From the last pages of my book - see Amazon
Now, as the tale has reached its end, it is fitting to explain the meaning behind the title, for within it lies a union of two profound notions: true man and last stand. In our time, when the shallow gleam of appearance and personality often eclipses the deeper virtue of character, some may be perplexed by the notion of true men. Likewise, those unfamiliar with military history and martial valour might fail to grasp the gravity of a last stand. Yet, these are no idle words. To understand their meaning is to pierce the heart of the story and glean a wisdom that lingers far beyond the recitation of events or the fleeting delight of mere entertainment.
Title: “… As Only True Men Can”
The concept of a true man should not be mistaken for a mere real man, a lesser shadow which speaks of traits associated with masculinity: virility, independence, ambition, dominance, discipline, strength of will, and strength of limb. A real man is the foundation for a true man. The manliness of true man lies not in the strength of his muscles but in the excellence of his character; a true man is defined by how he wields his masculinity — the virtues by which he fulfills his promises, proving himself true to his word.
The phrase true man derives from the Old English adjective trēowe, a word rich in meaning: loyal, honest, and trustworthy. A true man is bound not by chance but by choice, his heart committed to a cause by a sincere vow (solemn promise), and is then true to the cause — being true-blue, striving selflessly and resolutely for the good of the cause. A true man strives in good faith, with integrity and courage, to fulfill his promise; he is dependable, deserving of confidence and trustworthy. The truest man is the who stands firm even when fear and peril would make a lesser man crumble; he is a man of valour, a heroic man.
Subtitle: “Nikola Zrinski’s Last Stand at Sziget”
The men of Szigetvár did not only make a stand in the defence of the fort but made a last stand; one of the most valiant and honourable in military history. To understand the essence of a last stand, one must grasp the meaning of to make a stand. In a situation of conflict, when a person chooses a side and declares himself he takes a stand, and makes a stand when he holds his position, despite the tide of opposition, to defend what one believes to be right and just. It is an act of will, a choice to fight for a cause rather than flee.
A last stand is a stand made in the face of overwhelming odds. In military terms, when a military unit in a defensive position faces an overwhelming attacking force, it may retreat of surrender, or, motivated by great fighting spirit, it may choose to unleash all remaining strength, of body and spirit, in a final fight. Though the outcome is often grim, marked by heavy loss or annihilation, it is also a moment of transcendent valour — when defenders prefer to go down fighting, choosing honour over surrender, glory over retreat. In rare and wondrous tales, a last stand breaks the attacker's will, turning certain doom into miraculous victory.
Among the great last stands, history recounts:
Battle of Thermopylae, in 480 BC
Fall of Constantinople, in 1453
Stand of the Swiss Guard, during Sack of Rome, in 1527
Siege of the Alamo, in 1836
Battle of Chapultepec (Niños Héroes), in 1847
Battle of Camaron, in 1863
Battle of the Little Bighorn, or Custer's Last Stand, in 1876
Battle of Saragarhi, in 1897
Siege of Bastogne, in 1944
The siege of Sziget stands among these legendary last stands. Thus, in the title, “…As Only True Men Can,” lies a tribute to the excellence of character, not only of Zrinski but all the men that stood with him with loyalty and courage. Only true men have what it takes to make the ultimate sacrifice required for a last stand. The tale of these men, the truest of true, speaks to us across the ages, a reminder that greatness lies not in triumph alone but in unwavering fidelity to one's word, even in the shadow of doom.
Battle of Chapultepec (Niños Héroes)
Valour knows no borders, no bounds of time or place. Among the many stories of courage that history records, there is one that echoes from the high hill of Chapultepec, in the land of Mexico—a tale both sorrowful and splendid, yet little known beyond its borders. It is the tale of the Niños Héroes, the Boy Heroes, who made a final stand in the Mexican–American War. Following the annexation of Texas, in 1846 the American army attacked Mexico and battles were fought until Mexico’s defeat in 1848.
