Jean-Marie Guyau, A Sketch of Morality Independent of Obligation or Sanction, tr. Gertrude Kapteyn (London, 1898), 2nd bk., ch. I., sect. II., pp. 120-22:
Primitive humanity lived in the midst of danger, hence there must still exist in many people a natural predisposition to face it. Danger was, so to speak, the sport of primitive men, as sport is to-day, for many people, a kind of sham danger. This taste for peril, faced for its own sake, is to be met with even among animals. We find on this subject a curious tale of a traveller in Cambodia.
As soon as a troup of monkeys notice a crocodile with its body sunk in the water, its mouth wide open, so as to seize anything which may pass within reach, they seem to plan together, approach little by little, and begin their sport, being by turns actors and spectators. One of the most agile, or of the most imprudent, passes from branch to branch, to within a respectful distance of the crocodile, suspends himself by a paw, and with the dexterity of his race advances, goes back, now striking its adversary with its paw, now merely pretending to hit him. Some of the others, amused by this game, want to be of the party; but, the other branches being too high, they form a chain by holding one another hanging by their paws. They balance themselves in that way, while he who is nearest the amphibious animal torments it as much as possible. Sometimes the dreadful jaw shuts itself, but without catching the audacious monkey. There are screams of joy and merry antics; but sometimes also a paw is caught in the vice, and the leaping monkey is drawn down under water with the quickness of lightning. The whole troup then disperses moaning and howling, which, however, does not prevent them beginning again the same sport several days, perhaps even several hours, later. [Mouhot, «Voyage dans le Royaume de Siam et de Cambodge.»]
The pleasure of danger is derived chiefly from the pleasure of victory. One likes to conquer, no matter whom, even an animal. We like to prove to ourselves our superiority. . . . Moreover, even after having lost the hope of conquest, one obstinately goes on struggling. Whosoever may be the adversary, every fight degenerates into a desperate duel. . . .
This need of danger and of victory, which carries away the soldier and the huntsman, is found also in the traveller, the colonist, the engineer. . . . The invincible attraction of the sea lies, to a great extent, in the constant danger which it presents. It tempts in succession each generation which is born on its shores, and if the English nation has acquired an intensity of life and force of expansion so great that it has spread itself over the whole world, we may say that this is due to its education by the sea—that is to say, to its education by danger.
Let us note that the pleasure of contest alters its form without disappearing, be it in the struggle with an animated being (war or chase), or in the struggle with visible obstacles (sea, mountain), or in the struggle with invisible things (illness to be cured, difficulties of all sorts to be conquered). The struggle always partakes of the same character—that of a passionate duel. In truth, the doctor who starts for Senegal has decided upon a kind of duel with the yellow fever. The struggle passes from the domain of things physical to the intellectual domain, without losing anything of its ardour or of its fascination. The struggle may also pass into the special domain of morals. There is an inward struggle between the will and the passions, as captivating as any other, and in which the victory brings an infinite joy, as was well understood by Corneille.
In short, man needs to feel himself great, in order now and again to have full consciousness of the sublimity of his will. This consciousness he gets in struggle—struggle with himself, with his passions, or with material and intellectual obstacles.
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