What Is Death?
And Do We Need to Fear It?
Other potential reading: Hagakure, The Spirit of Aikido by Ueshiba Kishomaru.
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What could be more cheery and heartwarming than an essay about death? Therefore, let me blame this one on
. Just kidding! I’ve listened to his Making Sense podcast since basically the beginning, and one of my favorite episodes happens to explore this exact topic — a critically important topic, as I hope the following conveys. It was episode 263: “The Paradox of Death.”He had a very interesting opening to the episode, which I’d like to begin with here:1
“I recently ran an opinion poll online asking people how often they think seriously about death, about its inevitability, about their priorities in light of it, etc. I gave the choices: "many times a day", "perhaps once a day", "I can go days without thinking about it", "I can go weeks without thinking about it". I'm not sure what results I was expecting, but the distribution did surprise me…
I got over 40,000 responses. …the largest cohort were those who don't think about death very often. 32% said they can go weeks without doing so. 27% can go days without it. 28% think about death perhaps once a day. And only 13% were people like me, who think about it many times each day.
Judging from these results, I probably think about death more in the average day than most people think about it in many months or even a year.”
Introduction
I definitely used to think about my death multiple times a day. And I still do on some days (especially if someone I care about (including me) is very ill). But on many days I don’t… I can’t help but wonder: in Harris’ poll did he consider if it should count if you are fondly remembering a loved one that has died? I do that far more than giving a thought to my impending demise. I treasure the memories of loved ones that have passed into the Great Beyond. I know there’s no such thing as spirit or soul2, so those memories are, in fact, the only “existence” those particular beings have anymore. Why wouldn’t I cherish them? Those memories will vanish from this world when my body does; so now is the only time they can be appreciated and enjoyed!
The magic that made those loved ones what-they-were is exactly the same magic that makes all life now present what-it-is. The faces of The Eternal constantly come and go, like waves on the ocean. However, I allow myself the indulgent luxury of loving a few particular faces/waves inordinately. I’m allowed to — it’s a free Universe.
These days, however, I don’t think about my death to often. Not because it’s unimportant3, but because it is now permanently a foregone conclusion in my mind. It wasn’t always that way; but when that permanent realization happened, it was a profound shift for the better.
When I was younger, long before that perspective shift happened, I remember reading countless articles about samurai; I loved their zeitgeist. For the longest time I was baffled by a ubiquitous description: a key facet of the samurai’s mental life was that he regarded himself as already dead.
The Way of the Samurai is found in death.
…If by setting one's heart right every morning and evening, one is able to live as though his body were already dead, he gains freedom in the Way.
-Yamamoto Tsunetomo, Hagakure
Because of this mindset, dying in the service of one’s lord was no big deal. “All in a day’s work” you might say. I remember thinking how stupid it seemed that some of the most fascinating warriors in human history couldn’t find the “Western good sense” to have a little more self-care and a little more interest in self-preservation. Screw their lords! Their lords weren’t any better than they were, right? Obviously, I was profoundly ignorant of the history of Japanese (martial) culture in those early days. But the good thing about interest is it encourages study. Study is a great way to disabuse oneself of one’s ignorance. Eventually, I came to not only appreciate that history, but to personally understand the hows and whys of knowing one is already dead.4
Whether one agrees with those principles of the samurai or not, it should be obvious how effective regarding one’s self as “already dead” would be in taking risks. Especially in combat; in principle, a soldier would not be done fighting until they were literally dead. Countless harrowing tales of fighting Japanese soldiers demonstrated this as recently as the end of World War II. In the Pacific theater, allied soldiers couldn’t even trust that the seeming-corpse of a Japanese soldier was dead. All-too-often they weren’t — they were mortally wounded, biding their remaining time, and feigning death — with deadly intentions for their final acts. Sadly, even in cases where they were corpses, sometimes the dying Japanese soldiers would booby-trap themselves so that allied soldiers would be killed later while investigating the carnage.5 Beyond this brute utility in warfare and combat, the intimate knowledge of one’s own death is actually a positive boon, as counterintuitive as that may sound.
Gaining an Appreciation of Death
If one ignores the fact of their own death, this lays the trap of failing to notice the magnificence of life moment-to-moment, day-to-day. Willful refusal of a heartfelt-acknowledgment of one’s own death results in unintentional ignorance of the true significance of living:
The true point of life is the living itself!
