The whole duty of man may be reduced to the two points of abstinence and patience; temperance in prosperity, and courage in adversity. We have already treated of the former: and the other follows now in course.
A person's entire duty can be summed up in two simple points: self-control and endurance. We need temperance when things go well, and courage when they go badly. We've already discussed the first point. Now we'll move on to the second.
Epicurus will have it, that a wise man will bear all injuries; but the Stoics will not allow those things to be injuries which Epicurus calls so. Now, betwixt these two, there is the same difference that we find betwixt two gladiators; the one receives wounds, but yet maintains his ground, the other tells the people, when he is in blood, that it is but a scratch, and will not suffer anybody to part them. An injury cannot be received, but it must be done; but it may be done and yet not received; as a man may be in the water, and not swim, but if he swims, it is presumed that he is in the water. Or if a blow or a shot be levelled at us, it may so happen that a man may miss his aim, or some accident interpose that may divert the mischief. That which is hurt is passive, and inferior to that which hurts it. But you will say, that Socrates was condemned and put to death, and so received an injury; but I answer, that the tyrants did him an injury, and yet he received none. He that steals anything from me and hides it in my own house, though I have not lost it, yet he has stolen it. He that lies with his own wife, and takes her for another woman, though the woman be honest, the man is an adulterer. Suppose a man gives me a draught of poison and it proves not strong enough to kill me, his guilt is nevertheless for the disappointment. He that makes a pass at me is as much a murderer, though I put it by, as if he had struck me to the heart. It is the intention, not the effect, that makes the wickedness. He is a thief that has the will of killing and slaying, before his hand is dipt in blood; as it is sacrilege, the very intention of laying violent hands upon holy things. If a philosopher be exposed to torments, the ax over his head, his body wounded, his guts in his hands, I will allow him to groan; for virtue itself cannot divest him of the nature of a man; but if his mind stand firm, he has discharged his part. A great mind enables a man to maintain his station with honor; so that he only makes use of what he meets in his way, as a pilgrim that would fain be at his journey’s end.
Epicurus believes that a wise man will endure all injuries. But the Stoics don't consider those same things to be injuries at all. The difference between these two schools is like the difference between two gladiators. One receives wounds but keeps fighting. The other tells the crowd that his bleeding is just a scratch and won't let anyone stop the fight. An injury can't be received unless someone actually commits it. But it can be committed without being received. A man can be in water without swimming, but if he swims, we know he must be in water. If someone aims a blow or shot at us, they might miss their target or some accident might prevent the harm. Whatever gets hurt is passive and weaker than what hurts it. You might say that Socrates was condemned and executed, so he received an injury. But I answer that the tyrants injured him, yet he received no injury. If someone steals from me and hides the stolen goods in my own house, I haven't lost anything, but he has still stolen it. If a man sleeps with his own wife but thinks she's another woman, the woman remains honest, but the man is still an adulterer. Suppose someone gives me poison that's too weak to kill me. His guilt remains the same despite his failure. A man who tries to stab me is just as much a murderer as if he had struck my heart, even if I dodge the blow. It's the intention, not the result, that creates wickedness. Someone is a thief who wants to kill and murder before his hands are stained with blood. It's sacrilege just to intend violence against holy things. If a philosopher faces torture, with an ax over his head, his body wounded, his guts in his hands, I'll allow him to groan. Virtue itself can't strip away his human nature. But if his mind stays firm, he has done his part. A great mind lets a man hold his position with honor. He simply uses whatever he encounters along the way, like a pilgrim eager to reach his destination.
