And one who is just of his own free will shall not lack for

The ancient Greek dramatist Aeschylus, who lived more than two thousand years ago, spoke with the wisdom of one who had seen both the grandeur and the folly of men. His words—“And one who is just of his own free will shall not lack for happiness; and he will never come to utter ruin”—resound across time as a solemn truth about the nature of the soul, the moral law, and the eternal balance of the universe. These are not words of comfort for the weak, but a commandment for those who seek to live with integrity amidst the storms of life.

When Aeschylus wrote these words, Greece was a land of warriors and philosophers, of men who worshipped both wisdom and war. He himself had fought at Marathon, standing shoulder to shoulder with his countrymen against the Persian tide. He had seen how fleeting glory was, how the proud fall and how the humble endure. From such fires of experience came his conviction: that justice chosen freely—not out of fear, not out of obedience, but from the depths of one’s conscience—creates a peace that no fortune can shatter. To act justly of one’s own will is to live in harmony with the divine rhythm that governs all things.

Consider the heart of this teaching: happiness is not the gift of chance, but the fruit of righteousness. A man who does what is right only because he is forced, acts as a slave; but the man who chooses justice willingly becomes free, for his will aligns with truth itself. Aeschylus reminds us that the gods favor not those who are perfect, but those whose hearts are upright without compulsion. True ruin does not come from poverty, nor from failure, but from the corruption of one’s own soul. For when a man betrays his sense of justice, he tears the fabric that binds him to the divine order of the cosmos.

History is full of such examples. Recall Socrates, who drank the cup of poison rather than betray his principles. He was offered escape, yet he refused, saying that injustice, even when done for survival, poisons the soul. His body perished, but his spirit became immortal. Socrates was just of his own free will, and thus, as Aeschylus foretold, he did not come to utter ruin. The tyrants who condemned him have been forgotten; but his name endures as a beacon to all who seek moral courage.

Even in more recent times, the spirit of this truth endures. Think of Nelson Mandela, imprisoned for twenty-seven years, yet never surrendering to hatred. When he emerged from the darkness, he chose reconciliation over vengeance. His justice was not commanded by law, nor compelled by fear—it was born of freedom. And because of that, he found a happiness that no chains could destroy. His life was proof that justice freely chosen is stronger than any empire, more enduring than any power built on deceit.

The wisdom of Aeschylus is thus both spiritual and practical. To be just by one’s own free will is not merely to obey rules—it is to listen to the whisper of conscience that speaks even when the world is silent. It is to treat others as sacred reflections of oneself, to act with mercy even when it is difficult, and to stand for truth even when the crowd turns away. Such a life may not be easy, but it is unbreakable, for the soul that walks in righteousness walks with the gods.

Let the generations remember this: justice is not a burden, but a liberation. When you act rightly from your own heart, you do not need to fear ruin, for your foundation lies deeper than circumstance. Wealth fades, bodies age, empires fall—but the man or woman who chooses virtue of their own free will carries within them an immortal flame.

So live, then, as Aeschylus would bid you live. Be just without command, be good without witness, and be true without reward. For such a soul will not hunger for happiness—it will become happiness itself. And in the quiet balance of eternity, it shall never come to ruin.