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be easier to persuade the schools to engage in real processes than to train workmen to think about the work. The doom of the old school was pronounced when the first work-bench was let into the basement or garret or unused class-room. The work-bench is destined to crowd out the desks and text-books and the other signs of passive learning. Now we have a fair chance of getting what Kropotkin well calls "integral education." It is probable that the schools will be the first of our institutions to be democratized. And it may be that, by way of the school, the industrial system will itself be transformed.

I have suggested also that the workshop might be the unit of the community organization. When it becomes the function of states to develop and conserve industries— when we magnify industrial instead of legal relationships, the workmen who may unite to form a guild will have an importance not now accorded them. Membership in a guild would constitute citizenship with its duties and responsibilities. The workshop would be a place for the development of community consciousness. I perceive already in the "labor unions" the vague working of such a consciousness. A "Labor Party," however, competing with political parties for political ends and legal rights, would seem to be a very illogical outcome of such consciousness. An industrial structure can never be laid upon a political or legal foundation, industrial democracy being a co-partnership of men and not a government of laws. A State boundary line, for instance, is a legal fiction, and its truth is challenged by every railroad line that crosses it. I do not pretend to know what institutional forms will arise. upon the ground of the workshop, but I can see that they must be different from those we now possess.

The religious aspect of the workshop is summed up in the word brotherhood, or comradeship. Take away from labor its compulsion, let one be free to choose his associates in work as freely as he is now able to join a church or club, and an opportunity for comradeship will be given that does not now exist in the world of labor. The nexus in nearly all industrial enterprises is the wage, and men are forced to work together whether that association be pleasing or not. With a freer system of labor, it might be possible to restore to the workshop that courtesy and sympathy, once so common, but now so rarely met with. The working classes are not merely "unchurched;" they are, from their conditions of work, quite generally irreligious, But I am sure that it was for the members of the reconstructed workshop that Whitman wrote his poems of comradeship, the group called "Calamus," representing the new ideas of chivalry, and especially the poems entitled, "I Hear It was Charged against Me," and "I Dream'd in a Dream":

"I hear it was charged against me that I sought to destroy institutions,

But really I am neither for nor against institutions,

What indeed have I in common with them? or what with

the destruction of them?

Only I will establish in the Mannahatta and in every city of these States inland and seaboard,

And in the fields and woods, and above every keel little or large that dents the water,

Without edifices or rules or trustees or any argument,
The institution of the dear love of comrades."

A more practical or more beautiful religion than this I do not know.

This, then, is my conception of an ideal workshop or

school-a conception made of the specialized ideas of factory, studio, school, state and church-a synthesis that is forced upon the mind from the desire to counteract the terrible devisive and disintegrating forces in modern life. I feel certain that we are approaching a period of synthesis and correlation. The competitive system is nearing its fall. Specialization has been carried to an extreme and in the near future we must coordinate specialties. We are beginning to think with Ruskin that men may be of more value than products. If you think that what I have presented be unpractical, let it be noted that I have introduced no factors that do not already exist, and that I have but read the perfect logic of the situation. In some way, we shall arrive at this conclusion-must so arrive from the very pressure of social forces.

Whitman was once asked to write a poem for the opening of an industrial exposition in New York city. The theme was to him an inspiring one, since beyond all other seers, he cherished the vision of an idustrial commonwealth. From the Song of the Exposition he wrote for that occasion, I take these lines:

"Mightier than Egypt's tombs,

Fairer than Grecia's, Roma's temples,

Prouder than Milan's statued, spired cathedral,
More picturesque than Rhenish castle-keeps,
We plan even now to raise, beyond them all,
Thy great cathedral, sacred industry, no tomb,

A keep for life, for practical invention."

A SCHOOL OF INDUSTRIAL ART.

I.

"The ideal university," James Russell Lowell once said, "is a place where nothing useful is taught.” It is clear that Lowell approved a purely intellectual and æsthetic education. He meant that the school should be controlled as little as possible by practical needs, should lie outside of employments or other conditions, and be devoted to increasing capacity of enjoying books and art and enriching passively the spiritual life. The transcendental conception of education is lordly, ideal and attractive, and in a state of society that permits the maintenance of a leisure class it is an ideal of ready acceptance. As a matter of fact it was the ideal cherished by the New England colleges throughout their early history, whose model instructor was at once a scholar and a gentleman, and as a consequence of their influence, education in America has been associated largely with the leisuristic and pecuniary classes. While nominally open to all, our schools have always been schools of privilege. The primary three Rs are fundamentals only of an intellectual culture. The New England colleges built up a genuine aristocracy, which was not less inclusive in that it was intellectual, or, as the saying is, "an aristocracy of brains," which, in contradistinction to the European feudalism of family, was asserted proudly

to be the "only aristocracy worthy the name." Meanwhile the American people, as to their masses, were developing their vast industrial system, and the leisuristic tendency was crossed and recrossed by the industrial stream. In the effort latterly to reconstruct an education more in harmony with the social democracy, the first intention was to extend the privilege of education to all members of the social whole. During this period of reconstruction, through liberal public and private endowments, a widely extended and nearly inclusive system of popular education has been established. But for the most part the education thus extended was the same education of privilege that had its rise in the leisure class. Hence, the emphasis placed upon the mere symbols of learning, reading and writing. The tendency is still to create a culture representative of caste. Notwithstanding the modifications in the scope of the school forced by the industrial democracy, such as are signified by technical, commercial, and manual training departments in the midst of cultural studies, it must be acknowledged that the leisure-class theory of education is still in the ascendent. The benefits of even the public schools, supported though they are by general taxation, accrue to an intellectual aristocracy. The divorce between the hand and the brain, which is destructive of any genuine integral education, continues in full force. The people, as to their industrial activities, remain unserved and even unrecognized. Except in certain schools for Indians and negroes it is not possible today to receive instruction in the fundamentals of industrial education. What is needed at

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