The argument I will make is this: we ought assess our lives and navigate them through the lens of our own death, not life—not because death is greater than life, but becuase through death life becomes greater. Below are four points of explanation and argumentation as to why.
1. Death Detaches the Temporary from the Eternal
“Live every moment like it’s your last,” “you only live once (YOLO),” “carpe diem (seize the day),” “live like you’re dying,” “life is short, make it sweet”—these are among the most inspiring proverbs. One morning, after years of working the same successful job, I read in an article, “Live every moment like it’s your last” and “live like you’re dying.” These prompted me to quit that job, vowing never to work again and to spend every day with family and friends, convinced it was my final day. Not long after, as I was spending what I thought was my final day with friends and family, I saw a home decor sign that said “YOLO,” another that read “carpe diem,” and yet another that declared, “life is short, make it sweet.” Then I realized it likely wasn’t my last day, and I should go out and make the most of life. Hmm, I thought, where do I go to make the most of life? Well, I got a job that paid well so that every weekend I could go out, have as much fun as possible, and try to squeeze in everything I wanted to do. After all, I won’t live forever, and there’s no better time than the present. Live, laugh, love! I’m glad I reoriented my life from living like I was dying, for now I’m truly living.
The aforementioned adages emphasizes a sense of finitude, yet they are evidently uninspiring and vapid. They try to get at the right idea in emphasizing that your life will come to an end, but offer no boundaries or direction on what to do with this limited time. On the contrary, to view life through any of these lenses could be nothing short of inebriating.
Consider this Latin phrase, though: Memento Mori—remember you must die. Originating in Roman culture and popularized in medieval Christianity, this notion transcends creed or culture, for this is the proper, fertile lens of death. The petrifying internalization that you are no more immortal than anyone else, which means there will be a time, if you are lucky, that you will look back at your life and assess it through the natural force of death. “Teach us to number our days,” writes Moses, “that we may gain a heart of wisdom” (Psalm 90:12). There is no lens clearer, more ruthless, like Diomedes enthused by Athena on the battlefield of Troy, discerning mortals from immortals. Likewise, our vision will become supernaturally focused on what is lasting—our souls, others’ souls, our ideas—from what is temporary—our possessions, our status, our comfort. In Plato’s Symposium, a dialogue discussing the nature of love, we gather an idea that humanity ought to strive for a kind of immortality, not exactly a denial of one’s mortality. One of Socrates’ mentors, Diotima, advances putting our efforts toward things that are eternal, and that when our bodies are expired, there are markers that will remain. This, she argues, is the essence of love: your soul, others’ souls, God—all eternal entities. Even creative contributions, she argues. When you create, you leave behind something that lasts longer than you. Create ideas, music, relationships, babies, poetry, laws, conversations, technology, etc. So invest in these lasting, eternal affairs. Death separates the wheat from the chaff; it naturally categorizes that which is temporary from that which is eternal. The Stoics particularly got this notion right. Greek Stoic philosopher Epictetus writes, “Let death and exile, and all other things which appear terrible, be daily before your eyes, but death above all, and you will never entertain an abject thought, nor too eagerly covet anything.” I’m not here to argue that this will give you more fulfillment than that because of this or that reason, or because this person said so. It’s so often repeated that material possessions don’t matter; we take that, say thanks, and move on with our day. My first argument is simple: there is something inherent within all of us, as if we were made in the image of a higher good, that realizes what pursuits were fulfilling and which ones weren’t. So when scripture advises us not to store up treasures on earth, or some self-help book tells us the proper way to orient our life, or because of what some philosopher systematically detailed as the steps to achieve a flourishing life, it’s not because this is what you’re told to be good, it’s not some theory of ethics, but rather what you will deem to have been important, good, beautiful, and fulfilling. And that is the assumption I will proceed under. An assumption, of course, for I’m not on my deathbed. But when nearly every philosophy, celebrity, novelist, and religion unite on this point, it might be something to consider.
If only we could put ourselves in our deathbed before we get there. Ah, but we can. And we must. Memento Mori. Such is the very claim of Leo Tolstoy’s The Death of Ivan Ilyich, that material possessions and status don’t bring fulfillment. And despite us being constantly surrounded by death—family, friends, pets, movies, etc.—we don’t actually internalize it will happen to us. So when death manifests as a mirror, where Ivan Ilyich gets so close that while he’s looking forward, he can see all that’s behind him, in contrite candor, he notes, “It is not so much that I am not prepared; it is that I did not live as I ought to have done.” Heed not sever oneself from death.
Martin Heidegger, a 20th-century German philosopher, argues in Being and Time that facing our inevitable death—what he calls Being-toward-death—awakens us to live authentically. By recognizing death as our ownmost and certain possibility, we are shaken free from the distractions of “the they,” the everyday social norms that keep us absorbed in idle pursuits. Instead, we are called to take ownership of our finite existence and live with a sense of urgency and responsibility, focusing on what genuinely matters to us rather than fleeting gains. In this way, the awareness of death is not morbid but a way of disclosing life’s meaning. Renaissance philosopher Michel de Montaigne reinforces this idea: “To begin depriving death of its greatest advantage over us, let us deprive death of its strangeness, let us frequent it, let us get used to it; let us have nothing more often in mind than death.” We must not wait for death to be around the corner to convince ourselves of its personal reality, but anticipate it and its pitiless judgment.
