Activity and Training the Mind

In this chapter we shall gather together and amplify considerations that have already been advanced, in various passages of the preceding pages, concerning the relation of action to thought. We shall follow, though not with exactness, the order of development in the unfolding human being.

In this chapter, we will bring together and expand on ideas presented earlier about the relation of action to thought. We will follow the order of human development, though not exactly.

The sight of a baby often calls out the question: "What do you suppose he is thinking about?" By the nature of the case, the question is unanswerable in detail; but, also by the nature of the case, we may be sure about a baby's chief interest. His primary problem is mastery of his body as a tool of securing comfortable and effective adjustments to his surroundings, physical and social. The child has to learn to do almost everything: to see, to hear, to reach, to handle, to balance the body, to creep, to walk, and so on. Even if it be true that human beings have even more instinctive reactions than lower animals, it is also true that instinctive tendencies are much less perfect in men, and that most of them are of little use till they are intelligently combined and directed. A little chick just out of the shell will after a few trials peck at and grasp grains of food with its beak as well as at any later time. This involves a complicated coördination of the eye and the head. An infant does not even begin to reach definitely for things that the eye sees till he is several months old, and even then several weeks' practice is required before he learns the adjustment so as neither to overreach nor to underreach. It may not be literally true that the child will grasp for the moon, but it is true that he needs much practice before he can tell whether an object is within reach or not. The arm is thrust out instinctively in response to a stimulus from the eye, and this tendency is the origin of the ability to reach and grasp exactly and quickly; but nevertheless final mastery requires observing and selecting the successful movements, and arranging them in view of an end. These operations of conscious selection and arrangement constitute thinking, though of a rudimentary type.

Seeing a baby often prompts the question: "What do you suppose he is thinking about?" By its nature, the question cannot be answered in detail. But we can be sure of a baby's main interest. His primary problem is learning to use his body as a tool for adjusting comfortably and effectively to his physical and social surroundings. A child has to learn to do almost everything: to see, hear, reach, handle things, balance his body, crawl, walk, and so on. Human beings may have even more instinctive reactions than lower animals. But instinctive tendencies are also much less developed in humans. Most are of little use until they are intelligently combined and directed. A chick just out of the shell needs only a few tries before it can peck at and grasp grains of food with its beak. It will never do this any better later on. Pecking and grasping involve a complex coordination of the eyes and head. An infant does not even begin to reach deliberately for things he sees until he is several months old. Even then, he needs several weeks of practice to learn to reach without reaching too far or not far enough. It may not be literally true that a child will reach for the moon. But a child does need much practice before he can tell whether an object is within reach. The arm reaches out instinctively in response to something the eye sees. This tendency is the beginning of the ability to reach and grasp accurately and quickly. But mastering this ability still requires observing and selecting successful movements and arranging them with a goal in mind. These acts of conscious selection and arrangement are thinking, though of a basic kind.

Since mastery of the bodily organs is necessary for all later developments, such problems are both interesting and important, and solving them supplies a very genuine training of thinking power. The joy the child shows in learning to use his limbs, to translate what he sees into what he handles, to connect sounds with sights, sights with taste and touch, and the rapidity with which intelligence grows in the first year and a half of life (the time during which the more fundamental problems of the use of the organism are mastered), are sufficient evidence that the development of physical control is not a physical but an intellectual achievement.

Learning to control the body is necessary for all later development. So the problems involved are both interesting and important, and solving them provides genuine training in thinking. A child takes joy in learning to use their limbs and to handle what they see. The child also enjoys learning to connect sounds with sights, and sights with taste and touch. Intelligence also grows rapidly during the first year and a half of life. During this time, a child masters the more fundamental problems of using the body. Together, the child’s joy and rapid intellectual growth provide sufficient evidence that developing physical control is an intellectual achievement, not a physical one.

