People fear death the same way children fear the dark. Just as children’s fears grow with ghost stories, so does our fear of death when surrounded by dramatic tales and rituals. Thinking of death as the result of sin or as a passage to another world can feel sacred and profound. But fearing death as an unavoidable part of nature? That’s a weakness. Even in religious reflections on death, vanity and superstition often sneak in.
Some religious texts suggest imagining extreme physical pain to understand death. For instance, they ask you to think about how much it hurts when just the tip of your finger is crushed, and then imagine the entire body enduring such pain as it dies. But this comparison is flawed. In reality, death often brings less pain than the torture of a single limb because the body’s most vital parts are not the most sensitive.
The philosopher Seneca said it well: “The pomp of death frightens us more than death itself.” Things like groans, convulsions, pale faces, mourning friends, black clothing, and funerals make death seem terrifying. But it’s worth noting that no emotion is so weak that it can’t overcome the fear of death. Revenge, for instance, triumphs over death; love dismisses it; honor embraces it; grief seeks it; and fear anticipates it. Even pity, the gentlest of feelings, has driven people to die out of loyalty. After Emperor Otho’s suicide, many followers killed themselves simply out of compassion for their fallen leader.
Seneca also noted that boredom with life can lead to death. He said: “Consider how long you’ve been doing the same things over and over. One can wish for death not just out of courage or misery but simply out of weariness.”
It’s equally fascinating how little death changes those with strong spirits. They remain themselves right to the end. Augustus Caesar, for instance, died with a gracious farewell: “Livia, remember our marriage. Live well and goodbye.” Tiberius, ever the actor, maintained his deception to the end, as Tacitus said: “Tiberius’s strength and body failed before his pretense did.” Vespasian joked on his deathbed, “I think I’m becoming a god.” Galba died with dignity, saying, “Strike, if it benefits the Roman people.” Septimus Severus, focused on efficiency, called out, “Come, if there’s anything left for me to do.”
The Stoics overcomplicated death, spending so much effort preparing for it that they made it seem more frightening. It’s better, as Marcus Aurelius put it, to see life’s end as one of nature’s gifts. Dying is as natural as being born, and for a newborn, birth might be just as painful as death is for the dying.
A person who dies while passionately pursuing something worthwhile hardly feels the sting of death, much like a soldier wounded in the heat of battle barely feels their injury. A focused and determined mind can dull the pains of death. But above all, the most beautiful way to face death is with fulfillment, having achieved meaningful goals and lived a worthy life. This is the essence of the song “Nunc Dimittis” (the Song of Simeon), a celebration of life completed with purpose.
Death also brings a unique gift: it opens the door to lasting fame and extinguishes envy. As Horace wrote, “The same man, once dead, will be loved.” In death, even one’s rivals may admire them.
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