It is the excellency of a great mind to ask nothing, and to want nothing; and to say, “I will have nothing to do with fortune, that repulses Cato, and prefers Vatinius.” He that quits his hold, and accounts anything good that is not honest, runs gaping after casualties, spends his days in anxiety and vain expectation, that man is miserable. And yet it is hard, you will say, to be banished or cast into prison: nay, what if it were to be burnt, or any other way destroyed? We have examples in all ages and cases, of great men that have triumphed over all misfortunes. Metellus suffered exile resolutely, Rutilius cheerfully; Socrates disputed in the dungeon; and though he might have made his escape, refused it; to show the world how easy a thing it was to subdue the two great terrors of mankind, death and a jail. Or what shall we say of Mucius Scevola, a man only of a military courage, and without the help either of philosophy or letters? who, when he found that he had killed the Secretary instead of Porsenna, (the prince,) burnt his right hand to ashes for the mistake; and held his arm in the flame until it was taken away by his very enemies. Porsenna did more easily pardon Mucius for his intent to kill him than Mucius forgave himself for missing of his aim. He might have a luckier thing, but never a braver.
A great mind's excellence lies in asking for nothing and wanting nothing. It says, "I will have nothing to do with fortune, which rejects Cato and favors Vatinius." Anyone who gives up their principles and considers something good that isn't honest will chase after random events. They spend their days in anxiety and empty hope. That person is miserable. But you might say it's hard to be banished or thrown in prison. What if you were to be burned or destroyed in some other way? We have examples from every age of great men who triumphed over all misfortunes. Metellus endured exile with resolve, Rutilius with cheerfulness. Socrates debated in his prison cell. Though he could have escaped, he refused. He wanted to show the world how easy it was to overcome mankind's two great terrors: death and jail. What about Mucius Scevola? He was a man of military courage only, without help from philosophy or education. When he realized he had killed the secretary instead of Porsenna the prince, he burned his right hand to ashes for his mistake. He held his arm in the flame until his very enemies pulled it away. Porsenna forgave Mucius more easily for trying to kill him than Mucius forgave himself for missing his target. He might have had better luck, but never more courage.
Did not Cato, in the last night of his life, take Plato to bed with him, with his sword at his bed’s head; the one that he might have death at his will, the other, that he might have it in his power; being resolved that no man should be able to say, either that he killed or that he saved Cato? So soon as he had composed his thoughts, he took his sword; “Fortune,” says he, “I have hitherto fought for my country’s liberty, and for my own, and only that I might live free among freemen; but the cause is now lost, and Cato safe.” With that word he cast himself upon his sword; and after the physicians that pressed in upon him had bound up his wound, he tore it up again, and expired with the same greatness of soul that he lived. But these are the examples, you will say, of men famous in their generations.
On the last night of his life, didn't Cato take Plato to bed with him? He kept his sword at his bedside. He wanted one thing within reach so he could choose death, and another so he could find strength. He was determined that no one would be able to say they either killed Cato or saved him. Once he had settled his thoughts, he took his sword. "Fortune," he said, "I have fought until now for my country's freedom and my own. I fought so I could live free among free men. But the cause is lost now, and Cato is safe." With those words, he threw himself on his sword. The doctors rushed in and bandaged his wound, but he tore the bandages away again. He died with the same greatness of spirit that he had lived with. But you will say these are examples of men who were famous in their time.
Let us but consult history, and we shall find, even in the most effeminate of nations, and the most dissolute of times, men of all degrees, ages, and fortunes, nay, even women themselves, that have overcome the fear of death: which, in truth, is so little to be feared, that duly considered, it is one of the greatest benefits of nature. It was as great an honor for Cato, when his party was broken, that he himself stood his ground, as it would have been if he had carried the day, and settled an universal peace: for, it is an equal prudence, to make the best of a bad game, and to manage a good one. The day that he was repulsed, he played, and the night that he killed himself, he read, as valuing the loss of his life, and the missing of an office at the same rate. People, I know, are apt to pronounce upon other men’s infirmities by the measure of their own, and to think it impossible that a man should be content to be burnt, wounded, killed, or shackled, though in some cases he may. It is only for a great mind to judge of great things; for otherwise, that which is our infirmity will seem to be another body’s, as a straight stick in the water appears to be crooked: he that yields, draws upon his own head his own ruin; for we are sure to get the better of Fortune, if we do but struggle with her. Fencers and wrestlers, we see what blows and bruises they endure, not only for honor, but for exercise. If we turn our backs once, we are routed and pursued; that man only is happy that draws good out of evil, that stands fast in his judgment, and unmoved by any external violence; or however, so little moved, that the keenest arrow in the quiver of Fortune is but as the prick of a needle to him rather than a wound; and all her other weapons fall upon him only as hail upon the roof of a house, that crackles and skips off again, without any damage to the inhabitant.