Although in the early months the child is mainly occupied in learning to use his body to accommodate himself to physical conditions in a comfortable way and to use things skillfully and effectively, yet social adjustments are very important. In connection with parents, nurse, brother, and sister, the child learns the signs of satisfaction of hunger, of removal of discomfort, of the approach of agreeable light, color, sound, and so on. His contact with physical things is regulated by persons, and he soon distinguishes persons as the most important and interesting of all the objects with which he has to do. Speech, the accurate adaptation of sounds heard to the movements of tongue and lips, is, however, the great instrument of social adaptation; and with the development of speech (usually in the second year) adaptation of the baby's activities to and with those of other persons gives the keynote of mental life. His range of possible activities is indefinitely widened as he watches what other persons do, and as he tries to understand and to do what they encourage him to attempt. The outline pattern of mental life is thus set in the first four or five years. Years, centuries, generations of invention and planning, may have gone to the development of the performances and occupations of the adults surrounding the child. Yet for him their activities are direct stimuli; they are part of his natural environment; they are carried on in physical terms that appeal to his eye, ear, and touch. He cannot, of course, appropriate their meaning directly through his senses; but they furnish stimuli to which he responds, so that his attention is focussed upon a higher order of materials and of problems. Were it not for this process by which the achievements of one generation form the stimuli that direct the activities of the next, the story of civilization would be writ in water, and each generation would have laboriously to make for itself, if it could, its way out of savagery.

In the early months, a child is mainly occupied with learning to use his body. He learns to make himself comfortable in his physical surroundings and to use things skillfully and effectively. Even so, social adjustment is very important. Through contact with parents, a nurse, brothers, and sisters, the child learns the signs that his hunger will be satisfied or his discomfort relieved. He also learns the signs that pleasant light, color, sound, and other agreeable things are coming. People regulate his contact with physical things. He soon comes to see people as the most important and interesting of all the things he encounters. Speech, however, is the great tool of social adjustment. It requires the child to match the movements of his tongue and lips accurately to the sounds he hears. Speech usually develops in the second year. As it develops, the central feature of the baby’s mental life becomes adjusting his activities to those of other people and acting with them. The range of activities available to him grows enormously as he watches what others do. It also grows as he tries to understand and do what they encourage him to attempt. The basic pattern of mental life is therefore established in the first four or five years. Years, centuries, or generations of invention and planning may have gone into developing the activities and occupations of the adults around the child. Yet their activities are immediate stimuli for him. They are part of his natural environment. They take physical forms that engage his eyes, ears, and sense of touch. Of course, he cannot grasp their meaning directly through his senses. But these activities provide stimuli to which he responds. As a result, his attention is focused on a higher order of materials and problems. The achievements of one generation thus provide stimuli that direct the activities of the next. Without this process, the story of civilization would be written in water. Each generation would have to struggle to make its own way out of savagery, if it could.

Imitation is one (though only one, see p. 47) of the means by which the activities of adults supply stimuli which are so interesting, so varied, so complex, and so novel, as to occasion a rapid progress of thought. Mere imitation, however, would not give rise to thinking; if we could learn like parrots by simply copying the outward acts of others, we should never have to think; nor should we know, after we had mastered the copied act, what was the meaning of the thing we had done. Educators (and psychologists) have often assumed that acts which reproduce the behavior of others are acquired merely by imitation. But a child rarely learns by conscious imitation; and to say that his imitation is unconscious is to say that it is not from his standpoint imitation at all. The word, the gesture, the act, the occupation of another, falls in line with some impulse already active and suggests some satisfactory mode of expression, some end in which it may find fulfillment. Having this end of his own, the child then notes other persons, as he notes natural events, to get further suggestions as to means of its realization. He selects some of the means he observes, tries them on, finds them successful or unsuccessful, is confirmed or weakened in his belief in their value, and so continues selecting, arranging, adapting, testing, till he can accomplish what he wishes. The onlooker may then observe the resemblance of this act to some act of an adult, and conclude that it was acquired by imitation, while as a matter of fact it was acquired by attention, observation, selection, experimentation, and confirmation by results. Only because this method is employed is there intellectual discipline and an educative result. The presence of adult activities plays an enormous rôle in the intellectual growth of the child because they add to the natural stimuli of the world new stimuli which are more exactly adapted to the needs of a human being, which are richer, better organized, more complex in range, permitting more flexible adaptations, and calling out novel reactions. But in utilizing these stimuli the child follows the same methods that he uses when he is forced to think in order to master his body.