On August 7, 1847, the American army attacked Mexico City. By early September, the city lay beleaguered and the final struggle unfolded at Chapultepec Castle, a citadel perched upon a lofty hill and home to Mexico’s military academy. On the morning of September 13, the Americans launched their assault, a tide of soldiers crashing against the hill’s steep defences. Mexican troops fought valiantly at the base, but many fell, leaving the castle garrisoned mainly by teenaged cadets. For two hours, they withstood fierce attacks. When the tide turned, with the defenders overwhelmed, and the order for retreat sounded, six cadets, most between 13 and 17 years old, refused to flee. Bound by duty, honour, and love for their homeland, they resolved to fight to the very end.
As legends tell, cadet Juan Escutia (Juan Bautista Pascasio Escutia y Martínez), scarcely 20 years old, and a cadet for only five days, was tasked to protect the tower where the Mexican flag flew. Rather than surrender, and allow the flag to be desecrated by American hands, he chose to act in immortal defiance. Juan wrapped the flag about his body, and with five comrades by his side, leapt from the castle heights into death’s embrace — preserving the honor of their flag and the dignity of their cause.
In 1947, on the centennial of the battle, U.S. President Harry S. Truman visited Chapultepec Park and placed a wreath at the monument that honours the six cadets — the Niños Héroes. When asked why he had gone to the monument, Truman said: “Brave men don't belong to any one country. I respect bravery wherever I see it.”
Today, the Niños Héroes continue to be a part of Mexico's patriotic folklore, and their memory is enshrined in the Altar a la Patria (Altar to the Homeland), with the popular name Monumento a Los Niños Héroes (Monument to the Boy Heroes), a massive monument of six marble columns, standing at the entrance to Chapultepec Park, each bearing the remains of one of the boys. On September 13, a national holiday celebrates them.
Pietas - They did their duty honourably
History records the deeds of men: who did what, when, and to what end—but the heart of a tale lies in the why, the cause. It is the why that sets fire to men’s hearts to take up arms or endure hardship. In the first part of this tale, we glimpse at the will of Sultân Süleymân as he casts his gaze upon Szigetvár, a challenge to his might and a prize he seeks to take. In the second part, the stage turns to those who stand against him, though the odds are grim and the cost of defiance clear. Nikola Zrinski and his men do not abandon their post, and others, drawn by a kindred spirit, come to stand with them.
O reader, it is worth pondering: why did these men remain steadfast, to the bitter end, knowing that calamity was nigh? Why did they not abandon the fortress as reason might demand? Verily, therein lies a profound lesson, one worthy of our contemplation. To understand why they did what they did, we need to understand the worldview of that bygone era.
Nikola Zrinski, among the many, lived in a time of constant danger, in need of heroes, guided by ideals of duty and honour, fighting for God and Homeland —a culture of resolve unbroken by fear. Their ideals were based on Roman pietas (responsibility), and on Catholic piety (faithfulness). To us, the word pietas speaks of reverence for the divine, but in their age, its meaning ran deeper, entwining faithfulness with love, gratitude, and loyalty. Pietas was a binding duty to serve God, one’s parents, kin, and nation. To live by pietas was to embrace the fullness of humanitas, kindness to one’s fellow man, and to act with unwavering loyalty. A man possessed of pietas bore his responsibilities with dignity, fulfilling his duties to both Heaven and Earth.
To the ancient Romans, pietas stood among the great virtues of their Mos Maiorum (ancestral custom), the unwritten code of values from which social norms were derived. Alongside it stood fides (faithfulness), disciplina (discipline), gravitas (dignified self-control), and constantia (steadfastness). These were joined by religio (bond between man and God) and cultus (observance of rites). A man who lived by these virtues earned dignitas, a reputation of worth, and auctoritas, the esteem of his peers. In fulfilling these ideals, a true man attained virtus: the true essence of manly excellence.
O reader, let the deeds of these long lost men serve as role models. For though the world changes, the ancient virtues endure — may they guide us in times of difficulty — to act as only true men can.
