Therefore let us now come to the ground of disownment and let us see what the nature of the charge is. It is necessary to recur once more to the intent of the lawgiver; for, suppose we grant you briefly the right to disown as often as you wish and also concede you this right even against your benefactor, you are not to disown casually, I take it, or for any and eve cause. The lawgiver does not say that the father may disown for any reason that he may chance to allege—that it is enough just to express the wish and find a fault. Else why should we need a court? No, he commits it to you, gentlemen of the jury, to consider whether the father’s anger is based upon just and sufficient grounds or not. This, then, is what you should now look into. And IJ shall begin with what immediately followed his insanity.

The first act of his sanity was to set aside the disownment, and I was a saviour, a benefactor, all in allto him. No charge, I take it, could go with that. And as to what followed, what do you censure in all of it? What service, what attention proper to a son did I omit? When did I sleep away from home? Of what ill-timed carouses, of what riotous revels do you accuse me? What licentiousness has there been? What pander have I assaulted? Who has filed any charges? Nobody at all. Yet these are the deeds for which the law especially sanctions disownment.

“No, but your stepmother began to be ill.” Well, do you accuse me of that, and demand satisfaction for the illness?

“No,” he says. What, then? “That when you are ordered to treat her, you do not consent; and on that account would merit disownment for disobeying your father.” Deferring for a moment the question what sort of orders on his part, when I cannot obey them, cause me to be considered disobedient, I first assert simply that the law does not allow him to issue all orders, and that I am not obliged to obey all orders under all circumstances. In the matter of commands, sometimes disobedience is unexceptionable, sometimes it justifies anger and punishment. If you yourself are ill, and I am indifferent; if you bid me manage the household, and I am neglectful; if you direct me to oversee the estate, and I am indiligent—all this and the like of it affords reasonable grounds for a father’s censure. But these other matters are within the discretion of us children, belonging as they do to our callings and the exercise of them; particularly if the father himself is in no way wronged. For really, if a scribe’s father gives him the order, “Write this, my boy, not that,” or a musician’s father, “Play this tune, not that,” or a coppersmith’s father, “Forge things like this, not like that,” would anyone put up with his disowning his son because the son does not exercise his calling in accordance with the views of the father? No one, I think.

In the case of the medical profession, the more distinguished it is and the more serviceable to the world, the more unrestricted it should be for those who practise it. It is only just that the art of healing should carry with it some privilege in respect to the liberty of practising it; that no compulsion and no commands should be put upon a holy calling, taught by the gods and exercised by men of learning; that it should not be subject to enslavement by the law, or to voting and judicial punishment, or to fear and a father’s threats and a layman’s wrath. Consequently, if I were to say to you, as clearly and expressly as this: ‘I am unwilling to give treatment, and I do not do so, although Ican; my knowledge of the profession is for my benefit alone and my father’s, and to others I wish to be a layman,” what tyrant so high-handed that he would constrain me to practise my calling against my will? Such things should, in my opinion, be amenable to entreaties and supplications, not to laws and fits of anger and courts: the physician ought to be persuaded, not ordered; he ought to be willing, not fearful; he ought not to be haled to the bedside, but to take pleasure in coming of his own accord. Surely his calling is exempt from paternal compulsion in view of the fact that physicians have honours, precedence, immunities, and privileges publicly bestowed on them by states.

This, then, is what I might say without circumlocution in behalf of my profession if you had had me taught and had been at much pains and expense that I might learn, and I were nevertheless reluctant to undertake this one cure, which was possible. But as things stand, consider how absolutely unreasonable a thing you are doing in not allowing me to use my own possession freely. I did not learn this profession while I was your son or subject to your jurisdiction, and yet I learned it for you (aye, you were the first to profit by it) though I had no help from you towards learning it. What teacher did you furnish money for? What supply of drugs? None at all. No, poor as I was, in want of necessities, and pitied by my teachers, I got myself educated, and the assistance towards learning which I had from my father was grief, loneliness, poverty, the hatred of my family, and the aversion of my kinsmen. In return for this, do you now think fit to utilize my profession and wish to be master of all that I acquired when you were not my master? Be content if I have already done you a good turn of my own accord, without previous indebtedness to you, for then as now nothing could have been required of meas an expressionof gratitude.

Surely my act of kindness should not become an obligation for the future, nor should the fact that I conferred a benefit of my own free will constitute a reason that I should be ordered to do it against my will; neither should it become customary that once a "man has cured anybody, he must for ever treat all those whom his former patient wishes him to treat. Under those conditions we should have elected our patients to be our masters, paying them, too, by playing slave to them and executing all their orders. What could be more inequitable than this? Because I restored you to health in this way when you had fallen severely ill, do you think that you are therefore empowered to abuse my skill?

That is what I might have said if what he enjoined upon me were possible, and I were refusing to obey him in absolutely everything, and under compulsion. But as things are, consider now what his commands are like. “Since you have cured me,” says he, “from insanity, since my wife too is insane and has the same symptoms” (for so he thinks), “and has been given up by others in the same way, and since you can do everything, as you have shown, cure her too and free her forthwith from the disorder.”” That, to hear it so simply put, might seem very reasonable, particularly to a layman, inexperienced in matters of medicine. But if you will listen to my plea on behalf of my profession, you will discover that all things are not possible to us, that the natures of ailments are not alike, that the cure is not the same or the same medicines effective in all cases; and then it will be clear that there is a great difference between not wishing to do a thing and not being able. Suffer me to indulge in scientific discourse about these matters, and do not consider my discussion of them tactless, beside the point, or alien and unseasonable.