If one intentionally or inadvertently refuses to thoroughly contemplate the reality of their death, one can throw out virtually all the magic of life for a paltry postponement of facing what is already inevitable. Has any greater treasure been willingly traded for such a paltry sum?
There can be great benefit to employing some kind of practice like memento mori. Memento mori is an intentional reflection during the course of daily life where one pauses to acknowledge approaching death, and appreciate the aspects of a simple, normal life. Whether in a traditional Stoic formulation, or an informal contemplation practice, it can yield a deeper appreciation for the blessings we take part in continually. But this approach has its limits. Like concentration-based meditation practice, the majority of the effectiveness of memento mori is limited to around when the practice is actively being engaged in. However, an even deeper understanding can provide more omnipresent benefits; both in ameliorating the fear associated with death, and in the appreciation of the beauty and goodness found in daily life. So how might one cultivate a deeper understanding?
To begin, one can think about death in more general terms than is found the formulated memento mori practices. Where does death fit in with the grand scheme of things? How does it complement life in the pattering of The Cosmos? Such philosophical deliberation on the topic has been of great interest and help to me. My deep curiosity began when, by pure serendipity, I saw through the “illusion of the self” definitively. I suddenly realized absolutely everything I adopted as my “self6” was nothing more than diaphanous thinking! When I realized this “self” I had taken myself to be was a pure fantasy, that meant that there was no “person” that would die at my death, only a body would die. This realization didn’t even begin to answer any questions about what death was or what it entailed, but it certainly took the “sting” out of it.
Philosophical Inquiry
Due to the serendipitous nature of such a peak spiritual event, it would behoove the seeker to simply begin a deeper philosophical inquiry into the nature of death as soon as convenient. The first superb philosophical treatment on death in my experience came from Alan Watts.
I had never heard of Watts before my seeing-through-the-illusion-of-the-self experience. Six months after that experience, a friend insisted I watch this YouTube video. It is no exaggeration to say that that mere four minute video irrevocably changed the course of my life. But Watts’ argument deserves to be heard in its full context. The complete talk is called “The Nature of Consciousness” and is two hours and 35 minutes long. It can be found in the Waking Up app under the collection called “Human Consciousness.7” Here is a transcript of the key points, starting at about 1:56 on the Waking Up app playback:
“…When you die, you’re not going to have to put up with everlasting nonexistence, because that’s not an experience. A lot of people are afraid that when they die, that they’re going to be locked up in a dark room forever… But one of the most interesting things in the world — this is a way of yoga; this is a way of realization — try and imagine what it would be like to go to sleep and never wake up…
“And if you think long enough about that, something will happen to you. …it will pose the next question to you: What was it like to wake up after having never gone to sleep?
“That was when you were born.
“You can’t have an experience of nothing; nature abhors a vacuum. So after you’re dead, the only thing that can happen is… the same sort of experience as when you were born.
“...We all know very well that after people die, other people are born. And they’re all you. Only you can only experience it one-at-a-time. Everybody is “I.” You all know you’re you. And wheresoever beings exist throughout all galaxies… you are all of them. And when they come into being, that’s you coming into being; you know that very well. Only you don’t have to remember the past in the same way you don’t have to think about how you work your thyroid gland… You don’t have to know how to shine the sun; you just do it — like you breathe.”
I couldn’t put my finger on why the above struck me the way it did. But I instantly “knew” it was correct, even if it would take me years to figure out why. Later, I found a more pointed, yet “down to Earth,” version in an earlier talk of his.
If the above sounds too fantastical, perhaps the following will make more sense. Alan Watts hosted a delightful, short-run television series called “Eastern Wisdom and the Modern World.” Episode six in the series was called “On Death.” Here is a 10-minute excerpt from that episode posted on YouTube. The following transcript is from about 4 minutes into that clip:
Statement one: after I die, I shall be reborn again as a baby, but I shall forget my former life. Statement two: after I die, a baby will be born. Now, I believe that those two statements are saying exactly the same thing. …why…?
Because… if you die and your memory comes to an end and you forget who you were, being reborn again is exactly the equivalent of somebody else being born. …we have no consciousness of our continuity unless we have memory. If the memory goes, then we might just as well be somebody else. …the fascinating thing about this is that, although a particular set of memories vanishes, death is not the end of consciousness. [Emphasis mine.]
