“To be, or not to be,” said Hamlet, “that is the question.” Whether you’re a fan of Shakespeare’s work or not, at the heart of Hamlet’s famous soliloquy are some piercing questions: is it better to live or to die? Is it worth enduring “the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,” or is it better to escape life’s hardships by ending it all?

As Hamlet explores his options, he probes the nature of death. He envisions it as a tranquil sleep — a reprieve free from suffering. Yet, he falters, haunted by the unknown. Death’s mystery gnaws at him; he cannot grasp what lies beyond. And so, he hesitates as he finds himself caught in the crosshairs of a philosophical bind: endure a painful life or gamble with an unknown death. His struggle — secular, raw, and universal — lays bare the depths of despair, the weight of fear, and the paralyzing grip of doubt.

Research shows that more than 720,000 people die from suicide each year — approximately one death every 40 to 43 seconds. Globally, suicide is the third leading cause of death for people between the ages of 15 and 29. This doesn’t even account for suicide attempts, of which there is an uncountable sum. The reality is that we live in a world ridden with depressed, anxious, and lonely people. We live in a world in which so many aspects of it — pain, loss, death — simply don’t make sense. Paradoxically, many seek purpose yet dismiss objective truth, yearning for meaning while turning away from the God who provides it.

Hamlet’s turmoil is not merely a product of Shakespeare’s imagination, but a reflection of a profound inner conflict waged by most souls across this earth. As the late pastor R.C. Sproul put it, “[I]t does seem at times as though life gives to us more failures than successes, more pain than pleasure, more unhappiness than happiness, more of a sense of loss than a sense of gain. … And yet, in spite of all of that, we see how people will claw and fight tooth and nail to hang on to whatever it is that we call life for another five minutes.”

This rings true, doesn’t it? Despite the staggering number of individuals who, year after year, succumb to despair and choose to end their suffering, far more endure — gritting their teeth through the agony. Why? Could it be for the sake of family and friends? Could they glean hope through a daily ritual of self-assurance in front of the mirror, whispering that brighter days lie ahead? Or is it simply that death is petrifying? There are so many questions, and arguably, even more answers. And yet, one thing is certain: people unearth reasons to press on, even if it means lying about how they really feel, slapping band aids over gaping gunshot wounds, or acting as though they’re not trembling with fear at what could possibly lie beyond the grave.

When reflecting on Hamlet’s iconic question, “to be or not to be,” I find myself drawing a parallel to the words of Scripture. The Apostle Paul, rather than posing a question, delivers a bold declaration. Though it echoes Hamlet’s exploration of existence enough to invite comparison, it lands on a profoundly different shore. In Philippians 1:21, he asserts: “to live is Christ, and to die is gain.” Both grapple with life’s grandest themes — our being, our purpose — but the contrast is stark. Unlike Hamlet, Paul is not confused, conflicted, or concerned. Paul, dear reader, is confident and content.

Here is the broader context to Paul’s letter to the church in Philippi:

“For to me to live is Christ, and to die is gain. If I am to live in the flesh, that means fruitful labor for me. Yet which I shall choose I cannot tell. I am hard pressed between the two. My desire is to depart and be with Christ, for that is far better. But to remain in the flesh is more necessary on your account. Convinced of this, I know that I will remain and continue with you all, for your progress and joy in the faith, so that in me you may have ample cause to glory in Christ Jesus, because of my coming to you again.”

It’s fascinating to juxtapose Paul’s perspective with Hamlet’s as they confront the same existential riddle of “to be or not to be.” For Paul, death is no mere refuge from anguish or the fear of death’s uncertainty. On the contrary, he settles that death is the “far better” path, declaring, “My desire is to depart and be with Christ.” Paul isn’t desiring to run away from pain but to run into the arms of His Savior. It is not fear that captivates him, but an eager anticipation of the paradise he knows awaits. In this, he and Hamlet stand worlds apart. Yet, the contrast deepens still.

Hamlet, peering into the “to be” of existence, equates living with enduring relentless suffering. Like many an existentialist, he frames life as a grueling tug-of-war — how much torment can one bear before surrender beckons? For Hamlet, “to be” means merely to survive. Paul, however, anchors “to be” in God-given purpose.

Though Paul openly longs to be with Christ — a desire that ought to be the truest aim for every believer — he admits he is “hard pressed.” He recognizes that the sovereign God who sustains his every breath has a reason for it. Each day granted signals a profound truth: God’s work through him remains unfinished. Paul still has souls to serve, and he calls it his “joy” to do so. Extra time is no sentence to endure but a chance to glorify God and further advance His Kingdom. While Paul’s heart pulls toward Christ, his love for God’s people and his calling to ministry tugs nearly as strong, igniting a desire to keep living for the sake of those around him.

Beloved, this is true of all of us. And quite frankly, we need this reminder just as much as the next person. Being Christian by no means makes us immune to life’s frustrations or the temptation to doubt. If you need proof, look no further than the author of this article. As someone who grew up in a Christian household and can’t recall ever denying Jesus as Lord, I, too, struggled with purpose. I, too, have been distracted by life’s worries and temporarily given into despair. Yet in those moments, Christ pierced my desperate heart with His radiant light.

Through my confusion, God guided me to the certainty of His word. In my weakness and wavering, He turned my gaze to Him — the One who cradles the cosmos, tends the sparrows, and gave His Son so I might live. There once was a point in my life when I read of Paul being “hard pressed” between two options, and I could only relate to one. His longing for Christ resonated, but the zeal to live eluded me.

There was a time when I didn’t see a new day as a new mercy or another breath as a gift. I used to think nothing could be as sweet and as rich as departing this world and being with Christ. And while there is nothing that will ultimately compare to our reunion with the King of kings in glory, I now praise God for unveiling the beauty woven into this earthly life. And the beauty lies in the fact that, so long as He wakes us up, we’re never without purpose. We don’t need to fear life or death. In fact, the phrase that got me through many of my earlier doubts was this: If you’re alive, God’s still using you. He knows when to call you home.

So, believer, rejoice that we need not wrestle with Hamlet’s anguished “to be or not to be.” Instead, let us mirror Paul’s fervent resolve to thrive wherever God plants us, whether that’s here on earth or home in heaven. Wherever we stand, our Savior has rooted us with reason in each proper season. Our greatest and highest calling is to serve — both God and neighbor. Thus, with every breath we take, let us embrace the divine privilege of living out God’s purpose, trusting that whether in this world or the next, our lives are forever tethered to His eternal glory.