“Break your attachment from the temporary for the eternal.” – The Future You
2. Death Spotlights Deficiences
Our days and hours our limited. Prioritization of activities is a task every individual must confront. I’m not here to tell you that creating bonds with friends is a more fulfilling activity than your job, so the fact that you spend sixty hours a week working and only five hours a week with friends is evidence you are living an unbalanced, unfulfilled life. Ideally, one might want spend eight hours a day working, eight hours a day with friends, eight hours a day with their spouse, eight hours a day on a hobby, and eight hours a day to rest, but again, our days and hours are limited.
Every individual has a different life, with different gifts, different callings, and are in different seasons of life. What I do think, however, is that the lens of death shows us where we are lacking, which will indirectly assist with areas we are over emphasizing. Now say I lived under the moto of YOLO. There is no prioritization besides what I deem important. Well, if I want to write a book, I’d better spend most of my time doing that, ignoring time with my family. And years later, when I lie on my deathbed, I will look back and ask myself, “Were you a family man?” “No,” death says. Life and reason may promote a surplus of good, but death spotlights deficiencies.
3. Death Urges One to Act Now
There are areas of life that come naturally to us, and these are unique to each individual. Lending a helping hand might come naturally to one person, while putting in hard work toward their job might come naturally to another. Connecting with others might come naturally to one, while brushing off life’s difficulties might come naturally to another. There are areas of life we might desire for ourselves, but the effort to bring them to fruition just doesn’t come naturally. For one reason or another, we don’t see the ultimate benefit of pursuing them in the moment. And before you know it, the areas of your life that you desire but don’t come naturally have slipped away.
So, the person who wanted to give money to the church or charity but found the budget too tight ends up dying as someone who kept all their money to themselves. The person who wanted to get their body in shape but found the hunger too painful ends up dying as someone who was never in the shape they wanted to be. The person who admired those who could generate fruitful conversations with others on the spot but always saw the moment as inconsequential or daunting ends up dying as someone who always kept to themselves. The person who wanted to stop talking badly behind others’ backs but found the thrill of sharing too exciting and self-aggrandizing ends up dying as someone who did just that. The person who dreamed of putting their talents to use and inspiring others but always postponed it for a more reasonable time ends up dying as someone who left nothing behind. The person who wanted to reconcile with a family member or friend after years of distance but waited for the “right time” ends up dying as someone who never cared enough to reach out. The person who wanted to stand up for others when injustice showed itself but feared looking foolish ends up dying as someone who prioritized their self-image. The person who longed to grow closer to God but always felt too tired or too self-conscious of what others would think ends up dying as someone who trivialized God. The person who wanted to love their spouse more intentionally but kept getting distracted with work ends up dying as someone who valued work more than their spouse.
“You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes” (James 4:14). By putting ourselves in the future to think back on ourselves, we’re inspired to act now so we don’t become the person we didn’t want to be. In other words, seeming inconveniences—those moments that disrupt our routines or pull us from our immediate desires—can transform into opportunities.
4. Death Fosters Courage & Peace
Consider the times when you’re leading up to a big opportunity, and it makes you extremely nervous. Time slows down, and you don’t even like thinking about it unless you have to prepare for it. You finish the circumstance, and if it goes well, you think, “That wasn’t so bad.” And if it goes wrong or not as you wanted or not according to plan, and one month or even five years pass, you can look back without that cringing feeling in your stomach and say, “Man, I regret doing that, but I learned.” Or, “That sucked, but I would have had more regret not having tried than the transient feeling of disappointment.” It takes courage to step into things. It really does. Just because one person can do something naturally doesn’t mean you can, and it takes courage to put yourself out there. If we look at life from the present to the future, there’s not a lot of security. But if you can view life from its end, backward, just like you can look back on things in your own life, you gain a sense of confidence that things will be okay. The armies of the ancient world would go into battle with their swords, knowing very well that they might die. How? They lived in a culture that accepted their own death as an inevitability and could sit at their end, look back, and prioritize their service over cowardice and comfort. We see this in cultures today, even if for evil intentions. Radical terrorists and kamikazes end their lives for what they see as good. But also for good, consider Christ, who brutally gave His life, not because He understood in the moment, but because He had faith He could look back and know it was worth it. Again, ethics is not my present focus, but a kind of inherency to the human condition that knows when its being oriented properly.
Our culture wants to always look forward from the present. What will happen next in politics? How will this interview go? How will this family confrontation go? How will this presentation go? How will I make ends meet? Having courage and peace in the present is found by putting yourself past the event and looking back. You’ve surrendered the results and can now live in the present and not be thrown off because you’ve looked through the lens of death, where status, possessions, and comfort fade away. There will be a day, as death approaches that you yourself will one day not care about your status, your social standing, how you looked, whether or not you had less money than you imagined for yourself, or what this one person thought of you. Gaze through that lens all of your days.