…the vacuum created by the disappearance of a being, by the disappearance of his memory system, is simply filled by another being who is “I” just as you feel you’re “I.”
Indeed, we all know what it feels like to be “I.” Pay close attention to this in your own experience: that “I” goes away every night during sleep, and it comes back every time we awake. It’s as simple as that! Through Hamlet, Shakespeare rightly called it “the sleep of death.” When we “go to sleep” for the final time, someone else wakes up. Death is not the end of consciousness itself; just the end of a particular incarnation/embodiment of it.
Another worthy philosophical treatment of the subject was brought to my attention by Sam Harris in the same Making Sense podcast episode 263 referenced above. In it Harris borrowed heavily from an excellent essay by Tom Clark called “Death, Nothingness and Subjectivity.” As I looked at Clark’s webpage for the original material, I was very shocked to find him enthusiastically recommending that very 10-minute YouTube video excerpt from Watts’ “On Death” television episode!
While I think the essay gets bogged down in unnecessary8 thought experiment territory in the middle, the core of it is spot-on. Here are some salient excerpts:
On the impossibility of experiencing unconsciousness/nonexistence/nothingness:
“…for the subject there is an instantaneous transition from the experience preceding the unconscious interval to the experience immediately following it.”
“…it seems that awareness — for itself, in its generic aspect of "always having been present" — is immune to interruption.”
“In using [the word “nothingness”] we may start to think, in a rather casual, unreflective way, that there exists something that doesn't exist, but of course this is not a little contradictory. We must simply see that nothingness doesn't exist, period.”
“…awareness is constant throughout life; the "nothingness" of unconsciousness cannot be an experienced actuality.”
“[One may rage against] …the eternal experience of no experience in which the subject somehow witnesses, permanently, its own extinction. But death rules out any such experience or witnessing… Since death really is the end of the individual, it cannot mean the arrival of darkness as witnessed by some personal remnant.”
On the finitude/mortality of the individual versus the infinity/immortality of experience:
“…your death is not the end of experience. It is the end of this experiencer most definitely, but that end is not followed by the dying of the light. Experience… is quite impervious to [death].”
“There will be no future personal state of non-experience to which we can compare our present state of being conscious. All we have, as subjects, is this block of experience. We know, of course, that it is a finite block, but since that's all we have, we cannot experience its finitude.” [Emphasis in original]
“Death ends individual subjectivities while at the same time others are continuing or being created. …[S]ubjectivities —centers of awareness — don't have beginnings and endings for themselves…”
“…their own non-being is never an experienced actuality for them.”
On the implications of the omnipresence of awareness/experience:
“This thesis implies that even if all centers of awareness were extinguished and the next conscious creature appeared millions of years hence (perhaps in a galaxy far, far away) there would still be no subjective interregnum.”
“Subjectivity, awareness, consciousness, experience – whatever we call it – never stops arising as far as it is concerned.”
“After death we won't experience non-being… We continue as the generic subjectivity that always finds itself here, in the various contexts of awareness that the physical universe9 manages to create. So when I recommend that you look forward to the (continuing) sense of always having been here, construe that "you" not as a particular person, but as that condition of awareness, which although manifesting itself in finite subjectivities, nevertheless always finds itself present.” [emphasis mine]
“We may wear our personalities more lightly, seeing ourselves as simply variations on a theme of subjectivity which is in no danger of being extinguished by our passing.”
Watts’ and Clark’s expositions are beautiful, incisive, and, I hope, elucidating for the reader. But not everyone will find a philosophical approach to sufficient to affect a permanent shift in the understanding of death. Thankfully there are other ways to cultivate a deeper appreciation of death, as well.
Artistic Appreciation of Death in Literature
There are two literary treatments of death that had a profound effect on me; perhaps they could have a similar impact on someone else?
The first comes from J.R.R. Tolkien. In The Lord of the Rings he gave indirect and cautionary tales about foolishly desiring immortality is his treatment of the Nazgul/Ringwraiths and Gollem/Smeagol characters. Both were human(-like) mortal beings who, being effectively granted immortality, became corrupted, hollowed-out, and evil. But he gives a much more robust and interesting treatment of mortality in The Silmarillion.
