I think that many people are ashamed when they feel afraid.

Eli Roth’s words resound with the quiet thunder of a truth that many deny: fear is not weakness, but a companion of existence. He speaks against the cruel law of society, that unwritten decree which tells men and women alike to hide their trembling hearts, to wear a mask of iron even when the soul quakes. In this, Roth unveils the burden of shame that grows like a shadow within us. For it is not the fear itself that destroys a person, but the shame of feeling it—of believing that to tremble is to fail.

In the days of the ancients, the poets and prophets knew that fear was woven into the fabric of mortality. The warrior who stood before battle and claimed he knew no fear was either a liar or a fool, for only the dead are beyond trembling. Yet society, in its hunger for strength, commands us to bury our human trembling beneath masks of stone. Roth reminds us that this command is not noble but cruel, for to live is to feel the winds of dread, and to deny this is to deny life itself.

Consider the tale of Alexander the Great, who, though crowned with victories, confessed in private letters that his heart often shook before great campaigns. Yet he did not let shame devour him. Instead, he acknowledged the weight of his fear, and through that acknowledgment found the fire to stride forward. His triumphs were not born of an absence of fear, but of courage—that golden virtue which is not the banishment of fear, but the mastery of it. Had he hidden his dread beneath denial, he might have been less than a conqueror: he might have been consumed by pride and broken in silence.

Roth’s words are thus not the musings of weakness, but a clarion call to authentic strength. For what is strength if not the endurance of trembling hearts? To feel fear is to be alive; to admit it is to be honest; to walk forward despite it is to be truly brave. Shame, however, chains the soul. Shame tells the young man that he must not weep, the mother that she must not tremble, the elder that he must not confess the weight of uncertainty. This silence is poison. It builds walls between human hearts, where compassion might have been born.

Let us look also to the lives of common folk. A miner descending into the dark earth, a mother watching her child cross a battlefield of illness, a refugee stepping onto unknown shores—all have known fear. And yet, when they shared their trembling, when they confessed their dread, they found not shame but solidarity. Others gathered around them, saying, “Yes, we too are afraid.” And in that sacred chorus, fear was not banished, but transformed into courage. For courage is a fire that many hearts can share, and its glow multiplies when spoken aloud.

Therefore, the teaching is clear: fear is not the enemy—shame is. To live without fear is impossible, but to live without shame is freedom. The wise learn to greet their trembling not with denial, but with open hands. Say unto your heart, “I am afraid, and it is well, for I am mortal. Yet I walk onward.” This is not cowardice, but the essence of valor. The ancients would call this harmony between spirit and struggle the path of the hero.

Let each who hears these words take them into daily life. When fear rises, speak it, if only in whispers to yourself or in trust to a friend. When another trembles, do not scorn them, but stand beside them as brother or sister. Replace the chains of shame with the bonds of compassion. In this way, fear will cease to be a lonely prison and will instead become the forge where courage is born.

Thus, Roth’s words are a lamp for all generations: do not be ashamed of your fear. Let it remind you that you live, that you strive, that you care enough to tremble. And then—rise. Rise with your fear, not against it. Rise, and let the trembling of your soul become the drumbeat of your courage.