Dear Dr. Adler,

Courage is a much-praised virtue, but just what it is is not too clear. We usually associate it with fearlessness, but isn't it inhuman and abnormal to be without fear? And we usually think of the man of action when we think of courage -- of the soldier, the big-game hunter, the mountain climber, the race-track driver. But isn't there such a thing as moral courage, which is far superior to physical daring and recklessness? What is courage?

S. G.

Another name for courage is fortitude. As the word *fortitude* suggests, courage consists in having the strength to hold fast against danger, pain, and stress.

We sometimes distinguish between physical and moral courage, according to the character of the pain or stress under which the individual does not yield. Men who risk bodily injury or death in war or in peacetime exhibit physical courage. Moral courage is shown by men who uphold religious or political convictions that result in social ostracism or personal unpleasantness for them.

Courage need not be obvious. It is manifested by scientists, artists, and scholars who accomplish their work only by unflagging patience and perseverance. It is found in the everyday life of ordinary men who carry on against odds and fulfill their duties, no matter what the temptation to despair and surrender.

This everyday hero is no more apparent to the naked eye than Kierkegaard's Knight of Infinite Faith, who looks like a tax collector and dresses like a bourgeois. The present-day knight may wear a fedora, have a paunch, and reside in the suburbs. The late Charles Peguy said that the true adventurers of the twentieth century are the fathers of families.

Courage should not be confused with recklessness or fool hardiness. Nor should it be confused with fearlessness. To be courageous is to have the strength to overcome fear. A man without fear may *appear* to act courageously, but he does not *really* have the virtue of courage. There is no virtue in doing what comes naturally, without effort. Courage involves conquering fear. It involves a respect for hardships and dangers together with an unflinching will to endure them for a good cause. Drunks who rush thoughtlessly into danger are not courageous.

Many great thinkers regard the courageous man as one who succeeds in avoiding the equally wrong extremes of foolhardiness and cowardice. Aristotle points our that courage consists in having the right amount of fear, neither too much nor too little. It calls for a sound judgment about risks or perils, or, as Epictetus says, a combination of confidence and caution. And Spinoza remarks that "flight at the proper time, just as well as fighting, is to be reckoned as showing strength of mind," that is, courage. The same virtue that moves a man to avoid danger in one case impels him to meet it in another.

The great moralists who discuss courage never treat it as a virtue in isolation from other virtues. In their view, courage is found only in men who are also temperate, just, and prudent or wise. Their reason for this is that taking risks or bearing hardships must be done for the right purpose. They would not call a gangster a courageous man simply because he takes calculated risks or remains cool in the face of danger. Since he is overcoming his fears to achieve an evil, not a good, result, he exhibits not courage but a counterfeit of it.

The man who acts courageously is one who faces dangers and endures hardships because he *rightly* values certain things as more important than others. His courage is not mere brute strength nor disdain for his skin and his comfort. While he values his life, an unbroken body, and peace, he places a higher value on other goods, such as the welfare of his country or his family, his moral integrity, or the ideals to which he is devoted.

ARE THERE ANY QUESTIONS? *

"Are there any questions?" An offer that comes at the end of college lectures and long meetings. Said when an audience is not only overdosed with information, but when there is no time left anyhow. At times like that you sure do have questions. Like, "Can we leave now?" and "What the hell was this meeting for anyhow?" and "Where can I get a drink?"

The gesture is supposed to indicate openness on the part of the speaker, I suppose, but if in fact you do ask a question, both the speaker and the audience will give you drop-dead looks. And some fool -- some earnest idiot -- always asks. And the speaker always answers. By repeating most of what he has already said. But if there is a little time left and there is a little silence in response to the invitation, I usually ask the most important question of all: "What is the meaning of life?" You never know -- somebody may have the answer, and I'd really hate to miss it. It's usually taken as a kind of absurdist move -- people laugh and nod and gather up their stuff and the meeting is dismissed on that ridiculous note.

