Man always dies before he is fully born.

“Man always dies before he is fully born.” Thus spoke Erich Fromm, the philosopher and psychoanalyst of the modern soul, who saw that mankind’s tragedy lies not in mortality, but in unfulfilled becoming. These words do not speak of physical birth, nor of the body’s death, but of the spiritual birth—the awakening of consciousness, of love, of true freedom—that few ever reach before life ends. For man enters this world asleep to himself, wrapped in the veils of habit, fear, and illusion, and unless he strives to awaken, he departs still dreaming, never having known the full depth of what it means to live.

Fromm lived in a century of turmoil, when the world seemed to lose its soul amidst war, technology, and greed. He saw men surrounded by abundance yet starving within; powerful in tools but poor in spirit. To him, humanity was like a child still in the womb of its own potential—capable of greatness, yet confined by its own comfort and ignorance. When he said that man “dies before he is fully born,” he lamented that so many spend their years half-awake, shaped by society’s demands but untouched by inner freedom or self-awareness. Thus, his words are not a sentence of despair but a summons to awakening—a call to be born not only once, but twice: first into flesh, and then into truth.

The ancients, too, understood this mystery of second birth. The Greek philosopher Plato spoke of the soul as one who must turn from the shadows of the cave to face the light of the real. The mystics of every faith have echoed the same wisdom: that man must die to illusion to be reborn into understanding. The Buddha, after years of wandering and suffering, sat beneath the Bodhi tree and awakened—not into another life, but into awareness. He saw what Fromm later described: that most live in bondage to desire, fear, and conformity, and that freedom comes only when one dares to wake from this slumber.

History, too, bears witness to those rare souls who were fully born in spirit. Think of Nelson Mandela, who entered prison as a man divided between anger and hope, but emerged as one who had transcended both hatred and pride. His long solitude became a gestation of the soul, and in the dark cell of Robben Island, he was reborn—not as a prisoner, but as a liberator of hearts. When he walked free, it was not only he who was born anew, but the spirit of his people. Few men reach that height; yet Mandela’s life proves that even in confinement, one can awaken, and that the journey to full birth begins within.

To be “fully born,” then, is not to live long, but to live deeply—to tear away the false layers of identity that the world wraps around us. It is to know oneself not as a machine of habit or a servant of approval, but as a being of consciousness and compassion. Fromm believed that modern man, though surrounded by noise and motion, is often empty inside, living by reflex rather than by reflection. He obeys systems, traditions, and desires that were never his own, mistaking survival for living. Thus, he dies still unborn—his true self never having breathed the air of freedom.

The meaning of this quote, then, is both sorrowful and redemptive. Sorrowful, because it reminds us that many will pass through life without ever waking to its wonder; redemptive, because it tells us that birth remains possible until the final breath. Every act of self-awareness, every moment of love, every time we turn inward and ask, “Who am I, truly?”—these are the contractions of the soul’s second birth. To awaken is painful, for it demands that we leave behind comfort, pretense, and conformity. But it is also joyous, for in awakening we discover that life, once dull and gray, is ablaze with meaning.

The lesson, my listeners, is this: do not die before you are born. Do not drift through your days as one lulled by custom and distraction. Seek awareness as a pilgrim seeks sacred ground. Reflect upon your actions; listen for the quiet voice of conscience within you. Love not for gain but for truth. Create, forgive, question, and wonder. Each of these is a step toward your second birth—the birth of the awakened soul.

And if, at the end, death comes to find you mid-labor, striving still to be born—then greet it not with sorrow, but with gratitude. For you will have lived as one becoming eternal. You will have known, even if only for a moment, what it means to be fully alive, fully awake, and fully human. Then, though your body perish, your spirit will have finally been born.