sary that the performer himself should act repeatedly. The will
certainly comes into play here: the performer wishes to devote himself
to sport, or to dancing, or to the arts of self-defense, to compete in
matches, etc.... but in order to _will_ this it is necessary that he
should have practised continually, thus making ready the apparatus on
which the volitive act will finally depend, and to which it will issue
its commands. Movement is always voluntary, both when the first
movements established by "muscular coordination" take place, and when
exercises designed to produce fresh combinations of movements (skill)
follow each other--as, in short, when the will acts like a commander
whose orders are carried out by a well organized, disciplined, and
highly skilled army. Voluntary action, in respect of its "powers,"
increases in degree as its dependent muscles perfect themselves and so
achieve the necessary conditions for seconding its efforts.

It would certainly never occur to any one that in order to educate the
voluntary motility of a child, it would be well first of all to keep
it absolutely motionless, covering its limbs with cement (I will not
say fracturing them!) until the muscles become atrophied and almost
paralyzed; and then, when this result had been attained, that it would
suffice to read to the child wonderful stories of clowns, acrobats and
champion boxers and wrestlers, to fire him by such examples, and to
inspire in him an ardent desire to emulate them. It is obvious that
such a proceeding would be an inconceivable absurdity.

And yet we do something of the same kind when, in order to educate the
child's "will," we first of all attempt to annihilate it, or, as we
say, "break" it, and thus hamper the development of every factor of
the will, substituting ourselves for the child in everything. It is by
_our_ will that we keep him motionless, or make him act; it is we who
choose and decide for him. And after all this we are content to teach
him that "to will is to do" (_volere e potere_). And we present to his
fancy, in the guise of fabulous tales, stories of heroic men, giants
of will, under the illusion that by committing their deeds to memory a
vigorous feeling of emulation will be aroused and will complete the
miracle.

When I was a child, attending the first classes of the elementary
schools, there was a kind teacher who was very fond of us. Of course,
she kept us captive and motionless on our seats, and