The Death of Ivan Ilyich

This is the story of someone you’ve probably never heard of.

I first learned of Ivan Ilyich just last week, as I browsed the shelves of Portland’s iconic Powell’s City of Books. I went in with a clear mission: track down a short story collection recommended to me by a lovely, book-loving Brit, and something short I could devour on the flight back to Seattle.

Sandwiched between the massive ​War and Peace​ and ​Anna Karenina​, I spotted a razor-thin booklet: ​The Death of Ivan Ilyich​. I had never read Tolstoy before, so I figured this little novella would be the perfect literary snack for my flight, and a great primer for his more renowned and much longer works.

I had no idea that the 60-page book, priced at a measly $5.98, was going to be the catalyst for a much-needed existential crisis.

Maybe I’m a sick man. I’ve learned to welcome, embrace, and even enjoy these moments of ego death and paradigm shifts. Most of the books I read and the films I watch are hand-picked to send me into a spiral. I’m a fiend for spiritual reshufflings and ​uncomfortable truths​. I purposely seek them out but often fail. This time, however, I got lucky.

Ivan Ilyich was a judge who spent his life striving for a “decent life approved by society.” He was, at his core, an insecure man — a serial careerist who spent his every breath chasing status, job security, and wealth. Ironically, this very insecurity fueled his success, and the more successful he became, the more his obsession with the opinions of others grew.

One day, while hanging some curtains in his new home, Ivan fell and hit his side. The small bruise quickly turned into a serious injury that only worsened as the days went by. Nobody knew why, but slowly, the light in his eyes started to dim. Ivan was dying and no one could save him.

On his deathbed, moments from the end, he realized a mortifying truth: despite his professional success, status, and wealth, he had, in fact, wasted his precious days and lived an unhappy life. In that moment of clarity, he is overwhelmed with terror and unbearable spiritual distress as he confronts the end of his life without having really lived.

It is said that Ivan Ilyich had to die for the reader to live. So here are three profound lessons on living I found as I journeyed with him to his death.

1. Authenticity is key to a meaningful life.

Chapter 2 opens with a punch to the gut.

Ivan Ilyich’s life had been most simple and most ordinary and therefore most terrible.

This isn’t Tolstoy criticizing the simple life. This is Tolstoy masterfully highlighting the dangers of conformity, of not being true to who we are. Ivan’s values, desires, and behaviors are primarily determined by the opinions and expectations of others — his social superiors, especially. He chooses his friends based on their social standing. He marries a woman he doesn’t love because it’s the “right” thing to do. And he lives beyond his means to impress strangers and please others. Ivan’s life is terrible because it is a life devoid of true freedom, of true individuality. Ivan has inherited his beliefs and has not used his own reason to direct his life. Ivan is a shell of a human.

Ivan’s life underscores the emptiness that results from prioritizing societal expectations and material success over genuine connection and personal values. Living authentically, aligned with our core beliefs, is crucial for a meaningful existence.

Which brings me to my next lesson.

2. Your desires aren’t your own

It is as if I had been going downhill while I imagined I was going up. And that is really what it was. I was going up in public opinion, but to the same extent life was ebbing away from me. And now it is all done and there is only death.

— Ivan Ilyich

This is the moment Ivan realizes that social status is not the same as fulfillment. He feels that his desire to travel the prescribed road of society didn’t add to his life, but actually robbed him of life.

In René Girard’s book, “Deceit, Desire, and The Novel”, the French philosopher outlines his theory of mimetic desire, which states that many of our desires aren’t our own; in fact, they’re someone else’s, and in some cases, our desire is to be someone else.

Man is the creature who does not know what to desire, and he turns to others in order to make up his mind. We desire what others desire because we imitate their desires.

— René Girard

These mimetic desires, for most people, operate on an unconscious level. But as ​Carl Jung​ warned, “Until you make the unconscious conscious, it will direct your life and you will call in fate.” Ivan let his mimetic desires — social climbing, career advancement, adherence to social norms — run his life. He prioritized appearances, comfort, and status over genuine connection, self-reflection, and integrity. It was this pursuit of borrowed desires that led Ivan to spend his last days in a soul-crushing pain caused by the deep regret of a life unlived.

But mimetic desires aren’t the problem.

3. The problem is we lie to ourselves

If we know we’re mortal, why do we act as if we’re going to live forever?

I’m not sure I have an answer but one thing is clear: We simply refuse to think — really think — about our own mortality. Even if we study the subject of death, it is purely a subject of study. Nothing more. We don’t allow it to transform us, to breathe life into our every day. And when death visits our neighbor, we go through the usual motions of grief and sympathy but ultimately, we are relieved that it was someone else, not us. Our relationship with death is an avoidant one, and our preferred coping mechanism is self-deception.

When we lie to ourselves, we’re not hiding from ourselves. We’re hiding from death — or at least trying — secretly hoping she won’t find us, but we all know deep down she already has and is simply waiting for our turn. 

If you dare to engage in some deep, perhaps uncomfortable, reflection, you’ll see through your own lies and realize, like our friend Ivan, that dying isn’t hard. Living is.

In an era where we’re not only encouraged to go out, get it, and thrive, but show the world we’re out there getting it and thriving; if we are not careful, this thriving can quickly become a constant striving where we never truly arrive — even when we reach the goals we set for ourselves, the goals society told us would make us happy.

Ivan’s story is a meditation on the human condition, challenging us to reflect on our own lives, inviting us to reevaluate what matters most. It is also a powerful reminder that we’re not going to live forever so we must stop living like it, and that the societal views of status and success can often be more soul-crushing than death itself.