Google “death” and this is what you’ll get as one of the first images.
The figure is so ingrained in our culture it's hard to separate death from, well Death.
This iconic image of death personified is a skeleton that wields a scythe, and is named
the “Grim” Reaper.
But why?
To answer these questions we have to look at ancient religion and artwork, Aramaic scripture,
and yes, the Black Plague.
How we conceptualize death, and how we choose to personify it changes over time.
And there’s more to the Grim Reaper than just doom and gloom.
[Monstrum intro.]
Macabre images of Death personified have been around since at least the late 13th Century.
This illustration, “The Legend of the Three Living and Three Dead,” is often considered
to be the first known European image of an animated, skeletal death figure.
It’s based on a popular story from the second half of the thirteenth century.
And I mean a very popular story, with versions in French, English, Italian, and German.
The story goes that three finely dressed young men, aristocrats or sometimes kings, are out
hunting when they come across three animated corpses all in varying stages of decay.
To their horror, they recognize them as their own ancestors, or perhaps even the men themselves.
The corpses warn the living trio of the fleetingness of life, the grossness of death, and the need
for repentance – turning the men toward a more righteous path.
The frescoes of the Camposanto in Pisa, a part of the Piazza del Duomo known as the
“monumental cemetery” or “holy field” were also inspired by this story.
The frescos portray a flying “Death” with bat wings holding a scythe.
That same century an event of global proportions fundamentally changed humanity’s relationship
with and perception of death—the bubonic plague, or what we now commonly call the Black
Death.
Its monumental spread in the mid-14th century in Europe, Asia, and Africa killed a huge
portion of the global population.
How did we even attempt to manage the horror of such widespread death?
To give us more insight into the Black Death, here’s Caitlin Doughty of Ask a Mortician.
So Caitlin, what do we know about how people processed death during the bubonic plague?
Hi Emily, hi everyone.
So, let’s understand that by the end of the 14th century, anywhere from 20%, which
is already a huge percentage, to 75% of the global population had succumbed to the bubonic
plague.
And yes that’s quite a range but there was inconsistent, inaccurate record keeping and
no reliable census or data collection.
But, any way you slice it— just a monumental amount of death, causing economic, psychosocial,
and cultural effects on the population.
Turning Death into a humanoid figure— Death, why he’s just like us!— may have been
a way to help us cope.
As the plague continued to rage on, skeletons and even half decomposed corpses, became a
common visual trope.
They emphasized the universality of death and served as a reminder of death.
“As I am so you too will be, folks!”
“The Three Living and the Three Dead” story, which I love, was just the beginning.
Churches and cemeteries across Europe featured allegorical scenes of the Danse Macabre—showing
skeletons, corpses, and living people from all backgrounds, all walks of life interacting
together.
King or pauper, no one was safe from the plague.
Money and status can’t save you!
We also see the emergence of a singular Death standing over bodies or collecting the dead,
“Triumph of Death” motifs, that illustrate the huge numbers of dead the grave could consume.
This period also marks the appearance of artistic renderings of these skeletons with weapons—a
bow, sword, sickle, or scythe.
For example, in the mid 14th century, the poet Petrarch, wrote his poem Triumphus Mortis:
Trionfo della Morte (Triumph of Death) after viewing the Camposanto frescos.
The text’s popularity [Petrarch’s Triumph of death] inspired more illustrations and
paintings depicting Death as a skeleton or a corpse standing on a cart riding over a
dying population, with a large scythe over her shoulder.
That’s right, her shoulder.
Death’s gender can be either male or female depending on the country and time period...
Those of us in the Slavic and Germanic-language groups more often imagine a male Grim Reaper,
while a female version has been more dominant in Romance and Latinate languages.
Don’t forget that much of European culture harkens back to the same Greco-Roman roots.
Thus, male “death” gods in Greek and Roman culture deeply influenced the Grim Reaper’s
appearance.
Thanatos [θænətɒs] the winged Greek personification of nonviolent death, has been
compared to the Grim Reaper but there are two main differences—Thanatos is always
male and he carries away the dead.
