Ever since I was a child, I’ve been somewhat obsessed with death. It’s a topic many cultures don’t discuss much, yet it’s fundamental for the simple fact that we’re all going to die at some point.
I’ve always had this idea of collecting reflections from others, not so much to think about death, but rather to learn how to live. To learn what mattered to those who are no longer here and how, thanks to that, we can reevaluate our existence on this planet until we’re no longer here.
The title of this essay encapsulates the philosophy of my life perfectly:
The continuous work of our life is to build death
No one embodies this philosophy better than Montaigne.
He was a skeptic through and through, so much so that his main motto was: “Que sais-je?” (What do I know?). But his doubt wasn’t paralyzing, it was liberating. By recognizing the limits of his knowledge, he freed himself from pretending to live perfectly or appearing to be someone he wasn’t.
In 1571, he retreated to his castle tower to write. There, surrounded by books and aware of his mortality, he decided to observe himself without filters. He wrote about everything: his fears, his contradictions, his failures, even the most mundane aspects of his existence. He explored, doubted, contradicted himself from one essay to another. His writing is radical in its honesty: personal, contradictory, profoundly human.
Montaigne viscerally understood something Euripides had expressed centuries before:
“How can you think yourself a great man, when the first accident that comes along can wipe you out completely?”
This awareness of fragility didn’t paralyze him, it awakened him. He knew his time was limited and that spending it on pretensions or living for others was wasting it. That’s why meditating on death didn’t seem morbid to him, but practical: know yourself, accept yourself, and live calmly, without thinking you’re more than you are, knowing your time is limited.
For Montaigne, preparing to die was the first step to living well. Accepting that you are ephemeral, contradictory, and imperfect finally allows you to be fully alive.
You’re in that tower, whether you know it or not. The question isn’t whether you’re going to die, but whether you’re going to live before you do.
Some of the references in these essays are from the book How to Live: A Life of Montaigne in One Question and Twenty Attempts at an Answer , which I recommend.
