Neuroscientist Sam Harris is a five-time New York Times best-selling author who explores controversial questions about society, current events, religion, and moral philosophy on his popular podcast Making Sense.

His wife, Annaka, is a science writer as well. Her book Conscious: A brief guide to the fundamental mystery of the mind became a Time bestseller in 2019. She’s just released a new documentary series on the consciousness conundrum, titled Lights On. In its eight audio episodes, the series tries to answer, among its many questions, “Is consciousness fundamental?”

“Fundamental,” in this case, is a shortcut that scientists use to signal that consciousness is not something that arises from matter (i.e., the physical structures of our brains and bodies) but is rather a basic building block of reality itself.

That is, consciousness is more like the concepts of space, time, or energy than it is a manifestation of our living brains, only to vanish when our bodies stop functioning.

Compare consciousness to a radio. You can smash the radio and the music stops, but that doesn’t mean the music came from the radio. The device just translated a signal that already existed “out there.”

Conceptual illustration of quantum dots in action. (credit: Lars Lüder)
Conceptual illustration of quantum dots in action. (credit: Lars Lüder)
In my article “Can quantum entanglement save my failing body?” (May 4, 2024), I explored how quantum mechanics might explain how consciousness could live on after we die. That piece pursued a scientific bent. This time, I got to thinking more about the philosophical desirability of a consciousness that continues forever.

In short, would one even want this? And how does that change my own thoughts as a cancer patient about dying, whether that’s sooner or later?

For most of my life, my biggest worry about death has been the fear of nonexistence. How can it be that one moment I’m a living, sentient being, interacting with the world, writing, loving, playing, traveling, parenting, husbanding, and so much more – and then in the blink of an eye, all goes black?

Philosophers and mindfulness gurus will present reassuring platitudes such as, “We come from nothing before birth, and that’s where we go back to.” But after decades of living in a world filled with “somethings,” nonexistence is truly terrifying.

MY HOPE, rather, was to somehow be able to export into the cosmos an immortal consciousness that would allow me, at the very least, to “watch” what happens to this world, to my children and grandchildren, and all their descendants.

That, in turn, would address my insatiable curiosity that wants to know everything:

  • What will happen with all the technology I track obsessively today? Will artificial intelligence help or hinder humanity?
  • Will there be an eventual cure for cancer, or extended lifespans (even if I can’t take advantage of either)?
  • Will the world descend into tireless tariff tits for tat and totalitarianism, or will a backlash cement compassionate capitalism over the next 10,000 years?
On a more mundane level, if I were to die before the conclusion of a particularly binge-worthy TV show (see my Magazine article “A couch potato’s TV dreams,” April 20, 2025), how would I ever find out who or what was behind that smoke monster on Lost?

If consciousness is fundamental, though – meaning it continues even when our bodies don’t – I could still “attend” my grandchildren’s bnei mitzvot and eventually weddings; I could observe them as they grow up and have their own children.

But I would essentially be a ghost. I couldn’t interact physically with the humans I loved and left behind – or the ones to come – for whom I’d exist mainly on videotape and, for anyone willing to spend the time, my collection of articles, books, and radio shows.

Moreover, if consciousness lasts forever, I’d eventually have to witness all those I loved die themselves. Would I be able to interact with them in a post-physical world – a heaven of sorts? Or would I be forced to mutely watch humanity destroy the Earth and, eventually, billions of years from now, sit back as the sun explodes and the universe collapses in on itself?

And what then?

What began to dawn on me as I explored this agonizing and, for now, unknowable philosophical enigma, is that it has changed my views on death. If before it was fear of nonexistence, of “missing out,” I propose a new label: SOMO – the sadness of missing out.

Fear turned into sadness parallels two of the seven stages of grief, defined originally in part by Dr. Elisabeth Kubler-Ross. Indeed, this SOMO-powered response might provide a more uplifting frame for someone who’s currently sick and scared.

It also might allow me to spend more time focusing on the things I want right now – getting down on the ground and playing with my two adorable grandchildren, taking short but manageable hikes, enjoying the best takeout food Jerusalem has to offer – rather than being overwhelmed with the inevitable nihilism of an immortal yet untouchable consciousness.

In an episode of the third season of the hit TV show The White Lotus, a Buddhist monk describes consciousness after death like a drop of water returning to the ocean. Consciousness is not lost, but nor is it individual anymore; it’s part of a collective.

While that’s a nice way to think about the future with less – if not no – sadness, it’s a bit too woo-woo to provide real comfort. I still look to science, not spirituality, to guide me, which is why I’m eager to start Annaka Harris’s documentary.

Or maybe it’s time to drop some psilocybin (magic mushrooms), which can be quite effective at transforming our beliefs about death. Or so I’m told. ■

The writer’s book Totaled: The Billion-Dollar Crash of the Startup that Took on Big Auto, Big Oil and the World has been published as an audiobook. Available on Amazon and other online booksellers. brianblum.com