The Limits of Uncertainty: How Awareness of Death Changes Our Perception of Life
PhD and cognitive psychologist Scott Barry Kaufman shares his experience confronting the reality of death and reflects on how and why such an experience can be transformative: helping us see our lives and true goals in a new light, focus on what truly matters, break free from behavioral stereotypes, the shackles of the past, and the fog of the future, as well as strengthen and deepen our relationships with others.
“The irony [of the human condition] is that our deepest need is to be free from the anxiety of death and annihilation; but it is life itself that awakens it, and so we are forced to avoid being fully alive.”
—Ernest Becker, The Denial of Death“We can experience union with something greater than ourselves, and in that union find the greatest peace.”
—William James, The Varieties of Religious Experience
A few years ago, I had an existential crisis. I was undergoing a very minor medical procedure, and was told the risk of death was extremely low. I remember wanting to reply, “So, not zero? There’s a chance I could die?” The procedure went as planned, but I was left with a sudden awareness of my own mortality. For some strange reason, I had lived almost forty years without consciously realizing that this life, at least in this body, would not last forever. Frankly, the thought terrified me.
To get a grip, I read the classic book The Denial of Death by anthropologist Ernest Becker. Building on the work of Austrian psychoanalyst Otto Rank, Becker argues that at the core of everything lies a “rumble of panic.” According to Becker, this is the result of an “existential paradox”:
“This is the terror: to have emerged from nothing, to have a name, consciousness of self, deep inner feelings, an excruciating inner yearning for life and self-expression—and with all this yet to die.”
I definitely felt the “rumble of panic” Becker described, but his solutions, which included a “leap of faith” into the “invisible mystery” of creation, whose design is beyond human understanding, didn’t offer any guidance on how to actually live my life, even if I were to take such a leap.
By coincidence, I was given such an opportunity. A friend of mine, who worked at an experimental theater company called Swim Pony, was creating an interactive game called “The End.” I was invited to participate and see if the game would lead to any improvements in well-being. I agreed.
Soon after, I received a package with a journal, a deck of cards with memorable images, and an invitation to a party in twenty-eight days, with the location to be announced later. I also got a text message: “Hi, I’m The End. Text me when you’re ready to play.”
Uh-oh, what had I gotten myself into?
Someone calling themselves “The End” explained the rules. Every day for twenty-eight days, I was to draw a new card and go on a quest. Then, together with “The End,” I would reflect on the lessons I learned—thinking about everything I noticed in myself during the game, and any patterns connecting my new experiences with the cards I had already played. With that “rumble of panic,” I dove in completely.
For twenty-eight days, I completed tasks of increasing intensity and sharpness, from meditating on the infinity of the universe to writing my own obituary, walking through a cemetery while observing my feelings, imagining the perfect day of my life and who I’d spend it with, experiencing what it would be like to hear I had little time left, exploring what I wanted done with my body after death, and what medical procedures I’d want if I became incapacitated. For twenty-eight extremely emotional days, I faced head-on—without any protection—what exactly about death scared me so much.
Several times, I was asked to articulate a personal mission for why I was playing the game. At the start, I said, “Because I’m afraid of absolute uncertainty, but at the same time, I’m very curious.” Halfway through, I was asked if I wanted to revise my statement based on my experience, and I replied, “I’d like to shift my baseline state—from anxiety to curiosity. I’m a very curious person, but my baseline state can get in the way.”
When the game ended, I met the other participants at a cemetery (of course) to reflect on our experiences. Everyone agreed that this “game” was nothing short of life-changing. We realized what was most important in our lives, and although we became more aware of the reality of death than ever before, we also became newly aware of life. When I looked at the data from all the players (including myself), it matched our conversations and conclusions at the cemetery. There was a statistically significant increase (from before to after the game) in the following aspects of well-being:
- Receiving help and support from others when needed
- A sense of life direction
- Reduced anxiety
- A sense of happiness
At first, these results were puzzling. According to Becker and a whole line of research based on his theory, called terror management theory, awareness of death should increase feelings of insecurity and defensiveness. Yet none of us in “The End” experienced this. Instead, we felt a new sense of wonder and joy in life, and became more focused on what truly matters to us. How can this discrepancy be explained?
When it comes to fear of death, I think there’s more at play than just fear of “absolute annihilation.” Contrary to terror management theory—which, as recent research shows, isn’t really supported anyway—I don’t believe people have developed defense mechanisms specifically to cope with the existential reality of death. After all, studies show that people are usually more afraid of the unknown, separation from loved ones, and eternal suffering than of simply ceasing to exist. In fact, when faced with a choice between eternal life in loneliness and an early death surrounded by loved ones, most people choose death.
