I look upon death to be as necessary to our constitution as

“I look upon death to be as necessary to our constitution as sleep. We shall rise refreshed in the morning.” — Benjamin Franklin

Thus spoke Benjamin Franklin, philosopher, inventor, and sage of the New World — a man who gazed upon life not with fear, but with serene understanding. In these words, he likens death to sleep, a natural rhythm of existence, a quiet passage from labor to rest. To him, the end of mortal life is no annihilation, but a necessary renewal, part of the divine order that governs all things. Just as night follows day, and sleep follows toil, so too does death follow life — not as punishment, but as peace.

Franklin’s mind was shaped by the Enlightenment, yet his heart held the wisdom of the ancients. He believed the universe to be both mechanical and mystical — a vast system governed by laws, yet infused with purpose. In calling death “necessary,” he acknowledged what all true philosophers know: that mortality is not a flaw, but a feature of the grand design. Without death, life would stagnate; without endings, beginnings would lose their beauty. The cycle of rest and rebirth is the soul’s eternal rhythm, the great breath of creation itself.

To “rise refreshed in the morning” — what a tender image! It transforms death from terror into comfort. Just as sleep renews the weary body, Franklin imagines that death renews the soul. This metaphor is ancient — it echoes the teachings of the Stoics, who saw death as a natural return to the elements, and of the Christians, who believed in resurrection and eternal dawn. Franklin, a bridge between science and faith, found harmony in both: that death, whether spiritual awakening or natural dissolution, is but a continuation, not a cessation.

Consider the story of Marcus Aurelius, the Roman emperor-philosopher. In his meditations, he wrote: “It is a natural thing to die, just as it is a natural thing to be cut down by the sickle, or to fall when ripe.” He met his own death not with fear, but with acceptance — knowing that he was part of a vast order that wastes nothing. Franklin’s words carry this same stoic calm. To fear death, he would say, is to misunderstand life; for nature, in her wisdom, asks only that we rest, so that new life may rise after us.

There is, too, in Franklin’s vision, a profound humility — a recognition that we are not lords of life, but travelers upon its current. We labor, we love, we build — and when the hour comes, we yield our place to others, as the sun yields to the moon. The wise accept this with grace, finding joy in the very act of belonging to such a cycle. The ignorant fight against it, clinging to what must fade, and thus know only fear.

From Franklin’s words, we learn this enduring lesson: to live well is to prepare for rest. When we live with purpose, serve others, and keep our conscience clear, death loses its sting. For the one who has done his part in the day’s labor, sleep is not dreaded — it is welcomed. So too, the man who has lived rightly greets death not as an enemy, but as an old friend, guiding him home through the twilight.

Let each of us, then, live with such understanding. Work earnestly while the light endures; love deeply while the heart beats; and when the shadow falls, fear not. For death is but the sleep of the soul, and beyond it lies a dawn unseen by mortal eyes — the morning of eternity, where the spirit shall indeed rise refreshed, renewed by the mystery that has always awaited us beyond the stars.