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bold men, and sends them to encounter perils." wisely adds: "It must... be made use of, not as a general, but as a soldier." 2 To which Seneca, who wishes to achieve the impossible, and to destroy a fundamental part of our constitution, replies by exposing the excesses of anger; how by being "over-hasty and frantic, like almost all desires, it hinders itself in the attainment of its object, and therefore has never been useful either in peace or war"; 3 and that with regard to its courage, "no man becomes braver through anger, except one who without anger would not have been brave at all..." and how it is prone to rashness, and while trying to bring others into danger, does not guard itself against danger." The observations of Seneca indicate the nature and some of the defects of anger. Its courage, like the emotion from which it proceeds, and to which it belongs, is capricious and unstable, impulsive, and possessed of little foresight. It comes to us suddenly and leaves us when we still need it, and is often entirely absent when our need of it is greatest. The conduct of anger, though courageous, is a low form of courage like that produced by the stimulating effect of alcohol. True courage is not the quality of any emotion, but of a sentiment of love or hate.

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Courage, as we noticed in the first Book, is one of those ambiguous qualities that we attach both to conduct and to character. We think of it as in the man himself, and not merely in his acts. It exists when it is latent and inactive, as a quality of his character. The etymological meaning of the term indicates that it was regarded as belonging to the heart. We still speak of a man of 'stout heart,' and we mean that such a one has the force which belongs to anger, or that he is little susceptible to fear, or that what fear he feels he controls. The absence of fear is then only one source of courage, as self-control is another; but anger still remains a primitive and original source of that quality without which we think that nothing great can be accomplished. We must then attempt to formulate this obvious law of character : (43) Courage is an innate quality of the system of anger,

1 Quoted by Seneca, 'De Ira,' L. I. vii.
3 Ibid., xii.
4 Ibid., xiii.

2 Ibid., ix.
5 Ibid., xi.

belonging both to its emotion and to its instincts and behaviour, in the sense that anger is prepared to endanger the life of the organism for the attainment of its ends.

2. To what kinds of Fear the Quality of Cowardice belongs

As one original source of courage in character, as well as in conduct, is found in anger, so an original source of cowardice, as well in character as in action, must be sought in Fear. For cowardice, like courage, is taken to qualify both character and conduct. And this cowardice means just the opposite of the disposition of courage, namely, a disposition not to risk the life of the organism to which it belongs for the attainment of ends, and fear implies this disposition in its general avoidance of aggressive actions. Cowardice of this impulsive kind belongs then inalienably to all the lower varieties of fear, namely, to those which bear on the preservation of the individual himself. But this primitive cowardice is not an inability or unwillingness to control the impulse of fear, but something proper to the fear itself, which subsists in it whether it be controlled or not. For as the highest courage is the quality of a sentiment, and not of an emotion, so the most degraded cowardice is likewise the quality of a sentiment, namely, of that self-love that places the preservation of our bodily life before honour, country, and all noble ends.

We must then attempt to state precisely this law of the cowardice of fear so familiar to us: (44) Cowardice is an innate quality of the egoistic varieties of fear, of their emotion and of their instincts and behaviour, in this sense, that such fear tends always to avoid risking the life of the organism whatever the end may be.

3. Of Disinterested Fear as an innate source of both Courage and Caution

When we have traced a certain kind of cowardice to fear, it is strange to find that a noble courage may be also due to it. The fear that we feel on behalf of others impels us, as we have previously noticed, to expose our own life to danger, where it

is required to save theirs, and this without even the support of anger. Thus, we may throw ourselves into water or fire, and risk suffering or disease for those whom we love. It is, however, no isolated emotion of fear that has this courage, but love acting through and transmuting it, that urges us persistently to unite ourselves to the loved object, and, thereby often to endanger our own life.

It may perhaps be doubted whether this courage of fear is only manifested by this emotion when organised in a preformed system of love; for it is manifested instinctively by many animals on behalf of their young. But the mother loves her young, and this courageous fear is only one of the disinterested emotions of her love.

