It was inevitable that from the beginning of the Christian era in England education would rest in the hands of the Church, so that “from the first, education was the creature of religion, the school was an adjunct of the church, and the schoolmaster was an ecclesiastical officer.” It was the mission of the Church to teach, and only by doing so could it widen its authority or, indeed, perpetuate itself. Its Influence gradually spread throughout the country, and many of its servants had the necessary leisure to give instruction not only in all that concerned religious doctrine but in reading, the study of Latin, and Whatever was necessary to ensure that the missionary, liturgical, and administrative needs of the Church were met. By a natural process the study of Latin would in suitable circumstances lead on to the Study of secular works, to which a knowledge of Latin provided the key. Of course there were fields of education outside the scope of the Church, but in a relatively uncomplicated society such acquirements as skill in arms, the social graces of aristocratic life, or knowledge of crafts could be learned from their practitioners. King Alfred, who had himself been taught, as he said, “by Plegmund, my archbishop, and Asser, my bishop, and Grimbold, my mass-priest, and John my Inass priest,” naturally asked for the Church's help to bring it about “as we can very easily do … that all the youth of our English freemen who can afford to devote themselves to it should be set to learning.”

The present state of separatism in Canada has its cultural roots in the religious and political power struggles of the first half of the nineteenth century. During that period the Imperialists of England sought to maintain economic and political control of Canada while an emerging class of industrialists and commercial entrepreneurs within Canada were attempting to establish independent and autonomous political authority. At the same time the powerful Anglican and Roman Catholic Churches struggled vigorously to maintain their authoritative positions in administration of the colony. While many of the clergy were deeply involved in politics, the politicians were fighting political issues on religious principles; religion and politics were seriously interwoven.

No mistake about it. Francis Kenrick had his work cut out for him. It was 1830 and he had just been appointed as Coadjutor Bishop to Henry Conwell of Philadelphia. Conwell was in an enfeebled state of old age, truculent in spirit, and suspicious of his colleague's authority. The diocese of Philadelphia was badly disorganized because episcopal government was in a state of near collapse. There was no seminary or college, a single orphanage, few schools, and “a disheartened people.” In particular, the problem of “trusteeism” had created religious havoc in the diocese during the 1820's. A reserved, scholarly, and cautious person, Kenrick could not have found a less propitious vineyard in which to begin his episcopal career.

In 1870, on May 16, Massachusetts passed a law permitting drawing (industrial and mechanical) to be “freely” taught in any city and town, and making “free” instruction compulsory in cities and towns of over ten-thousand people. The city of Boston also passed a compulsory art education law. The why is simple. The French had sent up a “sputnik.” This is explained tersely by Ware in his articles on drawing: At the Universal Exhibition of 1851, England found herself, by general Consent, almost at the bottom of the list, among all the countries of the World, in respect of her art-manufactures. Only the United States of the great nations stood below her. The first result of this discovery was the establishment of schools of art in every large town. At the Paris Exposition of 1867, England stood among the foremost, and in some branches of manuacture distanced the most artistic nations. It was the schools of art and the great collections of works of industrial art at the South Kensington Museum that accomplished this result. The United States still held her place at the foot of the column.

C. A. Bower's recent article “The Ideologies of Progresive Education” (H.E.Q., Winter 1967) was a much needed effort to clarify some of the muddied waters flowing from various interpretations of Cremin's The Transformation of the School. Bowers was quite right in distinguishing the social reconstructionists from the other educators Cremin lumped together as progressives. Ironically the one possible flaw in Bowers's argument might have been caused by his reliance upon Cremin's interpretation of the early phases of progressive education. Bowers's basic thesis was that the social reconstructionist educators of the nineteen-thirties represented a new breed of progressive educators. Bowers argued that previous to the nineteen-thirties progressive politicans and educators set as their goal the emancipation of the individual. During the nineteen-thirties social reconstructions rejected this objective for an education that would train the individual to work harmoniously in a collective society. Now the one possible error in this argument lies in calling this a new form of progressivism and progressive education.

George F. Kneller is a capable philosopher, with a particular interest in the bearing of anthropology upon education. Both by training and personal inclination he is uncomfortable in the presence of untidy formulations and innvalid reasoning. It was most fitting, therefore, that he be invited to respond to R. Freeman Butts' paper, “Civilization-Building and the Modernization Process: A Framework for the Reinterpretation of the History of Educatoin” (H.E.Q., Summer 1967).