Memento Mori: The Ancient Reminder That Makes Life Better

Practical Philosophy2 weeks ago

Let’s face it: “remember you will die” doesn’t exactly scream live life to the fullest. It sounds bleak. Grim. Like the sort of thing you’d find etched into a medieval skull or whispered by a death cult. But the truth is, memento mori isn’t about obsessing over death. It’s about paying attention to life. It’s not a horror movie vibe. It’s a lens, one that sharpens your focus on what actually matters.

Most of us live like time is unlimited. We scroll, we wait, we put things off. We assume tomorrow will look a lot like today. But memento mori breaks that illusion. It reminds you that time is not just passing, it’s running out. That might sound like a downer, but it’s actually one of the most empowering shifts you can make. It forces you to take stock. To ask: if this really was my last normal day, would I be proud of how I showed up?

And here’s the twist: this isn’t just some ancient Stoic slogan carved into stone. It still shows up today, in tattoos, in movies, in the quiet panic we feel when someone close to us gets sick or something big changes. We know it, even if we don’t name it. Death is always in the room. Memento mori just asks us to stop pretending otherwise and live accordingly.

The Origins of Memento Mori

The phrase memento mori comes from ancient Rome. It means “remember you must die,” and was reportedly whispered into the ears of victorious generals during their victory parades, as a reminder that even the most powerful men weren’t above mortality. You could conquer nations, bathe in glory, and still end up dust. It was a reality check in the middle of a celebration.

Fast-forward a few centuries, and the phrase evolves. In medieval and Renaissance Europe, artists and philosophers doubled down on the message. We get vanitas paintings filled with skulls, hourglasses, wilting flowers, and rotting fruit — not because they were obsessed with death, but because they wanted to show that beauty fades. Youth fades. Power fades. Everything fades. So what’s left?

These weren’t meant to depress you, they were meant to sober you. Memento mori wasn’t about fear. It was about focus. In a world that tempts you to chase the wrong things, it pulls your attention back to the right ones. Not in some dramatic “live every day like it’s your last” kind of way, but in a grounded, wake up kind of way. You’re not guaranteed another chapter, so what are you doing with this one?

“It is not that we have a short time to live, but that we waste much of it.”

Seneca

How the Stoics Used It

The Stoics didn’t flinch at death. They stared it straight in the face, not to be edgy, but to be free. They saw death as the ultimate perspective-giver. If you can accept that you’re going to die — not someday, but maybe soon — then you’re far less likely to waste your energy on stuff that doesn’t matter. You stop trying to control things outside your power. You stop playing status games. You stop postponing what matters most.

Marcus Aurelius wrote about death constantly, because it reminded him to be a better emperor, father, and man. Epictetus taught his students to reflect on death daily. Seneca’s entire On the Shortness of Life is one long plea to stop squandering time. For them, memento mori wasn’t dark. It was discipline.

And here’s the part that stuck with me: they didn’t see death as the enemy. They saw it as the reason life has shape. A book with no final chapter isn’t meaningful, it’s exhausting. A song that never ends loses its rhythm. That’s how they saw life. Death doesn’t cancel meaning. It creates it. The fact that you will die is what makes your choices real.

“No, I cannot escape death, but at least I can escape the fear of it – or do I have to die moaning and groaning too?”

Epictetus

Camus and the Existentialists

But not every philosopher found death so tidy. The existentialists — Camus, Sartre, and company — looked at mortality and didn’t see calm acceptance. They saw absurdity. Chaos. A universe that didn’t care. Camus, in particular, was brutally honest about it: if we know we’re going to die, and life has no built-in meaning, then why keep going at all?

His answer wasn’t optimism. It was rebellion. Camus argued that we create meaning not despite death, but because of it. In The Myth of Sisyphus, he describes a man condemned to push a boulder up a hill forever, only for it to roll back down again. On paper, it’s meaningless. But Camus says we must imagine him happy, because even in the face of futility, we can choose how to respond. We can show up anyway.

That’s the existentialist twist on memento mori. It’s not “death clarifies,” it’s “death confronts.” It forces us to create meaning without guarantees. To accept that the universe won’t hand us purpose on a silver platter. Instead, we bring our own through love, creativity, relationships, defiance. It’s raw. It’s heavier. But some days, it feels more honest.

“Come to terms with death. Thereafter anything is possible.”

Albert Camus

Making It Practical

So, how do you actually use this in real life — without spiraling into a midweek existential crisis? You don’t need to start dressing in black or hanging skulls in your apartment. But you can start treating your time like it’s not infinite. Because it’s not.

Start with a question: If today were my last normal day, would I be proud of how I spent it? That doesn’t mean every day needs to be profound or productive. But are you living in a way that feels intentional? Or are you just defaulting your way through it?

Next time you’re caught up in some mental loop — a work drama, a bad date, a stupid comment you regret — zoom out. In the grand scheme of your life, does this really deserve your energy? Will it matter if you knew the clock was ticking? Probably not. So let it go.

And maybe, just maybe, try making memento mori visible. A background on your phone. A quote on your wall. A tattoo, if that’s your thing (I’ve got one for this exact reason). Death isn’t just coming for us. It’s shaping us. If you let it.

“Think of yourself as dead. You have lived your life. Now, take what’s left and live it properly.”

Marcus Aurelius

Memento mori doesn’t ask you to be morbid. It asks you to be awake. It’s not a warning, it’s a wake-up call — a reminder that your time is the most valuable thing you have, and the one thing you can’t get back. Whether you lean Stoic, existentialist, or just human, the message is the same: life isn’t forever, so make it count. Not someday. Now.

So no, you don’t need to obsess over death. Just don’t ignore it either. Because when you really remember you will die, you might finally start to live.