How do we likewise feel

In other cases the action of love is not clearly implied. Brave men often endanger their own lives for one whom they do not even know. It is sometimes pity which induces them to do this, and sometimes a disinterested fear. If we see another in a position of danger, as on the border of a precipice, or too near an approaching train, a sudden fear impels us to rush forward and to pull him back. come to feel this disinterested fear? how do we disinterested anger if he is wrongfully attacked? how do we come to feel pity for him in his distress? But if the same man who feels the disinterested fear for stranger would also feel disinterested anger on his behalf (if instead of being in imminent danger, he were unjustifiably attacked), and pity if he saw him in bodily suffering, or overtaken by sudden misfortunes-acting in all cases disinterestedly on his behalf, according to the situation,-then there is already present in that man a system of emotional dispositions that, as inferred from its behaviour, cannot be distinguished from love, a kind of love for our fellow-men as such, strangers though they be, a natural humanity ready to be evoked under exceptional conditions, though remaining latent in the ordinary situations of life. This humanity has not indeed the peculiar characteristics of sex-love, family affection, and friendship, which all imply some familiarity with the loved object, and delight in his presence and companionship, and sadness or sorrow in separation from him, and which

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are not only evoked under exceptional conditions; but it is a kind of love that is even more disinterested. In its later and more reflective development, it is called universal benevolence; because it shows no partiality for persons, is not dependent on acquaintanceship, and a reciprocating affection.

The disinterested fear of love also behaves sometimes in such a different way that it is called cowardly by those who observe its conduct. Prudence or caution bears a certain resemblance to cowardice. Fabius Maximus, who saved Rome from Hannibal, was called cowardly by his countrymen, because he refused to fight pitched battles with the enemy, and contented himself with keeping them in sight, and being prepared to take advantage of their occasional weakness and mistakes. But when his friends came and urged him to wipe out this reproach, and risk a battle with the enemy, he replied: "I should be of a more dastardly spirit than they represent me, if, through fear of insults and reproaches, I should depart from my own resolution. But to fear for my country is not a disagreeable fear." This patriotic fear gave him courage to subdue the fear of loss of personal reputation; and it was thus determined by his love of country, in conjunction with the situation in which he found it placed. If we compare his generalship with that of Scipio Africanus, who, instead of defending Rome, attacked Carthage, we may infer with some probability not only that the wise caution of Fabius was due to this same fear, but that the boldness and brilliancy of Scipio was due to a temperament in which fear played less part, and a disinterested anger against the common enemy a greater. With the former, the advantages of the system of fear, and of its variable body of behaviour, were employed to the uttermost in the service of love with the latter, those of anger. The action of the sentiment would tend to correct the excesses to which either temper was liable, restraining the one from excessive caution, and the other from rashness. But its conduct would still be stamped by the prevailing emotion, nor could it exchange at will the caution due to fear for the audacity of anger.

1 'Plutarch's Lives,' vol. ii. 'Fabius Maximus.'

Thus while the lower or egoistic fears are an original source of cowardice in action, the higher fears of the sentiments of love are, through their influence, the source of a noble courage, as well as of the virtue and quality of character that we name caution or prudence.

4. Of the Derivation of Cruelty from certain kinds of Anger

If anger is an original source of courage, so is it a source of the acquired quality of cruelty. The primitive forms of anger are only inadvertently cruel. What is meant by cruelty implies enjoyment in inflicting pain, and the intention or desire to inflict it; and the first presupposes that we can distinguish the signs of pain in others, and the second, that we can form the idea, or foresee the possibility of inflicting it. Hence cruelty, in its proper sense, is only possible at a comparatively high stage of mental development, a stage which perhaps no other animals besides man, and the apes and monkeys, are able to reach. It is characteristic of that variety of anger which aims at inflicting pain as its end, and enjoys the sight of the pain it has caused. For the anger that is successful in attaining its end has the enjoyment of success, and, when this success coincides with the subjection of another, the enjoyment of pride.

It is sometimes remarked that the most deliberate forms of cruelty are not practised by brave men. A brave man may destroy his enemy, or even inflict pain as a punishment, but he will not degrade himself by unnecessarily prolonging it. But in those cases in which cowardice is a condition of cruelty, there must be some interaction between anger and fear to account for it. Fear by itself cannot account for cruelty in action. Fear manifests flight, or concealment, or a shrinking back, or a clinging to another for protection, or a crying out, or a keeping silent, or a pretence of death, but never aims at inflicting pain as such. But where fear restrains the impulse of anger, it tends to render anger at first more painful, and afterwards revengeful and cruel as if there were a desire of inflicting suffering in revenge for the pains of fear. For the painfulness of anger

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