Christianity has made of death a terror which was unknown to the

“Christianity has made of death a terror which was unknown to the gay calmness of the Pagan.” So wrote Ouida, the fiery English novelist of the nineteenth century, whose pen dared to speak truths that others feared to whisper. In this single, piercing line, she contrasts two visions of mortality — the serene acceptance of the Pagan world, and the trembling fear that Christianity later cast upon the human soul. Her words do not mock faith, but mourn a loss — the loss of that ancient courage with which our ancestors met death, not as a monster, but as a mystery; not as a punishment, but as the inevitable twilight of life’s day.

In the Pagan world, death was a part of the natural order. The Greeks believed that the soul, after departing the body, journeyed to the shadowed meadows of Elysium, or drank from the Lethe, the river of forgetfulness. The Norse saw Valhalla, where warriors feasted forever. The Egyptians built tombs not as prisons for the dead, but as bridges to eternity. Death, though solemn, was neither cruel nor shameful. It was the turning of a page — the continuation of the eternal cycle of nature. There was grief, yes, but also dignity, even joy. Thus Ouida speaks of the “gay calmness of the Pagan”, that serene acceptance born not of denial, but of harmony with the laws of existence.

With the rise of Christianity, the understanding of death changed. No longer was it a mere transition — it became a test, a judgment, a gate to eternal reward or everlasting torment. The ancient calmness gave way to fear of damnation, to the terror of sin unrepented, to the haunting vision of Hell and fire eternal. Men who once faced death singing now trembled before its approach, for it was no longer a journey, but a verdict. In this transformation, Ouida saw something tragic — that faith meant to bring hope had instead, for many, wrapped death in chains of dread.

Consider the story of Socrates, that wisest of pagans, who drank the hemlock with serenity, unafraid. As his disciples wept, he smiled and spoke of the soul’s immortality, of death as merely the freeing of the spirit from its earthly bonds. He feared not the unknown, for to him death was either a dreamless sleep or a passage into a greater realm of truth. “No evil can happen to a good man,” he said — and in those words lies the essence of the Pagan calm. He met death as one meets a friend long awaited. Compare this to the medieval man, trembling before the confessor, fearing eternal fire for sins he could barely name — and you will see the contrast Ouida mourns.

Yet we must not misunderstand her. Ouida does not condemn Christianity’s faith, but its shadow — the way fear crept into its light. The early Christ himself spoke not of terror, but of peace, of life eternal in the Father’s house. It was later, when men built power upon fear, that death became a weapon to control souls. The Pagan found eternity in nature; the early Christian, in love; but too often, later faith turned eternity into judgment. Thus, the terror of death grew not from divine truth, but from human distortion.

What Ouida calls us to remember is not Paganism’s gods, but Paganism’s courage — the courage to meet death with open eyes. For death is not our enemy. It is the shadow that proves the light, the silence that gives meaning to song. To fear it is to fear half of existence itself. Whether we believe in Heaven, in rebirth, or in dust returning to dust, we must learn again that serenity which the ancients knew: that life’s beauty is heightened, not diminished, by its end.

Lesson: Let us not tremble before death, but live so deeply that we greet it as a friend. Reflect daily upon your mortality, not to despair, but to awaken. Let faith, whatever its form, bring not fear but freedom — the peace of one who has made their peace with the universe. Build a life so full of love, purpose, and truth that death finds you ready, calm, and unashamed. For in the end, as the Pagans and the wisest Christians alike knew, the soul that has lived fully has already conquered death.

So remember, as you walk the path of days: the goal is not to live forever, but to live without fear — for in that fearless living lies the calmness of the ancients, and the eternal peace of the divine.