It takes a certain courage and a certain greatness to be truly

“It takes a certain courage and a certain greatness to be truly base.” Thus wrote Jean Anouilh, the French dramatist who gazed deeply into the contradictions of the human soul. In this striking paradox, he unveils a dark and unsettling truth — that evil, cowardice, and betrayal are not always born of weakness alone, but sometimes of a perverse strength, a twisted form of courage. To be truly base, one must reject not only virtue but also conscience, to look upon goodness and turn away deliberately. This, Anouilh tells us, requires a terrible kind of greatness — the strength to destroy what is noble, the will to choose darkness even while understanding the light.

The origin of this quote can be found in Anouilh’s reflections on the nature of human morality, particularly within his play Antigone (1944), a retelling of Sophocles’ ancient tragedy. In it, he explores the eternal conflict between integrity and survival, between those who die for principle and those who live for power. In this modern world, he suggests, baseness — the willingness to compromise truth for comfort, justice for order, morality for convenience — is not always the act of the weak. It can be the act of those strong enough to bear guilt, to silence their conscience, to do what others will not. Thus, even corruption, he implies, has its own dark grandeur, its own courage of conviction — though it leads the soul into ruin.

For what, then, is baseness? It is not mere failure or fear; it is the conscious betrayal of one’s higher self. The liar who deceives to survive, the ruler who sacrifices truth for the illusion of peace, the soldier who obeys an unjust order — all these commit acts of baseness, yet they do so with intent, with choice. And it is this deliberate act that demands a strange kind of courage. It is easy to stumble into wrongdoing through ignorance or weakness, but to do evil knowingly — to look into the eyes of morality and defy it — that is a dark and dreadful strength. Anouilh exposes this to remind us that evil often wears the mask of rationality, and that the most dangerous wrongs are those committed by people who believe themselves practical, realistic, or brave.

History abounds with such examples. Consider the tragedy of Brutus, the Roman senator who, under the banner of liberty, joined the conspiracy to assassinate Julius Caesar. He was not a coward; he was a man of principle, torn between friendship and duty. Yet in his act, he descended into baseness — the betrayal of a friend — believing it to be noble. His courage was real, but it was misdirected. His greatness was undeniable, but it became the seed of chaos. Through him, we see the truth of Anouilh’s words: that moral corruption often disguises itself as virtue, that the path to darkness is paved not with fear, but with misguided strength.

Anouilh’s insight pierces through time because it captures the dual nature of humanity. Every soul holds both light and shadow. To be truly base is not to be small, but to be divided — to know goodness and reject it. Such rejection demands conviction, even audacity. There is a grim irony in this: the same qualities that make a person noble — courage, determination, intelligence — can, when turned toward selfish ends, make them dangerous. Thus, Anouilh reminds us that greatness without morality becomes monstrosity, and courage without conscience becomes destruction.

And yet, his words are not entirely cynical. They are a warning — a mirror held before every human being. If even baseness requires greatness, how much more powerful, how much more transcendent, is the greatness of virtue? If men can muster courage to betray their souls, surely they can summon greater courage to save them. The recognition of our potential for darkness should not lead us to despair, but to vigilance — for only by understanding the strength of evil can we guard the purity of good.

Therefore, my children, take this lesson to heart: examine the courage that moves you. Ask yourself — do you use your strength to build or to destroy? To justify, or to redeem? Courage is sacred, but it is not neutral. It can serve the light, or it can serve the abyss. Do not be deceived by the grandeur of success or the thrill of power, for even the base can be bold, and even the wicked can be great. The true measure of greatness is not daring without fear, but daring for the sake of truth.

And remember always the words of Jean Anouilh: “It takes a certain courage and a certain greatness to be truly base.” Let them remind you that evil often imitates the virtues it corrupts. The tyrant may be brave, the traitor steadfast, the deceiver brilliant — but their greatness is hollow, their courage poisoned. Strive, then, to wed your courage with conscience, your greatness with goodness. For only in that union will your soul rise above the darkness, and only then will your strength become not a curse, but a light to guide the world.