Memento Mori: The Art of Contemplating Death to Live a Better Life
An exclusive excerpt from Joanna Ebenstein and Penguin Random House
PAC would like to express their deepest thanks to author Joanna Ebenstein and to Penguin Random House for this exclusive excerpt from Memento Mori: The Art of Contemplating Death to Live a Better Life.
MEMENTO MORI: REMEMBER YOU WILL DIE
A memento mori—Latin for “remember you will die”—is a practice, object, or artwork created to remind us that we will die, and that our death could come at any moment. By evoking a visceral awareness of the brevity of our lives, it was meant to help us remember to make choices in line with our true values. This use of memento mori, which seems so counterintuitive today, is a practice that was found in cultures all around the world and for many millennia; it even lives on today.
Memento mori were a part of life in ancient Egypt, where dried skeletons were sometimes paraded into a feast at its height to remind the revelers of the brevity of life. They were also frequently encountered in ancient Rome, where it was common to see skeleton mosaics on the floors of dining rooms and drinking halls. And, if you attended a feast, you might be gifted with a tiny bronze skeleton called a larva convivialis, or banquet ghost. In both cases, these memento mori were meant to express the well-known Latin adage carpe diem—meaning “seize the day”—reminding viewers to eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow they might be gone.
Socrates, the ancient Greek founder of the Western philosophical tradition, asserted that a memento mori–like contemplation of death was at the core of the practice of philosophy. “The one aim of those who practice philosophy in the proper manner,” Plato records him as saying, “is to practice for dying and death.” Similarly, the Stoics, a philosophical school in ancient Greece and Rome, believed that one must contemplate one’s own death as a means toward living more fully and authentically. Seneca, a prominent Stoic philosopher, urged his readers to rehearse and prepare for death as a means of diminishing their fear.
Memento mori also play an important part in Buddhist practice. In the Buddha’s own time, there was a practice called the Nine Cemetery Contemplations, in which practitioners were encouraged to visit the charnel grounds—where bodies were left, aboveground, to be eaten by vultures or to decompose—in order to meditate on corpses in different states of decomposition. This was meant to help people overcome fear of death and release attachment to the body. This tradition even extends to artwork, in the Japanese tradition of kusōzu, which are paintings that artfully depict these nine stages of a decaying corpse. Even today, it is not uncommon to find a human skeleton in places devoted to Buddhist meditation.
Christianity also makes use of the memento mori. In this tradition, it is meant to remind one to live a pious life, to resist earthly pleasures and temptations so that one will be ready to meet—and be judged by—God. Much as in the Buddhist tradition, Christians were, at one time, encouraged to meditate upon the dying and decomposing human body. Death was also, in the medieval era, brought to mind by the daily recitation of prayers called the Office of the Dead, which were supposed to prepare one’s soul for death and the Last Judgment. And, of course, every year on Ash Wednesday, devotees go to church, where the priest renders a cross in ash on their foreheads, a visceral reminder that from dust we are formed, and to dust we shall return.
In the Christian tradition, memento mori could also take the form of jewelry, including skull rings—often distributed as funeral souvenirs—and intricately carved rosary beads. Memento mori imagery was also commonly used in watches and clocks, playing on the close association between the ideas of time and death. Gravestone art regularly featured winged skulls or skulls and crossbones, and some grave markers—such as the lavishly carved tomb sculptures known as transi—even depicted the deceased in the form of a decaying cadaver.
There were also a number of fine art genres that brought memento mori imagery into everyday life. One of these was the vanitas (literally “vanity”) oil paintings, which featured imagery such as skulls and snuffed-out candles, symbolizing a life cut short. These were hung in the home to encourage the viewer to focus on the eternal, rather than the momentary pleasures of life on earth. Another popular genre was the triumph of death, in which an anthropomorphized figure of death plows down everything in its path, giving vision to the idea of death as an arbitrary and unstoppable destructive force. There is also the danse macabre, or “dance of death.” Popular at a time when the black plague was decimating Europe, these works also feature an anthropomorphized figure of death, this time merrily leading people of every age and social station—from queen to pauper to child—in a dance to the grave. This allegory points to the fact that death makes no distinctions; to death, we are all equal.
Memento mori could even take the form of actual human remains. To this end, wealthy gentlemen often displayed a human skull in their library or cabinet of curiosities as a poignant reminder of the brevity of life. And cemeteries—in a time before permanent interment—would dig up defleshed skeletons and exhibit the bones, frequently in artistic arrangements, to remind the visitor of their own death.
A contemporary manifestation of memento mori can be found today in a number of seemingly unrelated places. The skull and crossbones that graces some motorcycle jackets and tattoos, for example, is the same imagery that decorated seventeenth-century gravestones. The sugar skulls that are central to the Mexican holiday of Día de Muertos (Day of the Dead) are, in essence, an edible memento mori. Even the warning labels on a pack of cigarettes serve as a memento mori, reminding the smoker of the deadly consequence of their habit.
