Giorgio Ghisi?, After Giulio Romano:
The Prison (16th century)

" … Trajectories upon which I warmly rely."

This week, I stumbled upon a short video of astrophysicist Neil deGrasse Tyson describing what science has discovered about the afterlife. He was brief and unemotional as he explained that neither biology nor physics has anything to say about the subject. Neither field has uncovered any evidence that such a state exists in nature. Of course, other fields exist. Theology, for instance, seems to have little to say besides afterlife commentary, though different branches have produced different stories. Most theologies at least agree that such a state exists, though they, too, lack the observable proof any physical science requires. Theology and related fields inject a property science refuses to employ: belief. They circle their square by insisting that their perspective only works; indeed, it was only ever intended to work for those exhibiting steadfast and unshakeable belief in it. Their philosophy seems to sum to, "If you believe in it, it will manifest."

I have long jealously admired the facility with which true believers navigate this world. The underlying scientific truths of these matters don't seem to matter; believers seem to fare better than skeptics. It seems likely that only those with faith at least the approximate size of a mustard seed accomplish anything here, that all others end up cast as bit players, atmosphere people unnamed in the cast roster. Indeed, the true believer's ferocity serves them well in competition, and some seem clever enough to wrangle almost every encounter into its most competitive nature. Still, not all human experience can be fairly characterized in such terms. Indeed, many seem to end up competing with themselves, even succeeding in defeating themselves in presumed competition. Winning doesn't end up being the purpose of everything. Indeed, attempting to win in non-competitive contexts might serve as the universal recipe for failure.

Back to Tyson's nimble declaration about the existence of the afterlife: Notice how I just continued examining as if nothing terribly profound had happened? Tyson's statement sets much of civilization into question. Much of what we recognize as history has been fueled by the explicit belief in afterlives. Indeed, human existence might have primarily been prefaced with this presumption, which has often been illegal to question. Of course, there's a Heaven with a Father residing. We are each heading toward our reward, for eternal punishment or at least some form of enlightenment. It has largely been considered unthinkable to stage the thought experiment Tyson performed. In the past, he could not have held anything like the position of senior scientist while espousing such beliefs against what only exists when beliefs are present. To stand against what must be firmly believed without evidence constituted a form of social suicide worthy of capital punishment. In much of this world, it still does.

And what of the value of human life if it's not destined to collect some reward at the end, or some infinite extension following? Tyson suggests that we apparently return to that state we inhabited before we were born, that one none of us seem to be able to remember. If no afterlife appears to exist, it seems at least logical to assume that no pre-life existed, either. This assumption seems to render every life, every existence, a miracle in and of itself. Without selection, without will, we somehow manage to make and maintain the world we inhabit here. Players appear and pass without returning but, still, while here, learn how to live. Biology and physics suggest that we live no longer after we die but also that we never lived before we lived, so what's the difference? We inhabit a space between two infinite states, neither exhibiting a shred of physical evidence that they exist. I suggest that these are perfect infinities since they exhibit no past, future, or present; both are infinite to their core. This infinity might be both our source and our destination. Some theologians firmly believe that infinite amounts to heaven.

I might extend the non-existence in an after or before life to include what passes for living, too, for even it seems awfully lacking in physical evidence. I write in response to the disappearing act my living performs every second. My life at this moment finds me pointed in some specific direction, projecting thoughts into the distance, inhabiting perhaps nothing more than a Trajectory. When Molly the Nearly Feral Cat interrupts me, I lose my focus and so lose that slice of life I had inhabited. Where does that present disappear to? Biology and physics also seem to be silent on this question, for observables strongly suggest I continue to exist, though certainly different from how I had existed when I was writing. I begrudgingly stomp down the stairs to let out the cat before returning—I claim that I return!—to what I had been doing before I had been so rudely interrupted, except I never actually return. That moment I'd inhabited before Molly jumped up on my desk evaporated the instant Molly appeared. It could never return. It apparently went where I lived before I was born and where I might go after I depart. My living continued, albeit on a slightly different Trajectory after I returned to my desk. I continued writing, but everything about the exercise had already irreparably changed by then. Maybe the whole operation had been transferred to Heaven.

My day seems to be constructed of Trajectories; each focused until its spell gets broken. My mental concatenation creates a construction of these perspectives. I seem to value these as if they continued to exist when they never actually do. I'm "just" passing through, more verb than noun, though I perceive myself and believe myself to be created from more solid stuff. We might be mere ghosts, insignificant except for what we believe. If the afterlife and before life require firm belief, they're nothing compared to whatever this stuff we refer to as life requires. I suspend myself here on a virtual highwire, balancing between perfect infinities and writing about my manner of living as if the result might make a difference. As long as I can persist in this delusion, which neither biology nor physics can confirm, I possess a life, a profession. When I no longer can believe, I'll leave.

My daughter Heidi chose to leave here two years and ten months ago. Not a day goes by, but I feel her absence, a curious negative sense I cannot explain. My grief seems infinite, as perfectly infinite as does any afterlife with no past, future, or present. It just is. When she lived, she lived far away. We didn't see each other daily or even remember to call each other every Sunday. We loved each other from afar. I told the Muse on Thanksgiving that I was really missing her calling a few days before the holiday to explain why she wouldn't be coming again this time. There was always something: a cold, extreme exhaustion due to overworking, some errant weather system. It became an expected part of every holiday celebration that Heidi wouldn't be able to attend. She's still unable to attend, but it's different now without her fresh excuses. I miss hearing her latest story and the opportunity to give her my permission to continue being her infinite self. She no longer requires my permission, as if she ever did. Then, her infinite contained a past and present; now, it no longer contains a present, just a past and future, both Trajectories upon which I warmly rely.

©2023 by David A. Schmaltz - all rights reserved

Tags: #GoodNuff, #PureSchmaltz