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.