The ideas presented in The Silmarillion should be of great interest to anyone who appreciates Tolkien’s work because many of them predate not only The Lord of the Rings, but The Hobbit. Much the text included The Silmarillion (including what I quote below) was basically finished before Tolkien even began writing The Lord of the Rings. The Silmarillion includes a creation account of the world in which the supreme creator (Iluvatar) reveals the purpose and nature of humanity (for which Tolkien uses the old, poetic word “Men” — my apologies to readers who don’t consider themselves “men”). Noun choice aside, he has remarkable insight:
…Iluvatar… to Men he gave strange gifts.
…he willed that the hearts of Men should seek beyond the world and should find no rest therein; but they should have a virtue to shape their life, amid the powers and chances of the world, beyond the Music of the Ainur, which is as fate to all things else…
It is one with this gift of freedom that the children of Men dwell only a short space in the world alive, and are not bound to it, and depart soon whither the Elves know not. Whereas the Elves remain until the end of days, and their love of the Earth and all the world is more single and more poignant therefore, and as the years lengthen ever more sorrowful. For the Elves die not until till the world dies… But the sons of Men die indeed, and leave the world… Death is their fate, the gift of Iluvatar, which as Time wears even the Powers shall envy.10
Death is the gift of the creator. Tolkien was very adamant about this. He challenges us to face our prejudices and consider: death is benevolent. Not merely inevitable, it is our birthright. His conviction is clear in stating that even the “Powers” — the immortals and even the gods — will be envious of the gift of mortality.
I conducted many thought experiments of what immortality would be like. While immortality sounds nice superficially, the more closely I thought about it, the more I couldn’t get away from what Watts and Tolkien were saying: to live forever would be a drag. Immortality is not only impossible, but undesirable.
There are two essential caveats to offer here. The first is, obviously, I shouldn’t expect others to agree with my opinions (even if Watts and Tolkien would). To that I can only invite the reader to conduct their own thought experiments into immortality11 and reach their own conclusions. The second caveat, also obvious, is that Tolkien was writing fiction. True. To that I can only offer an aphorism and a question. The aphorism: “Truth is stranger than fiction.” The question: And why do we love fiction?
Let us, therefore, now consider a piece of literature that isn’t obviously fiction. In 1986 Paulo Coelho12 walked El Camino de Santiago. It would be several years before he would become the famous, international best-selling author of The Alchemist. Prior to writing and publishing The Alchemist (initially to no meaningful reception), he wrote and published The Pilgrimage in 1987 — also to no meaningful reception. To this day it remains largely overshadowed by it’s famous counterpart. But The Pilgrimage is a fascinating book nevertheless, and very much worth reading. Unlike The Alchemist, which is a work of pure fiction, The Pilgrimage is a memoir-turned-adventure story. The author himself is the protagonist — and only Coelho knows where the lines between historical narrative and artistic embellishment lie.13
While walking the pilgrimage road to Santiago de Compostela, the protagonist is taught many exercises by his guide (named “Petrus” in the book), and must face many trials and challenges. Nearing the end of his journey he is required to face his greatest fear: death. And not “just” death, but he is ordered to face death in the most dreadful form he can imagine. For him this is being buried alive and then, being trapped in the coffin, being eaten alive by worms. A grisly prospect, indeed.
…Petrus continued… “But today you are going to confront a different type of enemy, an unreal enemy that may destroy you or may turn out to be your best friend: death.
“…Even knowing that their days are numbered and that everything will end when they least expect it, people make of their lives a battle that is worthy of a being with eternal life…
“Still, being fragile creatures, humans always try to hide from themselves the certainty that they will die. They do not see that it is death itself that motivates them to do the best things in their lives. They are afraid to step into the dark, afraid of the unknown, and their only way of conquering that fear is to ignore the fact that their days are numbered. They do not see that with an awareness of death, they would be able to be even more daring, to go much further in their daily conquests, because then they would have nothing to lose — for death is inevitable.
…“Death is our constant companion, and it is death that gives each person’s life its true meaning. ”
[After the protagonist goes through the trial and successfully faces his most dreaded fear of death, the story continues:]
A great sense of calm came over me, and I felt a kind of presence alongside me. I looked over and saw the face of my death. This was not the death that I had experienced a few minutes before, the death I had created with my fears and my imagination; it was my true death, my friend and counselor, who was never again going to allow me to act like such a coward. Starting then, he was going to be of more help to me that Petrus’s guiding hand and advice. He was not going to allow me to put off until tomorrow what I should be enjoying today. He was not going to let me flee from life’s battle, and he was going to help me fight the good fight. Never again, ever, was I going to feel ridiculous about doing anything. Because he was there, saying that when he took me in hand to travel with me to other worlds, I should leave behind the greatest sin of all: regret. With the certainty of his presence and the gentleness of his face, I was sure that I was going to be able to drink from the fountain of life.14
I had already realized the unreality of my “self” when I first came across these words. I was earnestly trying to find answers to what I really was — what reality really was. But, even knowing there was no enduring “self,” I never doubted death was a universal threshold. I just didn’t know what to do with it.
