Let us transform our sensations into ideas, but do not let us jump all at once from the objects of sense to objects of thought.  The latter are attained by means of the former.  Let the senses be the only guide for the first workings of reason.  No book but the world, no teaching but that of fact.  The child who reads ceases to think, he only reads.  He is acquiring words not knowledge.

Teach your scholar to observe the phenomena of nature; you will soon rouse his curiosity, but if you would have it grow, do not be in too great a hurry to satisfy this curiosity.  Put the problems before him and let him solve them himself.  Let him know nothing because you have told him, but because he has learnt it for himself.  Let him not be taught science, let him discover it.  If ever you substitute authority for reason he will cease to reason; he will be a mere plaything of other people’s thoughts.

You wish to teach this child geography and you provide him with globes, spheres, and maps.  What elaborate preparations!  What is the use of all these symbols; why not begin by showing him the real thing so that he may at least know what you are talking about?

One fine evening we are walking in a suitable place where the wide horizon gives us a full view of the setting sun, and we note the objects which mark the place where it sets.  Next morning we return to the same place for a breath of fresh air before sun-rise.  We see the rays of light which announce the sun’s approach; the glow increases, the east seems afire, and long before the sun appears the light leads us to expect its return.  Every moment you expect to see it.  There it is at last!  A shining point appears like a flash of lightning and soon fills the whole space; the veil of darkness rolls away, man perceives his dwelling place in fresh beauty.  During the night the grass has assumed a fresher green; in the light of early dawn, and gilded by the first rays of the sun, it seems covered with a shining network of dew reflecting the light and colour.  The birds raise their chorus of praise to greet the Father of life, not one of them is mute; their gentle warbling is softer than by day, it expresses the langour of a peaceful waking.  All these produce an impression of freshness which seems to reach the very soul.  It is a brief hour of enchantment which no man can resist; a sight so grand, so fair, so delicious, that none can behold it unmoved.

Fired with this enthusiasm, the master wishes to impart it to the child.  He expects to rouse his emotion by drawing attention to his own.  Mere folly!  The splendour of nature lives in man’s heart; to be seen, it must be felt.  The child sees the objects themselves, but does not perceive their relations, and cannot hear their harmony.  It needs knowledge he has not yet acquired, feelings he has not yet experienced, to receive the complex impression which results from all these separate sensations.  If he has not wandered