Imitation is one way, though only one (see p. 47), in which adult activities stimulate a child’s thinking. These activities are so interesting, varied, complex, and new that they prompt rapid progress in thought. Mere imitation, however, would not lead to thinking. If we could learn like parrots, simply by copying what others do, we would never have to think. Nor, after mastering the copied act, would we know what it meant. Educators and psychologists have often assumed that people learn to reproduce others’ behavior merely by imitation. But a child rarely learns by consciously imitating someone. And to say that a child imitates unconsciously is to say that, from the child’s point of view, the act is not imitation at all. Another person’s word, gesture, act, or activity aligns with some impulse already active in the child. It suggests a satisfying way to express that impulse, an end through which the impulse can be fulfilled. With an end of their own in mind, the child then observes other people, just as they observe natural events. They do so to find further suggestions for ways to achieve that end. The child selects some of the methods they observe and tries them out. They find them successful or unsuccessful, and their belief in their value grows stronger or weaker. The child continues selecting, arranging, adapting, and testing until they can do what they want. An observer may then notice that the child’s act resembles an adult’s act and conclude that the child learned it through imitation. In fact, the child learned it through attention, observation, selection, experimentation, and confirmation by results. Only because the child uses this method does the process develop and educate the mind. Adult activities play an enormous role in a child’s intellectual growth because they add new stimuli to those found in the natural world. These new stimuli are more precisely suited to human needs. They are richer, better organized, and broader and more complex. They allow for more flexible adaptations and call forth new responses. But in making use of these stimuli, the child follows the same methods used when they must think to gain control of their own body.

When things become signs, when they gain a representative capacity as standing for other things, play is transformed from mere physical exuberance into an activity involving a mental factor. A little girl who had broken her doll was seen to perform with the leg of the doll all the operations of washing, putting to bed, and fondling, that she had been accustomed to perform with the entire doll. The part stood for the whole; she reacted not to the stimulus sensibly present, but to the meaning suggested by the sense object. So children use a stone for a table, leaves for plates, acorns for cups. So they use their dolls, their trains, their blocks, their other toys. In manipulating them, they are living not with the physical things, but in the large world of meanings, natural and social, evoked by these things. So when children play horse, play store, play house or making calls, they are subordinating the physically present to the ideally signified. In this way, a world of meanings, a store of concepts (so fundamental to all intellectual achievement), is defined and built up. Moreover, not only do meanings thus become familiar acquaintances, but they are organized, arranged in groups, made to cohere in connected ways. A play and a story blend insensibly into each other. The most fanciful plays of children rarely lose all touch with the mutual fitness and pertinency of various meanings to one another; the "freest" plays observe some principles of coherence and unification. They have a beginning, middle, and end. In games, rules of order run through various minor acts and bind them into a connected whole. The rhythm, the competition, and coöperation involved in most plays and games also introduce organization. There is, then, nothing mysterious or mystical in the discovery made by Plato and remade by Froebel that play is the chief, almost the only, mode of education for the child in the years of later infancy.

When things become signs that stand for other things, play becomes more than a physical release of energy. It becomes an activity that involves the mind. A little girl who had broken her doll was seen washing, putting to bed, and fondling its leg. She had been used to doing all these things with the whole doll. The part stood for the whole. She responded not to what her senses showed her, but to the meaning suggested by the object she sensed. In the same way, children use a stone for a table, leaves for plates, and acorns for cups. They also use their dolls, trains, blocks, and other toys in this way. As they handle these things, they live not with the physical objects, but in the larger world of natural and social meanings those objects bring to mind. Likewise, when children play horse, play store, play house, or pretend to make social visits, the physical things before them matter less than what those things represent in their minds. In this way, children develop and build up a world of meanings and a store of concepts. These concepts are fundamental to all intellectual achievement. Moreover, children not only become familiar with meanings, but also organize them, arrange them in groups, and connect them. Play and storytelling blend into each other so gradually that the change is barely noticed. Even children's most imaginative play rarely loses all sense of how different meanings fit and relate to one another. The "freest" play follows some principles of coherence and unity. It has a beginning, middle, and end. In games, rules guide the various smaller actions and tie them together into a connected whole. The rhythm, competition, and cooperation involved in most play and games also introduce organization. So there is nothing mysterious or mystical about the discovery made by Plato and made again by Froebel. They discovered that play is the chief, almost the only, way to educate a child in later infancy.

Playfulness is a more important consideration than play. The former is an attitude of mind; the latter is a passing outward manifestation of this attitude. When things are treated simply as vehicles of suggestion, what is suggested overrides the thing. Hence the playful attitude is one of freedom. The person is not bound to the physical traits of things, nor does he care whether a thing really means (as we say) what he takes it to represent. When the child plays horse with a broom and cars with chairs, the fact that the broom does not really represent a horse, or a chair a locomotive, is of no account. In order, then, that playfulness may not terminate in arbitrary fancifulness and in building up an imaginary world alongside the world of actual things, it is necessary that the play attitude should gradually pass into a work attitude.