Once, and only once, I asked the question and got a serious answer. One that is with me still. I went to an institute dedicated to human understanding and peace on the isle of Crete. At the last session on the last morning of a two-week seminar on Greek culture, led by intellectuals and experts in their fields, Alexander Papaderos rose from his chair at the back of the room and walked to the front, where he stood in the bright Greek sunlight of an open window and looked out. We followed his gaze across the bay to the iron cross marking a German cemetery from W.W.II. He turned and made the ritual gesture: "Are there any questions?" Quiet quilted the room. These two weeks had generated enough questions for a lifetime, but for now there was only silence. "No questions?" Papaderos swept the room with his eyes. So, I asked. "Dr. Papaderos, what is the meaning of life?" The usual laughter followed, and people stirred to go. Papaderos held up his hand and stilled the room and looked at me for a long time, asking with his eyes if I was serious, and seeing from my eyes that I was. "I will answer your question."

Taking his wallet out of his hip pocket, he fished into his leather billfold and brought out a very small round mirror, about the size of a quarter. And what he said went like this: "When I was a small child, during the war, we were very poor and we lived in a remote village. One day, on the road, I found the broken pieces of a mirror. A German motorcycle had been wrecked in that place. I tried to find all the pieces and put them together, but it was not possible, so I kept only the largest piece. This one. And by scratching it on a stone, I made it round. I began to play with it as a toy and became fascinated by the fact that I could reflect light into dark places where the sun would never shine -- in deep holes and crevices and dark closets. It became a game for me to get light into the most inaccessible places I could find. I kept the little mirror, and as I went about my growing up, I would take it out in idle moments and continue the challenge of the game. As I became a man, I grew to understand that this was not just a child's game, but a metaphor for what I might do with my life. I came to understand that I am not the light or the source of the light. But light -- truth, understanding, knowledge -- is there, and it will only shine in many dark places if I reflect it. I am a fragment of a mirror whose whole design and shape I do not know. Nevertheless, with what I have, I can reflect light into the dark places of this world -- into the black places in the hearts of men -- and change some things in some people. Perhaps others may see and do likewise. This is what I am about. This is the meaning of my life."

And then he took his small mirror and, holding it carefully, caught the bright rays of daylight streaming through the window and reflected them onto my face and onto my hands folded on the desk. Much of what I experienced in the way of information about Greek culture and history that summer is gone from memory. But in the wallet of my mind I carry a small round mirror still.

Are there any questions????

* Thanks to Lion Goodman for submitting this anonymous story.

"ONE'S SENSE OF HONOR IS . . ."

In 431 B.C., Pericles spoke at a funeral service for those who had fallen in battle against Athens' bitter enemy, Sparta. Pericles sought both to honor his fallen comrades and to inspire his fellow citizens to defend Athens and its culture. Pericles' Funeral Oration was recorded by Thucydides, who is often considered the first war reporter. The following is an excerpt of Pericles' remarks, taken from Rex Warner's translation:

"Make up your minds that happiness depends on being free, and freedom depends on being courageous. Let there be no relaxation in face of the perils of war. The people who have most excuse for despising death are not the wretched and unfortunate, who have no hope of doing well for themselves, but those who run the risk of a complete reversal in their lives, and who would feel the difference most intensely, if things went wrong for them. Any intelligent man would find a humiliation caused by his own slackness more painful to bear than death, when death comes to him unperceived, in battle, and in the confidence of his patriotism.

For these reasons I shall not commiserate with those parents of the dead, who are present here. Instead I shall try to comfort them. They are well aware that they have grown up in a world where there are many changes and chances. But this is good fortune -- for men to end their lives with honor, as these have done, and for you honorably to lament them: their life was set to a measure where death and happiness were hand in hand. I know that it is difficult to convince you of this. When you see other people happy you will often be reminded of what used to make you happy too. I would ask you to count as gain the greater part of your life, in which you have been happy, and remember that what remains is not long, and let your hearts be lifted up at the thought of the fair fame of the dead. One's sense of honor is the only thing that does not grow old, and the last pleasure, when one is worn out with age, is not, as the poet said, making money, but having the respect of one's fellow men."

Max:

Regarding the three videos I recently ordered, I watched two of the videos already (How to Think About God, and Aristotle for Everybody) and am mid-way through the third video (Ten Philosophical Mistakes). I read all three books a few years ago, but wanted to watch Dr. Adler converse about the topics as well. Truly, he is a remarkable man. I have much to learn and will watch the videos more than once I assure you. What's more, I'll be sending in a request for a few more in a short while. The videos are great!!

John Lisowski - Juneau, Alaska

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