Why Do We Fear Mortality?
- 3 days ago
- 12 min read
Written by Sam Mishra, The Medical Massage Lady
Sam Mishra (The Medical Massage Lady) is a multi-award-winning massage therapist, aromatherapist, accredited course tutor, oncology and lymphatic practitioner, trauma practitioner, breathwork facilitator, reiki and intuitive energy healer, transformational and spiritual coach, and hypnotherapist.
Death arrives for every living thing, yet among all creatures, humans alone seem to know it's coming. We are perhaps the only species that can contemplate our own non-existence, that can lie awake at night haunted by the knowledge that one day we will cease to be. This awareness of mortality shapes our lives in profound ways, influencing our beliefs, behaviours, relationships, and the very structure of our societies. But why does the prospect of death frighten us so deeply? What is it about the inevitable end that fills us with dread?
The fear of mortality is not a single, simple emotion but a complex tapestry woven from multiple threads: our biological drives, psychological needs, social conditioning, and existential awareness. Understanding this fear requires us to examine it from multiple angles, to see how it operates at different levels of our being, from the most primitive survival instincts to the most abstract philosophical contemplations.
The biological imperative
At the most fundamental level, the fear of death is written into our biology. Evolution has equipped us with powerful survival mechanisms that trigger alarm when we sense danger. The fight-or-flight response, the surge of adrenaline when we perceive a threat, the instant calculations our brains make to avoid harm, all of these exist because our ancestors who possessed stronger survival instincts were more likely to pass on their genes.
This biological fear operates largely below the level of conscious thought. We don't choose to flinch when something moves suddenly toward our face, and we don't decide to feel our heart race when we stand too close to a cliff's edge. These responses are hardwired, the product of millions of years of natural selection favouring those who avoided death long enough to reproduce.
But humans experience something beyond this instinctive recoil from immediate danger. We possess the cognitive capacity to project ourselves into the future, to imagine scenarios that haven't happened yet, to contemplate abstract concepts like our own non-existence. This means we can fear death not just when it's imminent, but constantly, as a looming possibility that colours our experience of life itself.
The terror of annihilation
Perhaps the most fundamental aspect of death that frightens us is the prospect of complete annihilation. Death means the end of consciousness, the cessation of experience, the absolute termination of the self we've spent our entire lives building and inhabiting. This is difficult, perhaps impossible, to truly comprehend. As the philosopher Thomas Nagel argued, we cannot imagine what it's like to be dead because there is no "what it's like," death is the absence of experience itself.
This creates a strange cognitive paradox. We try to imagine our own non-existence, but the very act of imagining requires a consciousness that would be absent in death. We picture our funeral, imagine the world continuing without us, envision the people we love going on with their lives, but in all these scenarios, there's still a "we" doing the imagining, a perspective from which the scene is viewed. True non-existence cannot be imagined because imagination itself requires existence.
The philosopher Ernest Becker, in his influential work "The Denial of Death," argued that the fear of death is the primary psychological motivator underlying human behaviour. We cannot bear the knowledge of our own mortality, so we construct elaborate defences against this awareness, creating symbolic systems of meaning, pursuing immortality projects, and building cultures that promise to outlast our individual lives.
The loss of everything we know
Death means not just the end of ourselves but the loss of everything we've ever known and loved. It means permanent separation from the people who matter most to us, the permanent end of all relationships, all connections, all bonds of love and friendship. It means we'll never again experience the pleasures that make life worthwhile: the taste of favourite foods, the beauty of music, the warmth of sunshine, the comfort of familiar places, the joy of laughter with friends.
For many people, this aspect of death, the loss of loved ones and life's pleasures, may be more frightening than personal annihilation itself. We fear not being there for the people who depend on us, not seeing our children grow up, not growing old with our partners, missing out on future experiences we've looked forward to. We fear leaving things unfinished, words unsaid, dreams unrealized.
This fear is amplified by our tendency to value future experiences. Even when our present circumstances are difficult, we often derive comfort from the hope that things will get better, that good experiences await us. Death eliminates all future possibilities, closing down the horizon of potential that normally stretches before us.
The unknown beyond
Throughout history, humans have created countless belief systems attempting to answer the question of what, if anything, lies beyond death. The existence of such varied and elaborate afterlife beliefs across cultures suggests how deeply uncomfortable we are with the alternative: that death might simply be the end, that there might be nothing afterward.
Even for those who don't believe in an afterlife, or who profess uncertainty, death retains an element of the unknown that can be deeply unsettling. We've never experienced it, we cannot investigate it while alive, and those who have gone before us cannot report back. This absolute unknowability can be terrifying in a way that other unknowns are not, because we know we will inevitably experience it, yet can never prepare ourselves by learning what to expect.
