here is somewhat in great actions which does not allow us to go
behind them. Heroism feels and never reasons, and therefore is always
right; and although a different breeding, different religion and
greater intellectual activity would have modified or even reversed the
particular action, yet for the hero that thing he does is the highest
deed, and is not open to the censure of philosophers or divines. It is
the avowal of the unschooled man that he finds a quality in him that
is negligent of expense, of health, of life, of danger, of hatred, of
reproach, and knows that his will is higher and more excellent than all
actual and all possible antagonists.

Heroism works in contradiction to the voice of mankind and in
contradiction, for a time, to the voice of the great and good. Heroism
is an obedience to a secret impulse of an individual's character. Now to
no other man can its wisdom appear as it does to him, for every man must
be supposed to see a little farther on his own proper path than any one
else. Therefore just and wise men take umbrage at his act, until after
some little time be past: then they see it to be in unison with their
acts. All prudent men see that the action is clean contrary to a sensual
prosperity; for every heroic act measures itself by its contempt of
some external good. But it finds its own success at last, and then the
prudent also extol.

Self-trust is the essence of heroism. It is the state of the soul at
war, and its ultimate objects are the last defiance of falsehood and
wrong, and the power to bear all that can be inflicted by evil agents.
It speaks the truth and it is just, generous, hospitable, temperate,
scornful of petty calculations and scornful of being scorned. It
persists; it is of an undaunted boldness and of a fortitude not to
be wearied out. Its jest is the littleness of common life. That false
prudence which dotes on health and wealth is the butt and merriment of
heroism. Heroism, like Plotinus, is almost ashamed of its body. What
shall it say then to the sugar-plums and cats'-cradles, to the toilet,
compliments, quarrels, cards and custard, which rack the wit of all
society? What joys has kind nature provided for us dear creatures! There
seems to be no interval between greatness and meanness. When the spirit
is not master of the world, then it is its dupe. Yet the little
man takes the great hoax so innocently, works in it so headlong and
believing, is born red, and dies gray, ar