Congo and the Amazon. Reference may also be made (without undue emphasis) to the white-slave traffic of today and the fact be noted that a right sense of chivalry will keep a man from partnership in the degradation which creates both the demand for white slavery and ultimately its supply. We mention this to show how a common practical interest can be employed to introduce the students to so fundamental an ethical conception as the idea of inviolable human worth. It may, no doubt, be highly unconventional for them to begin with a discussion of friendship and after a few periods find themselves absorbed in these other questions; but if care is exercised to sum up and to emphasize the big conceptions underlying the topic, we may be sure that their grasp of the subject will be no less firm than under the older method. Their acquaintance with a study requiring hard, abstract thinking will surely not be hurt, to say the least, by an introduction which is concrete and practical.

Or take another matter of real concern to the student at this period of his life. He is certain to be giving some thought to the matter of his future vocation; and here again is a topic which, properly handled, broadens out into the most far-reaching inquiries. It is to be regretted that as yet the vocational-guidance movement has been occupied in the main with external features—comparing jobs, making objective tests of efficiency, and so on. The central ethical conceptions are usually slighted. That one's vocation is a prime influence in the shaping of personality in oneself, in one's fellow workers, in the public served (or disserved) by one's work, in the world of nations in so far as war and peace are connected with commerce and other interchange of vocational products—all this is matter for the teacher who wishes the ethics course to work over into better living.[49] Nor again, as will be noted later in the chapter, need the claims of the subject as a scholarly discipline suffer from such treatment. Questions of the nature of moral standards, of the distinction between expedient and right, etc., can be taken up more profitably when, instead of dealing with the academic questions forming the stock in trade of most textbooks, the course examines a few vocations, let us say, business, teaching, art, law, medicine,—in the light of such standards as these: A history of the calling; e.g., what has it contributed to the elevation of mankind, to the development of the arts and sciences, and to specific kinds of human betterment? What is the best service it can accomplish today? What traits does it require in those who pursue it? What traits is it likely to encourage in them for better and for worse? Report on great leaders in the calling, with special reference to what their work made of them. What are the darker sides of the picture? What efforts are being made today to raise the moral code in this vocation? Sum up the ideal rewards.

We do not mean, of course, that the only problems are those which center around the demands of today for a more just economic and social order. On the contrary, we believe that the movement for social justice is greatly in need of precisely that appreciation of the claims of moral personality which it is the main business of ethical study to promote. But we shall never get our students to profit from their work in social ethics, or in ethical theory, or in any branch of the subject whatever, unless we keep fresh and close the contact with their own experiences and ambitions.

Indeed, we venture to assert that unless this connection is kept unbroken, the subject is not ethics at all but an abstraction which ought to take some other name. Ethics deals with human volitions; but the latter term is meaningless to the student save as he interprets it by his own experiences in the preference of better ways to lower. He knows the difficulties that arise in his own group-associations,—his home or his class or his club, for example,—the conflicts of ambitions, the readiness to shirk one's share of common responsibility, the discordant prides and appetites of one sort and another which lead to overt injustices. All these should be used to throw light upon the living moral problems of group-life in the vocations, in the civic world, in the international order.

Temperamentally, to be sure, the teacher may be inclined to handle his subject in what he prefers to regard as academic detachment. But where the subject is ethics and not dead print, complete aloofness is out of the question. There would be no textbooks in ethics if the men whose convictions are there recorded had not grappled earnestly with problems of vital moment to their day and generation. The crucial questions raised by a changing Athenian democracy were no matters of air-born speculation to Socrates and Plato and Aristotle. Nor is it an accident that the philosopher who so sought to vindicate the worth of man as an end per se should have sent from his apparently isolated study in Königsberg his glad acclaim of the French Revolution. The abounding interest of the English Utilitarians in the economics, the politics, the social reform, of the nineteenth century needs no comment. There are texts for study today because the men who wrote them were keenly concerned about a nobler mode of life for mankind. To invite the student to share their reflections without expecting worthier conduct is to ignore the essential purpose by which those reflections were prompted.