In the first place, the natures and temperaments of human bodies are not the same, although they are admittedly composed of the same elements, but some contain more, or perhaps less, of this, others of that. And I say further that even the bodies of males are not all equal or alike either in temperament or in constitution. So it is inevitable that the diseases which arise in them should be different both in intensity and in kind, and that some bodies should be easy to cure and amenable to treatment, while others are completely hopeless, being easily affected and quickly overcome. Therefore, to think that all fevers or consumptions or inflammations of the lungs or madnesses, if of one and the same kind, are alike in all bodies is not what one expects of sound-minded, sensible men who have investigated such matters. No, the same ailment is easy to cure in this person but not in that. Just so, I take it, with wheat; if you cast the same seed into different plots of ground, it will grow in one way in the ground that is level, deep-soiled, well watered, blessed with sunshine and breezes, and thoroughly tilled, yielding a full, rich, abundant harvest, no doubt, but otherwise in a stony farm on a mountain, or in ground with little sun, or in the foothills; to put it generally, in different ways according to the various soils. So too diseases become prolific and luxuriant or less so through the soils which receive them. Omitting this point and leaving it entirely uninvestigated, my father expects all attacks of insanity in all bodies to be alike and their treatment the same.

In addition to these important distinctions, it is easy to grasp the fact that the bodies of women differ very widely from those of men, both in respect to the dissimilarity of their diseases and in respect to one’s hopefulness or despair of a cure. For the bodies of men are well-knit and sinewy, since they have been trained by toils and exercises, and by an open-air life; but those of women are weak and soft from being reared indoors, and white for lack of blood, deficiency of heat, and an excessive supply of the moist humour. They are therefore more susceptible than those of men, prone to diseases, intolerant of medical treatment, and above all, more liable to attacks of insanity ; for since women have much bad temper, frivolity, and instability, but little physical strength, they easily fall into this affection.

It is not right, then, to ask of the physicians the same treatment for both, when we know that there is a great gulf between them, dissociated as they have been from the very first in their entire mode of life, and in all their activities and all their pursuits. So when you say “It is a case of insanity,” add, “insanity in a woman,” and do not confuse all these variations by subsuming them under the title of insanity, which seems always one and the same thing, but distinguish them, as is right, in their nature and see what can be done in each case. That is what we do, for, as I remember telling you in the beginning of my speech, the first thing that we consider is the constitution and temperament of the patient’s body, what quality predominates in it, whether it is inclined to be hot or cold, whether it is vigorous or senile, tall or short, fat or lean, and everything of that sort. In short, if a man examines into these matters to begin with, he will be very trustworthy when he expresses any doubt or makes any promise.

To be sure, of madness itself there are countless varieties, with many causes and even dissimilar names; for perversity, eccentricity, delirium, and lunacy are not the same thing, but are all names that signify whether one is more or less in the grip of the disease. The causes, too, are of one sort with men, another with women, and even among men they are of one sort with the young and different with the aged; for instance, with the young usually excess of humours, whereas in the case of the old, groundless prejudice and insensate anger against members of the family, attacking them frequently, disturbs them at first, then gradually deranges them to the point of insanity. Women are affected by many things which easily incline them to this ailment, especially by excessive hatred of someone, or jealousy of an enemy who is prospering, or grief of some sort, or anger; these passions, slowly smouldering and acquiring strength in a long lapse of time, produce madness.

That, father, is what has happened to your wife, and it may be that something has grieved her recently, for she, of course, hated nothing at all. However that may be, she has a seizure, at all events, and in the circumstances cannot be cured by a physician. If anyone else should engage to do it, if anyone — should relieve her, you may then hate me as offending against you. Indeed, father, I shall not hesitate to say further that even if her case were not so wholly desperate, but some hope of saving her still were in sight, even then I should not have undertaken her case lightly or ventured to prescribe for her out of hand, fearing mischance and the slanderous tongues of the common sort. You are aware that everybody thinks that all stepmothers entertain some hatred of their stepsons, even if they are good women, and that in this they suffer from a sort of insanity affecting women in common. Perhaps someone would have suspected, if the ailment had gone badly and the’ remedies had not been effective, that the treatment had been malevolent and treacherous.

As regards your wife, father, the case stands thus, and I tell you so after careful observation—she will never be better, even if she takes medicine a thousand times. For that reason it is not proper to make any attempt, unless you are trying to force me into sheer failure and wish to give me a bad name. Let me continue to be envied by my fellow-practitioners ! If, however, you disown me again, I certainly, though totally alone in the world, will not pray that any adversity may befall you; but what if (Heaven forfend !) your affliction returns once more? Somehow it often happens that such afflictions, under irritation, do recur. What shall I be required to do? I will treat you even then, you may be sure, and shall never desert the post which Nature has commanded sons to hold, nor ever, so far as in me lies, forget my origin. And then, if you recover your mind, may I expect you some day to take me back again? Look! even now by these actions of yours you are bringing on the disorder and provoking the ailment. You have only just recovered from that terrible plight, and yet you strain your lungs shouting; more than that, you are angry, you take to hatred, and you invoke the laws. Ah, father, that is the way your former seizure began!