The Suck Zone

A long, loud tone blasts through the terminal.

"May I have your attention please," begins a calm-voiced woman, and the dude next to me wryly speaks my thought: "Trust me, lady, you have it."

I'm in the St. Louis airport waiting on an evening flight to the Windy City. The weather has been downright mid-Western all day and all the news is about destruction in Oklahoma.

They've made less intrusive alerts already about "severe thunderstorms," including the comforting instruction to stay away from windows.

None of which prepares me for what follows.

"There is a tornado in the area. Do not panic."

Too late. 

I'm from Boston. We get an occasional blizzard, rather quaint in their own way, a nor'easter or two over the years -- enough to titillate but rarely to threaten.

(Ok, I guess we also have spats of terrorism punctuated by gun violence, but that's a recent development.)

I don't do tornados. I also don't do crowded airport restrooms when I can help it, but unfortunately that's what passes for the emergency shelter, so it's either that or the suck zone.

I'm actually just outside the restroom when the cyclone hits. The ground shakes almost imperceptibly and a gust of wind pours through the terminal. The power cuts, but the generators kick in so fast we barely notice.

And that's it. Only later is it confirmed: the airport was hit on the far side from where we are and sustained some damage.

Now we're all perfectly safe, and completely stranded.

I wish that had been the end of the story.

After a couple of flight reschedulings and finding a nearby hotel room for the night, not to mention many a thought about the cost in time and dollars of driving from MO to MA, a shuttle delivers me to an Embassy Suites and I'm given a room on the fifth floor. I lug my belongings into the elevator and take it up to 5.

30 seconds later I'm in my room. Another 60 after that the power cuts out. 

The first twinge of anxiety comes from how dark it is: I barely had time to register the layout of the place before having to find my way back to my iPad flashlight, running my hands along the wall and groping for imaginary furniture.

Then the screams start.

Someone is trapped in the elevator and something is wrong. These aren't calls for help, they're incensed poundings on the door. Howls, growls, almost inhuman. Someone is either injured or hulking out.

My first instinct is to investigate, my second to help. But how to get downstairs? Before I can figure that out, I see that hotel staff is on the case and put it together that this lady is not hurt, just living her worst nightmare. 

I can relate, I mutter, thinking back to that men's room.

All that remains is to help some folks carry luggage up the stairs and try to sleep. 

It's up and out early in the morning to see if I'm ever getting out of this city.

(Update: Published from 25,000 feet. (: )

Life Anxiety, Epilogue: Terror Management

(Earlier posts in this series.)

Why would a story that portrays the murder of children as a triumph over evil resonate with someone? Answer that question, and you've taken serious steps to understand the Boston Marathon bombing, not to mention the American drone war.

It's not to say those two examples are identical, as one overtly targets children and the other rationalizes them as "collateral damage." But these two share more than the effect of child corpses. They also share a cause: the attempt to defeat evil by locating it in others and destroying them.

In my last post, I said that it's our job to write better stories than this. We need to figure out how to spin out yarns for ourselves that are 1.) aware of our fear but 2.) allow us to become the heroes we know we are.

In order to do that, we first need to consider the possibility that our own issues with mortality are propelling a less-than-conscious hero narrative, one that puts us at many disadvantages but which we are unwilling to change because it forms the locus of our self-esteem.

Phew. No easy stuff.  

To help with that, the Ernest Becker Foundation strives to share Becker's message and ideas, and the work of Becker lives on in Terror Management Theory.

Really interesting experiments are being done that add data to these ideas. For example, did you know that subtly reminding someone of their own mortality can make them more aggressive, less forgiving and more reliant on cultural symbols? It's a fact.

Just ask Reapy.

 I hope you'll read on, and write better.

Life Anxiety, Part Twelve: Unfreedom

(Earlier posts in this series.)

So Becker suggests that we need "healthy repressions, ... explicit immortality-ideologies, myths of heroic transcendence." Whatever that means!

We need to feel secure in the face of death. We need a bid for immortality and we need to see ourselves as heroic. Otherwise we retreat from life until we have nowhere left to run.

We live in a state of constant anxiety, hence the name of the blog.

But what are "healthy repression?" How can we be "explicit" about our own mythologies and still believe in them? Dr. B leaves it to us to figure the rest of that out.

Clearly it's not enough to just follow heroes who preach love and peace.

Especially if they are made of guns.

If all we needed were peaceful lover-leaders, the KKK would never have lynched in the name of Christ and Gandhi would have ended all the wars.

"What is it good for? Absolutely nothing." - Gandhi

But the more "explicit" we are about our need for heroism and our association of evil with death, the less likely we are to come under "The Spell Cast by Persons" a.k.a. "The Nexus of Unfreedom."

We live on borrowed power. That doesn't change. We look for something outside of ourselves to connect to. We find the person telling the story we need to hear. We project our needs onto their story and make it our own.

