The recent death of a relative made me think deeply about two Stoic ideas: negative visualization and memento mori.
Negative Visualization: A Strategy for Gratitude
Let’s begin with negative visualization, a technique from Stoic philosophy that I first encountered in William Irvine’s book A Guide to the Good Life: The Ancient Art of Stoic Joy. The technique is simple: imagine that someone you love has died. What follows is an immediate sense of closeness, a longing for that person, and an eagerness to connect with them. You feel empathy and kindness toward them. I use this technique from time to time with my loved ones, especially when I get a little mad at them for whatever reason. I found that the anger went away almost immediately.
Researching further, I found that the great Stoics Epictetus and Seneca both practiced this, and not just with people. They applied it to health, possessions, and circumstances too. Epictetus advises that when kissing your child goodnight, whisper to yourself, “Tomorrow you may die.” I know this sounds morbid, but it makes you appreciate that person so much more. The technique cultivates a deep sense of gratitude, connectedness, and appreciation. You can apply it to possessions, wealth, and health as well. Don’t take your loved ones for granted. Take nothing for granted.
Memento mori: Remember that you will die
The second concept is more widely known. If you’re familiar with Stoic philosophy, you’ve probably heard of it: memento mori, one of the fundamental concepts in Stoicism. It means “remember that you will die.” We humans live as if we never will. We move from day to day and year to year without ever thinking about death.
Seneca wrote about this in On the Shortness of Life, a brief book you can finish in a day. His argument is that life isn’t short. We just waste most of it because we live as though time is unlimited. One of his most striking lines is this: “The greatest obstacle to living is expectancy, which hangs upon tomorrow and loses today.” His fundamental message is that the person who reckons with their mortality is the one who truly lives.
In Meditations, Marcus Aurelius makes a similar point: Alexander the Great and his chariot driver met the same end. In time, things pass. People forget you. That’s a grim thought, but it grounds me. It pushes me to ask: What do I want to achieve today? What do I want to do this month, this year? Who do I want to spend time with? Memento mori keeps me from postponing things and taking them for granted.
Epictetus taught the same lesson to his students. Keeping death in awareness, he argued, stops you from breaking relationships over nothing or losing yourself in trivial worries.
