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The Varieties of Quiet Courage
Courage has rarely ever been left unbruised.
I find myself wondering this morning about certain sycophantic and obsequious characters: When beyond the control of some master — in those quiet moments of isolation, when making decisions the results of which will only ever be seen by themselves — do they mount a silent rebellion? In the unreachable caverns of their souls is there an enduring flame of mutiny? Are each of these subordinates indeed secret hunters, waiting patiently for the day when their power is adequate to turn on their dominator?
And what of that unostentatious, ever-working discipline that, in so many contests, has overcome the most arrogant and prodigious possessors of natural skill? With a slow, daily grind forward, in the solitary hours of early dawn and the calm, lonely nights, muted warriors have trained and prepared themselves, without observer or fanfare, to at long last make an unexpected appearance on the day of some competition and topple a Goliath.
Where is there any grander example of the human spirit than in that highest degree of confidence that feels no need to react? No, not the facile victory but the pacific restraint, which holds such certainty of its ultimate triumph, on a higher plane of awareness, that it can disregard all mocking challengers? What of that inviolable strength…