Playfulness matters more than play. Playfulness is an attitude of mind. Play is a temporary outward expression of that attitude. When things are treated simply as ways to suggest other things, what they suggest becomes more important than the things themselves. So a playful attitude is one of freedom. A person with this attitude is not limited by the physical features of things. Nor does the person care whether something really means, as we say, what they take it to represent. A child may pretend that a broom is a horse or that chairs are train cars. It does not matter that the broom does not really represent a horse or that a chair does not really represent a locomotive. But playfulness must gradually become an attitude of work. Otherwise, it may end in arbitrary flights of fancy and the creation of an imaginary world alongside the world of real things.

What is work—work not as mere external performance, but as attitude of mind? It signifies that the person is not content longer to accept and to act upon the meanings that things suggest, but demands congruity of meaning with the things themselves. In the natural course of growth, children come to find irresponsible make-believe plays inadequate. A fiction is too easy a way out to afford content. There is not enough stimulus to call forth satisfactory mental response. When this point is reached, the ideas that things suggest must be applied to the things with some regard to fitness. A small cart, resembling a "real" cart, with "real" wheels, tongue, and body, meets the mental demand better than merely making believe that anything which comes to hand is a cart. Occasionally to take part in setting a "real" table with "real" dishes brings more reward than forever to make believe a flat stone is a table and that leaves are dishes. The interest may still center in the meanings, the things may be of importance only as amplifying a certain meaning. So far the attitude is one of play. But the meaning is now of such a character that it must find appropriate embodiment in actual things.

What is work, not just as an outward activity, but as an attitude of mind? It means that a person is no longer content to accept and act on the meanings things suggest. Instead, the person wants those meanings to fit the things themselves. As children grow, they come to find unrestricted make-believe play inadequate. Fiction is too easy a way out to satisfy them. It does not provide enough stimulation to bring out a satisfying mental response. Once children reach this point, they must apply the ideas things suggest to the things themselves, with some regard for fit. A small cart resembling a "real" cart, with "real" wheels, tongue, and body, better meets this mental demand. It does so better than simply pretending that anything at hand is a cart. Taking part in setting a "real" table with "real" dishes occasionally is more rewarding than always pretending a flat stone is a table and leaves are dishes. The interest may still center on meanings. The things themselves may matter only because they expand a particular meaning. To that extent, the attitude is still one of play. But the meaning is now of a kind that must be given suitable form in actual things.

The dictionary does not permit us to call such activities work. Nevertheless, they represent a genuine passage of play into work. For work (as a mental attitude, not as mere external performance) means interest in the adequate embodiment of a meaning (a suggestion, purpose, aim) in objective form through the use of appropriate materials and appliances. Such an attitude takes advantage of the meanings aroused and built up in free play, but controls their development by seeing to it that they are applied to things in ways consistent with the observable structure of the things themselves.

The dictionary does not allow us to call such activities work. Nevertheless, they show a genuine transition from play to work. Work is a mental attitude, not just an outward activity. It means an interest in giving a meaning (an idea, purpose, or aim) adequate physical form by using suitable materials and tools. This attitude draws on the meanings awakened and developed in free play. But it guides their development by making sure they are applied to things in ways that fit the observable structure of those things.

The point of this distinction between play and work may be cleared up by comparing it with a more usual way of stating the difference. In play activity, it is said, the interest is in the activity for its own sake; in work, it is in the product or result in which the activity terminates. Hence the former is purely free, while the latter is tied down by the end to be achieved. When the difference is stated in this sharp fashion, there is almost always introduced a false, unnatural separation between process and product, between activity and its achieved outcome. The true distinction is not between an interest in activity for its own sake and interest in the external result of that activity, but between an interest in an activity just as it flows on from moment to moment, and an interest in an activity as tending to a culmination, to an outcome, and therefore possessing a thread of continuity binding together its successive stages. Both may equally exemplify interest in an activity "for its own sake"; but in one case the activity in which the interest resides is more or less casual, following the accident of circumstance and whim, or of dictation; in the other, the activity is enriched by the sense that it leads somewhere, that it amounts to something.

