It doesn’t seem like those two words would go together, does it? People who want freedom in their personal lives usually don’t want discipline. Today’s e-mail devotional from Elisabeth Elliot’s writings, sent out by Back to the Bible, shares some intriguing thoughts along these lines. Here is just an excerpt from the longer article, which is an excerpt from her book All That Was Ever Ours.

Dietrich Bonhoeffer, a man who epitomized true freedom in his acceptance, for God’s sake, of the prison cell and death, wrote: “If you set out to seek freedom, then learn above all things to govern your soul and your senses. . . . Only through discipline may a man learn to be free.”

Freedom and discipline have come to be regarded as mutually exclusive, when in fact freedom is not at all the opposite, but the final reward, of discipline. It is to be bought with a high price, not merely claimed. The world thrills to watch the grace of Peggy Fleming on the ice, or the marvelously controlled speed and strength of a racehorse. But the skater and horse are free to perform as they do only because they have been subjected to countless hours of grueling work, rigidly prescribed, faithfully carried out. Men are free to soar into space because they have willingly confined themselves in a tiny capsule designed and produced by highly trained scientists and craftsmen, have meticulously followed instructions and submitted themselves to rules which others defined.

I spent some time living with a jungle tribe whose style of life looked enviably “free.” They wore no clothes, lived in houses without walls, had no idea whatever of authority, paid no taxes, read no books, took no vacations. But they had a well-defined goal. They wanted to stay alive. It was as simple as that. And in a jungle, which can look very hostile indeed to one not accustomed to living there, they had learned to live. They accepted with grace and humor the awful weather, the gnats, the mud, thorns, snakes, steep hills, and deep forests which made their lives difficult. They never even spoke of “roughing it.” They didn’t know anything else. They’d walk for hours with hundred-pound baskets on their backs and when they reached their destination, perhaps in a tropical downpour, they did not so much as say, “Whew!” They knew what was expected of them, and did it as a matter of course. None asked, “Who am I?” They asked only, “What am I to do this next moment?” If it were to hunt or to make poison for darts, a man did that, or if it were to go out and clear new planting space, a woman did that. Their freedom to live in that jungle depended on a well-defined goal and on their willingness to discipline themselves in order to reach it. No one could “give” them this freedom.

I lived with these footloose people in their “jungle” environment–a nonproductive member of their community–and enjoyed a kind of freedom which even hippies might envy. But I was free only because the Indians worked. My freedom was contingent upon their acceptance of me as a liability and, incidentally, upon my own willingness to confine myself to a forest clearing where all I heard was a foreign language.