Fear of Oblivion

Hearing these^ words was a sharp satisfaction for an introvert.  It wasn't just the joy of a wordsmith at discovering a new word.  It was more personal-the knowledge that this experience that I had, which was full crippling emotions, was so commonly shared with others that it had been boxed into a set of phonemes.  The clearest memory that I have of hearing a phrase that delivered the same respite of universal connection was when I found that "catharsis" was a word back in high school.  "You mean other people go into the woods and have mind-gasms of unexplainable universal communication??  That's not just me???"

Time to take things down to depressionville again.  And I'm sorry to do this on a Friday, I really am.  You know when we writers get the feeling we just have to ride it out in the moment because it won't be the same in 24 hours.  Maybe you can just bookmark this for a Tuesday.

I can best describe "Fear of Oblivion" as a dark presence that never leaves you, even when you're at the beach with loved ones.  Even when you're a child (which is when my first memories of this fear took place...during a set of Independence Day fireworks when I was 8).  It is the fear and depression that comes with the understanding of death in a reality where no afterlife exists-which no one purports to know, but that's why it's called "fear" instead of "dread."  It's the desire for things to continue after death.  The desire for some kind of afterlife, or post-life consciousness and experiences, possibly a life similar to this one.  Possibly even a consciousness completely different, but one that involves sentience.  Even purposeless sentience is preferable to none at all.

Fear of Oblivion only affects atheists, and agnostics.  And even then, it's not the total population of those groups.  I was in an online forum last night where a handful of well-meaning atheists were trying to calm the nerves of the OP, who was there for the same sad reason I was.  "Okay who's dealt with this and how?"  There is one common response that I suppose works for many atheists and agnostics, but for those who actually experience the psychological phenomenon, this response only makes things worse:

"There is nothing to worry about because all that emptiness and loneliness and pointlessness?  You won't be around for it.  Remember how lonely it was before you were born?  Exactly."

It is also the first response that those who have the fear have tried on themselves.  Seems like the first logical comfort.  And it is logical.  But the reason it's not an emotional comfort is because it's trying to resolve the sadness by the very thing that's causing it.  "Don't worry about not going to the party because you won't even know how awesome it is."  "Don't worry about people talking behind your back because you won't know what they're saying."  "Don't worry about not knowing whether or not she's cheating on you because if you don't know then you don't have to deal with it."

If ignorance was bliss to an atheist, many atheists would be theists (and visa versa I'm sure).  But most intelligent beings are not interested in ignorance, and find it more terrifying than harsh truths.  So for those who suffer from fear of oblivion, the go-to argument sounds like a case for emotional ignorance.  "Don't worry about the fear of not being around because you won't be around."  The only part of that sentence that makes sense is "don't worry," and of course, those with the fear can't do that.  They would rather have an eternity of loneliness than none at all.

So there is one thing left for this kind of person to do, and that is to find some way to swallow this harsh truth.  I have not yet been able to do that, because I just don't know any way to be at peace with that thought.

So I have made it my personal duty to find whatever small comforts I can find in life to help me out with this.  These will not work for most atheists, but it might work for a lot of agnostics.  Agnostics recognize what proof does not exist but also recognize evidence for the existence of other realities beyond our immediate, limited perception.  And we don't recognize this evidence out of desperation, loneliness, or comfort, even though the possibilities may offer comfort.  We recognize evidence simply because of what it is: evidence.

My personal encounters with spiritual questioning take on a similar process as my writing does.  I get a feeling, and I start opening doors to see what's behind them.  So here are some rough-draft, half-finished sketches of what gets me through the darkness, in hopes that maybe they can help someone else too:

 Getting a job changed me a lot.  I was very self-centered in college.  Not cruel, but just not entirely with the program.  I heard there were under-privileged communities and that I myself was privileged, but I didn't care.  Anything that wasn't about me wasn't in my radar.  But something snapped when I got a job.  Things weren't about me anymore.  I wouldn't just mess up my grades if I under-performed; I'd hurt others too.  I felt a connection to the world in a whole different way.  I respected even the most flawed systems because at least they were organizations trying to make a difference.  And the funny thing is, not being the center of the world was more pleasing.  My actions and place mattered more when I became a cog in a moving machine, connecting to everything, rather than a self-server.  As we progress through life, this shift increases, especially if we gain leadership or have children.

Add to that spiritual shift the fact that our cells regenerate every seven years to the point where we're not even the same person we were born as.  Memories become skewed and blotchy in the copying.  We barely remember the children we used to be, but we don't miss them.  Our existence is simply different.  In a way, we've already died several times over.  As we spiritually morph through life, we also physically morph.

I wonder if death only brings us to the final connection.  The catharsis feeling that I mentioned in the first paragraph was often brought on by a feeling of connection to nature, to the trees.  I'd sometimes even want the connection to increase.  This will sound very tree-humper/Superstar/hippie, and it just is, and there's no way to get around it.  You've made it this far and you now know you're talking to Superstar (it could be worse; you could have fear of oblivion).  But I actually felt a desire to be a part of the earth.  In my personal battle between fear of oblivion and clinging desperately to the life I have, I wonder if that desire spawns from our natural cycles, from birth and death.  I wonder if death just brings us to oneness with nature, with the stars.  If joining the stars, whether or not sentience is involved, which I highly doubt, will still bring us a kind of existence that is pleasurable.

There are other hints at different types of existence as well.  I put some hesitant agnostic stock in paranormal studies, especially as consistencies begin to sprout up.  The reality of demon-possession also raises questions (who'd think that would be a comfort?), as do the consistencies in the experiences of hospice patients seconds away from death, no matter what their beliefs are.

All that said, I like to believe that death will be a pleasurable and peaceful experience.  While this still does not offer a full-on, 100% dissolving of the fears of oblivion, it's enough to balance me back to the side of grateful.  To have this life at all, this sentience for even a few years, is something to be thankful for, and sometimes all it takes is a bit more mystery to initiate the gratitude.

In closing, check out the comic version of Isaac Asimov's wonderful short story, "The Final Question."  For all those with incurable fear of oblivion, this will be an engaging and thought-provoking read.