Memento Mori
Introductory Notes Pillars of Academia Noir
Memento Mori
Ah, memento mori — “remember that you must die.” A lesson for the aspiring Noir Academian. Are you ready to face the ultimate fact of life?
Introductory Notes Pillars of Academia Noir

Memento Mori

MEMENTO MORI

Skulls, bubbles, and rotten fruit. 

הֲבֵל הֲבָלִים, אָמַר קֹהֶלֶת; הֲבֵל הֲבָלִים, הַכֹּל הָבֶל
“Vanity of vanities, saith the Preacher, vanity of vanities; all is vanity.”                    

      — Qohelet 1:2

TOC

 

 

 

 

INTRO — CONFRONTING THE
INEVITABILITY OF DEATH

The essential Noirist contemplation on mortality — “Remember that you must die.” And a grim 101 lesson for the aspiring Noir Academian.

Memento mori has its roots in a millennia-long Western tradition, reaching from the Epic of Gilgamesh to YOLO.

Young Noirists rest their weary heads in Qohelet’s lap, learning this most important lesson: the feast of life has a closing act.

But they do wake up with a snarky smile — sadder, but wiser and more sardonically ready.

“Remember that you must die” is a concept that has woven itself through Western philosophy, art, religion, and literature for centuries, a solemn reminder of mortality and the transient nature of life. Although obviously not a uniquely European notion, it knew a particularly fiery blossoming in Mediaeval and Renaissance Christianity. Its Western roots lie in ancient traditions: the Epic of Gilgameshand the Hebrew Bible on the one hand, the Epicurean and Stoic philosophers on the other.

While the Christian memento mori concept became severely moralistic and heavily imbued with the salvation of the soul, divine judgement, Hell, and party-pooping generally, this is not necessarily so. Qohelet, for example, — not the cheeriest of the Hebrew Bible clique, you must admit — emphasises that for all the vanity that is life, one should enjoy it:

“Then I commended mirth, because a man hath no better thing under the sun, than to eat, and to drink, and to be merry: for that shall abide with him of his labour the days of his life, which God giveth him under the sun.”

Ecclesiastes 8:15

The Buddhist Maraṇasati practice, on the other hand, is a mindfulness-of-death meditation considered conducive to “right effort” and believed to add spiritual urgency to our lives — because death can strike any moment.

The Nine stages of decay meditation takes this thought to its extreme consequence: the contemplation of the nine stages of a decaying corpse is a Buddhist practice in which the practitioner imagines or observes the gradual decomposition of a dead body. This meditation is not for the faint of stomach.

By confronting the impermanence of life and our finite nature — the final inevitability of death, memento mori encourages deeper reflection on the existential themes at the heart of Academia Noir: the nature of Sapiens, the meaning of a Sapiens’ life in endless Time and Universe — a speck in the history of Earth, not even a mote in the endlessness of the Cosmos.

Memento mori thus adds urgency to our searches and researches into the questions of meaning and truth, transformation, the nature of time and of the human experience, and the ubiquitous Unknown.

THE ICONOGRAPHY OF DOOM

the mirror, the hourglass, the blown-out candle

In art, memento mori is an artistic or symbolic trope, often taking the form of skulls, clocks, extinguished candles, and wilting flowers — grim reminders of the fleetingness of time and the inescapability of death. The genre took flight in the European Middle Ages and Renaissance, rising high through a combination of Christian theology and socio-political upheavals — wars, societal instability and pandemics like the bubonic plague in the 14th century, when the Black Death claimed one-third of the European human population.

Vanitas paintings

In vanitas paintings, symbols of wealth and beauty are juxtaposed with images of decay. Butterflies and soap bubbles evoke the fragility of life and the vanity of human endeavours. Hauntingly realistic depictions of rotting fruit crawling with maggots remind us of the earthly and bodily realities of death and — in consequence — the futility of earthly pursuits.

As an artistic style, it was a genre of still-life painting that emerged in the late Renaissance, especially in Holland during the Dutch Golden Age of the 16th and 17th centuries.

The term vanitas comes from the Latin word for “vanity” and is derived from the biblical phrase Vanitas vanitatum omnia vanitas (“Vanity of vanities, all is vanity”) from — you guessed it — Ecclesiastes 1:2.

The skull, often accompanied by bones, is the most common motif and frequently suffices to evoke the trope. Other favoured symbols (see also memento mori symbols) used in memento mori art are hourglasses and clocks or watches, representing the fleetingness of life, as do extinguished candles. Wilting flowers, like rotting fruit, express the inevitable decay of beauty and life.

