And yet science, even for its own sake, must not claim to occupy the whole of education.  The mere Naturforscher is apt to be a poor philosopher himself, and his pupils may turn out very poor philosophers indeed.  The laws of psychical and spiritual life are not the same as the laws of chemistry or biology; and the besetting sin of the scientist is to try to explain everything in terms of its origin instead of in terms of its full development:  “by their roots,” he says, “and not by their fruits, ye shall know them.”  This is a contradiction of Aristotle [Greek:  (he physis telos hestin)], and of a greater than Aristotle.  The training of the reason must include the study of the human mind, “the throne of the Deity,” in its most characteristic products.  Besides science, we must have humanism, as the other main branch of our curriculum.

The advocates of the old classical education have been gallantly fighting a losing battle for over half a century; they are now preparing to accept inevitable defeat.  But their cause is not lost, if they will face the situation fairly.  It is only lost if they persist in identifying classical education with linguistic proficiency.  The study of foreign languages is a fairly good mental discipline for the majority; for the minority it may be either more or less than a fair discipline.  But only a small fraction of mankind is capable of enthusiasm for language, for its own sake.  The art of expressing ideas in appropriate and beautiful forms is one of the noblest of human achievements, and the two classical languages contain many of the finest examples of good writing that humanity has produced.  But the average boy is incapable of appreciating these values, and the waste of time which might have been profitably spent is, under our present system, most deplorable.  It may also be maintained that the conscientious editor and the conscientious tutor have between them ruined the classics as a mental discipline.  Fifty years ago, English commentatorship was so poor that the pupil had to use his wits in reading the classics; now if one goes into an undergraduate’s room, one finds him reading the text with the help of a translation, two editions with notes, and a lecture note-book.  No faculty is being used except the memory, which Bishop Creighton calls “the most worthless of our mental powers.”  The practice of prose and verse composition, often ignorantly decried, has far more educational value; but it belongs to the linguistic art which, if we are right, is not to be demanded of all students.  Are we then to restrict the study of the classics to those who have a pretty taste for style?  If so, the cause of classical education is indeed lost.  But I can see no reason why some of the great Greek and Latin authors should not be read, in translations, as part of the normal training in history, philosophy and literature.  I am well aware of the loss which a great author necessarily suffers by translation; but I have no hesitation in