“I suppose I was.”
“Why?”
“Cowardice, I suppose. According to your theory.”
“Exactly. Don’t you see, Peter, that cowardice and bravery are ridiculous terms?”
“No, I don’t,” snapped Peter. “A man either does his job, or he funks it. If he funks it, he’s a coward.”
“You mean, if he funks it and doesn’t do it. Supposing he funks it, and does it all the same.”
“Then,” admitted Peter, “he’s not a coward.”
“Good. Now, let me tell you something. That power which drives the man to do a thing he funks, is not bravery but the will-to-be-brave. Your will-to-be-brave is damaged; you’ve overstrained it. If you go on overstraining it, you’ll lose it altogether. Give it a rest. Do you understand me? Give it a rest. All these repressions you’ve been so proud of—don’t interrupt, you have been proud of them, subconsciously proud—all these repressions are wrong. You’ve bound the wound up tight instead of allowing it to drain. You’ve been sitting on you’re mental safety-valves. If you want to jump when you hear a noise, for God’s sake jump. It’s much better for you than the effort to control yourself. If you’re afraid of open spaces, avoid ’em—don’t go through them with a loaded gun and pretend you’re trying to shoot rabbits. . . .”
Peter blushed scarlet; and the lesson went on. One by one, Heron Baynet detailed the Fears—Fear of Open Spaces, Fear of Closed Spaces, Fear of Time, Fear of Money, Fear of Pain and Fear of Death. To his listening son-in-law, the catalogue seemed inexhaustible.
“Is everybody afraid of something?” asked the patient at last.