Let's look at history, and we'll find something remarkable. Even in the most weak-willed nations and corrupt times, men of every class, age, and wealth have overcome the fear of death. Even women have done this. The truth is, death should hardly be feared at all. When we think about it properly, it's actually one of nature's greatest gifts. When Cato's political party was defeated, it was just as honorable for him to stand his ground as it would have been if he had won and brought universal peace. It takes equal wisdom to make the best of a bad situation and to handle a good one well. On the day he was defeated, he played games. On the night he killed himself, he read books. He valued losing his life and missing out on political office as the same thing. I know people tend to judge others' weaknesses by their own standards. They think it's impossible for someone to be content with being burned, wounded, killed, or imprisoned, even though sometimes people can be. Only a great mind can judge great things. Otherwise, what seems like our weakness will appear to belong to someone else, just like a straight stick looks bent when it's in water. The person who gives up brings ruin on himself. We can always defeat Fortune if we just fight against her. Look at fighters and wrestlers. See what blows and injuries they endure, not just for honor, but for training. Once we turn our backs, we're defeated and chased down. The only happy person is one who draws good from evil, who stays firm in his beliefs, and remains unmoved by outside forces. Or at least, he's so little affected that Fortune's sharpest arrow feels like a needle prick rather than a real wound. All her other weapons hit him like hail on a house roof, crackling and bouncing off without harming the person inside.
A generous and clear-sighted young man will take it for a happiness to encounter ill fortune. It is nothing for a man to hold up his head in a calm; but to maintain his post when all others have quitted their ground, and there to stand upright where other men are beaten down, this is divine and praiseworthy. What ill is there in torments, or in those things which we commonly account grievous crosses? The great evil is the want of courage, the bowing and submitting to them, which can never happen to a wise man; for he stands upright under any weight; nothing that is to be borne displeases him; he knows his strength, and whatsoever may be any man’s lot, he never complains of, if it be his own. Nature, he says, deceives nobody; she does not tell us whether our children shall be fair or foul, wise or foolish, good subjects or traitors, nor whether our fortune shall be good or bad. We must not judge of a man by his ornaments, but strip him of all the advantages and the impostures of Fortune, nay, of his very body too, and look into his mind. If he can see a naked sword at his eyes without so much as winking; if he make it a thing indifferent to him whether his life go out at his throat or at his mouth; if he can hear himself sentenced to torments or exiles, and under the very hand of the executioner, says thus to himself, “All this I am provided for, and it is no more than a man that is to suffer the fate of humanity.” This is the temper of mind that speaks a man happy; and without this, all the confluences of external comforts signify no more than the personating of a king upon the stage; when the curtain is drawn, we are players again. Not that I pretend to exempt a wise man out of a number of men, as if he had no sense of pain; but I reckon him as compounded of body and soul; the body is irrational, and may be galled, burnt, tortured; but the rational part is fearless, invincible, and not to be shaken. This it is that I reckon upon as the supreme good of man; which until it be perfected, is but an unsteady agitation of thought, and in the perfection an immovable stability. It is not in our contentions with Fortune as in those of the theatre, where we may throw down our arms, and pray for quarter; but here we must die firm and resolute. There needs no encouragement to those things which we are inclined to by a natural instinct, as the preservation of ourselves with ease and pleasure; but if it comes to the trial of our faith by torments, or of our courage by wounds, these are difficulties that we must be armed against by philosophy and precept; and yet all this is no more than what we were born to, and no matter of wonder at all; so that a wise man prepares himself for it, as expecting whatsoever may be will be. My body is frail, and liable not only to the impressions of violence, but to afflictions also, that naturally succeed our pleasures. Full meals bring crudities; whoring and drinking make the hands to shake and the knees to tremble. It is only the surprise and newness of the thing which makes that misfortune terrible, which, by premeditation, might be made easy to us: for that which some people make light by sufferance, others do by foresight. Whatsoever is necessary, we must bear patiently. It is no new thing to die, no new thing to mourn, and no new thing to be merry again. Must I be poor? I shall have company: in banishment? I will think myself born there. If I die, I shall be no more sick; and it is a thing I cannot do but once.
