I was speaking to a crowd on Parliament Hill Fields. In answer to a persistent questioner whom I admired for his youth I said somewhat testily: ‘Freewill is not omnipotent; it is not the power of doing what we like, but of willing what we like.’ He replied at once, and as I thought, not without a certain nimbleness of wit ‘In other words, freewill is only the power of willing what we will.’ He laughed and I think the crowd laughed as if I had happened upon an absurdity.

For a moment I was numbed by the nimbleness of the reply and the spontaneity of the laughter. Then suddenly I saw how the youth’s paradoxical form of words had thrown light, where I had long wished light to be thrown, upon the essential action of freedom. I therefore looked my questioner in the face as I said: ‘Yes, free-will is essentially the power to will what we will. Other animals can will this or that, can will to run or to lie down—-can will to chase their quarry or to flee danger. But no animal wills to will. You can control a man’s body, and sometimes by controlling his body you can control his intelligence, but you cannot control his will. You may throw him to death over a cliff; but you cannot control him to will or not to will to be thrown.’