Dancing skeletons refer to the omnipresence of death and the Danse macabre motif.

Vanitas paintings are an intriguing intersection of art, philosophy, and theology, inviting viewers to meditate on life’s deeper questions. These paintings were not merely morbid; they served as moral reminders to prioritise spiritual over material concerns.

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more: Vanitas paintings
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Danse macabre

Another popular genre of the memento mori theme is the mediaeval allegory of the Danse macabre or Dance of Death. These dancing skeletons represent the Grim Reaper leading a dancing procession of people from all walks of life — kings, priests, peasants, and merchants — toward their graves.

This genre originated in France in the early 15th century. It was seen on church murals — for example, at the Cimetière des Innocents in Paris — and in manuscripts, woodcuts and prints, notably Hans Holbein the Younger’s Dance of Death series (1526).

The Danse macabre motif gained prominence during times of plague — especially the Black Death of the 14th century — and war, and other societal upheavals.

The central message is that death spares no one, regardless of wealth, power, or virtue, urging repentance and humility. However, the motif also has a strong element of social commentary: The Danse Macabre critiqued human vanities and hierarchies, emphasising equality in death.

From France, the concept spread across Europe, through visual art, literature, and performance across Germany, England, and beyond. This and similar depictions of Death decorated many European churches.

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more: Danse macabre
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Funerary art and architecture: Designs for the Afterlife

Funerary art and architecture—the ultimate exercise in vanity. Because nothing screams self-importance like an ostentatious tomb. From the simplest graves to the grandest mausoleums, humans have long sought to leave their mark on eternity, defying the inevitable decay with marble angels and engraved platitudes.

Danse macabre murals on cemetery walls and ornate headstones brimming with skulls, bones, and sorrowful cherubs. And let’s not forget the mediaeval drama of cadaver monuments — macabre sculptures depicting decomposing corpses in painstaking detail. These rotting cadavers weren’t just memorialising the dead; they were mirthless reminders for the living, urging contemplation of their own mortality.

Such elements of memento mori architecture often reflect cultural beliefs about death, the afterlife, and the status or identity of the deceased.

Of course, no exploration of death-obsessed decor would be complete without mentioning Vienna — arguably the world capital of death worship. The Zentralfriedhof (Central Cemetery), housing over 3 million graves, is less a cemetery and more a city of the dead. Here lie Mozart and Falco, Robert Musil and Karl Kraus, Hedy Lamarr, Oskar Kokoschka and Egon Schiele.

It’s as if Vienna collectively decided: If we must die, we’ll do it fabulously.

The cemetery reflects Vienna’s cultural heritage and its tendency to honour death with grandeur. Vienna’s connection with death is deeply rooted in its cultural, historical, and artistic traditions, earning it the moniker of the “City of Death”. Death has been a recurring theme in Vienna’s art, music, and literature. The city’s Baroque churches, with their ornate tombs and depictions of the danse macabre, capture this obsession. Composers like Mozart, who wrote his unfinished Requiem before his death in 1791, and poets like Franz Grillparzer often explored themes of mortality.

Even the city’s landmarks refuse to let you forget your mortality. The Plague Column, smack in Vienna’s opulent city centre, commemorates the Great Plague of 1679. A masterpiece of Baroque excess, it’s a towering reminder that, yes, God might save you from pestilence — but don’t get too comfortable.

Ultimately, funerary art and architecture are humanity’s way of negotiating with the inescapable: if we have to die, we might as well look good doing it.

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more: Vienna and Death
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Memento mori jewellery

Memento mori jewellery gained popularity in the late 16th and through the 17th century, particularly during the Renaissance and Baroque periods. It was all the rage among the European aristocracy and the clergy, reflecting their preoccupation with mortality and the transient nature of life. These brooding little trinkets typically featured miniature skulls, tiny coffins, hourglasses, and intricate floral designs, all symbolising death and the passage of time. Common forms included mourning rings, pendants, lockets, and brooches, crafted from gold and silver. For added effect, onyx, jet, and pearls—symbols of mourning and tears—were used to complete the look.

Then came the Victorians, who took this obsession with mortality to new heights. With the First Industrial Revolution shaking up British society and throwing many into an existential crisis, the Victorians maintained a stiff upper lip, refusing to acknowledge any neuroses. Anxieties about tradition, identity, and mortality, however, found expression not only in the burgeoning field of Victorian and Gothic literature, but also in rituals of mourning.