A generous and clear-thinking young man will consider it fortunate to face hardship. Anyone can hold their head high when things are calm. But to keep your position when everyone else has abandoned theirs, to stand tall where other men have fallen, this is divine and worthy of praise. What harm is there really in suffering, or in those things we usually consider terrible burdens? The real evil is lacking courage, bowing down and giving in to them. This can never happen to a wise man because he stands upright under any weight. Nothing he must bear troubles him. He knows his own strength, and whatever fate any person might face, he never complains about it if it becomes his own. Nature deceives no one, he says. She doesn't tell us whether our children will be beautiful or ugly, wise or foolish, good citizens or traitors. She doesn't reveal whether our fortune will be good or bad. We shouldn't judge a person by their decorations. Instead, strip away all the advantages and tricks of Fortune, even their body, and look into their mind. Can they see a naked sword pointed at their eyes without flinching? Do they consider it unimportant whether their life ends at their throat or mouth? Can they hear themselves sentenced to torture or exile, and even under the executioner's hand, say to themselves, "I am prepared for all this. It's nothing more than a human being suffering the fate of humanity"? This is the mindset that makes a person truly happy. Without it, all the comforts of the outside world mean no more than playing a king on stage. When the curtain falls, we're just actors again. I don't claim to exempt a wise man from being human, as if he feels no pain. I consider him made of both body and soul. The body is irrational and can be hurt, burned, and tortured. But the rational part is fearless, invincible, and unshakeable. This is what I consider the highest good for humanity. Until it's perfected, it's just restless mental agitation. When perfected, it becomes unshakeable stability. Our struggles with Fortune aren't like those in the theater, where we can throw down our weapons and beg for mercy. Here we must die firm and determined. We need no encouragement for things our natural instincts drive us toward, like preserving ourselves with ease and pleasure. But when our faith is tested by torture, or our courage by wounds, these are difficulties we must prepare for through philosophy and teaching. Yet all this is simply what we were born for, nothing surprising at all. A wise man prepares himself for it, expecting that whatever will be, will be. My body is fragile and vulnerable not only to violence, but also to the troubles that naturally follow our pleasures. Heavy meals cause indigestion. Sex and drinking make hands shake and knees tremble. It's only the shock and newness of misfortune that makes it terrible. Through preparation, we could make it bearable. What some people handle easily through experience, others manage through foresight. Whatever is necessary, we must bear patiently. It's nothing new to die, nothing new to mourn, and nothing new to be happy again. Must I be poor? I'll have company. Exiled? I'll imagine I was born there. If I die, I'll be sick no more. It's something I can only do once.
Let us never wonder at anything we are born to; for no man has reason to complain, where we are all in the same condition. He that escapes might have suffered; and it is but equal to submit to the law of mortality. We must undergo the colds of winter, the heats of summer; the distempers of the air, and the diseases of the body. A wild beast meets us in one place, and a man that is more brutal in another; we are here assaulted by fire, there by water. Demetrius was reserved by Providence for the age he lived in, to show, that neither the times could corrupt him, nor he reform the people. He was a man of an exact judgment, steady to his purpose, and of a strong eloquence; not finical in his words, but his sense was masculine and vehement. He was so qualified in his life and discourse, that he served both for an example and a reproach. If fortune should have offered that man the government and possession of the whole world, upon condition not to lay it down again, I dare say he would have refused it: and thus have expostulated the matter with you: “Why should you tempt a freeman to put his shoulder under a burden; or an honest man to pollute himself with the dregs of mankind? Why do you offer me the spoils of princes, and of nations, and the price not only of your blood, but of your souls?”
