The Two Faces of Courage: Innate Greatness and the Greatness We Grow

The ancient words “Some were born great, some have greatness thrust upon them” have echoed through centuries, often evoking images of destiny and fate.  But beneath this poetic duality lies a deeper truth about courage, the force that turns potential into action, whether that potential arrives as a birthright or burden.  Courage, it seems, is both the flame we carry, and the spark stuck from life’s friction.

There are those who step into the world already armored with unshakable boldness.  Like Joan of Arc hearing celestial voices or a child prodigy composing symphonies at ten, their courage seems woven into their DNA.  This is the courage of calling, an innate pull toward purpose that defies reason.  It is the firefighter who races toward danger as if born to it, the activist who stands before crowds with words that flow like rivers.  Their bravery feels effortless, a birthmark of the soul.  Yet even this “natural” courage is not passive.  It requires nurturing, the choice to hone gifts, to answer the call again and again, even when the world doubts what feels so obvious to the heart.

But there is another, more universal path to courage, one forged not by predisposition, but by circumstance.  This is the courage of the unprepared: the single parent working three jobs to feed their children, the shy student speaking up against a bully, the ordinary citizen thrust into protest by injustice.  Here, greatness is not a trait but a response.  Like a seed cracked open by a storm, these individuals discover strength they never claimed to possess.  A diagnosis, a loss, a sudden responsibility, life’s uninvited challenges become the anvil upon which their courage is hammered into being.  This is courage as conversion: the alchemy of fear into fortitude, despair into determination.

The distinction between these paths matters less than what they share.  Both demand a reckoning with vulnerability.  The “born” courageous still face doubt, the artist wonders if their vision is madness; the leader questions if their voice matters.  The “made” courageous still tremble, the caregiver feels inadequate; the accidental hero hesitates.  Courage, in all its forms, is not fearlessness.  It is the decision to act with fear, to let it walk beside you rather than lead you.

History’s tapestry is woven with both threads.  Marie Curie’s relentless pursuit of science (a born calling) required the same grit as Malala Yousafzai’s defiance after being targeted (a thrust-upon-mission).  One began with curiosity, the other with survival, but both chose to meet their moment with unyielding resolve.  This is the secret of courage: it is not about how greatness finds you, but what you do when it does.

We need both kinds of courage in the world.  The born-great remind us of human potential’s heights; the made-great prove that heroism blooms in unlikely soil.  A society thrives when firebrands and quiet perseveres coexist, when the dancer born to perform and the teacher who finds her voice mid-career are equally celebrated.   One inspires awe, the other solidarity.  One shows us what is possible; the other whispers, “You too can rise.”

In our own lives, we may oscillate between these roles.  A nurse with a natural gift for healing (born) must summon new courage when faced with an unprecedented pandemic (thrust upon) evolves into the courage to seek help for unseen wounds (chosen).  The lines blur, because courage is not static, it is a muscle that grows through use, whether summoned by design or desperation.

So let us retire the notion that greatness, and the courage it requires, belongs only to the extraordinary.  The parent soothing a child’s nightmares, the employee advocating for ethical change, the survivor rebuilding after trauma, all are architects of courage.  Some may have been born with a compass pointing toward purpose; others may have had purpose crash into them like a wave.  But both are navigating the same ocean, steering by the stars of their convictions.

In the end, the source of courage matters less than its application.  Whether you feel destined for greatness or are ambushed by it, your power lies in the next step forward.  For courage is not a badge given at birth or medal awarded in crisis, it is the breath we take before saying “I will try,” again and again, until trying becomes triumph.

After all, a forest is made of oaks that grew from planted acorns and samplings that sprouted through cracks in concrete.  Both belong.  Both reach for the light.