of what it is not. Either psychological liberty is an illusive appearance,
or, if it is real, we can only grasp it by intuition, not by analysis, in
the light of an immediate feeling. For a reality is verified, not
constructed; and we are now or never in one of those situations where the
philosopher's task is to create some new concept, instead of abiding by a
combination of previous elements.

Man is free, says common-sense, in so far as his action depends only on
himself. "We are free," says Mr Bergson, ("Essay on the Immediate Data of
Consciousness", page 131.) "when our acts proceed from our entire
personality, when they express it, when they exhibit that indefinable
resemblance to it which we find occasionally between the artist and his
work." That is all we need seek; two conceptions which are equivalent to
each other, two concordant formulae. It is true that this amounts to
determining the free act by its very originality, in the etymological sense
of the word: which is at bottom only another way of declaring it
incommensurable with every concept, and reluctant to be confined by any
definition. But, after all, is not that the only true immediate fact?

That our spiritual life is genuine action, capable of independence,
initiative, and irreducible novelty, not mere result produced from outside,
not simple extension of external mechanism, that it is so much ours as to
constitute every moment, for him who can see, an essentially incomparable
and new invention, is exactly what represents for us the name of liberty.
Understood thus, and decidedly it is like this that we must understand it,
liberty is a profound thing: we seek it only in those moments of high and
solemn choice which come into our life, not in the petty familiar actions
which their very insignificance submits to all surrounding influences, to
every wandering breeze. Liberty is rare; many live and die and have never
known it. Liberty is a thing which contains an infinite number of degrees