We should never be surprised by the hardships we're born into. No one has reason to complain when we all face the same conditions. The person who escapes suffering might have endured it instead. It's only fair that we accept the reality of death. We must endure winter's cold and summer's heat. We face bad air and bodily diseases. Wild beasts threaten us in one place, and men who are even more brutal in another. Fire attacks us here, water there. Providence placed Demetrius in his particular time to prove something important. He showed that corrupt times couldn't ruin him, and he couldn't reform the people around him. He was a man of precise judgment, unwavering in his goals, and powerfully eloquent. His words weren't fancy, but his meaning was strong and passionate. His life and speech made him both an inspiration and a rebuke to others. Imagine if fortune had offered this man control of the entire world, with the condition that he could never give it up. I'm certain he would have refused it. He would have argued with you like this: "Why would you tempt a free man to shoulder such a burden? Why ask an honest man to dirty himself with the worst of humanity? Why offer me the stolen wealth of princes and nations? Why offer me a price paid not just with your blood, but with your very souls?"
It is the part of a great mind to be temperate in prosperity, resolute in adversity; to despise what the vulgar admire, and to prefer a mediocrity to an excess. Was not Socrates oppressed with poverty, labor, nay, the worst of wars in his own family, a fierce and turbulent woman for his wife? were not his children indocile, and like their mother? After seven-and-twenty years spent in arms, he fell under a slavery to the thirty tyrants, and most of them his bitter enemies: he came at last to be sentenced as “a violater of religion, a corrupter of youth, and a common enemy to God and man.” After this he was imprisoned, and put to death by poison, which was all so far from working upon his mind, that it never so much as altered his countenance. We are to bear ill accidents as unkind seasons, distempers, or diseases; and why may we not reckon the actions of wicked men even among those accidents; their deliberations are not counsels but frauds, snares, and inordinate motions of the mind; and they are never without a thousand pretences and occasions of doing a man mischief. They have their informers, their knights of the post; they can make an interest with powerful men, and one may be robbed as well upon the bench as upon the highway. They lie in wait for advantages, and live in perpetual agitation betwixt hope and fear; whereas he that is truly composed will stand all shocks, either of violences, flatteries, or menaces, without perturbation. It is an inward fear that makes us curious after what we hear abroad.
A great mind stays calm during good times and strong during bad times. It looks down on what ordinary people admire and chooses moderation over excess. Look at Socrates. He was crushed by poverty and hard work. He even faced the worst kind of war in his own home—a fierce and difficult wife. His children were stubborn and took after their mother. After twenty-seven years of military service, he fell under the rule of thirty tyrants, most of them his bitter enemies. Finally, he was sentenced as "a violator of religion, a corrupter of youth, and a common enemy to God and man." After this he was imprisoned and put to death by poison. None of this affected his mind or even changed his expression. We should bear misfortunes like bad weather, illness, or disease. Why can't we count the actions of wicked men among those accidents? Their plans aren't real counsel but frauds, traps, and wild impulses. They always have a thousand excuses and opportunities to harm someone. They have their informers and false witnesses. They can gain influence with powerful people. A person can be robbed by a judge just as easily as by a highway thief. They wait for opportunities and live in constant worry between hope and fear. But someone who is truly at peace will withstand all attacks—whether violence, flattery, or threats—without being disturbed. It's inner fear that makes us anxious about what we hear from the outside world.
It is an error to attribute either good or ill to Fortune; but the matter of it we may; and we ourselves are the occasion of it, being in effect the artificers of our own happiness or misery: for the mind is above fortune; if that be evil, it makes everything else so too; but if it be right and sincere, it corrects what is wrong, and mollifies what is hard, with modesty and courage. There is a great difference among those that the world calls wise men. Some take up private resolutions of opposing Fortune, but they cannot go through with them; for they are either dazzled with splendor on the one hand, or affrighted with terrors on the other; but there are others that will close and grapple with Fortune, and still come off victorious.
