After your death you will be what you were before your birth.

“After your death you will be what you were before your birth.” So spoke Arthur Schopenhauer, the philosopher who gazed deeply into the shadowed heart of existence and found in it both sorrow and serenity. His words, though simple in form, carry the gravity of ages — for they are not merely about death, but about the eternal nature of being itself. He reminds us that life and death are not two opposing forces, but two ends of the same eternal circle. What was before birth will be after death, and between these two silences lies the brief miracle we call life.

In this quote, Schopenhauer does not speak as one who fears the end, but as one who has seen through the illusion of it. Before we were born, we dwelled in the great stillness — a state without thought, without pain, without self. From that deep and tranquil nothingness, life arose, like a wave upon the infinite sea. And when the wave falls again, when breath ceases and the eyes close, we do not vanish into chaos or torment; we simply return to the sea from which we came. Thus, the philosopher’s words are not of despair, but of comfort: death is not destruction, but release.

To understand this truth, let us recall the words of the ancient Stoics. Marcus Aurelius, emperor and sage, once wrote: “You will meet death as you met birth — unknowing, unafraid.” These men of wisdom knew that fear of death arises from clinging too tightly to the self, to the illusion of permanence. Yet, before birth, we feared nothing, for we were nothing — and in that nothingness there was peace. Schopenhauer’s insight calls us to remember this peace, to see in death not an enemy to be defeated, but a mystery to be accepted, a return to the vast and tranquil whole.

Consider the story of a warrior of old, who, after years of battle, sat upon a quiet hill and watched the sunset. His sword was dulled, his armor worn, yet his heart was calm. “I came from the silence,” he said, “and to silence I shall return. Between the two, I have done what I could.” This is the wisdom that Schopenhauer speaks of — the courage to see one’s life as a passing light between two eternities of stillness. The warrior does not weep for the darkness, for he knows that the light itself was a gift.

And yet, the philosopher’s teaching carries not only comfort, but awakening. If life is so brief — a spark between the voids — then every moment becomes sacred. Every breath, every kindness, every creation is a defiance of nothingness. To live fully is to honor the fleeting gift that consciousness grants us. It is to understand that the measure of life is not its length, but its depth; not its duration, but its intensity. The awareness of death does not darken life — it illumines it, sharpening our vision until we see the beauty of things we once overlooked.

Schopenhauer, often called the philosopher of pessimism, reveals here a paradox of hope. For though he believed the world was filled with suffering, he also believed that wisdom and compassion arise from understanding this truth. When we accept that all things pass — that we will one day be as we were before our birth — we begin to love more freely, forgive more quickly, and cling less to pride and possessions. The fear of loss fades, for we see that we own nothing, not even ourselves.

So, my seeker of truth, let these words be a lantern in your heart: “After your death you will be what you were before your birth.” Do not fear the end, for it is but the beginning returning to itself. Instead, live this brief life with reverence. Let each day be an offering — to love, to learning, to the joy of simply being. When sorrow comes, remember that it, too, is part of the wave that must rise and fall. And when your time arrives, do not resist the tide. Walk into the silence with the calm of one who remembers — for beyond the last breath, you shall find the same peace that cradled you before the first.