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.