The question remains: why would anyone choose to meditate on death? Why voluntarily remind oneself that they are mortal? As has been noted, ancient wisdom traditions tell us that contemplating our own death helps us fear it less, focus on our highest values, and live more authentically. In short, it helps us live better.
The Call to Live Authentically
The act of confronting one’s mortality offers a profound shift in perspective. When we acknowledge that our time is finite, the trivialities that once consumed our attention—petty arguments, minor social slights, the relentless pursuit of superficial status—tend to recede. What replaces them is a sharpened focus on core values and meaningful action.
If you truly knew that today was your last day, what would you do? This question, used in Indigenous wisdom practices and famously posed by Steve Jobs, is a powerful clarifier. Most people, when faced with this hypothetical deadline, would not choose to work longer hours on an unenjoyable project, buy a fancier car, or check social media. They would choose to connect with loved ones, express gratitude, apologize for past wrongs, and pursue long-deferred dreams. The memento mori urges us not to wait for a deathbed realization to prioritize these things.
Death as the Great Equalizer
The danse macabre tradition reminds us that death comes for everyone, regardless of wealth, power, or piety. In the medieval period, this message was particularly important as a critique of social inequality. It was a visceral reminder to the rich and powerful that their earthly advantages were fleeting and that they, too, would stand equal before the grave.
Today, while social structures are different, the message remains potent. The fear of death, according to Terror Management Theory, can lead to aggressive defense of one’s worldview or group identity, contributing to xenophobia and conflict. By accepting our individual mortality, we may become less defensive and more empathetic. If we recognize that our deepest human experience—death—is shared by all people, it can foster a sense of universal connection that transcends cultural and political divides.
Philosophical and Psychological Benefits
Stoic philosophers like Seneca explicitly viewed the rehearsal of death as a tool for achieving inner peace and freedom. By regularly imagining negative outcomes, including one’s death, the Stoics practiced negative visualization. This practice does two things:
It diminishes the shock and terror if the bad event actually occurs.
It creates instant gratitude for the present moment, reminding the practitioner that their life, health, and current circumstances are not guaranteed but are precious, temporary gifts.
Modern psychology supports this. Studies on “morbid curiosity”—the motivation to learn about threatening phenomena like death—suggest that this engagement is linked to greater positive resilience. By actively studying and contemplating what frightens us, we process and defuse the associated anxiety, making us better equipped to handle life’s inherent uncertainties.
The Problem with Denial
In the contemporary West, the prevailing attitude is one of death denial. Death is medicalized, sanitized, and outsourced to institutions (hospitals and funeral homes). This shields us from the visual and emotional reality of mortality, but at a cost.
Loss of Meaning: When death is viewed strictly as a biological failure rather than a meaningful rite of passage, it strips away the sense of purpose and closure provided by traditional myth and ritual.
Increased Anxiety: As Jung noted, when we repress powerful psychological truths, they don’t disappear; they become “diseases” or neuroses. The failure to consciously reckon with death may fuel the rising tide of addiction, anxiety, and general dissatisfaction even in affluent societies.
The memento mori serves as an antidote to this denial, demanding that we integrate death into the narrative of life. It asks us to transition from asking, “Why me?” to accepting, “Why not me?” This integration shifts our focus from the length of life to its depth and quality.
The Ongoing Cycle of Life and Death
The text explores the universal motif of death and rebirth, an archetype found across global myths and religions, as noted by Carl Jung. This concept—that destruction is necessary for creation—is not just a metaphor for cosmic cycles, but a constant reality in our personal lives:
Personal Transformation: Every major transition—leaving a relationship, graduating, changing careers—requires the symbolic death of an old identity to make room for a new one. These small deaths are contained by rites of passage that guide us through the liminal space (the threshold between what was and what will be).
Natural Law: This cycle is affirmed even by science, notably the first law of thermodynamics, which states that energy cannot be destroyed, only transformed. The matter that constitutes our bodies will be recomposed into new structures, organisms, or even “star stuff,” highlighting the fact that death is a transformation, not an absolute end.
Ultimately, the goal of engaging with memento mori is not to become obsessed with the end, but to become an active participant in the present. By remembering that we will die, we are empowered to seize the day (carpe diem) and structure our finite time around our authentic, highest values. The reminder of death makes life, by necessity, a profound and urgent endeavor, ensuring that we live fully until the last possible moment.
Joanna Ebenstein is an author, photographer, curator and designer. She is the founder and creative director of Morbid Anatomy, an organization that has been exploring the interstices of art and medicine, death and culture, since 2007. Her books include Memento Mori, Anatomica and Death: A Graveside Companion.