Never despair, but if you do, work on in despair.

“Never despair, but if you do, work on in despair.” Thus spoke Edmund Burke, the great orator of England, whose words ring with the iron of endurance. At first, his counsel seems harsh, even merciless: to command the heart not only to endure but to labor beneath the heaviest shadow. Yet within these words lies a profound truth of the ancients: that the soul is not measured in times of joy, but in the fire of despair, when hope itself has fled. To work on in despair is to declare that even when light fails, the flame of duty, of action, of will, must not be extinguished.

The ancients often praised fortitude as the highest of virtues. For courage in battle, wisdom in counsel, justice in rule—all these shine brightly when fortune is kind. But in the night of despair, when every voice whispers “give up,” it is fortitude alone that keeps a man walking forward. Burke does not deny despair—he acknowledges that it will come, for no mortal escapes it. But he teaches that even then, we must not abandon our work. The hands must labor though the heart is heavy; the path must be walked though the spirit falters. In this, he reminds us that action itself can become the cure for sorrow.

Consider the story of Winston Churchill in the darkest days of the Second World War. Britain stood nearly alone, bombed from the skies, threatened by invasion, surrounded by despair. Many counseled surrender, many whispered that all was lost. Churchill himself was no stranger to black moods of the soul. Yet he commanded his people to work on in despair: to fight in the fields, in the streets, in the skies. His strength was not that he felt no despair, but that he labored through it, carrying a weary nation forward until brighter days dawned. Thus Burke’s words were lived in history, and despair was turned into defiance.

There is a paradox in this teaching. To never despair is an ideal, a star to guide by. Yet when despair descends—as it will—Burke bids us to keep moving. For despair becomes unbearable only when it leads to paralysis. When the hands grow idle, the darkness swallows the soul. But when the hands remain busy, even with trembling, despair is weakened. Work becomes the rope that ties us to life, holding us steady until hope returns.

O children of the future, do not think that despair is shameful. It is the common fate of all mortals. Heroes, saints, and leaders alike have bowed beneath its weight. The shame lies not in despairing, but in surrendering to it. The strong are not those who never break, but those who, even broken, continue to build. Remember this: to labor in despair is itself an act of courage, and courage will always carve a path to dawn.

The lesson is clear: when despair comes, do not wait idly for it to pass. Let your hands move, let your voice speak, let your steps continue. Write when you feel there is no reason, work when you feel the work is worthless, rise when every part of you wishes to remain lying down. In time, the rhythm of action will carry you beyond despair, just as the weary traveler finds strength again once the first steps are taken.

Practically, let each person do this: when despair visits, choose one task—however small—and complete it. Let that task become the anchor that keeps you from drifting. Then choose another, and another, until movement itself restores hope. Keep a list of duties that matter, and cling to them like a sailor to wreckage in the storm. For when despair would drown you, the smallest act of perseverance may keep you afloat until the seas grow calm.

Thus remember Burke’s words: “Never despair, but if you do, work on in despair.” Etch them upon your heart. For despair is not the end of the road, but the night through which the traveler must pass. And if you keep walking, even through that night, you will one day see the sunrise again.