What's left for us to figure out, and it's no small task, is: "What is creative projection? What is life-enhancing illusion?"

After all, we write these stories. For ourselves and for each other.

Imagine what we could do if we were all better writers.

Epilogue: Terror Management

Life Anxiety, Part Eleven: Holy War

(Earlier posts in this series.)

So Becker argues that "to become conscious of what one is doing to earn his feeling of heroism is the main self-analytic problem of life."

This is no easy task. "Self-knowledge is the hardest human task because it risks revealing to [us] how [our] self-esteem was built: on the powers of others in order to deny ... death."

Doing a little analysis on the hero myths provided by culture, he finds that "every society ... is a 'religion' whether it thinks so or not: Soviet 'religion' and Maoist 'religion' are as truly religious as are scientific and consumer 'religion,' no matter how much they may try to disguise themselves."

All wars are holy wars.

Put that in your pipe and smoke it, Bill Maher.

Merely realizing the fundamental need for a heroic purpose, which society is built to meet, will not somehow cure humanity of this need.

Instead he suggests that we need "healthy repressions, ... explicit immortality-ideologies, myths of heroic transcendence."

Next: Unfreedom

Life Anxiety, Part Ten: Space Opera

(Earlier posts in this series.)

Previously, on a very special Life Anxiety, we discovered the root of all evil. No big.

No wonder Becker won a Pulitzer.

Turns out money isn't the root of all evil. Or greed. Or "hate." It's heroism.

See why that's funny? Because every time something evil happens we smother it in heroism. It's like trying to put out a fire with napalm.

Scenario: the righteous rag-tag band of outlaw underdogs lead a quest to liberate everybody from a conquering Empire. With the help of a mysterious and supernatural Force, they exploit a weakness of the Empire's stronghold and blow it up.

Fantasy:

Reality:

And you thought Episode 1 was a disaster.

So what can we do to break up the "useless self-sacrifices in unjust wars" or the "ignoble" or "tormented heroics" of, say, your Tamerlan Tsarnaev?

Becker answers: "To become conscious of what one is doing to earn his feeling of heroism is the main self-analytic problem of life."

I love the qualification "main self-analytic problem." The main main problem of life, then, could arguably be a lack of sufficient self-analysis -- although this is not quite Becker's conclusion.

Next: Holy War

Life Anxiety, Part Nine: Root of All Evil

(Earlier posts in this series.)

Primal terror is controlled through smaller, more concrete anxieties, and so you end up washing your hands 'religiously,' avoiding bridges or trains, keeping your voice down or on a shrill note higher than everyone else's.

But there is no heroism more direct than choosing death in the name of something greater than yourself. We should try to remember this, every time we greet a returned Marine or spit at the image of a terrorist's face. A wide world may seem to exist between the cherished heroism of the one and the despicable evil of the other, but underneath beats the same heart: a willingness to deal death and to risk it oneself in the name of what is "good," however that's been defined.

"As Nietzsche saw and shocked his world with ... all moral categories are power categories ... Purity, goodness, rightness -- these are ways of keeping power intact so as to cheat death."

We've made lasting symbols to ensure immortality, and our greatest anxieties are located there. If they are threatened or attacked, it becomes very clear to us where the evil is. By extension even the reform of some social structures is certain to appear downright apocalyptic, as we see going on right now in the marriage equality debate.

Doing good turns into getting rid of evil. George W. Bush proved that even in America, this does not have to be unconscious or metaphoric.

It's a war of ideas, but actual bodies stack up. Becker's pronouncement is chilling and severe: "man's natural and inevitable urge to deny mortality and achieve a heroic self-image are the root causes of human evil."

Next: Space Opera

Life Anxiety, Part Eight: The Heroism of Denial

(Earlier posts in this series.)

Most heroism demonstrates a pattern.

As Becker puts it, "history is the career of a frightened animal who has to deaden himself against life in order to live." It's a matter of range, not state. One is never submerged completely in the raw stream of life. You can't exist outside of the process of self-mediation that is your essence.

Phenomenologists call this "the impossibility of a complete reduction."

Maurice Merleau-Ponty

This is good news, really. Many have drowned in that stream. Human history is littered with the shattered lives of those whose coping methods broke apart. Or their victims. No one said performing in a theatre of heroism was easy.

Becker sometimes sounds pejorative about denial and repression, especially on a first read. But he also insists that it is necessary. Some amount of sustaining narrative is necessary to get us through the days. Whether it's desperate spin or enriching myth is up to us.

Most cultures interpret denial and repression in heroic ways: "a human animal who is partly dead to the world ... is most 'dignified' when he shows a certain obliviousness to his fate."

Heroes risk -- or give -- their life for others.

The courage of the warrior is an expression of heroic repression.

Next: Root of All Evil