As ministers like to remind us when they liken themselves to shepherds, sheep need to be herded by dogs. But human beings with unusual problems need the freedom to find their own unusual solutions away from the herd. You need to realize who you are and actualize your potential. If you have gone to the trouble of doing this, you know that this is the most important political right you can ever claim. You will rather die than relinquish it. It is what the ancients meant by "following your destiny". It is what Jefferson meant by the "pursuit of happiness". It is what Paul Rosenfels meant by "having an identity".

I believe in freedom. Not merely in the de facto freedom that existentialists assure us that we not only already have, but can't even lose — but freedom that is conscious, that is chosen, that is affirmed, that is championed, that is always a work in progress. Monolithic social systems in the 21st century curtail freedom of action excessively. Many still curtail freedom of speech. Some even attempt to curtail freedom of thought, as was predicted by George Orwell. But unless you are willing to expend as much effort as Orwell's O'Brien has to, this agenda is doomed to fail in time. History is unmistakably trending away from such horrors. Increasingly, self-actualization is seen as the key to personal growth and social progress — even by politicians.

How do you learn to believe in yourself? In his autobiography, Trotsky says that his first experience of courage was in a school yard when those who chose to rebel from authority stepped forwards and were counted. This was such a powerful moment that those who found their courage always had it for the rest of their lives, he says, while those who didn't were always shamed stragglers. It's not a crime to be smarter than your parents.

—

For most self-actualizers, this first act of defiance is the key to unlocking the life they need to live. But what about the stragglers? What about those who were not lucky enough to be challenged by authorities so patently unjust that defiance was the only honorable response? What about all the good children who believe in the parental function of society every inch of the way as they are led to the slaughter-house of corruption, pretense and ignorance?

I know many of these good children. Many simply can't bring themselves to look at the guillotine that stares them in the face. Some of them suddenly wake in horror and start screaming about what their peers can't see. When their cries fall on deaf ears, their screams grow louder and more desparate. The harder they argue with the dogma that offends them (usually something about ), the deeper the monolithic indifference of academic authority cuts into their flesh. The more they struggle, the more they sink into a kind of quicksand from which many of them never escape. Criticism is like barbed wire. The harder you struggle, the deeper it cuts.

—

These are the children I try to reach out to. I teach them to apply personal power in conquering their demons. For example,

• A good general picks his enemies — and his wars — carefully. If you fight too much, you become a chronically exhausted loser who has to blame all his defeats on the closest scapegoat. "No bastard ever won a war by dying for his country," said George C. Scott as . "He won it by making the other poor dumb bastard die for his country."
• Sometimes someone (or some idea) you don't like very much might still be useful as an ally. I quote Thomas Szasz, for example, and have chosen to forgive him for taking money from Scientologists — who I mostly hate.
• Sometime you have to simply walk away from a fight you can't win. There's always another day. Let your pride be in yourself and your independence; don't let it be undermined by the gloating of fools or the crowds they play to.
• In the modern war of words that intellectuals live in, it is tempting to engage in endless debate or to luxuriate in "flame wars". But actually it's more effective to poke fun at your enemies. If you become ensnared in the premises of your adversary, you get tied up in knots from which there is no escape. If you mock them, they can't cite obscure references to presumed authorities to bolster their nonsense because people are laughing too hard to hear them.
• Chose carefully the site of your battle. Don't be provoked to fight on their territory — you are sure to lose. Carve out your own territory, with your own allies and your own students and followers — and then defend it with your life.
• Fight only when you're assured of victory. All men sense a need for truth and right. In time, falsehood and immorality fall of their own weight because they are of no real use to anyone. So even simple patience is on your side here. As Milton said, "They also serve who only stand and wait."
• Remember that you're not really alone. For every Goliath there are ten Davids waiting their turn. If your slingshot misses, give someone else a chance. Have faith that sooner or later the beast will go down. They always do.

— James Joyce, Ulysses

The problem with civilization is that it is still very hard for those ground down by adaptive chores to look inward and become psychologically aware of what they really are. As the Hindus claim, we are, each of us, intrusions into the temporal realm of the godhead. Emerson put it more succinctly: Man is a god in ruins. Choose to affirm your divinity, as he did — or else play Feng Shui with the rubble.