The distinction between play and work may become clearer if we compare it with a more common explanation. In play, people say, the interest lies in the activity itself. In work, the interest lies in the product or result that ends the activity. According to this view, play is completely free, while work is constrained by the goal to be achieved. But stating the difference so sharply almost always creates a false, unnatural separation. It separates process from product, activity from its result. The real distinction is not between interest in the activity itself and interest in its external result. Rather, it is between interest in an activity as it unfolds from moment to moment and interest in an activity as it moves toward an outcome. In the latter case, a thread of continuity ties the activity’s successive stages together. Both may equally show interest in an activity "for its own sake". But in one case, the activity that holds the interest is more or less casual. It follows chance circumstances, whims, or someone else’s direction. In the other case, the activity is enriched by the sense that it leads somewhere, that it amounts to something.

Were it not that the false theory of the relation of the play and the work attitudes has been connected with unfortunate modes of school practice, insistence upon a truer view might seem an unnecessary refinement. But the sharp break that unfortunately prevails between the kindergarten and the grades is evidence that the theoretical distinction has practical implications. Under the title of play, the former is rendered unduly symbolic, fanciful, sentimental, and arbitrary; while under the antithetical caption of work the latter contains many tasks externally assigned. The former has no end and the latter an end so remote that only the educator, not the child, is aware that it is an end.

If the mistaken theory about how play and work attitudes relate had not led to unfortunate school practices, insisting on a more accurate view might seem like an unnecessary refinement. But the unfortunate sharp divide between kindergarten and the grades shows that this theoretical distinction has practical consequences. In the name of play, kindergarten is made too symbolic, fanciful, sentimental, and arbitrary. By contrast, in the name of work, the grades contain many tasks assigned from outside. Kindergarten has no goal, while the goal in the grades is so distant that only the educator, not the child, recognizes it as a goal.

There comes a time when children must extend and make more exact their acquaintance with existing things; must conceive ends and consequences with sufficient definiteness to guide their actions by them, and must acquire some technical skill in selecting and arranging means to realize these ends. Unless these factors are gradually introduced in the earlier play period, they must be introduced later abruptly and arbitrarily, to the manifest disadvantage of both the earlier and the later stages.

There comes a time when children must broaden and sharpen their knowledge of the world around them. They must imagine goals and consequences clearly enough to guide their actions. They must also gain some practical skill in choosing and organizing the means to achieve those goals. Unless children gradually develop these abilities during their earlier period of play, they must develop them later, abruptly and arbitrarily. This clearly puts both the earlier and later stages at a disadvantage.

The sharp opposition of play and work is usually associated with false notions of utility and imagination. Activity that is directed upon matters of home and neighborhood interest is depreciated as merely utilitarian. To let the child wash dishes, set the table, engage in cooking, cut and sew dolls' clothes, make boxes that will hold "real things," and construct his own playthings by using hammer and nails, excludes, so it is said, the æsthetic and appreciative factor, eliminates imagination, and subjects the child's development to material and practical concerns; while (so it is said) to reproduce symbolically the domestic relationships of birds and other animals, of human father and mother and child, of workman and tradesman, of knight, soldier, and magistrate, secures a liberal exercise of mind, of great moral as well as intellectual value. It has been even stated that it is over-physical and utilitarian if a child plants seeds and takes care of growing plants in the kindergarten; while reproducing dramatically operations of planting, cultivating, reaping, and so on, either with no physical materials or with symbolic representatives, is highly educative to the imagination and to spiritual appreciation. Toy dolls, trains of cars, boats, and engines are rigidly excluded, and the employ of cubes, balls, and other symbols for representing these social activities is recommended on the same ground. The more unfitted the physical object for its imagined purpose, such as a cube for a boat, the greater is the supposed appeal to the imagination.

