It is necessary to have wished for death in order to know how

“It is necessary to have wished for death in order to know how good it is to live.”
Thus spoke Alexandre Dumas, the master storyteller whose words pulse with the passion of the human heart. In this sentence, he gives voice to one of life’s deepest paradoxes—that true appreciation of life often comes only through our encounter with suffering and the shadow of death. The man who has never despaired, never lost hope, may live comfortably, but he does not live deeply. Only when we have stood on the edge of the abyss, when we have felt life slipping through our fingers, do we awaken to its sacredness and sweetness.

The origin of this thought flows from the stormy spirit of Dumas himself, a man who lived through revolutions, exile, and betrayal, yet whose heart burned with courage and love. In his novels—The Count of Monte Cristo, The Three Musketeers—his heroes are men who have suffered greatly and risen stronger. Edmond Dantès, imprisoned in darkness and stripped of everything, once wished for death. But from that pit of despair, he emerged reborn, tasting freedom as a gift beyond all price. In Dumas’s world, suffering refines the soul as fire refines gold; it teaches man what joy truly is by showing him what it means to lose it.

To wish for death, in Dumas’s sense, does not mean surrender—it means confrontation. It is the moment when a person faces life’s full cruelty and asks whether it is still worth enduring. And when, against all despair, he chooses to live—when he rises, breathing again, with tears in his eyes and gratitude in his heart—then he knows what it means to be alive. Life, once nearly lost, becomes infinitely precious. The ordinary light of morning, the laughter of a friend, the taste of bread—all these become miracles. The nearness of death awakens the majesty of life.

History gives us many such souls. Consider Viktor Frankl, the psychologist and survivor of the concentration camps. In the darkest corners of human existence, surrounded by death and cruelty, he found meaning in life itself. When all was stripped away—family, freedom, dignity—what remained was the spark of choice, the will to live. He later wrote that “those who have a why to live can bear almost any how.” Like Dumas, Frankl understood that the soul, once tested by despair, becomes capable of a deeper joy. For the one who has longed for death and yet lived, every sunrise is redemption.

Dumas’s words are thus a hymn to resilience. They remind us that sorrow and suffering, though bitter, are not our enemies. They are the hidden teachers that awaken gratitude. To live without ever having suffered is to live half-asleep; to have touched despair and risen from it is to live wide-awake, knowing the full value of each breath. As the ancients said, “Only he who has descended into the underworld can appreciate the sunlight of the earth.” It is through contrast that the soul perceives truth.

Yet there is also a warning in his wisdom: that one must not dwell forever in despair, but pass through it as one passes through fire. For the purpose of the dark night is not to destroy, but to purify. The heart that has faced its own end and still beats must turn its pain into compassion, its fear into strength. In this way, the wish for death becomes the seed of rebirth. Life reclaimed from the edge of nothingness shines brighter, steadier, truer.

So, O listener, take this lesson into your soul: do not fear despair when it comes. If ever you find yourself longing for the end, remember that it is the beginning of a deeper understanding. From that place of emptiness, life will call you back, and you will see it anew—with eyes washed by sorrow and made clear by gratitude. Cherish your days, your breaths, your smallest joys, for they are fleeting and precious. As Dumas teaches, one must walk through the valley of death to truly know the summit of life—and those who return from that valley live not merely as survivors, but as lovers of existence itself.