Are you capable of imagining how important you are? Only you can choose to save the world. If you wait for someone else to do it, you'll get — and deserve — the graveyard called history.

Don't settle for a future in quicksand — it offers only a false sense of importance. Stop fighting ghosts — your attacks can't possibly harm them. Your children don't need you to be inept, inadequate and defeated — they need kissing and hugging and kissing. Forget the past, cultivate your own garden, win the village horticulture award, and get famous on the telly. The compulsive imposing of order on the world of experience, which characterizes conventional submissive personalities, supplies such individuals with guaranteed outlets for feeling. These compulsive patterns are supported and reinforced by social influences. When the need for psychological growth becomes real, either because of adaptive challenges which undermine the individual's security system, or because a need develops for a fuller capacity to contribute to the psychological welfare of other people, the individual finds himself subject to a demanding reality which threatens to be overwhelming. When his world goes out of order he readily becomes exhausted and helplessness takes over. To fend off the helplessness, the compulsive drives increase. The sensitive core of his personality becomes his enemy, and he must manufacture experiences in a reckless fashion. When growth becomes an absolute necessity, due to the accumulation of disabling symptoms of which anxiety is the leading edge, he cannot do otherwise than face the truth that he cannot escape from his feeling overload by a further attempt to elaborate his inner security. He is in a quicksand of excessive feeling, built up to phobic proportions by the absence of anything real to feel about. The only way out of quicksand is to find something stable outside its influence, and for the person entering a phase of psychological growth this overhanging branch must be the ability to go through a transition in which he temporarily rejects his need for order. Instead of perceiving disorder, he goes into a state of non-order, in which his simple pride in himself increases, and he finds the capacity to enjoy the simple flow of experience in a spirit of adventure. In this way there is a healthy balance between warmth and pride, and he is spared from intensity in situations where intensity has no work to do.

"Do you remember," he went on, "writing in your diary, 'Freedom is the freedom to say that two plus two make four'?"

"Yes," said Winston.

O'Brien held up his left hand, its back toward Winston, with the thumb hidden and the four fingers extended.

"How many fingers am I holding up, Winston?"

"Four."

"And if the Party says that it is not four but five — then how many?"

"Four."

The word ended in a gasp of pain. The needle of the dial had shot up to fifty-five. The sweat had sprung out all over Winston's body. The air tore into his lungs and issued again in deep groans which even by clenching his teeth he could not stop. O'Brien watched him, the four fingers still extended. He drew back the lever. This time the pain was only slightly eased.

"How many fingers, Winston?"

"Four."

The needle went up to sixty.

"How many fingers, Winston?"

"Four! Four! What else can I say? Four!"

The needle must have risen again, but he did not look at it. The heavy, stern face and the four fingers filled his vision. The fingers stood up before his eyes like pillars, enormous, blurry, and seeming to vibrate, but unmistakably four.

"How many fingers, Winston?"

"Four! Stop it, stop it! How can you go on? Four! Four!"

"How many fingers, Winston?"

"Five! Five! Five!"

"No, Winston, that is no use. You are lying. You still think there are four. How many fingers, please?"

"Four! Five! Four! Anything you like. Only stop it, stop the pain!"

Abruptly he was sitting up with O'Brien's arm round his shoulders. He had perhaps lost consciousness for a few seconds. The bonds that had held his body down were loosened. He felt very cold, he was shaking uncontrollably, his teeth were chattering, the tears were rolling down his cheeks. For a moment he clung to O'Brien like a baby, curiously comforted by the heavy arm round his shoulders. He had the feeling that O'Brien was his protector, that the pain was something that came from outside, from some other source, and that it was O'Brien who would save him from it.

"You are a slow learner, Winston," said O'Brien gently.

"How can I help it?" he blubbered. "How can I help seeing what is in front of my eyes? Two and two are four."

"Sometimes, Winston, sometimes they are five. Sometimes they are three. Sometimes they are all of them at once. You must try harder. It is not easy to become sane."

— George Orwell, Nineteen Eighty-Four