Victorian mourning jewellery evolved from earlier memento mori pieces and became deeply ingrained in the culture of the time, especially following the death of Queen Victoria’s beloved husband, Prince Albert, in 1861. These pieces were used to commemorate the deceased, often incorporating personal elements such as the hair or portraits of the departed. Engravings such as “memento mori,” “tempus fugit” (time flies), or “hodie mihi, cras tibi” (today me, tomorrow you) served as solemn reminders of life’s fleeting nature, transforming the jewellery from mere ornamentation to memento mori.

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more: Victorians and Death
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Music — The Dance of Death Under the Sun

Sombre tones, minor keys, and slow tempos to evoke reflection or dread. The theme of memento mori—“remember that you must die”—has been a profound inspiration for music across centuries, encompassing classical, religious, and modern genres. Its representation in music often reflects a preoccupation with mortality, the fleeting nature of life, and the hope for transcendence or spiritual reflection.

Gregorian chants like the Dies Irae (“Day of Wrath”) embody the solemnity of human mortality and divine judgement. The Danse Macabre, where mocking Death leads people from all walks of life in a final dance, was frequently depicted in music as well as in art. Camille Saint-Saëns’ Danse Macabre (1874) captures this theme vividly through a lively yet eerie tone.

And who can forget the pitiful lament of the skewered Swan — already black and fiercely burnt, facing imminent death — the lamentable Swan Song from the Carmina Burana: once I was beautiful, now I’m being roasted on a spit!

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more: Memento mori music
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LITERARY AND CULTURAL RESONANCE

The theme of death has a profound resonance in literature, as it touches on one of the most fundamental aspects of human existence. Death stands as the ultimate outrage—a subject that has captivated writers for thousands of years.

Memento mori, the reminder of mortality, has been a central theme in numerous works throughout literary history, urging reflection on the fleeting nature of life and the certainty of death.

The Danse macabre, too, finds a rich history in European literature. It was a frequent motif in poetry, drama, and other written literature in the Middle Ages in several areas of Western Europe. It evolved through poetic and dramatic forms, with figures lamenting their fate or engaging in dialogue with Death itself.

Shakespeare’s Hamlet (1600) contemplating the skull of Yorick has become an iconic scene, a lasting embodiment of the memento mori idea, often depicted by later artists as part of the vanitas tradition.

Some of the most well-known meditations on death in English literature include Thomas Browne’s Hydriotaphia, Urn Buri (1658) and Jeremy Taylor’s Holy Living and Holy Dying (1650-51). These works were part of the Jacobean cult of melancholia, a period that marked the end of the Elizabethan era. The Jacobean focus on death, decay, and the transient nature of life reflects both religious teachings and the cultural anxieties of the time.

In Jacobean literature (1603–1625), memento mori was especially prominent, woven into the very fabric of the era’s dramatic works. The period’s plays often grappled with death, decay, and the fragility of human life. These works reflect both the religious frameworks of the time and the existential uncertainties caused by political instability, religious tension, and social upheaval.

In parallel, the Ars Moriendi, a body of European devotional literature from the Renaissance, used the concept of memento mori to encourage moral reflection, urging individuals to consider their mortality and prepare their souls for the inevitable passage from life to death.

In the late 18th century, the genre of the elegy became a popular form through which poets meditated on death, with works like Thomas Gray’s Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard and Edward Young’s Night Thoughts offering reflections on the inevitability of mortality.

The theme remains timeless because death doesn’t change its tune.

The theme of death and memento mori also found expression in the rise of Gothic literature, which emerged in the late 18th century. Gothic novels, such as Horace Walpole’s The Castle of Otranto (1764), echoed Jacobean preoccupations with death and decay. Haunted castles, decaying ruins — grandeur gone wrong and tormented souls of characters searching for redemption or vengeance populate both genres. Ghosts haunt Macbeth as well as the Otranto Castle. The macabre imagery and the moral complexities of anti-heroes tormented by ambition, guilt, and forbidden desires are forcefully redeployed by Ann Radcliffe (The Mysteries of Udolpho, 1794) and Matthew Lewis (The Monk, 1796). Gothic fiction’s flair for sensationalism mirrors Jacobean drama’s emphasis on theatrical spectacle, violence, and dramatic tension.

However, the Gothic genre also responds to the cultural anxieties and the intellectual movements of its own time: Enlightenment rationalism and Romantic ideals, juxtaposed with the accelerating Industrial Revolution. Gothic literature often uses terror and the sublime to provoke deep emotional response; in contrast to Jacobean works, which remained more grounded in social critique and religious doctrine, Gothic fiction often explored the irrational and the supernatural.

These settings of decay and corrupted grandeur, of characters grappling with existential dread, madness, forbidden desires and guilt, serve as constant reminders of human mortality, mirroring the essence of memento mori, which encourages reflection on death as a part of life.

