COMMENT
GRIEF: WHY DO WE MOURN PUBLIC FIGURES?
Few people knew her personally, and yet many of us felt some sense of loss for the Queen
On 8 September 2022, Queen Elizabeth II died at the age of 96. At the time of writing, the UK is in the midst of a prolonged period of public mourning.
Regardless of your thoughts about the monarchy, it’s undeniable that countless people are genuinely saddened by the Queen’s passing, and are experiencing profound grief. This is a fascinating phenomenon, because grief is a complex and demanding process. So, why would so many experience grief over the loss of someone they’ve likely never met, and who almost certainly had no idea that they existed?
Rather than an anomaly, such grief is actually commonplace. It’s because of how our brains work.
Humans are incredibly social creatures. It’s the basis for our dominance of the planet. We form emotional connections with other individuals like no other species. But despite what many assume, this need not be a mutual thing. It’s entirely possible for us to become deeply emotionally invested in someone who doesn’t even know we’re there.
“Why would so many experience grief over the loss of someone they’ve likely never met?”
Anyone who’s ever had a crush on someone from afar, or who’s felt like a podcast host is a close personal friend, will know what it’s like to be in a parasocial relationship. This is a relationship that’s entirely one-sided, with all the emotional investment coming from one person towards another, while the latter is largely oblivious to the whole thing.
Parasocial relationships are the basis of celebrity culture and every sort of fandom. After all, it’s entirely possible for people to develop deep and powerful emotions for individuals who don’t even exist.
Taking this into account, it doesn’t seem so odd that people would develop genuine affection for a real individual who was a part of their world for decades. Accordingly, they would also experience grief when that person dies. And because human sociability is so important, we’re often keen to express (share) that grief with others, who feel similarly. It’s another way of bonding, of reinforcing our remaining connections, at a time when we’ve lost one.
But humans aren’t just social. We’re also hierarchical; we instinctively care about status, about being looked up to by others, and looking up to others in turn. We learn from others and the examples they provide. From back in the early days of our species, where aspiring to be like the best hunters or warriors was a useful survival trait, to the present day, we’re inclined to look up to, identify with and want to emulate the visibly more successful members of our society.
In the case of the Queen, there’s a lot of this at work. In the UK, we were constantly told that she was the best of us, that she represented us to the world, with grace, dignity and decorum. Many people identified with the Queen and felt that she was ‘on our side’. Yes, she was immensely privileged and wealthy, but that wealth was also ‘ours’, in a way that the vast fortunes of folks like Jeff Bezos aren’t.
Of course, many will point out that this representation of the Queen is an almost entirely fictional construct, maintained by established interests to preserve the status quo, and behind closed doors things were very different.
The thing is, even if this were 100 per cent true, those ‘closed doors’ are key. The vast majority, living busy lives with concerns and priorities of their own, will only know/see the portrayal of the Queen presented to them. It’s entirely reasonable for them to look up to and admire this ‘portrayal’, and experience heartache when it’s gone.
And because we value status so much when around similarly minded people, it can lead to one-upmanship in the expression of grief. Hence we’re seeing such overt, even competitive-seeming, expressions of grief – because for many, it’s not enough to just be sad, they need to be the saddest.
While the death of a high-profile and beloved individual often leads to widespread public mourning, the Queen’s passing is affecting on an even more profound level, because the Queen was visibly the (nominal) head of British public life for seven decades. For someone living in the UK, she was just ‘there’, all day every day. On our money, our stamps, in the anthem, involved in all our laws and politics. She was essentially inescapable.
Regardless of your feelings towards her, if you’re a British person under 70 (so among the vast majority of Brits), the Queen has been part of your everyday existence for your entire life. Prime ministers and politicians came and went, but the Queen remained, like the white cliffs of Dover.
Her death shows that a part of our world that seemed reliable and unchanging, isn’t, which means the world is suddenly, and fundamentally, more uncertain. And the human brain doesn’t like uncertainty, it causes stress and discomfort.
Even if you didn’t like the Queen, or were just ambivalent about her, you may still find yourself reacting to her death with sadness. Because she was a reliable part of everyday life. And realising something you rely on is no longer there is distressing.
(@garwboy) Dean is a neuroscientist and author. His next book, Emotional Ignorance: Lost And Found In The Science Of Emotion, is released in January 2023.