Religious and spiritual traditions often frame death as a transition rather than an ending, a doorway to another form of existence. But even within these frameworks, death can provoke fear. Many religious traditions include concepts of judgment, punishment, or the possibility of eternal suffering, adding moral anxiety to the fear of death itself. The question "What if I'm not good enough?" can haunt believers as much as the atheist's "What if there's nothing?"
The illusion of control
Much of modern life is built around the assumption that we can control our circumstances, that through planning, effort, and rational decision-making, we can shape our futures and protect ourselves from harm. We save for retirement, purchase insurance, maintain our health, and take precautions against danger. These activities give us a comforting sense of agency over our lives.
Death shatters this illusion of control. No amount of planning can prevent it, no insurance policy can protect us from it, no rational strategy can indefinitely defer it. We can take steps to reduce certain risks, to potentially extend our lifespan, but ultimately, death remains beyond our control. For many people, this loss of control is itself a source of profound anxiety.
This fear is closely related to what psychologists call "terror management theory," which suggests that much of human behaviour is motivated by the need to manage the anxiety that comes from awareness of our mortality. We create cultural worldviews that provide meaning, pursue goals that give us a sense of lasting value, and seek evidence of our significance in ways that might transcend death.
The pain of dying
It's important to distinguish between the fear of death itself and the fear of dying—the process by which we transition from life to death. Many people fear not just the fact of death but the suffering that might accompany it: physical pain, loss of dignity, deterioration of body and mind, prolonged illness, helplessness, and dependency on others.
These fears are not unfounded. Dying can indeed involve suffering, though modern palliative care has made great strides in managing pain and improving quality of life for the dying. The fear of a bad death, painful, prolonged, and undignified, may in some cases exceed the fear of death itself. People often express the hope not to avoid death entirely (which they know is impossible) but to die well: quickly, painlessly, with dignity, surrounded by loved ones.
This fear of the dying process can lead to anticipatory anxiety that colours how we live, sometimes causing us to make decisions aimed at avoiding certain kinds of death rather than at enhancing life. It can also create resistance to thinking about or planning for death, as contemplating the possibilities feels too frightening.
The narcissistic wound
On a psychological level, death represents what might be called a narcissistic injury, a profound affront to our sense of importance and specialness. From our subjective perspective, we are the centre of our own universe. Our consciousness is the lens through which all reality is filtered. The world as we know it depends entirely on our perception of it.
Death means the end of this centrality. The world will continue without us, other people will go on living their lives, and eventually we will be forgotten. For most of us, even being remembered is temporary. A few generations pass, and we become names on family trees, if that, until eventually even those traces fade.
This inevitable obsolescence can feel deeply threatening. We want to matter, to have significance that extends beyond our brief time on earth. We create art, build businesses, have children, pursue achievements, all partly motivated by the desire to leave something behind, to create meaning that outlasts us. The fear that we might ultimately be insignificant, that our lives might not matter in any cosmic sense, is for many people indistinguishable from the fear of death itself.
Death as loneliness
There's a profound loneliness in contemplating death. It's the one experience we absolutely cannot share, cannot have anyone accompany us through. No matter how surrounded by loved ones we might be in our final moments, the actual transition from life to death is something we face alone. We can comfort the dying, hold their hands, speak words of love, but we cannot go with them wherever they're going or into the nothingness that might await.
This solitary nature of death can make it seem even more frightening. We are social creatures who find comfort and strength in connection with others. Most challenges in life can be faced with support, guidance, or companionship. Death is the exception, the purely individual experience that isolates us completely.
Moreover, as the philosopher Martin Heidegger noted, the awareness of our own mortality is something that cannot be delegated or avoided. Others can die in our place in certain scenarios, but they cannot die our death. Each person's death is uniquely their own, non-transferable, and this radical individuation can feel terrifying.
Cultural and social dimensions
Our fear of death is not purely individual but is shaped significantly by the cultures we inhabit. Different societies have different attitudes toward death, different rituals for managing it, and different narratives about what it means. In many modern Western societies, death has become somewhat taboo, hidden away in hospitals and funeral homes, rarely discussed openly. This cultural death denial can intensify individual fear by making death seem even more alien and threatening.
Conversely, some cultures maintain more open relationships with death, incorporating it more visibly into daily life through rituals, celebrations, and ongoing acknowledgment of ancestors. This doesn't eliminate fear, but it can provide frameworks for understanding and coping with it.
Social factors also influence who fears death most and in what ways. Research suggests that fear of death often peaks in middle age, when people are most intensely engaged with life projects, careers, and raising families. The elderly sometimes report less death anxiety, possibly because they've had time to process their mortality or because they've lived full lives. The young may fear death differently, as an interruption of potential rather than as a loss of what they've already experienced.
The burden of consciousness
In some ways, our fear of mortality is the price we pay for consciousness itself. The same cognitive capacities that allow us to reflect on our experiences, plan for the future, and derive meaning from life also make us aware of life's inevitable end. Other animals live entirely in the present, responding to immediate stimuli without the burden of knowing that their existence is temporary. They fear immediate danger but not the abstract concept of death.