The sharp contrast between play and work is usually linked to false ideas about usefulness and imagination. Activities centered on the home and neighborhood are dismissed as merely practical. Some say that certain activities leave no room for beauty or appreciation and eliminate imagination. According to this view, letting children wash dishes, set the table, cook, or cut and sew dolls' clothes subjects their development to material and practical concerns. The same is said of letting them make boxes to hold "real things" or use a hammer and nails to make their own toys. Yet, according to this view, acting out the family relationships of birds and other animals gives the mind a broad workout. So does acting out the roles of human fathers, mothers, and children, workers and tradespeople, knights, soldiers, and magistrates. This exercise is said to have great moral as well as intellectual value. Some have even said that planting seeds and caring for growing plants in kindergarten are too physical and practical. Yet they consider acting out planting, cultivating, harvesting, and so on highly valuable for developing imagination and spiritual appreciation. This is supposedly true whether children use no physical materials or use objects as symbols. Toy dolls, trains, boats, and engines are strictly forbidden. For the same reason, using cubes, balls, and other symbols to represent these social activities is recommended. The less suited the physical object is to its imagined purpose, as when a cube stands for a boat, the more it supposedly appeals to the imagination.

There are several fallacies in this way of thinking. (a) The healthy imagination deals not with the unreal, but with the mental realization of what is suggested. Its exercise is not a flight into the purely fanciful and ideal, but a method of expanding and filling in what is real. To the child the homely activities going on about him are not utilitarian devices for accomplishing physical ends; they exemplify a wonderful world the depths of which he has not sounded, a world full of the mystery and promise that attend all the doings of the grown-ups whom he admires. However prosaic this world may be to the adults who find its duties routine affairs, to the child it is fraught with social meaning. To engage in it is to exercise the imagination in constructing an experience of wider value than any the child has yet mastered.

There are several flaws in this way of thinking. (a) A healthy imagination does not deal with what is unreal. It gives a clear mental picture of what is suggested. Using imagination is not an escape into pure fantasy and ideals. Rather, it is a way of expanding and filling in what is real. To a child, the ordinary activities going on nearby are not practical means of achieving physical ends. They reveal a wonderful world whose depths the child has not yet explored. This world is full of the mystery and promise that surround everything the admired grown-ups do. To adults, these duties may be ordinary and routine, but to the child, the world is full of social meaning. Taking part in this world calls on the child’s imagination. It helps the child build an experience of broader value than any the child has yet mastered.

(b) Educators sometimes think children are reacting to a great moral or spiritual truth when the children's reactions are largely physical and sensational. Children have great powers of dramatic simulation, and their physical bearing may seem (to adults prepossessed with a philosophic theory) to indicate they have been impressed with some lesson of chivalry, devotion, or nobility, when the children themselves are occupied only with transitory physical excitations. To symbolize great truths far beyond the child's range of actual experience is an impossibility, and to attempt it is to invite love of momentary stimulation.

(b) Educators sometimes think children are responding to a great moral or spiritual truth. But the children’s reactions are largely physical and sensory. Children are very good at acting out dramatic roles. To adults who already hold a philosophical theory, children’s physical behavior may seem to show that a lesson in chivalry, devotion, or nobility has impressed them. But the children themselves may be absorbed only in fleeting physical excitement. It is impossible to use symbols to convey great truths far beyond a child’s actual experience. Trying to do so encourages a love of momentary excitement.

(c) Just as the opponents of play in education always conceive of play as mere amusement, so the opponents of direct and useful activities confuse occupation with labor. The adult is acquainted with responsible labor upon which serious financial results depend. Consequently he seeks relief, relaxation, amusement. Unless children have prematurely worked for hire, unless they have come under the blight of child labor, no such division exists for them. Whatever appeals to them at all, appeals directly on its own account. There is no contrast between doing things for utility and for fun. Their life is more united and more wholesome. To suppose that activities customarily performed by adults only under the pressure of utility may not be done perfectly freely and joyously by children indicates a lack of imagination. Not the thing done but the quality of mind that goes into the doing settles what is utilitarian and what is unconstrained and educative.

(c) Just as opponents of play in education always see play as mere amusement, opponents of direct and useful activities confuse activity with labor. Adults know what it means to do responsible work with serious financial consequences. As a result, they seek relief, relaxation, and amusement. But no such division exists for children unless they have worked for pay too early and suffered the harm of child labor. Whatever appeals to children at all appeals to them directly, for its own sake. They see no contrast between doing things because they are useful and doing them for fun. Their lives are more unified and wholesome. Adults usually perform certain activities only because they need to. But it takes a lack of imagination to suppose that children cannot do those same activities freely and joyfully. What makes an activity purely practical or free and educational is not the activity itself, but the state of mind brought to it.

