If we open a dictionary and look up the word "will", we find this
definition: "The faculty of freely determining certain acts". We
accept this definition as true and unattackable, although nothing
could be more false. This will that we claim so proudly, always
_yields_ to the imagination. It is an _absolute_ rule that admits of no
_exception_.
"Blasphemy! Paradox!" you will exclaim. "Not at all! On the
contrary, it is the purest truth," I shall reply.
In order to convince yourself of it, open your eyes, look round you
and try to understand what you see. You will then come to the
conclusion that what I tell you is not an idle theory, offspring of a
sick brain but the simple expression of a _fact_.
Suppose that we place on the ground a plank 30 feet long by 1 foot
wide. It is evident that everybody will be capable of going from one
end to the other of this plank without stepping over the edge. But
now change the conditions of the experiment, and imagine this plank
placed at the height of the towers of a cathedral. Who then will be
capable of advancing even a few feet along this narrow path? Could
you hear me speak? Probably not. Before you had taken two steps
you would begin to tremble, and _in spite of every effort of your
will_ you would be certain to fall to the ground.
Why is it then that you would not fall if the plank is on the ground,
and why should you fall if it is raised to a height above the ground?
Simply because in the first case you imagine that it is easy to go to
the end of this plank, while in the second case you _imagine_ that
you _cannot_ do so.
Notice that your will is powerless to make you advance; if you
_imagine_ that you _cannot_, it is _absolutely_ impossible for you
to do so. If tilers and carpenters are able to accomplish this feat, it is
because they think they can do it.
Vertigo is entirely caused by the picture we make in our minds that
we are going to fall. This picture transforms itself immediately into
fact _in spite of all the efforts of our will_, and the more violent
these efforts are, the quicker is the opposite to the desired result
brought about.
Let us now consider the case of a person suffering from insomnia. If
he does not make any effort to sleep, he will lie quietly in bed. If on
the contrary he tries to force himself to sleep by his _will_, the
more efforts he makes, the more restless he becomes.
Have you not noticed that the more you try to remember the name of
a person which you have forgotten, the more it eludes you, until,
substituting in your mind the idea "I shall remember in a minute" to
the idea "I have forgotten", the name comes back to you of its own
accord without the least effort?
Let those of you who are cyclists remember the days when you were
learning to ride. You went along clutching the handle bars and
frightened of falling. Suddenly catching sight of the smallest
obstacle in the road you tried to avoid it, and the more efforts you
made to do so, the more surely you rushed upon it.
Who has not suffered from an attack of uncontrollable laughter,
which bursts out more violently the more one tries to control it?
What was the state of mind of each person in these different
circumstances? "_I do not want_ to fall but I _cannot help_ doing
so"; "I _want_ to sleep but I _cannot_ "; "I _want_ to remember the
name of Mrs. So and So, but I _cannot_ "; "I _want_ to avoid the
obstacle, but I _cannot_ "; "I _want_ to stop laughing, but I
_cannot_."
As you see, in each of these conflicts it is always the _imagination_
which gains the victory over the _will_, without any exception.
To the same order of ideas belongs the case of the leader who rushes
forward at the head of his troops and always carries them along with
him, while the cry "Each man for himself!" is almost certain to
cause a defeat. Why is this? It is because in the first case the men
_imagine_ that they must go _forward_, and in the second they
_imagine_ that they are conquered and must fly for their lives.
Panurge was quite aware of the contagion of example, that is to say
the action of the imagination, when, to avenge himself upon a
merchant on board the same boat, he bought his biggest sheep and
threw it into the sea, certain beforehand that the entire flock would
follow, which indeed happened.
We human beings have a certain resemblance to sheep, and
involuntarily, we are irresistibly impelled to follow other people's
examples, _imagining_ that we cannot do otherwise.
I could quote a thousand other examples but I should fear to bore
you by such an enumeration. I cannot however pass by in silence
this fact which shows the enormous power of the imagination, or in
other words of the unconscious in its struggle against the _will_.
There are certain drunkards who wish to give up drinking, but who
cannot do so. Ask them, and they will reply in all sincerity that they
desire to be sober, that drink disgusts them, but that they are
irresistibly impelled to drink against their _will_, in spite of the
harm they know it will do them.
In the same way certain criminals commit crimes _in spite of
themselves_, and when they are asked why they acted so, they
answer "I could not help it, something impelled me, it was stronger
than I."
And the drunkard and the criminal speak the truth; they are forced to
do what they do, for the simple reason they imagine they cannot
prevent themselves from doing so. Thus we who are so proud of our
will, who believe that we are free to act as we like, are in reality
nothing but wretched puppets of which our imagination holds all the
strings. We only cease to be puppets when we have learned to guide
our imagination.