Die, v.: To stop sinning suddenly.

The writer and philosopher Elbert Hubbard, a man whose pen often blended wit with wisdom, once wrote: “Die, v.: To stop sinning suddenly.” At first glance, these words may seem playful, even irreverent—a jest about mortality. But beneath the humor lies a profound insight into the human condition, for Hubbard, with his characteristic brevity, captured both the frailty and the forgiveness of man. In this single line, he reveals that to live is to err, and that perfection comes only with the silence of death. Until that final moment, every heart continues its struggle between virtue and weakness, between the eternal striving for good and the inevitable return to imperfection.

To “stop sinning suddenly” is, in truth, the only way mortals ever cease to sin. For so long as there is breath, there is choice—and with choice comes the possibility of error. Hubbard’s irony exposes the folly of those who demand purity in the living. It reminds us that human imperfection is not a defect, but a condition of existence. To live is to be unfinished, to be learning, failing, and trying again. Only in death does that process cease. Thus, what sounds like humor is, in truth, a meditation on grace. Hubbard tells us that sin—the falling short of perfection—is not to be despised, but to be understood as part of our mortal apprenticeship toward wisdom.

The origin of this quote lies in Hubbard’s lifelong philosophy of rugged individuality and moral realism. As the founder of the Roycroft artisan community in the early 1900s, he celebrated craftsmanship, honesty, and self-reliance. Yet he also had a keen eye for human folly. He knew that moral pretension—those who claim to be without flaw—was often a mask for hypocrisy. His quip, then, is a sword drawn against self-righteousness. It reminds us that the difference between the saint and the sinner is not that one never stumbles, but that one continues to rise. In Hubbard’s world, the only perfect person was the one who had already “stopped sinning suddenly”—that is, the one who had already died.

The truth of his insight has echoed throughout history. Consider the story of Saint Augustine, who in his youth lived a life of pleasure and indulgence before turning to faith. In his Confessions, he wrote of his own weakness with honesty and humility, admitting that his heart was restless until it found its center in God. Augustine did not pretend to be sinless; he merely strove to sin less. Like Hubbard, he understood that holiness is not the absence of error, but the courage to face it. For as long as Augustine lived, he battled his imperfections; only in death did that battle end. His life itself became a testimony to the truth that moral growth is a journey, not a completed state.

Hubbard’s words also hold a mirror to the pride of those who believe themselves morally superior. The ancient Greeks called such arrogance hubris, and warned that it leads inevitably to downfall. To judge others for their faults is to forget our own mortality—to forget that we, too, are travelers upon the same road of imperfection. The wise do not boast of purity; they speak instead of progress. They understand that so long as life continues, the work of refining the soul continues with it. Death alone completes the task, for it is then, and only then, that one’s story can no longer be rewritten.

And yet, within the humor of Hubbard’s definition lies an invitation to compassion. If all men sin until they die, then judgment must give way to mercy. We are all, in some measure, fellow sinners and fellow learners, bound together by our shared flaws. To recognize this truth is not to excuse wrongdoing, but to temper justice with understanding. It is to see the divine in the struggling, imperfect heart, and to know that redemption lies not in being flawless, but in striving toward the good even when we falter.

So, my child, remember this teaching: do not despise your imperfections, nor those of others. For as long as you live, you will err; and that is not your shame, but your condition. The wise do not seek to be sinless—they seek to be sincere. Live with honesty, repent with humility, forgive quickly, and rise again when you fall. For to live well is not to live without sin, but to live consciously, aware of both your light and your shadow. When at last you “stop sinning suddenly,” let it not be because you have escaped error, but because you have lived each day striving toward the good.

For in the end, Elbert Hubbard’s jest is a truth eternal: perfection is not for the living—but goodness is. And those who pursue goodness, even amid their flaws, have already touched eternity.