In this world nothing can be said to be certain, except death and

"In this world nothing can be said to be certain, except death and taxes." Thus spoke Benjamin Franklin, the sage of reason and wit, a man who gazed deeply into the heart of human affairs and saw the unchanging laws that govern both kings and commoners alike. In this brief but immortal phrase, Franklin captures the eternal tension between the fragility of human life and the unrelenting order of society. Death—the end to all flesh, impartial and inevitable. Taxes—the burden that binds the living, born of civilization’s very existence. Between these two certainties lies the span of human experience: our striving, our labor, our hope.

The origin of this saying reaches back to the turbulent birth of the American Republic. Franklin wrote it in a letter in 1789, during the first years of the new United States, as the fledgling nation sought to build a government from the ashes of revolution. He was reflecting upon the work of governance—the endless complexity of laws, of debts, of obligations—and yet, in his seasoned wisdom, he recognized that while nations may rise and fall, while fortunes may be made or lost, two truths will never yield: all must die, and all must pay. The words carry not bitterness, but understanding; not despair, but realism. For Franklin, ever the pragmatist, this was not a lament but a call to humility—an acknowledgment that no man escapes the universal laws of nature or the demands of society.

In death, Franklin saw the great equalizer. From the peasant to the president, the warrior to the philosopher, all must one day bow to the same fate. The ancients, too, understood this truth well. The Stoic emperor Marcus Aurelius wrote, “It is not death that a man should fear, but never beginning to live.” Death’s certainty, therefore, is not meant to terrify, but to awaken—to remind us that time is finite and life must be spent wisely. The wise do not deny mortality; they honor it by living with purpose, by laboring toward good works, by leaving behind something that endures beyond the grave. Death is the one creditor who always collects, and thus, it is the wisest of teachers.

And yet, alongside death, Franklin places taxes—a symbol of human order and the price of civilization. For as long as men have gathered into communities, there have been debts to pay: roads to build, armies to feed, poor to sustain, justice to uphold. Taxes are not merely payments; they are the manifestation of shared responsibility. To live among others, one must give as well as take. Franklin, who helped design the very fabric of his nation, understood this balance. The tax, though often cursed, is a sign that one belongs to something greater—a commonwealth, a society bound by law and labor. It is the cost of freedom itself, for liberty cannot stand without the means to sustain it.

Consider the story of the Roman Empire, whose greatness was upheld by both its legions and its laws of tribute. When taxes grew unjust, when greed consumed the rulers and burdened the people beyond reason, rebellion followed, and Rome’s glory crumbled. Franklin, steeped in the wisdom of history, would have seen this pattern repeated: that when a people refuse to contribute their share, the fabric of civilization unravels. But when a nation bears its burdens with equity and integrity, it endures, even beyond the lives of those who built it. Thus, taxes and death are not curses—they are reminders of balance: one humbles the body, the other sustains the body politic.

Yet there is irony and humor in Franklin’s words, as there always was in his philosophy. He spoke with a smile, not a scowl. For he knew that man, in his pride, believes he can control all things—fate, fortune, even the stars. But nature and society always remind him of his limits. The storm will come, the reaper will arrive, and the collector will knock. These are not tragedies, but truths, and to live well is to accept them with grace. Those who fear death waste their life in worry; those who resent taxes forget that they live among others. Franklin’s wisdom lies in acceptance, not resistance: to find dignity in necessity, to laugh even as one pays his due.

So, my listener, take this teaching to heart. Do not curse the inevitabilities of life; learn instead to live within them nobly. Pay your debts, not only in coin, but in gratitude—to your society, your family, and your world. And when you ponder death, do not see it as an enemy, but as a reminder that your time is precious and fleeting. Live in such a way that when both collectors—tax and death—come to your door, you can meet them with peace, knowing you have fulfilled your part in the grand design.

For as Benjamin Franklin teaches, life is not about avoiding the unavoidable, but about embracing it with wisdom. Death will claim your body, and taxes will claim your gold, but what remains—your deeds, your character, your love—belongs to eternity. Therefore, live not in fear of what must come, but in devotion to what you can still shape. Between the certainty of death and taxes, let there be meaning, creation, and the enduring spark of the human spirit.