Boldness or daring is based upon hope, and to enkindle such enthusiasm, that hope must be exceedingly vehement, just as despair is based upon very vehement fear. Yet there is a difference between hope and courage, in that hope fixes its eyes upon the good thing to be finally achieved, whereas courage is conscious all the while of the immense difficulties that stand in between. Hope considers the overcoming of the obstacles, courage the obstacles to be overcome. The paths, indeed, may be rough, and the ground hilly, and the boulders that lie in the way may have every appearance of being too huge to be pushed aside ("who shall roll us back the stone?"), yet does hope go clambering on without much regard for its torn feet. Deliberately it is determined not to look down, but heartens itself for the stiff climb by keeping its eyes fixed on the summit towards which it toils. Not down, but up, do its eyes look. Boldness, courage, daring, are more terrible because more venturesome. Thus in religion hope keeps its gaze resolutely turned to the grace of God: it repeats over to itself that with God all things are possible, and is continually reminding itself that it will never be left alone in life, that God is continually watching and aiding. But the virtue of courage can all the while persist in hoping, and yet be conscious of its own human frailty. It is a sort of hypostatic union that links together the strength of God and the weakness of man. It takes the measure not merely of the summit, but of the hazard that stands between; counts not the crown only, but the peril.
Boldness, leaping at the chance, conscious of the risk, cannot be caused by ignorance. Men do not account him daring who is ignorant of the perils through which he has passed; nor would they say man was courageous unless they were certain that he had quietly considered the danger, had seen beforehand the venture, counted the cost, yet persevered. Some, indeed, begin great and heroic enterprises in the flush and impetus of enthusiasm, growing slower and slacker as they get gradually to realize the dangers, perils, risks. We may call them impetuous, rash, but hardly daring. The man who has real courage, daring, may begin perfectly slowly, so much so that others may well judge him to be half-hearted in his work. They see that he has no rush, no swift attempts. He goes on painfully, conscious of his difficulties; yet he goes. He has counted his cost. He has seen beforehand how terribly alone he would find himself. He runs no unnecessary risks; but he goes on unsparingly, relentlessly. He has seen it all, and nothing that subsequently appears will frighten him off. He has long ago passed through that stage. Panic will not affect him, for alone, in the solitude of his own heart, he has already faced the "questing beast." He does not ignore his task, nor put his telescope to his blind eye, but with full vision fronts his peril.
Now it is just that which must be my attitude to life, my attitude to the full responsibilities of my Catholic life. I must face the whole question of it deliberately. I must make quite certain of all that it entails, not dodge things simply because they are dangerous nor try to shuffle out of my duties on the plea that I was ignorant of my obligations, nor, on the other hand, pretend that Catholic life has no dangers. Everything that is holy is thereby dangerous. Every thing is dangerous in precise proportion to its sacredness. Holy Communion, Faith, Friendship, are great gifts, and on that very account are beset with innumerable perils. Now it is part of virtue to face all these things with a perfect consciousness of my risk. I must not be content with looking upon the sacraments, etc., as merely helps and comforts. They are all that, thank God! but that does not exhaust their potentialities. The very sanctity of the Ark struck death to the hand put out to save its fall. Without all these wonderful gifts I shall fail. It is possible that with them I shall fail also. At least I must be perfectly alive to the possibility. I must be, therefore, wide awake to their peril, yet bold enough not to refuse them on that account. I must accept them with eyes open. Saint Paul told his converts that they had to be fools for Christ. I must vehemently persuade myself that for Christ I must also be foolhardy.
- text taken from Meditations for Layfolk by Father Bede Jarrett, O.P.