Death is not evil. Death can be good news. It all depends. Some

The words of Gaspar Noé—“Death is not evil. Death can be good news. It all depends. Some people come to this world and live in hell so birth is not always positive. Death can sometimes be positive.”—strike like thunder, unsettling yet filled with an ancient gravity. They shatter the simple notions of life as pure blessing and death as pure curse. Instead, they remind us that existence is a tapestry of suffering and joy, and that the end of life, far from always being a terror, can also be a release, a return, a mercy. To those who live in torment, death may be the closing of chains, the extinguishing of pain.

From the earliest days of philosophy, death has been questioned, feared, and contemplated. The Stoics of Rome declared, “Death is not to be feared, for it is natural.” Socrates, before drinking the hemlock, told his followers that death is either a dreamless sleep or a passage to another life—and that in both cases, it need not be considered evil. Noé’s words stand firmly in this tradition, challenging us to view death not with blind dread, but with the eyes of wisdom, seeing it in its fullness: sometimes tragedy, sometimes liberation, sometimes even a gift.

History itself shows us moments when death was embraced as a release. Consider the enslaved in ancient lands, who labored under whips and chains, their days filled with cruelty. For some, death was the one door no master could close, the one path to freedom. In later centuries, those who suffered under torture, famine, or incurable illness often viewed death as the great equalizer, a return to peace when life had offered only anguish. Here, the paradox becomes clear: while birth is often celebrated, it does not guarantee joy; while death is often mourned, it can also be the end of unbearable suffering.

Yet Noé’s words are not a glorification of death, but a sobering truth-telling. He does not call death inherently good, only that it can be positive, depending on the life that precedes it. In this, he warns us against simplification. To cry “birth is always blessing” or “death is always curse” is to blind ourselves to the complexity of human experience. Some are born into war, oppression, and hunger, where life itself feels like a living hell. For them, the ending of existence is not darkness, but release. Such reflections demand compassion from us: to recognize that not every life is equal in its joys, and to labor so that more lives are filled with dignity rather than torment.

The lesson here is not to pursue death, but to reframe our view of it. If we see death as part of the cycle of being, we will no longer tremble so fiercely before it. And if we accept that sometimes it carries peace where life has carried agony, we will approach it with reverence rather than fear. For those who grieve, this can bring comfort: that their loved one, if they suffered, may now be beyond pain. For those who live, it is a reminder to seek not just survival, but a life that is worth living, filled with beauty, kindness, and meaning.

Thus, the practical action we must take is twofold: first, to live fully, with gratitude, so that when death comes it finds us not enslaved to despair but at peace with the path we have walked. Second, to ease the burdens of others, so that fewer souls live in “hell” and more taste joy in their days. For if birth is not always positive and death not always evil, then our task as the living is to tilt the balance—to make life more bearable, more radiant, more filled with love, so that death, when it comes, is not sought as escape but accepted as a natural close.

So, dear listener, take Noé’s words as a call to courage. Do not fear death as an eternal enemy, nor glorify it as an easy friend. See it as it is: a mystery, a passage, a balance in the scales of existence. Strive to live so that your life, though brief, is rich with meaning. And remember always: to bring light into the lives of others is to make life itself more positive, so that when death comes, it will not be a desperate relief, but the quiet rest of a soul that has known love, dignity, and peace.