Either Or. This or That. Yes/No. The Lady or the Tiger. Every choice calls for sacrifice, but some also ask for suicide. “A beautiful death”, as they said in Sparta.
But there’s no romance in being an ass. There’s no worse way to drown than under a wave of righteousness. The martyr’s choice is often a fool’s one. For what looks heroic on the surface can be very lonely, filled with self doubts and a hands-tied, scrotum-scratching urge to be someone else. The support of the acolytes and well wishers rarely reaches the saint at the stakes, and the concern pounding his ears is largely the fear of smelling his own bacon, one that’s always a matchstick too late. True, a sage is revered, but largely in posterity. Or is the word ‘posthumously’?
Often a seer can be blind, and a sometimes a pawn. And that rhymes with ‘moron’.