Men may rise on stepping stones of their dead selves to higher

Zane Grey, teller of frontier tales and chronicler of rugged souls, declared with timeless gravity: “Men may rise on stepping stones of their dead selves to higher things.” These words, though simple, strike at the very heart of human growth. They remind us that in order to ascend, we must leave behind former versions of ourselves—weaknesses, failures, follies, and even past victories. Each old self must fall away, so that a truer, stronger self may take its place.

The meaning of this saying is that transformation requires sacrifice. Every man carries within him habits and desires that no longer serve his purpose. These must die, as surely as autumn leaves fall to make room for spring. The path to greatness is not smooth, but paved with the dead selves of what we once were. Each misstep, each failure, each conquered fear becomes a stepping stone on which we may climb to greater heights. Without such deaths, there can be no resurrection into higher being.

The origin of this wisdom flows from the struggles of Grey’s own characters—pioneers, wanderers, and outcasts who endured the wilderness of the West. In their journeys, they shed fear, cowardice, and despair, remaking themselves with each trial. Yet the truth is older still. It echoes in the myths of every age: the hero must die to his old self before he can ascend. Odysseus, stripped of pride and tested by suffering, returns home wiser; Siddhartha, abandoning his life of pleasure, rises as the Buddha. Always the same pattern: the old self dies, the higher self is born.

History gives us vivid examples. Consider Abraham Lincoln, who in his youth was prone to bouts of failure, melancholy, and political defeat. Time and again, his ambitions were crushed. Yet each failure became a stepping stone, each dead self of disappointment laid beneath his feet. From them, he rose, until in the fires of civil war he stood as a towering figure of resolve, guiding a nation through its darkest trial. Without the deaths of those earlier selves, the Lincoln of destiny could never have been.

So too in the life of Nelson Mandela. Once a fiery young revolutionary, he was cast into prison for twenty-seven years. There, the angry self who sought vengeance died, and a wiser self was born—patient, disciplined, and resolute. When at last he emerged, he did not call for blood, but for reconciliation. Thus he rose, on the stepping stones of his own past selves, to become the father of a new South Africa.

O children of tomorrow, take this lesson deep into your souls: do not cling to your former selves. Let the parts of you that no longer serve truth and growth fall away. Do not mourn them, for their death is not your end, but your beginning. Each time you stumble, each time you fail, see in it not a grave but a stone upon which you may climb.

Therefore, the teaching is clear: rise upon your dead selves. Let your weaknesses become strength, your failures become wisdom, your sorrows become compassion. Use them as stepping stones to ascend to higher things—justice, honor, courage, love. For life is not meant to leave us unchanged. It is meant to refine us, to strip away what is lesser, so that what is greater may endure.

Thus Zane Grey’s words endure as a beacon: “Men may rise on stepping stones of their dead selves to higher things.” Let them remind you that every death within you is a birth, every ending a beginning, and every fall a chance to climb again. To rise is not to escape the past, but to build upon it, until the summit of your being is reached.