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more: Memento mori in European Literature
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A VERY SHORT SHORTLIST

Most literary references in this section have been taken from English literature before the 1850s.

Memento mori, of course, since then has been fiercely alive and thriving. It was, and always will be, a major theme in world literature.

This is a very short shortlist, wildly arbitrary and in no particular order.

In Philip Roth’s Sabbath’s Theater, the character Madeline is described as having “the bright sadder-but-wiser outlook of an alert first grader who’d discovered the alphabet in a school where Ecclesiastes is the primer — life is futility, a deeply terrible experience, but the really serious thing is reading.”

These writers grappled with death in both literal and symbolic forms, offering profound insights into the nature of life and its inevitable end.

 

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will be expanded: THE BOOKLIST#Memento Mori
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PHILOSOPHICAL DIMENSIONS

Philosophically, the memento mori motif can be seen as both a warning and a liberation.

In the Hebrew Bible, the general tenor is that we should heed God’s word, because human life is transitory. For example, Isaiah, the 8th-century BC prophet, warns that “all flesh is grass”: the lifespan of human beings is compared to the short lifespan of grass: “The grass withers, the flower fades when the breath of the Lord blows on it; surely the people are grass.” (Is. 40:7)

Socrates, in Plato’s Phaedo, where the death of Socrates is recounted, introduces the idea that the proper practice of philosophy is “about nothing else but dying and being dead”. (Phaedo, 64a4)

The Ancient Greek equivalent of Memento Mori can be seen in the concept of σκοτία θνητή (skotia thnēti), which translates to “the shadow of death” or the “darkness of mortality.” In Greek philosophy, particularly in Stoicism, there is a focus on the inevitability of death, which encourages living virtuously and being mindful of one’s limited time. A famous example is from Epictetus, who advised that we should “keep death before your eyes,” a sentiment similar to Memento Mori. Another related idea is ἀνθρώπινον τέλος (anthrópinon télos), meaning “human end” or the “end of human life,” reflecting the contemplation of mortality as a way of focusing on what truly matters in life.

The theme was expanded by Roman Stoic philosophers like Seneca and Marcus Aurelius and spread throughout the Roman Empire, eventually picked up by the early Christians. The expression memento mori developed with the growth of Christianity, acquiring a moralising purpose quite opposed to the nunc est bibendum (“now is the time to drink”) theme of classical antiquity.

Throughout the Middle Ages and the Renaissance, this harrowing version of Memento mori was dominant. The Baroque era as well as the Biedermeier and the Victorian periods upheld this tradition.

During the late 19th and the 20th century, Existentialists will revisit this theme in the Stoic sense. The awareness of death becomes central to living an authentic life.

By confronting death, we’re freed from its shadow, becoming more present and intentional in our choices.

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more: Memento mori philosophical dimensions
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IN SHORT: WHY YOU MUST MEMENTO MORI

Throughout history, the reasons given to remember our death have been manifold, and often flatly contradictory. The underlying message, however, is a universal theme across many cultures.


(see: Global Memento Mori Ideas).

Even within the Western tradition, people have reached vastly different conclusions when reflecting on their own mortality.

Memento mori can be seen…

  1. … as an incentive to live a virtuous life. Stoic philosophers like Seneca and Marcus Aurelius emphasised death’s inevitability as a motivator for living virtuously.
  2. … as conducive to the practice of right effort, for example in Zen Buddhism, and foster a sense of spiritual urgency. See also Maraṇasati (mindfulness of death, death awareness).
  3. … as an encouragement to live a meaningful or authentic life. Existentialism often emphasises the awareness of death as a central aspect of human existence, and the foundation for living an authentic life.
  4. … or even as a matter of indifference. The Epicurean Epitaph: Non fui, fui, non sum, non curo (“I was not; I have been; I am not; I do not mind.”), was inscribed on the gravestones of his followers and seen on many ancient gravestones of the Roman Empire.
  5. … as an incitement to seize the moment — savouring the joys and pleasures of this earthly life to the full. Carpe diem, as Horace had it: pick the day while it’s in its bloom.
    • In the Hebrew Bible: “So I commend the enjoyment of life, because there is nothing better for a person under the sun than to eat and drink and be glad.” (Ecclesiastes 8:15:)
      • Perhaps the first written expression of the concept is the advice given by Siduri to Gilgamesh in the Old Babylonian version of the Epic of Gilgamesh, telling him to forgo his mourning and embrace life.
      • Viennese memento mori is a special blend of desperation, Schmäh rather than snark, and a melancholic joie de vivre. The Black Death and the bubonic Plague in 1713-14 left Viennese with the expectation of dying young, encouraging them into the Mozart attitude. Vienna’s connection with death is deeply rooted in its cultural, historical, and artistic traditions. Drinking songs and Wienerlieder — Der Tod, das muss ein Wiener sein — remain until today part of the city’s repertoire.
      • YOLO — the latest incarnation.
  6. … or an argument for licentiousness, as in “gather ye rosebuds while ye may“; or even a summons to recklessness and even dangerous behaviour.
  7. … or, on the opposite part of the spectrum: as an exhortation to asceticism, by emphasising the emptiness and fleetingness of earthly pleasures, luxuries, and achievements. Memento mori has been an important part of ascetic disciplines as a means of perfecting the character by cultivating detachment and other virtues.
  8. … as a harsh admonishment to prepare for the Afterlife, as in Christianity, and specifically for the salvation of the soul, the prospect of divine judgement and Hell.