These words clarified it perfectly. Again, the point of life is the living itself. The end is already a fact. So the only thing that remains to consider is what we do up until then — every moment of every day. This knowledge is our friend and counselor. Coelho was not exaggerating; a life lived under this council is a life that is lived entirely free of regret. Living concordantly with this friend of death literally makes regret impossible. Isn’t that a life worth living?
Artistic Appreciation of Death in Music
A recurring theme in The Pilgrimage is that the full depths of insight and connection are within the purview of the commoner. The protagonist is an aspiring magus who has to learn that the arcane, the abstruse, the rarefied, the refined — these are all embellishments of very debatable value. Truth of any real significance can always be apprehended by the common people.
No doubt there are countless examples of musical pieces that appropriately consider and reflect upon death magnificently. How to choose one? In keeping with the spirit of the democratization of wisdom, I will close with words offered by a lesser-known sage, Mike Ness:
I think of chances I didn't take
I try to learn from my mistakes
I'm tired of being pushed around
Life ain't gonna drag me down
I'm gonna live before I die
So close your eyes, embrace your memories
Leave your troubles and your worries far behind
Stop contemplating — start celebrating!
You gotta live before you die— Social Distortion: “Live Before You Die”
I found the transcript online here:
I have edited it for clarity.
If I had one, I would have found it by now. Instead what I found was everything — and nothing! But definitely no soul and no spirit.
It’s very important, which was Sam Harris’ whole point, and the point of this essay. But it’s not important in the way most people think.
I spent many years not only reading to increase my understand of Japanese martial history and culture, but practicing Japanese martial arts. Bushido has evolved over the centuries. But even in it’s modern forms (if one looks in the right places) bushido is a collection of all-encompassing principles covering philosophy, spirituality, ethical values and conduct in both the daily, and the extreme, circumstances of life.
The principles in bushido that come from Buddhism were as baffling to me as the samurai’s attitude towards life and death. I simply “faked it” and went along with them during training hoping I would eventually “make it” and understand what the masters and teachers were talking about. Ironically, many, many years after my martial arts career ended (due to moving to places far away from any teachers), the spiritual seeking journey culminated in satori. Only at that point did I suddenly understood the principles of bushido that had eluded me all those years as an active student of martial arts.
If one has the interest — and stern nerves — Dan Carlin’s Hardcore History podcast has an incredible, if horrifying, six-part series on the fighting around the Pacific; leading up to and through World War II. It’s called Supernova in the East. Very much NOT for the sensitive or squeamish, but an excellent production nonetheless.
More precisely: as my self-image.
It can also be found on the old “Out of Your Mind” CD collections of his talks, if one has access to those. The first two discs in that set, which bear the title “The Nature of Consciousness,” comprise the full 2:35 talk on the Waking Up app. The section quoted above is from the eighth track of the second CD, a track title “Consciousness Beyond Awareness.”
The current, commercially-available source is the “Extended Seminars” audio collection offered through AlanWatts.org here.
Here, Clark and I disagree. He views the thought experiment as the fulcrum of the thesis, I look at it as totally superfluous. Direct experience and simple logic “tick all the boxes” in my assessment. The reader will have to read Clark’s essay and reach their own conclusion.
Clark is a physical monist, which I am not. But I very much respect the position. For any readers that may share his bent, he has a very nice materialistic explanation for finitude of the subjective perspective of experience: “…consciousness, as a strictly physical phenomenon instantiated by the brain, creates a world subjectively immune to its own disappearance. It is the very finitude of a self-reflective cognitive system that bars it from witnessing its own beginning or ending, and hence prevents there being, for it, any condition other than existing.”
The Silmarillion, HarperCollins, 1999, paperback edition. Christopher Tolkien, editor. Quenta Silmarillion, Of the Beginning of Days, pp. 35-36.
