the textbook and in as many other books as are available, and then rediscussed in the class. Individual work, recitations, examinations, and lectures all have a place in this scheme of teaching, but the class discussion is the main thing. It converts the recitation period into a thinking period, in which each student does his best studying under the stimulus of his fellows and of the teacher. In certain subjects, say mathematics, physics, laboratory chemistry, and composition, in which the work that each one should perform for himself can be clearly indicated, the heuristic method would seem to be best, but in other subjects, like literature, languages, history, and philosophy, where the give and take from the teacher and from one's fellow students is perhaps of greater value, the genetic method is more serviceable. Learners cannot, to be sure, find out everything for themselves, but they can at any rate employ the methods of fact finding and the methods by which facts are classified and conclusions from them deduced and tried out. These methods of teaching have been sufficiently tested to warrant the conclusion that the learner learns by them, that his interest grows instead of dwindling under them, that those schools are good schools which are talking schools, and those are poorer than they should be in which the

students merely attempt to imbibe knowledge. The school must become a workshop in which students work at definite tasks, and by their own efforts under the master's eye learn to use the great tools with which the race has by the same process learned to do its work. To give a child a conception instead of inducing him to find it seemed to the saintly Pestalozzi to be a wicked act. It robs the child of opportunity. Does it not rob society as well?

CHAPTER VIII

LEARNING BY PROBLEM GETTING

Does mere observing teach us? How many years of sitting beside a chauffeur and watching him guide the machine must one put in before he can learn how to drive himself, if he never takes the wheel? How many years of careful observation of the work of a carpenter will teach the trade, provided one does not take the tools into his own hands? In cities, wherever men are engaged in difficult work which can be seen from the streets, a crowd gathers to watch them. Do the persons in these crowds learn to perform the work which they observe so intently? How long would one have to watch a company of experts play tennis or baseball in order to become a qualified player himself? The answer to all of these questions is that no amount of watching of itself will enable one to do any of these things. One may grow gray as a baseball fan without learning how to catch or throw a ball; and one may ride beside a skillful chauffeur all his days without acquiring any skill in driving the machine. Mere looking and listening will not teach. To learn to

drive, one must take the wheel; to learn to hammer, one must hammer; and to learn to work with concepts, one must work with concepts. So marvelously does action sharpen our looking and listening that the mere beginnings of doing, on our own part, convert our seeings and hearings into values. The person who has tried to drive the machine learns something by watching the expert. The embryo baseball player profits by watching the game. I watch men skate and see every movement they make, but the instant I myself put on the skates, I begin to see that there is much more to skating than my observation had told me. Indeed, even the prospect of taking the wheel as soon as we come to an easy piece of road converts my desultory attention into the closest interest, and I now become all eyes and ears for what is being done.

We are motor-ideo beings. The new school of psychologists contends that, since behavior is the characteristic of living things, the only way to study consciousness is by studying behavior. Consciousness is motor-every sensory state tends to become an appropriate muscular movement. Ideas produce action. We are ideo-motor beings. The inverse has been neglected, but it is equally true. We are motor-ideo beings. Action produces ideas. It is the striving to attain an end which develops

knowledge. Consciousness is conative. Mind is a problem solver. It is perplexity, doubt, conflict, and not the even tenor of an untroubled mind which causes reflection. Where there is no question, there can be no searching for an answer. Where there is no problem, there is no occasion for the mind to converse with "herself." Seeings, hearings, feelings, thinkings, and doings follow each other at random. We are not concerned about anything in particular, our minds go woolgathering, we daydream. A purpose to be served, an undertaking to be accomplished, keeps the flow of ideas within bounds. What I read or heard or saw but a moment ago, while purposelessly daydreaming, flitted by in a mist, but now parts of what I read, see, or hear, which are congruent with my purpose, bite themselves into my awareness. Now I learn, for I hunt, I select, I reject, I scheme, plan, fit, and am satisfied or dissatisfied with my own state of mind. To be active minded is to be acting-not taking things as they come, but making them come our way. But this is no hit-or-miss affair. We cannot think by commanding ourselves to think, neither can we feel by telling ourselves that the occasion calls for feeling. There are certain preliminaries which must be attended to before one can command his own mind. Learning to use one's own mind,