On the nature of a ‘hero’
Croatian soldiers through Bosnian Osmanlı eyes
In the chronicles of the time, Haşan Kafi Pruščak, a kadı (Sharia judge) and philosopher, in his book “Nizam ul ‘Alem” (Ordering of the World), a political-moral treatise on the principles and art of good government, shows his admiration for the virtues by which the Croats live, foremost being their indomitable courage, and how they hold cowards in utter disdain. In addition he extols Croatian chivalry, which does not allow an unarmed or captured foe to be harmed, and the belief that a promise given must always be fulfilled. He advises his fellow Osmanlıs to learn from the Croats and to emulate their ways if they would triumph not only in battle but also in honour.
In the third part of his treatise, titled “On War”, Kafi writes:
“The brave man [knight, hero] is respected [dear to] even by his enemy, while the coward is despised by everyone, loathsome even to his own mother [even his own mother does not love him]. This is especially true on our lands at the borders of European Turkey [Rumelia] and Croatia. Verily, some infidel heroes, when they see valour in one of our soldiers, they admire [take a liking to, respect] him and praise [laud] him, and sometimes even send him a gift. If, however, they see cowardice in someone, they despise and ridicule [disparage] him. Often, in mockery, they send him something of women’s clothing [underwear] and adornments [apron].”
Other good advice given by Kafi, still relevant today, includes:
“The mind [thoughts, contemplation, ideas] can sharpen a dull sword,
but a sword cannot sharpen a dull mind.”
“Do not demean [underestimate, belittle, not give proper praise] the one with whom you fight! If you defeat him, you will not be able to celebrate [nothing commendable will be said about you], and if you do not defeat him, you will not be able to explain yourself.”
A tale of heroes
“In the voluminous annals of warfare there are few events marked by circumstances of a more romantic kind than those which occurred at the Siege of Sziget, in 1566.” - R. A. Davenport, “Narratives of Peril and Suffering”, 1840.
Of all the chronicles of war penned by men, this is my favourite introduction to the romance and tragedy of Nikola Zrinsk’s last stand at Szigetvár. When R.A. Davenport writes of the siege as being marked by “circumstances of a more romantic kind”, the word “romantic” evokes not fleeting passions of love, but the sublime eternal appeal of heroic deeds so grand, that they inspire awe. Such chivalric and dutiful heroism may, by the calculating mind, be deemed irrational or unrealistic but it moves the heart and endures in memory. The defenders of Sziget, when they could not achieve the impossible, chose to do the honourable. In doing so, they entered the annals of legend, not merely as warriors but as exemplars of romantic heroism—tragic yet glorious. To this day, we, the Croats and Magyars, revere them as icons of our shared spirit.
Timeless and treasured stories of heroes
The concept of the hero is as ancient as humanity itself. Across the ages, from the myths of the Egyptians, epics of the Greeks, chronicles of the Persians, to the sagas of Vikings, we find two enduring types of tales: those that tell of beginnings and those that celebrate the deeds of heroes. The latter offering not merely stories, but exemplars of the finest qualities humanity can offer, and what is possible to accomplish.
These stories of heroism endure, not merely because we are grateful for the sacrifices of our ancestors, or the pride we feel for being associated with them; they empower us in the present. Though centuries pass and the circumstances of life change, they remind us of what is possible when courage is tempered by conviction and action is guided by principle. Herein lies the power of heroism: it inspires. Such stories fuel the human spirit; lifting despair, and rekindling hope and courage in the face of the direst adversity.
To know what must be done is often simple; to do it requires strength of spirit. While pietas provides clarity, and a noble cause directs one’s efforts, the catalyst for action is courage — necessary for transforming thought into deed. Our heroes, living or remembered, by their admirable deeds, lift us up and embolden us, give optimism and hope, to face danger and uncertainty.
Changing concept of a heroism
This tale, as tales of heroism have throughout the ages, kindles the hearts of men, yet we must ask: what is a hero, and by what measure do we name one? Long has the definition of heroism has been clear and unambiguous — a hero was one who, by courage and noble purpose, faced danger or death for the benefit of others. In the mid-20th century, this understanding of a hero persisted, as seen in the straightforward definition: “a person noted for feats of courage or nobility of purpose, especially one who has risked or sacrificed his or her life for another”. During the following decades, as the concept of admiration grew in importance, the meaning shifted, its clarity becoming vaguer: “someone who has done something brave, new, or good, and who is therefore greatly admired by a lot of people.”
