Gobineau in his work Les Races Humaines has called man l’animal mechant par excellence.  People take this very ill, because they feel that it hits them; but he is quite right, for man is the only animal which causes pain to others without any further purpose than just to cause it.  Other animals never do it except to satisfy their hunger, or in the rage of combat.  If it is said against the tiger that he kills more than eats, he strangles his prey only for the purpose of eating it; and if he cannot eat it, the only explanation is, as the French phrase has it, that ses yeux sont plus grands que son estomac.  No animal ever torments another for the mere purpose of tormenting, but man does it, and it is this that constitutes the diabolical feature in his character which is so much worse than the merely animal.  I have already spoken of the matter in its broad aspect; but it is manifest even in small things, and every reader has a daily opportunity of observing it.  For instance, if two little dogs are playing together—­and what a genial and charming sight it is—­and a child of three or four years joins them, it is almost inevitable for it to begin hitting them with a whip or stick, and thereby show itself, even at that age, l’animal mechant par excellence.  The love of teasing and playing tricks, which is common enough, may be traced to the same source.  For instance, if a man has expressed his annoyance at any interruption or other petty inconvenience, there will be no lack of people who for that very reason will bring it about:  animal mechant par excellence!  This is so certain that a man should be careful not to express any annoyance at small evils.  On the other hand he should also be careful not to express his pleasure at any trifle, for, if he does so, men will act like the jailer who, when he found that his prisoner had performed the laborious task of taming a spider, and took a pleasure in watching it, immediately crushed it under his foot:  l’animal mechant par excellence!  This is why all animals are instinctively afraid of the sight, or even of the track of a man, that animal mechant par excellence! nor does their instinct them false; for it is man alone who hunts game for which he has no use and which does him no harm.

It is a fact, then, that in the heart of every man there lies a wild beast which only waits for an opportunity to storm and rage, in its desire to inflict pain on others, or, if they stand in his way, to kill them.  It is this which is the source of all the lust of war and battle.  In trying to tame and to some extent hold it in check, the intelligence, its appointed keeper, has always enough to do.  People may, if they please, call it the radical evil of human nature—­a name which will at least serve those with whom a word stands for an explanation.  I say, however, that it is the will to live, which, more and more embittered by the constant sufferings of existence, seeks to