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Since you’re a Hegeltard, death in your view, is not simply the end of your finite existence; it is the ultimate negation, the glorious apex of a dialectical scheme where all distinctions—transcendent and immanent, divine and material, human and God—are cheerfully obliterated in the inexorable march toward the Absolute Spirit (absoluter Geist), or as a like to call it, the all being and also all becoming, postmordial goo. For most people, these distinctions hold profound meaning, but for you, they are merely fuel for Spirit’s endless self-realization, sacrificed on the altar of historical inevitability. Death, in your system, isn’t just an event—it’s meaning itself, the hinge on which the machinery of history turns. You’ve thoroughly sublated (aufgehoben) every opposition into the great abstraction, insisting that death is not a tragedy or an evil, but the immanent manifestation of divine judgment. And when death comes at the hands of the state, it transcends the banal and ascends to the sacred. After all, for you, the state is no mere political apparatus—no, it is the immanentized divine, the earthly embodiment of rational freedom and ethical norms. To die at its hands isn’t to suffer injustice but to participate in the dialectical resolution of Spirit’s contradictions. In this way, even your death becomes cosmically significant. What an honor! When someone murders you, or better yet, when the state executes you, it’s not just violence or punishment—it’s divine will in action, mediated through the state’s rational structures and universal ethical codes. The individual will of the murderer or executioner is, in your view, subsumed into the universal will of the state, which itself reflects the Absolute Spirit. In other words, your death isn’t just a personal tragedy or a social outcome—it’s a metaphysical event, a concretization of divine judgment fully realized in the material world. There’s no need for an afterlife tribunal or transcendent God when the state’s judges and executioners can do the job just fine. For you, death is the most significant thing that can happen, not just because it negates your finite self, but because it contributes to Spirit’s teleological march toward absolute unity. Unlike theological frameworks that reserve judgment for the transcendent realm, your Hegelian worldview insists that judgment is entirely immanent, fully realized within the structures of the state. Each death is another contradiction resolved, another step closer to the eschatological resolution of all things. Of course, for you. other atrocities—torture, rape, mutilation—don’t quite measure up. They may be unpleasant, but they’re not final negations; they don’t carry the metaphysical weight that death does in your system. Only death, in its majestic finality, earns the title of ultimate judgment, because only death has the dignity of resolving Spirit’s contradictions and reconciling the finite with the universal. For you, everything must feel cosmically ordained, no matter how absurd the premise. Contrast this with those who believe in an actual transcendent realm, for whom death is merely a transition and not the final word. For them, the worst fate isn’t the cessation of biological existence but something far greater—eternal separation from God, spiritual annihilation, or alienation from ultimate truth. In their eyes, your preoccupation with death as the ultimate judgment is not just shallow, but ultimately, profoundly solipsistic. You’ve managed to achieve what few can—you’re a logically consistent Hegelian. That’s no small feat. But let’s not get carried away—my condolences, too, because this means you’ve willingly trapped yourself in one of the most autistically convoluted and habitually nonsensical systems of thought ever conceived. In other words, congrats on your consistency—and sorry about your chronic retardation. Being a consistent Hegelian is like being the guy who shows up to a burned-down library with a library card, then solemnly appoints himself interim librarian to ensure someone checks out his books—admirable commitment, perhaps, but tragically misguided and hilariously oblivious to the smoldering ruins around him. A beautifully dialectical contradiction, sure, but one no one asked for, arriving long after relevance packed up and left town.