HIS SNARK IS WORSE THAN HIS BITE

Qohelet — that grand old man of doom thinking — said it best: life is vapour. A fleeting breath. A mirage that vanishes the moment you reach for it. He didn’t just warn us — he condemned us to face the abyss.

“Vanity of vanities,” he kvetches, “all is vanity. What does man gain from all his toil under the sun?” The answer? Nothing. Death swallows kings and beggars alike, their struggles dissolved into dust.

Qohelet isn’t for the faint of heart. He’s the whisper in the dark that tells you every monument crumbles, every name is forgotten, and every ambition ends in the same grave.

Qohelet’s relentless belly-aching inspired a pretty theory: King Solomon, when young and full of vim and la dolce vita, writes the Song of Songs, an impassioned ode to love and the sensual pleasures of life. Later in life, a sobered middle-aged man with likely a touch of the midlife crisis, he writes the sagacious Proverbs. But in curmudgeonly old age, when confronted with the inevitability of death, he writes this Preacher’s lament, this rambling account of all the vanities of life that he will soon come to miss sorely.

  • Wisdom? Useless.

“For in much wisdom is much vexation, and he who increases knowledge increases sorrow” (Qoh. 1:18).

It’s not just grousing, either — it’s a clever jab at the wiseacres who think they’ve achieved something meaningful by being wise. It’s as if he’s saying, “Congratulations, clever boots, you’ve unlocked a lifetime of headaches.”

  • Work? A grim farce. “All their days their work is grief and pain; even at night their minds do not rest. This too is meaningless” (Qoh. 2:23). What is beauty? What is fame? Dust, my friend. Dust and echoes.

  • Life? Pointless. “What has been will be again, what has been done will be done again; there is nothing new under the sun” (Qoh. 1:9).

(Strictly on a side note: 
How did Qohelet even end up in the biblical canon? One really has to wonder.)

  • Death? Well, what about it? Not only does the wise man die like the fool — are we even different from the animals that rot in the earth? Human Exceptionalism — humbug!

“Who knows if the human spirit rises upward and if the spirit of the animal goes down into the earth?” (Qoh. 3:21)

Is Qohelet the original Noir Academian — a snarky, shadow-dwelling existentialist with a skull on his desk?

But beneath the surface of his lamentations lies a biting, sardonic wit, as if he’s smirking while delivering the bad news. His words aren’t just stark; they’re laced with the sharp edge of someone who sees life’s absurdity and refuses to sugarcoat it.

His wisdom potion is equal parts stark and snark. A cantankerous existential questioning laced with the inevitability of death, and advising the joy of life rather faute de mieux — a nihilistic form of Carpe Diem.

Qohelet’s snark positions him as a perfect Noir prophet. He doesn’t just describe the darkness — he needles it, exposing its ridiculousness. His humour is bleak and black, biting, and deeply human. He knows life is absurd. But when the cantankerous old man has finished belly-aching, he smirks and raises a glass.

“So I commend the enjoyment of life, because there is nothing better for a person under the sun than to eat and drink and be glad.”

Qohelet 8:15

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more: Qohelet
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CONCLUSION

Bisogna morire. We must die. A necessary lesson that leaves us sadder, but wiser. And — hopefully — snarkier.

The Passacaglia della Vita is a baroque musical piece attributed to Stefano Landi (1587–1639). The lyrics reflect on the inevitability of death and the transient nature of life. Bisogna morire — “we must die “— is its constant refrain. This version by Marco Beasly is most perfect.

OUTRO

see also: Carpe diem. La Calavera Catrina. Mono no aware. Lacrimae rerum. Anicca. Nine stages of decay.

BIBLIOGRAPHY:

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