Dealing With Apeirophobia Philosophically

Apeirophobia – the fear of eternal life – is not a common phobia (it is considered extremely rare, although it’s true prevalence is unknown, as there is very little research on it), nor is it a commonly well-known phobia (it isn’t discussed much, and perhaps those with it are hesitant to do so for fear of being dismissed, misunderstood, mocked, or judged). Still, there are therapeutic treatments available that may alleviate it, including hypnotherapy, cognitive behavioural therapy (CBT), exposure therapy (to desensitise oneself to concepts like eternity and infinity, as well as to uncertainty), and mindfulness techniques like mindfulness-based stress reduction (MBSR) to stay grounded in the present moment.

However, as a fear born out of metaphysical and existential concerns, it can be dealt with philosophically as well. (Sometimes, there will be crossover between the psychotherapeutic and philosophical approaches, such as in existential therapy. This is because certain kinds of engagement with philosophical ideas may lead to psychological distress, and some mental health conditions, such as existential depression/anxiety and existential OCD, may involve philosophical themes.)

I briefly touched on some philosophical responses to apeirophobia – the fear of eternal life – in a blog post on the portrayal of this fear in Kiyoshi Kurosawa’s 2001 film Pulse (Kairo). In that post, I discussed how an acceptance of panpsychism could help challenge apeirophobia. This is because even if one accepts that consciousness exists in all things, after death, since the brain is no longer functioning, complex consciousness would disappear. The fact that the complex structure of the brain remains after death doesn’t mean this translates into the continuation of the complex consciousness that one had prior to death: the active, organised structure of the brain disappears. Neurons and brain regions are no longer communicating with each other in dizzying complex ways. Thus, there is no longer a high level of active complexity that could account for complex consciousness. Simple forms of consciousness might remain.

The aspects of consciousness that those with apeirophobia worry about retaining after death – identity, memories, desires, preferences, aversions, thoughts, emotions – depend on the activity and functioning of the brain. When the brain is no longer active and functioning, there is no neural activity. There is no ‘coming together’ of neurons – tiny consciousnesses – that combine to create the complex consciousness of being human, with a subjective identity. So, atoms, neurons, and even the brain as a whole will have some level of consciousness under panpsychism, but crucially, none of these forms of consciousness will be ‘you’. This would be an example of how one can accept a belief in (simple) consciousness after death, but not one’s own consciousness that one experiences day to day. There would be no ‘you’ panicking about its new disembodied existence; moreover, panpsychism ties all forms of consciousness to material bodies, from atoms to humans, so if one has reason to doubt the plausibility of disembodied minds, this would be another reason to call into question apeirophobic fears. This could be one way to use a position in philosophy of mind to rationally dissuade oneself from giving in to apeirophobia. 

Similarly, if one already held, or came to hold, a materialist, physicalist, or emergentist view of the mind, then this might also help ease the fear of eternal life. According to these views, the brain generates consciousness. So again, when the brain ceases to function, one’s consciousness ceases as well: under this view, apeirophobia can be rationally rejected (this doesn’t mean, of course, that this would happen quickly or easily, given that our rationality is often in conflict with our emotions). Materialists, physicalists, and emergentists typically also reject ideas of the soul and the afterlife, so this would present another reason to challenge apeirophobia. If everything about oneself and one’s consciousness depends on the brain, and no soul persists after death, then we have no good reason to worry about our mind being trapped in an eternal existence that we have no means to leave.

Embracing functionalism might be another way to question apeirophobia. This is the view that what constitutes a mental state is the way it functions, or the role it plays, in the system of which it’s a part. A mental state depends on inputs and outputs (e.g. sensory inputs, inputs from other mental states, and behavioural outputs). Again, if the brain is no longer active and functioning upon death, then, under functionalism, there are no mental states: there are no relevant inputs and outputs – no relevant causal relations – that could give rise to a mental state like fear, boredom, or dysphoria. In other words, for a functionalist, one’s individual mind will not detach itself from the brain upon death (I imagine most functionalists would also reject the idea of an eternal realm distinct from the universe, or even the idea that disembodied, immaterial, complex minds could exist in the material universe).

Yet, while many people feel certain of the truth of any particular view in metaphysics or philosophy of mind, epistemic humility means we do really have to remain agnostic (to some degree). No one knows for certain, definitively, that complex consciousness does not continue after death. One may have reasons to reject or doubt reports of near-death experiences as evidence of life after death, or that complex consciousness can exist untethered from the physical body, but anxiety can still set in because of uncertainty. What if I’m wrong? What if some altered states of consciousness are, in fact, proof of eternal life after death? Furthermore, one has to be open to acknowledging and addressing the arguments against physicalism, emergentism, functionalism, and panpsychism – in which case, these criticisms may lead to even greater agnosticism, or, based on the strength of the criticisms, a rejection of these philosophical positions.