The Grim Reaper is more often conceptualized as forcefully claiming the deceased, cutting
down lives indiscriminately.
There’s [Chronos/Χρόνος], Heronos the male Greek god of time.
Who is often confused with Kronos [ˈkroʊnɒs or Κρόνος] the ancient Greek god connected
to agriculture portrayed as an old man with a beard, sickle in hand.
The physical resemblance of these three gods and the natural associations with harvest,
the passing of seasons, and time aligned them with death and each other.
When Renaissance artists and authors were looking for ways to depict death, they adopted
elements from Thanatos, Heronos, and Kronos—and replaced the hand-held sickle with the larger,
more efficient scythe.
Just butting in here for some scythe facts.
During this same time in the early 14th century when we see this increase in imagery of Death
as a skeleton in art and literature, the long-handled scythe that you can use standing up, was gaining
popularity in the corn harvests of medieval Europe.
Scythes went viral in the corn harvesting scene.
It was a faster way of mowing than the sickle, the increased productivity meant fewer laborers
were needed.
But because of the strength and height needed to use this larger tool, it was perceived
as a masculine object.
Those who wielded sickles in the fields were called reapers.
Those who used scythes were “mowers.”
So, the Grim Reaper should technically be the Grim Mower.
Which just doesn’t have the same ring to it.
Up to this point in Medieval history, there are clear associations of Death with time
and the harvest which helps explain why this Grim Reaper, this figure representing Death,
is portrayed with scythe in hand “mowing down” the living quickly and in great numbers—
much like the Black Plague.
Personifications of Death continued to be popular reminding the living of the inevitability
of their end.
But Death was also a symbol of compassion—waiting with open arms in the afterlife, a sign of
comfort and acceptance.
From this came association of Death with love, leading to its portrayal as a bridegroom of
young Maidens during the Renaissance period.
And eventually, as the eroticized “demon lover” which gained popularity in the 18th
and 19th centuries.
So how did Death come to be named the Grim Reaper?
That actually didn’t happen until hundreds of years after the Black Death.
The word “grim” has been in use since the late 10th century to mean something “fierce,
cruel, savage or harsh in disposition or action;” or “fiercely angry.”
The moniker “The Grim Reaper'' in reference to the personification of Death first appears
in English literature in 1847 in The Circle of Human Life, a partial translation of an
earlier German devotional text (Stunden Christlicher Andacht) from 1841 that tracks the life of
a Christian.
So there you have it.
Death as a figure that takes lives with a scythe has been around for a long time, but
the name Grim Reaper is more modern.
And since the 19th century, it's stuck.
The Grim Reaper pops up everywhere in popular culture.
The interpretation can be more lighthearted like in Death Takes a Holiday from 1934, Meet
Joe Black from 1998, or the TV show Dead Like Me.
The Reaper here is meant to humanize Death and show that they have motivations and physical
forms much like humans.
[opening credits Dead Like Me].
And it makes sense that in times of mass death, we know a little something about that right
now, it helps to see Death as not some terrifying, invisible, indiscriminate force bearing down
on us, but something with a face, maybe even a personality.
Better that Death is like a bureaucratically focused DMV worker, annoying but relatable,
than a black hole of nothingness.
It’s easy to see why that would make us less anxious, and I’m fascinated to see
how art and literature personify death as we continue to fight, and hopefully recover
from, the pandemic.
Like Caitlin said, more relatable interpretations of the Grim Reaper in the 20th and 21st centuries
lessened the blow of his scythe so to speak [Bill and Ted’s Excellent adventure clip],
but whenever there is a large loss of life in the real world, Death returns to its allegorical
role as something to be feared.
Like in 1987, when Australia used the cloaked figure to raise awareness about AIDS.
Or more recently in 2020, when political cartoonists (and one Florida lawyer) used the Grim Reaper
to emphasize the dangers of COVID-19.
Around the world people evoked the dramatic figure to emphasize high death tolls by the
global pandemic or as a warning of what might meet someone who fails to recognize the significant
dangers of the virus.
Death is both personal and collective.
After all, Death is universal.