We cannot return to this state of innocent ignorance. Once we know we're going to die, this knowledge becomes part of the background of all our experiences. It can motivate us to make the most of our time, to prioritize what matters, to love more deeply because we know our time with loved ones is limited. But it can also cast a shadow over even our happiest moments, the awareness that all of this is temporary, that everything we value will one day be lost.
The existentialist philosophers grappled extensively with this burden. Jean-Paul Sartre wrote about the anxiety that comes from radical freedom, the knowledge that we must create meaning in a universe that provides none. Albert Camus explored the absurdity of seeking meaning while knowing death renders all our projects ultimately futile. These philosophers didn't offer easy consolations, but they suggested that acknowledging our mortality honestly could be a path to living more authentically.
Death and the meaning of life
Paradoxically, while the fear of death can be paralyzing, awareness of mortality can also be what gives life meaning. If we lived forever, would anything we did matter? Would we have any urgency to pursue our dreams, express our love, or make our mark? The limitation of time may be precisely what makes time valuable.
Many philosophical and religious traditions argue that properly understanding death is essential to living well. The Roman Stoics practiced contemplating death regularly, not to become morbid, but to gain perspective on what truly matters. Buddhism centres on impermanence as a fundamental truth that, when accepted, can lead to liberation from suffering. Various spiritual practices encourage disciples to meditate on mortality as a path to awakening.
Yet this acknowledgment of death's role in creating meaning doesn't eliminate the fear. Even those who intellectually accept death as natural and necessary may still feel terror when contemplating their own end. The cognitive understanding that death gives life meaning coexists uneasily with the emotional and instinctive resistance to our own annihilation.
Living with the fear
If the fear of mortality is inherent to human consciousness, the question becomes not how to eliminate it but how to live with it. Different people find different answers. Some throw themselves into work or creative projects, building something that might outlast them. Some find comfort in religion or spirituality, in beliefs about what lies beyond death. Some focus intensely on the present moment, on experiencing life fully while it lasts.
Others cope through denial, simply not thinking about death most of the time, pushing it to the edges of consciousness where it can be largely ignored during the business of daily life. This isn't necessarily unhealthy, constant contemplation of mortality would make ordinary living difficult. Some degree of death denial may be psychologically necessary to function.
Perhaps the healthiest approach involves what might be called "mindful mortality awareness," neither obsessing over death nor denying it completely, but maintaining a background awareness that informs our choices without overwhelming us. This awareness can help us prioritize what matters, appreciate the time we have, and live with greater intentionality.
Conclusion
We fear mortality because we are creatures caught between the finite and the infinite, between our biological existence as mortal animals and our consciousness that can transcend the present moment to imagine eternity. We fear the loss of everything we know and love. We fear the unknown. We fear the loss of control. We fear suffering. We fear our own insignificance. We fear the loneliness of dying. We fear because we are aware, and we cannot choose to be unaware.
Yet this fear, uncomfortable as it is, may be inseparable from what makes us human. Our awareness of death shapes how we live, what we value, how we love, and what we create. It gives urgency to our days and weight to our choices. It makes the temporary precious and the familiar sacred.
The fear of mortality is not a problem to be solved but a condition to be inhabited part of the complex, often contradictory experience of being human. We can work to reduce unnecessary suffering around death, to die with more dignity, to grieve more healthily, and to think about death more honestly. But the underlying fear, the primal resistance to our own end, may always be with us, a shadow companion to consciousness itself.
In the end, perhaps the question is not why we fear death, but how we can live meaningful lives despite or even because of that fear, how we can acknowledge our mortality without being paralysed by it, how we can face the inevitable with as much courage, grace, and acceptance as we can muster. The fear may never disappear, but we can learn to live alongside it, to let it inform rather than define us, to make our peace with the one certainty that unites all living things.
Read more from Sam Mishra
Sam Mishra, The Medical Massage Lady
Sam Mishra (The Medical Massage Lady), is a multi-award winning massage therapist, aromatherapist, accredited course tutor, oncology and lymphatic practitioner, trauma practitioner, breathwork facilitator, reiki and intuitive energy healer, transformational and spiritual coach and hypnotherapist. Her medical background as a nurse and a midwife, combined with her own experiences of childhood disability and abuse, have resulted in a diverse and specialised service, but she is mostly known for her trauma work. She is motivated by the adversity she has faced, using it as a driving force in her charity work and in offering the vulnerable a means of support. Her aim is to educate about medical conditions using easily understood language, to avoid inappropriate treatments being carried out, and for health promotion purposes in the general public. She is also becoming known for challenging the stigmas in our society and pushing through the boundaries that have been set by such stigmas within the massage industry.
