Y.M. I suppose, then, there is no more merit in being brave than in being a coward?
O.M. Personal merit? No. A brave man does not create his bravery. He is entitled to no personal credit for possessing it. It is born to him. A baby born with a billion dollars—where is the personal merit in that? A baby born with nothing—where is the personal demerit in that? The one is fawned upon, admired, worshiped, by sycophants, the other is neglected and despised—where is the sense in it?
Y.M. Sometimes a timid man sets himself the task of conquering his cowardice and becoming brave—and succeeds. What do you say to that?
O.M. That it shows the value of training in right directions over training in wrong ones. Inestimably valuable is training, influence, education, in right directions—training one’s self-approbation to elevate its ideals.
Y.M. But as to merit—the personal merit of the victorious coward’s project and achievement?
O.M. There isn’t any. In the world’s view he is a worthier man than he was before, but he didn’t achieve the change—the merit of it is not his.
Y.M. Whose, then?
O.M. His make, and the influences which wrought upon it from the outside.
Y.M. His make?
O.M. To start with, he was not utterly and completely a coward, or the influences would have had nothing to work upon. He was not afraid of a cow, though perhaps of a bull: not afraid of a woman, but afraid of a man. There was something to build upon. There was a seed. No seed, no plant. Did he make that seed himself, or was it born in him? It was no merit of his that the seed was there.