It's wrong to blame Fortune for either good or bad things. But we can blame the raw material of our lives on Fortune. We ourselves cause what happens to us. We are basically the creators of our own happiness or misery. The mind is more powerful than fortune. If the mind is evil, it makes everything else evil too. But if the mind is right and honest, it fixes what's wrong and softens what's hard through modesty and courage. There's a big difference among people the world calls wise. Some make private decisions to fight against Fortune, but they can't follow through. They get either dazzled by splendor on one side or frightened by terrors on the other. But there are others who will face Fortune head-on and grapple with it. They always come out victorious.
Mucius overcame the fire; Regulus, the gibbet; Socrates, poison; Rutilius, banishment; Cato, death; Fabricius, riches; Tubero, poverty; and Sextius, honors. But there are some again so delicate, that they cannot so much as bear a scandalous report; which is the same thing as if a man should quarrel for being jostled in a crowd, or dashed as he walks in the streets. He that has a great way to go must expect a slip, to stumble, and to be tired. To the luxurious man frugality is a punishment; labor and industry to the sluggard; nay, study itself is a torment to him; not that these things are hard to us by nature, but we ourselves are vain and irresolute; nay, we wonder many of us, how any man can live without wine, or endure to rise so early in a morning.
Mucius overcame the fire. Regulus overcame the gibbet. Socrates overcame poison. Rutilius overcame banishment. Cato overcame death. Fabricius overcame riches. Tubero overcame poverty. Sextius overcame honors. But some people are so delicate they can't even bear a scandalous report. This is like quarreling because someone jostled you in a crowd or splashed you while walking in the streets. Anyone with a long journey ahead must expect to slip, stumble, and get tired. To the luxurious man, frugality is punishment. Labor and hard work torment the lazy person. Even study itself becomes torture for him. These things aren't naturally hard for us. We make ourselves weak and indecisive. Many of us wonder how anyone can live without wine or bear to rise so early in the morning.
A brave man must expect to be tossed; for he is to steer his course in the teeth of Fortune, and to work against wind and weather. In the suffering of torments, though there appears but one virtue, a man exercises many. That which is most eminent is patience, (which is but a branch of fortitude.) But there is prudence also in the choice of the action, and in the bearing what we cannot avoid; and there is constancy in bearing it resolutely: and there is the same concurrence also of several virtues in other generous undertakings.
A brave person must expect to face challenges. They have to steer their course against Fortune's opposition and work against difficult conditions. When someone suffers torments, they may seem to show only one virtue, but they actually exercise many. The most obvious virtue is patience, which is just one part of courage. But there's also wisdom in choosing how to act and in enduring what we can't avoid. There's also steadiness in bearing hardship with determination. This same combination of several virtues appears in other noble undertakings as well.
When Leonidas was to carry his 300 men into the Straits of Thermopylæ, to put a stop to Xerxes’s huge army: “Come, fellow-soldiers,” says he, “eat your dinners here as if you were to sup in another world.” And they answered his resolution. How plain and imperious was that short speech of Cæditius to his men upon a desperate action! and how glorious a mixture was there in it both of bravery and prudence! “Soldiers,” says he, “it is necessary for us to go, but it is not necessary for us to return.” This brief and pertinent harangue was worth ten thousand of the frivolous cavils and distinctions of the schools, which rather break the mind than fortify it; and when it is once perplexed and pricked with difficulties and scruples, there they leave it. Our passions are numerous and strong, and not to be mastered with quirks and tricks, as if a man should undertake to defend the cause of God and man with a bulrush. It was a remarkable piece of honor and policy together, that action of Cæsar’s upon the taking of Pompey’s cabinet at the battle of Pharsalia: it is probable that the letters in it might have discovered who were his friends, and who his enemies; and yet he burnt it without so much as opening it; esteeming it the noblest way of pardoning, to keep himself ignorant both of the offender and of the offense. It was a brave presence of mind also in Alexander, who, upon advice that his physician Philip intended to poison him, took the letter of advice in one hand and the cup in the other; delivering Philip the letter to read while he himself drank the potion.