Today, we risk losing the true notion of the hero as writers and bloggers further vague-ify the definition of hero to include anyone that is idealized for doing something good or has superior qualities, abilities, or achievements. As more qualities are added to the definition, and more people qualify to be a hero, the laurel of heroism has been diluted, and its worth diminished.
The admirable and the heroic
The title of hero, once reserved for the selfless and courageous, is now applied to even role models — those who excel in fields of personal achievement, be they champion athletes, renowned artists, business magnates who possess vast wealth, or politicians with great power. It is right to admire excellence, for the prowess and determination required, but where lies the selfless sacrifice? Success in one’s field, however great, often serves the self rather than others, lacking the element of sacrifice that defines true heroism. Now ponder: is the athlete, whose triumph stirs the jubilation of a crowd, worthy of the hero’s mantle merely for scoring the winning point?
There are others still—those of noble intent, who pour out wealth and effort to aid the needy. Their deeds are generous, their hearts magnanimous, and their actions far surpass expectations, but seldom do they face peril; seldom do they hazard life and limb for others' sake. Are they, then, heroes in truth, or merely noble souls?We can ask: While people that are champions, wealthy, powerful or noble, the exemplars of success, are admirable, should they be honoured as heroes? No. The distinction must be drawn with care: while all heroes are admirable, not all the admirable are heroes. A hero, in the classical sense, is admired for courage in the face of danger, demonstrated willingly in an action, for a noble selfless cause. Once again, for emphasis - a hero is defined by courageous action in a noble cause. Thus, for willingly facing danger for the benefit of another, a hero is celebrated as the most honoured of admirable people.
The best definition of classical heroism may be in the words of Colonel Robert Green Ingersoll, who, in 1882, while speaking about the heroes of the American Civil War, said:
“When the will defies fear, when the heart applauds the brain,
when duty throws the gauntlet down to fate, when honour scorns
to compromise with death—this is heroism.”
It is this willingness to face peril for the benefit of others that distinguishes a hero from the merely admirable. A unique characteristic of heroism is that the action need not be successful to be admired because it is the courage to act, despite the odds, that is celebrated as worthy of honour — a person may fail or die and still be honoured as a hero. The greater the danger faced, and the nobler the cause, the more exalted the honour bestowed.
Another comment Colonel R. G. Ingersoll said about patriotism and heroism that is worth remembering:
“He loves his country best who strives to make it best. The bravest men are those who have the greatest fear of doing wrong. Mere politicians wish the country to do something for them. True patriots desire to do something for their country. Courage without conscience is a wild beast. Patriotism without principle is the prejudice of birth, the animal attachment to place. These men, these women, had courage and conscience, patriotism and principle, heart and brain.”
The classic hero
To rediscover the classic hero of old, we must journey back in time to when the archetype of the hero stood untarnished. In the early 20th century, psychologist Carl Jung, founder of analytical psychology, in his theory of the human psyche, spoke of the hero as one of the most respected primal archetypes etched in our collective unconscious. According to Jung, the inborn hero archetype (champion, defender, rescuer) is:
“The ideal masculine type that strives to be strong, not to conquer but to improve the world by providing protection and justice. The hero proves his worth through expert mastery and courageous acts against powerful forces. The greatest fear of the hero is being a coward, weak and vulnerable.”
The roots hero run deep. Over 4,000 years ago, in Proto-Indo-European, our ancestors spoke of a hero with the word *ser-, meaning “to watch over, protect”. In Latin, seruāre means to keep safe or preserve. In Greek, hērōs means protector or defender. On the opposite side of the ancient world, the Chinese word for hero, yīngxióng, united the symbols yīng, meaning wit and wisdom, and xióng, meaning power and bravery. Their heroes were emperors who united lands, cunning strategists who achieved victories, and individuals who sacrificed themselves for their values and the welfare of their community.