Uncertainty easily breeds fear. And this is no less true in the case of apeirophobia. Even though I personally disbelieve in the existence of the soul and the afterlife, there is that nagging thought that I don’t know this for certain, thus it’s always possible – and it is logically possible – that my consciousness as I know it will survive after death. But worse than that, my consciousness could be stuck in something like an eternal void or nothingness – a consciousness alone forever. The possibility of this, and not definitively knowing that’s not on the horizon for me (and everyone else), can be enough to induce apeirophobic feelings. I might decide this is unlikely, and even highly unlikely, given the philosophical considerations outlined before, but this doesn’t render the scenario impossible.

Nevertheless, this kind of uncertainty can also be dealt with philosophically. Stoicism views uncertainty as fundamental to life. If uncertainty is fundamental to what happens after life, too, since we don’t know what happens after we die, then Stoicism could also be helpful for dealing with apeirophobia. A core aspect of Stoic philosophy is distinguishing between what’s in our control and what isn’t. If the outcome of life after death isn’t in our control, the only thing left in our control is our response to this uncertainty. Rather than (or in addition to) using science, metaphysics, and philosophy of mind to reason our way out of apeirophobia, we can also embrace uncertainty. If what happens after we die – under a non-religious, purely metaphysical view – is not in our control, then the way to alleviate the mental suffering of apeirophobia is by accepting uncertainty and bringing our attention back to present-moment concerns. If what happens after we die will happen anyway, regardless of what we do, then it’s better to enjoy the finite life we have, rather than waste it away through worry.

The Stoics generally rejected the idea of a permanent afterlife, as they viewed the soul (psychē) as composed of a physical, breath-like substance (pneuma), composed of fire and air, not an immaterial substance. The soul does not exist independently of the body: it disperses upon death. However, some early Stoics, such as Chrysippus, believed in the temporary survival of the soul under certain conditions (i.e. if someone lived a virtuous life). Seneca was ambiguous about consciousness surviving death; while he entertained the possibility of it, he also treated death as extinction and thought that belief in an afterlife may justbe a comforting illusion. In general, the Stoics did not believe in an eternal hell or heaven, judgement after death, or personal immortality. They believed the question of life after death was irrelevant; the primary concern in life, for them, was to live virtuously in the here and now.

Nonetheless, this doesn’t mean one cannot adopt a Stoic perspective if one were to find oneself in the reality one dreaded prior to death, namely, eternal existence. If existing in this reality was outside of one’s control, then the aim of this new existence would be to continue living a virtuous life, according to Stoicism, which would involve calmly accepting the situation. How one would spend one’s time would then be up to that person: if you’re just stuck with your own thoughts for this time, you could entertain yourself with your imagination, perhaps replay and reflect on your memories, create stories or poetry, or practise mindfulness so that one enters into more spiritual states of consciousness. However, with eternity to work with, I’m not sure how realistic it is to imagine that a Stoic or Buddhist would truly feel at peace with this reality.

Buddhists don’t believe in an eternal afterlife in which eternal souls exist. They do believe in an afterlife, but this is in terms of the cycle of death and rebirth (samsara), driven by our actions and their consequences (karma), which individuals can escape by achieving enlightenment (by extinguishing ignorance and craving). So Buddhists wouldn’t generally feel troubled by apeirophobia because it isn’t a natural or possible extension of a Buddhist worldview. After death, there will just be more rebirths as a result of karma; we won’t be our individual selves stuck in an eternal realm. But of course, the Buddhist view of reality may be wrong, so if Buddhists did end up in the reality that apeirophobes fear, how would they respond? Would they reject or question some of the Buddha’s teachings about reality, but still embrace the rest of the dharma and meditation practices to (try to) liberate themselves from this newfound reality? If human aspects of consciousness like ignorance and craving still remain in an eternal (non-religious) afterlife, then these would still be causes of suffering to contend with, and which can be contended with, under a Buddhist view.

Many people with apeirophobia may not find thinking about reality after death in these philosophical terms to be that helpful. But some might. Arriving at the conclusion that the scenario we fear is ungrounded or unlikely may help ease fear, even if not erase it entirely. One may consider more comforting scenarios that could be more plausible, or at least equally as likely, such as the persistence of simple awareness after death, which would not be capable of thought and distress, or a paradisiacal afterlife, free from suffering and full of joy, and not dependent on one’s religious beliefs while alive. However, again, understanding the irrationality or arbitrariness of a belief or fear is not the same as giving up that belief or fear. If that were true, then learning about the safety of flying or the harmlessness of most household spiders would dispel people’s aerophobia or arachnophobia, respectively. This is why, for many people struggling with apeirophobia, ‘thinking through’ the fear may not be enough; often, it takes more psychotherapeutic and practical techniques to face and challenge the fear, and live more fully in the present, rather than in speculative, worst-case scenarios.