and deep interests of the race. Only so can one carry something of the appeal made, for example, by a great work of art. And the highly educated man needs to be carefully on his guard just here. He must not become a mere member of a clique.

Psychology knows, moreover, that whatever freedom a man possesses-the condition of the very possibility of character-depends on his having more than one interest to which he can attend. Moral victory requires the power to attend to something else than the temptation which threatens completely to engross one. It is often, thus, a vital matter, for the very sake of one's freedom, that he should have more than one absorbing interest.

Even sanity requires a reasonable breadth of interests. Peary has borne witness out of his long Arctic experience, that the educated man, even if other things were not wholly equal, showed greater capacity than the uneducated for endurance of the privation and hardship of Arctic exploration and the Arctic night, for the very reason that he had more things in which he could be interested, One of the chief marks of insanity, indeed, is the all-absorbing, single "insistent idea."

A "store of permanent and valuable interests" is, therefore, both a sign and a guard of sanity.

For all these reasons psychology knows that the acquisition of a considerable number of permanent and valuable interests is one of the prime objects of education, and one of the main factors in a "reasonable character." A chief test of one's education, therefore, is the question whether it has awakened in one's mind some permanent and valuable interests. So Sully says: "The teacher should regard it as an important part of the training of the attention to arouse interest, to deepen and fix it in certain definite directions, and gradually to enlarge its range. Volkmann remarks that the older pedagogic had as its rule: 'Make your instruction interesting'; whereas, the newer has the precept, 'Instruct in such a way that an interest may awake and remain active for life'." A similar aim every thoughtful man must have in mind in his own self-training. And it needs hardly to be pointed out how imperative is time in the building up of a wide range of interests. As Royce says: "It is the leisurely traveler who finds time to cultivate new

1

1 Outlines of Psychology, p. 105.

habits, and thus gradually to see the wonders as they are."1

III. THE RELATEDNESS OF ALL

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Psychology's emphasis upon the plexity of life-the multiplicity and intricacy of the relations involved-implies the recognition of the relatedness of all, and so suggests at once that the degree in which any interest exists for us depends upon the degree in which we have brought it into connection with the rest of life. We are awake to the full significance of any idea only when we see it in all its varied bearings. There are, thus, widely different "degrees of wakefulness" to even the highest interests. When one feels the difference between a dead and a live truth—a truth that he took by rote and the same truth born again within him,-he may well wonder if he were wholly awake before. To feel the same thing continuously, Hobbes long ago saw, is practically to feel nothing at all. "A completely uniform and unchanged condition," says Höffding, "has a tendency to arrest consciousness." 2

1 Outlines of Psychology, p. 228.
2 Outlines of Psychology, P. 45.

So Lotze says: "By attention we gain something merely in case the content mentally represented gives occasion for its work to our relating and comparing faculty of knowledge. Even an altogether simple content is at least compared by us with other simple contents, or with itself at different moments of its duration. If we disregard this fact, then the mere persistence of the content, with whatever intensity it may occur, is of absolutely no help to us. It is understood, finally, that this relating of one content to another can be carried further at pleasure. We can therefore certainly distinguish yet other different degrees of consciousness concerning the content of an idea; and this according as we mentally represent the idea itself and its own nature, or its connection with other ideas, or, finally, its value and significance for the totality of our personal life." Only in the last case does the idea or interest have for us its full value; and this evidently requires the completest recognition of the relatedness of all.

1

It is, indeed, not too much to say, that human nature everywhere avenges itself for any lack of reasonable regard for the wide range of its interests. Many illustrations will suggest

1 Outlines of Psychology, PP. 45-46.

themselves. The Cavalier needs the correction of the Puritan; and the Puritan the correction of the Cavalier. Oberlin couldn't paint all its buildings red in the early days, though it was proved conclusively that red was the cheapest and most durable paint, and therefore ought to be used; human nature was too much for it. It is a genuine touch of nature that makes Mrs. Ward's Marcella rightly but illogically retain a rich rug for her bare lodging, even when she has left all the world behind for her work among the poor. The lack of a sense of humor has turned many a wise man into a fool. The conscientious denial by a man of the value of the beautiful has more than once wrought disastrously in the character of his children. The endeavor rigorously to rule out the simply recreative has, in whole lives and generations, brought speedy punishment. The attempt to annihilate the physical in him has, for many a monk of the desert, kept his attention fixed the more fatally on the physical. The distrust of truth in all but one direction has made possible for the Church its not wholly creditable history in relation to science. This exclusive attitude is nowhere justified.