Across cultures, these words reveal a consistent truth: a hero is one who embodies strength for the good of all, embodying the qualities of a warrior, protector, or saviour. At its heart, the concept of a hero is: “a person who performs a heroic act.” And what, then, is such an act? It is marked by four common elements, as ancient and unyielding as the stones of a fortress:
Intent
-- Noble: the act is rooted in moral purpose, selfless and free from thought of reward.
-- Volition: the act must arise from free will, demonstrating the character of the actor.
Action
-- Courageous: the actor willing departs from safety to face danger, risking personal harm.
-- Extraordinary: the act must be exceptional, bold, and beyond the ordinary.
These elements of intent and action may be envisioned as the four sides of a square. Only an act that fits within these bounds can rightfully be deemed heroic, and the one who performs it, deserves the title of respect — hero. Courage: A vital element of heroic action
Noble and extraordinary deeds may be deemed admirable, but for heroic action to arise, courage must intertwine with the noble cause. Without peril—whether physical, social, or financial—there exists no trial of courage, and thus no opportunity for heroism. Let us, delve into the nature of courage itself, for it is the very heart of valorous deeds and the father of all action.
Philosophers of old, Plato the Athenian and Cicero the Roman, spoke of the cardinal virtues: justice, prudence, temperance, and courage. Prudence, they said, is the mother of all virtues, for it discerns the path of righteousness and wisdom. Yet prudence alone cannot bring forth justice, that exalted state of harmony and fairness. No—justice requires action, and action cannot proceed unless courage, the father of virtue, calls it forth. Without courage, prudence remains idle, and the finest intentions falter into impotence.
Many are those who perceive harm and injustice in this world. They speak eloquently of remedies, yet their words turn to dust for lack of action. It is not ignorance that binds them, but the absence of courage.
True courage is not the absence of fear, for fear is the shadow of danger. Rather, it is the mastery of fear: the will to rise up and act despite the dread of death, sting of loss, or the shame of failure. Courage stands as a golden mean between two extremes—on one side, cowardice, which recoils from duty, and on the other, recklessness, which rushes headlong without wisdom. Thus, we honour the truly courageous, but we pity the coward and rue the fool.
In understanding courage, one must discern what it is not. Tasks of toil and endurance require strength, resolve, and resilience, yet these alone do not amount to courage. Success in hard work, requires skill, discipline and endurance, but not courage. It is when danger looms—when the heart trembles and the spirit falters—that courage becomes the vital spark. As the diagram illustrates, at that threshold where fear rises, heroism begins.
Opposite of a hero
To appreciate the hero, one who acts courageously for a noble cause, we must also contemplate his antithesis —the man that does not act or acts ignobly.
Intent: While the hero acts nobly, for the benefit of others, a villain acts ignobly and, in benefiting himself, harming others and sowing injustice. For harming the common good, the villain, acting either by malice or a misguided cause, receives scorn and contempt.
Action: While the hero acts courageously, others choose not to act, either because they are cowards that recoil before danger, or, are shirkers that avoid their duty by willful evasion. Cowards and shirkers, are recipients of disdain.
The opposite of nobility is ignoble intent— not honourable, morally bad, in character or purpose. While a hero acts for the benefit of others, the opposite acts selfishly, ignobly, bringing harm or injustice to others. Those who act in ways that oppose the common good are regarded as scoundrels, criminals, or villains, toward whom society often feels justified contempt or scorn.
The opposite of action is inaction, which, depending on its cause, also evokes moral judgment. A person who fails to act out of fear or a lack of courage is labeled a coward, while someone who deliberately avoids responsibility or action is considered a shirker. Both cowards and shirkers are often met with disdain, as their refusal to act may perpetuate harm or injustice.
Not all inaction is judged adversely. Victims, who suffer harm at the hands of villains, are generally not judged adversely for their suffering because confronting a powerful wrong-doer requires a level of ability and courage that is beyond what is reasonable to expect —possibly foolhardy. Though deserving of our sympathy, victims cannot be celebrated as heroes simply for enduring suffering — for heroism demands action, even if only the attempt. Victims who rise against the wrong-doers, fighting not just for themselves but to end the victimization of others, ascend to the highest level of hero.
