They were afraid, never having learned what I taught myself:

“They were afraid, never having learned what I taught myself: Defeat the fear of death and welcome the death of fear.” Thus spoke G. Gordon Liddy, a man both notorious and disciplined, whose life, though marked by controversy, carried a lesson carved from the marrow of courage itself. In these words lies a philosophy older than empires — the eternal struggle between man and fear. For every age must face it, and every soul must decide: shall fear be master or servant? Shall one die many times in dread, or once in truth?

Liddy’s declaration is born from the crucible of his own testing. He was a man who, in his youth, sought to conquer the greatest tyrant of all — fear itself. He taught himself to hold his hand over an open flame, to feel pain and yet not yield, to train his will as others train their bodies. This was not the recklessness of a fool, but the ritual of a man determined to live as his own sovereign. When he later faced disgrace, imprisonment, and the ruin of his name, he endured without surrender, for he had already slain the enemy within. His lesson was not about politics or pride, but about mastery of the spirit.

To defeat the fear of death is the first freedom, for all other fears are born from it. The fear of loss, of pain, of failure — all are but shadows cast by the final fear. The ancients knew this well. The Stoic philosopher Epictetus taught that no man is free who fears death, for he who fears death will serve anyone who promises to delay it. But he who accepts mortality stands unshaken, for no threat can bind him. Death, he said, is not the enemy; it is part of the law of nature, as sunrise and sunset are. Thus, when a man no longer trembles before the inevitable, he becomes ungovernable by terror.

History itself offers proof. Consider Socrates, who drank the cup of poison with calm hands, speaking gently to his weeping disciples. His body would die, but his courage would live forever. In that moment, he showed the world that the death of fear is greater than the fear of death. Or recall the Spartans at Thermopylae, who stood against countless foes not because they expected victory, but because they had conquered the dread of dying. To them, death was not defeat, but fulfillment — a final act of obedience to honor. Such men cannot be enslaved, for they are already free.

Yet let us be clear: to welcome the death of fear is not to seek danger recklessly, nor to worship pain. It is to train the soul until fear no longer rules it. Fear is a teacher when young, but a tyrant if left unchallenged. It warns us of peril, but it must never dictate the terms of our life. The wise do not kill fear by denial, but by facing it until it loses its fangs. The man who runs from fear will be pursued forever; the one who turns and walks through it will find peace on the other side.

Liddy’s teaching, then, is one of liberation. He speaks to those who shrink before risk, who dream but do not dare. He reminds us that the greatest prisons have no walls — they are built from our own anxieties. To live fully is to walk daily through small deaths: the death of comfort, the death of hesitation, the death of timidity. Each time we do, we rise more alive, more unafraid. For courage is not the absence of fear, but its mastery; and he who has welcomed the death of fear walks through life as a warrior, calm even in the storm.

So, my children, remember this: fear is the gate through which all greatness must pass. Do not curse it, but confront it. Learn as Liddy did — not to silence fear, but to strip it of power. When you feel it rising in your chest, breathe deeply and stand firm, for that moment is your forge. Speak truth when your voice trembles, act when your hands shake, and love even when you may lose. In doing so, you will have conquered death before it comes, and found in its place the unshakable joy of the fearless heart.

For in the end, to defeat the fear of death is to begin truly to live. And to welcome the death of fear is to know at last what freedom tastes like — the freedom not from death, but from the dread that steals life long before the body falls. Let that be your inheritance, your armor, and your song.