Watts often encouraged people to imagine that every night they had the power to dream absolutely anything they wanted to dream. Not only that, but that every night you could live for decades in a fantasy of your choosing. He’d say naturally you’d start by indulging in every pleasure you can think of. Then, after a while, you switch it up and go have adventures. After a little while of that, it would get old, so you’d opt for a surprise; you’d relinquish control. You’d let yourself forget you were dreaming. And, after sufficiently long periods of dreaming, you’d eventually dream yourself into exactly who you are right now with exactly the same life situation you have right now. Far out!
Now take it further. Imagine you’re stuck in that dream forever. You can do anything you want, but you’ll never get out of the confines of the dream. In your zeal to get as “far out” as you can get, you’ve elaborately constructed the IRS, tedious jobs, violence, wars, natural disasters, chaotic societies, corrupt governments, the death of everyone you’ve ever loved, senescence, sickness, decrepitude… and there’s still no way out! If you could ever make it to this point there is only one thing you’d want: Mulligan!
The good news is, in reality, this is exactly what you get!
See also: https://paulocoelhoblog.com/
Much of the book sounds fantastical. But, again, truth is stranger than fiction. I have friends that make claims to magic and communing with spirits as Coelho does. While I remain open-minded but skeptical on those fronts, I have had many experiences that seemed to be “on another plane” of reality as well. Several times in my former Christian days I thought I was talking with God; I actually conversed with a voice in my head that certainly didn’t “sound” or behave like my inner voice. Further, I’ve experienced many visions - all during meditation sessions. The most powerful one was what culminated in the experience I referred to as “definitively seeing through the illusion of the self.”
The Pilgrimage, HarperCollins, English version copyright 1992, paperback edition (includes photographs and reflections from author), no print date, “Death” pp. 138-139, 148.
Lots to unpack and chew on here, thank you for this. I do feel like I want to relate my own "story" around death, for some reason, so here goes:
When I was just 6 or 7, not sure exactly, I remember having a conversation with my parents, asking them what happens when you die. As they were both agnostic, they said, well, some people believe there is an afterlife, and some people believe that nothing happens, you just no longer exist, you are no longer conscious. I fully understood what that meant at the time. I didn't think that my consciousness would continue on but it would be devoid of content. But the mere idea of there being an ending to consciousness and that it would never resumed terrified and depressed me. My mom tried to comfort me in saying whatever happens wouldn't happen for a very long time, but this didn't mollify me. But then I guess, something distracted me and I went on and kind of forgot about it.
I wasn't agnostic myself at the time, didn't think to question the existance of God, as at the time I was going to Hebrew School, but when I got to high school, something finally clicked and I decided that I was an atheist. I didn't want to contemplate death, however, so I used coping mechanisms of fantasy to pretend it wasn't going to happen to me. One was that I would become a "genetic engineer" and find the gene for aging that we could then change in living people so that death was no longer inevitable. Another came after watching some sci-fi show, or a piece of one, that planted this idea in my head: a future version of humanity that has advanced to an incredible level such that they both have "concurred" mortality as well as developed time travel. This far future version of humanity decides to take on the project of reviving the history of the human race, first by going back in time and grabbing the people who have most recently died at their dying moment (replacing them with a dead copy of their body so as not to give anything away), bring them back to the "present" and saving their life and making them immortal. This would happen generation by generation, and previous generations obviously would have more and more need for a kind of "reeducation" to remove old, deluded thinking, and of course it brings up questions regarding at what point this project would end. What "cave man" would be the cutoff and at what point would it be impossible to "reeducate" a person so removed from this advanced civilization as to almost be a different species? Perhaps this is already a book or part of one, who knows.
Oh yeah, I forgot to mention that in between the conversation and high school, my dad died (when I was 9), which had lasting effects on me and my relationship with death.
Aging and a chronic disease has made me much more accepting about it, along with witnessing my father-in-law's (who lived with us) dying of pancreatic cancer, and I've accepted it to a much greater degree than I did in the past. But I still feel fear or at least anxiety every time I get some kind of pain that makes me think it is something more serious than just a sign of aging, etc.
I would say if there is one driver that is probably stronger than others (aside from sheer curiosity) in terms of "waking up" it is the "promise" I intuit, or heard directly stated, that after awakening, this primal fear or dread about dying is no longer there, or at least the edge of it is seriously dulled?