Unfortunately, villains will always be a part of our story; that is an unfortunate element of human nature. As long as villains act against the common good, heroes are needed; as the oft-quoted adage reminds us: “The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.”
Becoming a hero
While some become heroes in an instant during an emergency, most heroes emerge by small steps—through the slow transformation of desire into deeds. Few act on their convictions, even when witnessing wrongdoing. Instead, most live as passive victims of injustice, lamenting their suffering without rising to end it. Becoming a hero requires more than recognizing injustice; it demands the conviction to confront it.
The first step toward heroism is identifying a problem. While many can recognize problems, few take the first decisive step, better described as a leap, toward committing to a cause to solve the problem. Moving from inaction to action is no small feat. It requires effort, courage, and a willingness to be publicly associated with the cause—an act that carries its own social risks. Early efforts often involve supporting those who act, aligning oneself with the cause from a safe distance. However, as passion and confidence grow, commitment becomes easier, courage strengthens, and passive involvement evolves into direct action.
Action begets action. Small deeds, once hesitant, gradually become resolute. What began as cautious engagement blossoms into fearless dedication as confidence takes root. These many small steps prepare the ground for opportunities for true heroism. When such an opportunity arises—when the danger of inaction outweighs the risk of action—a man who truly cares about the cause, or people, will be compelled to act heroically, and the man who was once ordinary ascends to extraordinary heights.
The secret ingredient: Love. Heroism is love in action, manifested through courage and selfless action.. This love is not the lesser passionate romantic kind but the highest form of love, known as Agape. This love differs from storge (familial love), philia (love of friends), and eros (passionate love). Agape is unconditional, it is the love that shows true empathy and has a deep commitment for the welfare of others or to a higher cause. Agape love is willing to sacrifice for the other. Without love, is sacrifice possible?
Those who care about nothing have no possibility of acting
—and therefore, no possibility of becoming heroes.
"Badass”, more than a hero
While most people rarely do anything heroic, some are remembered for their fleeting moments of valour, and a rare few live lives defined by exceptional bravery and resolute action. Among such men, who stood firm at the edge of empires, were Nikola Zrinski and his borderland warriors, who acted above and beyond all expectations. They were the truest of men, who, even without orders from their king, waged relentless battles against the Osmanlı enemy. Their valour defined the Hajduk and Uskok spirit—freedom fighters celebrated by generations to come. Their heroism was extraordinary, almost mythical; indeed, their courage and resolve reached such heights that words fail to capture their essence. Even among warriors, who measure one another in steel and blood, they stood apart, men whom other heroes revered.
It is no easy matter to find a word that does justice to such men. Limited by proper language, let us borrow from the rough parlance of modern times—for badass is the closest word that captures their spirit. A true badass is not merely strong in body but in character, conviction, and courage. This is a tough man who fights not because he must, or by fleeting bravado, but because the cause demands it. To a badass, shirking responsibility when the moment calls for action is unthinkable—it is dishonourable.
True badasses possess qualities revered across cultures: strength (valour) and honour (chivalry) - such men are rare in any age. Consider the words of Haşan Kafi Pruščak, a Bosnian sage and kadı (judge), who praised above all else the qualities of hamâset (valour) and mürüvvet (perfect humanity, honour). To possess one without the other— valour without virtue—is to be no better than a tyrant, unworthy of praise. Such men, rare in any age, not arrogant or brutish but principled and honourable, live on in the tales we tell.
The modern age offers us icons that distill these virtues, men like John Wayne, Charles Bronson, and Clint Eastwood, who are shadows of Zrinski and his warriors. For these men of cinema were archetypes of feo, fuerte y formal, as the Mexicans say—ugly, strong, and dignified. They were not vain peacocks but men who embraced their nature, unyielding in spirit, and ever trustworthy in word and deed. As John Wayne once declared: “I define manhood simply: men should be tough, fair, and courageous, never petty, never looking for a fight, but never backing down from one either.”
Nikola Zrinski and his brethren were the greatest of badasses, men who embodied this creed long before the phrase was uttered. They were respected as allies and feared as foes.