When Leonidas was about to lead his 300 men into the Straits of Thermopylae to stop Xerxes's huge army, he said, "Come, fellow soldiers, eat your dinners here as if you were going to have supper in another world." His men matched his determination. How direct and commanding was that short speech of Caeditius to his men before a desperate battle! What a glorious mix of bravery and wisdom it showed! "Soldiers," he said, "we must go, but we don't have to come back." This brief and fitting speech was worth ten thousand of the pointless arguments and hair-splitting of the schools, which confuse the mind rather than strengthen it. Once the mind gets tangled up with difficulties and doubts, that's where they leave it. Our emotions are many and powerful. They can't be controlled with clever tricks and word games, like trying to defend God and humanity with a reed. It was a remarkable act of both honor and smart politics when Caesar captured Pompey's personal papers at the battle of Pharsalia. The letters probably would have revealed who his friends and enemies were. Yet he burned them without even opening them. He thought the noblest way to forgive was to stay ignorant of both the wrongdoer and the wrong. Alexander also showed brave presence of mind when he was warned that his doctor Philip planned to poison him. He took the warning letter in one hand and the cup in the other. He gave Philip the letter to read while he drank the medicine himself.
Some are of opinion that death gives a man courage to support pain, and that pain fortifies a man against death: but I say rather, that a wise man depends upon himself against both, and that he does not either suffer with patience, in hopes of death, or die willingly, because he is weary of life; but he bears the one, and waits for the other, and carries a divine mind through all the accidents of human life. He looks upon faith and honesty as the most sacred good of mankind, and neither to be forced by necessity nor corrupted by reward; kill, burn, tear him in pieces, he will be true to his trust; and the more any man labors to make him discover a secret, the deeper will he hide it. Resolution is the inexpugnable defence of human weakness, and it is a wonderful Providence that attends it.
Some people believe that facing death gives a person courage to endure pain. They also think that suffering pain makes someone braver when facing death. But I disagree. A wise person relies on himself to handle both pain and death. He doesn't endure suffering patiently just because he hopes to die soon. He doesn't choose death simply because he's tired of living. Instead, he bears pain when it comes and waits for death when it's time. He keeps a godly mindset through all of life's hardships. He sees faith and honesty as humanity's most sacred treasures. These values can't be destroyed by force or bought with rewards. You can kill him, burn him, or tear him apart, but he will stay true to what he believes. The harder someone tries to make him reveal a secret, the deeper he will bury it. Strong resolve is the unbreakable shield that protects human weakness. It's amazing how Providence watches over such determination.
Horatius Cocles opposed his single body to the whole army until the bridge was cut down behind him and then leaped into the river with his sword in his hand and came off safe to his party. There was a fellow questioned about a plot upon the life of a tyrant, and put to the torture to declare his confederates: he named, by one and one, all the tyrant’s friends that were about him: and still as they were named, they were put to death: the tyrant asked him at last if there were any more. “Yes,” says he, “yourself were in the plot; and now you have never another friend left in the world:” whereupon the tyrant cut the throats of his own guards. “He is the happy man that is the master of himself, and triumphs over the fear of death, which has overcome the conquerors of the world.”
Horatius Cocles stood alone against an entire army until the bridge was destroyed behind him. Then he jumped into the river with his sword still in his hand and made it safely back to his own side. There was once a man who was questioned about a plot to kill a tyrant. They tortured him to make him reveal his accomplices. One by one, he named all the tyrant's friends who were close to him. As each name was given, that person was executed. Finally, the tyrant asked if there were any more conspirators. "Yes," the man said, "you were part of the plot too. Now you don't have a single friend left in the world." At this, the tyrant killed his own guards. "The happy man is one who controls himself and conquers the fear of death, which has defeated even the conquerors of the world."