We divided the art of dying well, at the outset, into two parts. In the former were set down the precepts of dying well that could belong to that time in which death could still seem to be far away; in the latter, which is now before us, we shall set down those that belong to death as it were present, or soon to come. Now death is said to be imminent, or at the very doors, either when we are worn out with age — as the Apostle says: "That which grows old and decays is near its end" (Heb. 8:13) — or when a grave illness, judged most dangerous by the physicians, has seized us, whether it has struck an old man or a child. The first precept of this second order seems to us to be the meditation on death. For death, however diligently and attentively it is considered while we are in the flower of life, moves us hardly at all, since it seems to be far away, and for that reason less dreadful. But when it is seen to be near at hand, so that it can almost be touched with the hands, then it truly affects us, and the consideration of it profits us greatly. All arts are learned better by practice than by instruction; and it is agreed that those who, if not more often, have at least died twice — like blessed Christina, and that Drithelm the Englishman, and that hermit whose story John Climacus relates, of whom we shall say a few words in the last chapter — died quite readily. For us, who are permitted to die only once, no better way is opened than to meditate and reflect on what will take place in death.
First, then, we must consider that in death there takes place a separation of the soul from the body, yet neither is the soul extinguished, nor does the body fall and return to dust without hope of rising again. For if this were to happen, as atheists suppose, those who despised death would seem to have spoken rightly when they said: "Let us eat and drink, for tomorrow we shall die" — a most ancient proverb, as can be understood from the twenty-second chapter of Isaiah, and from the Apostle in the fifteenth chapter of his first epistle to the Corinthians. But that there are among us men who say they believe, yet deny it by their deeds, can be understood from this: that some, even in extreme old age, do not think of death, just as if either they were never going to die, or they imagined that with the death of the body the soul also were utterly extinguished. But whatever these men may dream, the separation of the flesh from the soul, like that of a bride from her bridegroom, is a parting for a time, not a divorce forever; for the soul is immortal, and the flesh on the last day will without any doubt rise again.
We must therefore, if we are Christians and have any wisdom, think constantly of the death that is near at hand. For on this the whole sum of our affairs depends: that we die well. For in this life the passage from virtue to vice is not difficult, and — with God's grace — from vice to virtue. For he who is now an heir of the kingdom of heaven can tomorrow, through sin, be cut off from the inheritance of the children of God and become guilty of the eternal fire; and conversely, with God's grace aiding him, a slave of the devil can be freed from that slavery and enrolled once more among the children of God and heirs of the heavenly kingdom. But he who dies an enemy of God and guilty of the eternal fire will forever be an enemy of God and condemned to the eternal fire; and conversely, he who dies a friend of God and an heir of the kingdom of heaven will never be able to fall from that most eminent grace and glory. And so all our happiness or unhappiness depends upon a good or a bad death. Who then, unless plainly a fool and bereft of all judgment, will dare to depart from this life through death, unless he has first, with all diligence applied, learned to die well and prepared himself to undergo a good death?
A second consideration concerning death can be most useful: namely, that although death is most certain — as the Prophet says: "Who is the man that shall live and shall not see death?" (Ps. 88:49), and the Apostle agrees: "It is appointed unto men once to die, and after this the judgment" (Heb. 9:27) — yet nothing is more uncertain than its day or hour; as Scripture itself cries out: "Watch, for you know neither the day nor the hour" (Matt. 25:13). Many are snatched away in infancy; others, on the contrary, attain a decrepit old age; some die in youth, others in mature years. But what is more wretched still, many die so suddenly that they have no leisure to call upon God and to commend their spirit to the divine mercy. Now the divine providence, according to the treasure of His wisdom, arranges these things for no other reason than that none of the elect should dare to remain, even for a moment, in the mire of mortal sin. Therefore, you who read these things, if perchance the consciousness of mortal sin bears witness against you, do not dare to wait for tomorrow — nay, do not even await the end of the present day or hour — without at least detesting your sin before God with a contrite and humbled heart.
A third consideration will be no less useful: in the morning, before you go forth to your daily business, and in the evening, before you compose yourself for sleep — lest death, coming upon you, should find you unprepared — diligently examine your conscience, whether you did anything during the past night or the day just ended that could appear to be a sin, especially a mortal one. And if you find nothing, give thanks to God, the author of all good things; but if you find that something has been committed against God, groan over it earnestly and from the heart, and at the first opportunity confess it at the feet of a priest; and willingly accept the penance imposed, and faithfully perform it. This practice of examining the conscience at least twice a day helps wonderfully, so that death never finds us unprepared.
A fourth consideration, no less useful than the foregoing, is that which Ecclesiasticus mentions: "In all your works remember your last end, and you shall never sin" (Sir. 7:40). For how could he sin in any of his works who weighs whatever he does in the balance of the divine judgment that will take place at death? To this belongs that memorable saying of that man who died twice, of whom John Climacus makes mention in his Ladder, at the sixth step. He speaks thus: « I will not omit to relate the history of that solitary who dwelt at Choreb. After he had lived for a long time most negligently, taking no care for his soul, he was at last seized by illness and brought to the brink of death; and when he had already departed completely from the body, after one hour he came back to himself, and begged us all to withdraw from there at once. Then, with the entrance of his cell blocked up with stones, he remained inside for twelve years, speaking to no one at all and tasting nothing except bread and water. As he sat there, he pondered in amazement only the things he had seen in his rapture, and he was so fixed upon them in thought that he never changed the expression of his face, but remaining always thus astonished, he silently poured forth a flood of burning tears. When he was now near death, we broke open the entrance and went in; and when we humbly begged a word of instruction from him, we heard only this from him: No one who has truly come to know the remembrance of death will ever be able to sin. » So he spoke. Let the reader consider that this is a true story, not a fable, and that it was written by one who was a holy man, and who wrote what he saw with his own eyes and heard with his own ears.
From this it is easy to understand how important it is to meditate on death, and never to drive its presence from one's memory. For this man had previously been negligent in seeking his salvation; but by the great mercy of God he tasted death and, rising again from the dead, for twelve years he thought constantly on death, and at the same time bewailed his sins with continual tears; and what before his first death he had deemed light and venial, having tasted the bitterness of death he judged to be most grave and worthy of being expiated by twelve years of tears. This, then, is the true commentary on those words of Scripture which said: Remember your last end, and you shall never sin
And if the perpetual remembrance of one of the last things brought so great a profit to that monk, that through twelve years of penance he redeemed the punishment of everlasting hell and gained the glory of the everlasting kingdom, what would the unceasing memory of the four last things — death, judgment, hell, and paradise — accomplish? Would that many would come to know this ready source of gain, and be willing to experience it.