Death is like an arrow that is already in flight, and your life

The philosopher Georg Hermes, a thinker of faith and reason in the early nineteenth century, once wrote: “Death is like an arrow that is already in flight, and your life lasts only until it reaches you.” These words, though simple, strike the soul like a silent thunder. They remind us that from the moment we are born, death is already on its way toward us. Its flight began long before our first breath, and every second that passes is the whisper of its wings. To live, then, is not to escape death, but to dance beneath its shadow—to find meaning in the space between the bow and the target, between the release and the arrival.

In this image of the arrow, Hermes captures the inevitability of mortality with stark precision. Death is not an enemy lurking in ambush—it is already loosed, already certain, already moving through the air. We are not waiting for it to begin; it has already begun. Yet this is not meant to fill the heart with fear, but with clarity. For when we understand that life is fleeting, we awaken to its value. Every heartbeat becomes precious, every word intentional, every act sacred. The arrow’s flight is not our doom, but our reminder—a summons to live with intensity, compassion, and purpose before it strikes.

Hermes lived during a time of deep spiritual questioning, when reason and religion wrestled for the soul of Europe. His words bridge the two. In them, one hears the echo of the ancient Stoics, who taught that awareness of death sharpens the joy of living, and the voice of the mystics, who saw death not as an end but as a return. To know that the arrow is in flight is not despair—it is wisdom. It frees us from illusion, from the arrogance of thinking we have endless tomorrows. It teaches us the humility of the present moment, the sacredness of now.

Consider the life of Marcus Aurelius, the Roman emperor and philosopher. Surrounded by war, plague, and betrayal, he often reminded himself that death was not a punishment but a natural part of existence. “You could leave life right now,” he wrote, “let that determine what you do and say and think.” He too knew that the arrow was already in flight. And because of that knowledge, he ruled with calm and mercy. He sought not to flee death, but to meet it honorably. Like Hermes, he understood that the wise man does not fear the arrow; he learns to walk with it as a companion.

There is a quiet heroism in accepting mortality. The coward hides from death and dies a thousand anxious deaths before the end. The wise person acknowledges it and, through that acceptance, becomes fearless. For when you know that the arrow will reach you no matter what, you stop wasting time dodging shadows—you begin to live. Death loses its sting not when it is forgotten, but when it is understood. And in that understanding lies freedom—the freedom to speak truthfully, to forgive quickly, to love fiercely, and to act with integrity while the breath still moves through you.

And yet, Hermes’ image also carries tenderness. The arrow, though unerring, is not cruel—it is simply the law of existence. Everything that lives must one day fall silent so that the cycle may continue. The flower withers so the seed may grow; the elder fades so the child may rise. Death, seen rightly, is not the destroyer but the fulfiller of time. It gives life its shape, its urgency, its meaning. Without the arrow’s flight, we would drift in endless stagnation. It is the motion of mortality that gives beauty to every passing hour.

Lesson and Practice:
Do not fear the arrow; walk proudly beneath its path. Each day, remember that your time is finite—not as a curse, but as a sacred gift. Live as if your words are your legacy, as if your kindness will echo beyond the strike of death. Reconcile with those you love, create what only you can create, and let no moment be wasted on bitterness or vanity. For the arrow will one day reach its mark, and when it does, may it find you unafraid—your life lived to its fullness, your heart open and bright. Thus, as Georg Hermes teaches, the arrow of death is not our enemy, but our greatest teacher—its flight the silent reminder that every breath is precious, and that the art of living is to meet the inevitable with grace.