Instead, I believe the “rumble of panic” Becker describes doesn’t come from fear of annihilation itself, but because the idea of annihilation threatens our needs, which most of us are deeply invested in satisfying. It’s likely that awareness of death is a byproduct of our uniquely developed imagination and self-awareness, and the idea of death simply triggers our defense mechanisms. Specifically, awareness of mortality activates a deeply rooted fear of uncertainty (since death is the ultimate uncertainty), threatens the stability of our belonging and connection to others (death separates us from others), and threatens our self-esteem, especially narcissistic self-esteem (nothing is more destructive to our endless striving for virtue than death).
No wonder people use so many defense mechanisms when faced with their own mortality, and why, when we feel most unsafe and insecure, we often shift our focus to more immediate, self-centered interests.
But it doesn’t have to be this way. As Irvin Yalom notes, “While the physical side of death destroys us, the idea of death can save us.” In a state of full awareness of our existence, he says, “a person is amazed not at how things are, but that they are.”
Studying people who have truly faced death, including his own psychotherapy work with terminal cancer patients, Yalom observed that this experience is often highly transformative, leading to a reevaluation of life’s priorities, a sense of liberation, a stronger sense of living in the present, a vivid appreciation and acceptance of life’s basic facts (changing seasons, falling leaves), deeper communication with loved ones, and reduced fears in interpersonal interactions. Here’s what one person who survived a suicide attempt said:
“I was filled with new hope and a purpose to be alive. Most people can’t understand this. I appreciate the wonders of life—like watching a bird fly—everything becomes more meaningful when you’re close to losing it. I felt a sense of unity with all existence and with all people. After my psychological rebirth, I also empathize with everyone’s pain. Everything became clear and bright.”
There’s reason to believe that such transformations are possible for anyone who has the chance to repeatedly confront the ultimate unknown. Eric Weiner, author of The Geography of Bliss, visited Bhutan, a Buddhist kingdom known for its high “Gross National Happiness”—a collective index used to measure the happiness and well-being of the population. In Bhutan, people openly confront death and its terrifying images every day, and no one, not even children, is shielded from constant awareness of mortality. There are many ways to die in Bhutan, and when someone dies, complex and lengthy rituals are held. As one resident of Thimphu, Bhutan’s capital, told Weiner:
“You should think about death for five minutes every day… It will cure you… It’s this thing, this fear of death, the fear of dying before we achieve what we want or see our children grow up—that’s what bothers us.”
Recent research shows that even in a psychological lab, when people are given the chance to think more deeply and personally about their mortality over a long period, participants tend to shift toward growth-oriented values—self-acceptance, closeness, and a sense of community—and away from external, status-oriented values like money, image, and popularity.
Three characteristics seem to predict special growth after a prolonged period of mortality awareness: mindfulness, openness to experience, and a calm ego—traits that are integral to the “Being-Realm of existence” (B-realm), a style of self-actualization described by Maslow, where meta-needs come to the forefront. Exploring your mortality with openness, curiosity, deep reflection, mindfulness, humility, and self-compassion can help you overcome the defenses triggered by uncertainty.
Of course, that’s easier said than done! Our “deficiency needs”—another Maslow term for basic needs like food, safety, and sex—are a powerful force. These new ways of being in the world must be practiced constantly, as we tend to slip back into defensiveness and insecurity when our safety is threatened, as even Yalom himself found after a car accident: “Thus, my fundamental anxiety about death had only a brief flowering before it was secularized into such less significant concerns as self-esteem, fear of interpersonal rejection, or humiliation.”
In the end, the best way to die well is to live well. Developmental psychologist Gary Rekeran and existential positive psychologist Paul Wong argue that there are different depths of meaning—from pure hedonistic pleasure and comfort, to personal growth, creativity and self-realization, service to others and commitment to larger social or political goals, and finally to life values that go beyond the individual and encompass cosmic meaning and ultimate purpose. Researchers claim that personal meaning in life increases in proportion to striving for higher levels of meaning.
Later research by meaning researcher Tatjana Schnell and colleagues found striking support for this theory. They discovered that the sources of meaning in a person’s life most strongly linked to a sense of meaningfulness include things that combine self-actualization with transcendence—generativity, appreciation, inner harmony, growth, values, spirituality, creativity, care, and love. Lower on the list are things like fun, individualism, achievement, tradition, order, and comfort.
When we shift our priorities toward higher, more integrated levels of meaning, we see a remarkable deepening of meaning, facilitated by awareness of our own mortality and the development of our own full humanity.