The history of culture shows that mankind's scientific knowledge and technical abilities have developed, especially in all their earlier stages, out of the fundamental problems of life. Anatomy and physiology grew out of the practical needs of keeping healthy and active; geometry and mechanics out of demands for measuring land, for building, and for making labor-saving machines; astronomy has been closely connected with navigation, keeping record of the passage of time; botany grew out of the requirements of medicine and of agronomy; chemistry has been associated with dyeing, metallurgy, and other industrial pursuits. In turn, modern industry is almost wholly a matter of applied science; year by year the domain of routine and crude empiricism is narrowed by the translation of scientific discovery into industrial invention. The trolley, the telephone, the electric light, the steam engine, with all their revolutionary consequences for social intercourse and control, are the fruits of science.

The history of culture shows that human scientific knowledge and technical abilities developed from the basic problems of life. This was especially true in their early stages. Anatomy and physiology grew out of the practical need to stay healthy and active. Geometry and mechanics grew out of the need to measure land, build structures, and make machines that save labor. Astronomy has been closely connected with navigation and keeping track of time. Botany grew out of the needs of medicine and agriculture. Chemistry has been associated with dyeing, metallurgy, and other industrial work. In turn, modern industry is almost entirely a matter of applied science. Each year, scientific discoveries lead to industrial inventions, leaving less room for routine and crude trial and error. The trolley, the telephone, the electric light, and the steam engine are products of science. All have had revolutionary effects on social interaction and control.

These facts are full of educational significance. Most children are preëminently active in their tendencies. The schools have also taken on—largely from utilitarian, rather than from strictly educative reasons—a large number of active pursuits commonly grouped under the head of manual training, including also school gardens, excursions, and various graphic arts. Perhaps the most pressing problem of education at the present moment is to organize and relate these subjects so that they will become instruments for forming alert, persistent, and fruitful intellectual habits. That they take hold of the more primary and native equipment of children (appealing to their desire to do) is generally recognized; that they afford great opportunity for training in self-reliant and efficient social service is gaining acknowledgment. But they may also be used for presenting typical problems to be solved by personal reflection and experimentation, and by acquiring definite bodies of knowledge leading later to more specialized scientific knowledge. There is indeed no magic by which mere physical activity or deft manipulation will secure intellectual results. (See p. 43.) Manual subjects may be taught by routine, by dictation, or by convention as readily as bookish subjects. But intelligent consecutive work in gardening, cooking, or weaving, or in elementary wood and iron, may be planned which will inevitably result in students not only amassing information of practical and scientific importance in botany, zoölogy, chemistry, physics, and other sciences, but (what is more significant) in their becoming versed in methods of experimental inquiry and proof.

These facts have great significance for education. Most children are naturally very active. Schools have also adopted many activities commonly grouped under manual training. These include school gardens, excursions, and various graphic arts. Schools have adopted them largely for practical reasons rather than strictly educational ones. Perhaps the most pressing problem in education today is to organize and connect these subjects. They should become tools for developing alert, persistent, and productive habits of thought. It is generally recognized that these activities engage children’s basic, natural abilities by appealing to their desire to do things. People are also beginning to recognize their great potential for training children to serve society independently and effectively. But these activities can also be used to present typical problems that students can solve through personal reflection and experimentation. They can also help students acquire specific bodies of knowledge that lead later to more specialized scientific knowledge. There is no magic by which physical activity or skillful manipulation alone produces intellectual results. (See p. 43.) Manual subjects can be taught through routine, dictation, or convention just as easily as bookish subjects. But it is possible to plan thoughtful, sustained work in gardening, cooking, weaving, or basic woodworking and metalworking. Such work will inevitably lead students to gather information of practical and scientific importance in botany, zoology, chemistry, physics, and other sciences. More importantly, it will lead them to become familiar with methods of experimental inquiry and proof.

That the elementary curriculum is overloaded is a common complaint. The only alternative to a reactionary return to the educational traditions of the past lies in working out the intellectual possibilities resident in the various arts, crafts, and occupations, and reorganizing the curriculum accordingly. Here, more than elsewhere, are found the means by which the blind and routine experience of the race may be transformed into illuminated and emancipated experiment.

A common complaint is that the elementary school curriculum is overloaded. We could react by returning to the educational traditions of the past. The only alternative is to develop the intellectual possibilities in the various arts, crafts, and occupations. We must then reorganize the curriculum accordingly. More than anything else, these activities offer ways to transform humanity’s blind, routine experience into enlightened and liberating experimentation.