Object Permanence

I have to be honest, the objects I’m thinking of aren’t “objects” at all. They’re people, the people we love…the people we grieve.

Children learn object permanence in their first two years of life, and the knowledge that people and things still exist even when they are unseen affords babies and toddlers some security, some faith. Knowing that they are not alone in the world—even when they are physically alone—quells their anxiety, allows them to cope. Understanding object permanence marks a milestone in their development. 

But I think there is more to it, a part we haven’t considered that lingers long past childhood.  It can erupt in emotional upheaval when—as adults—we fail to grasp it, fail to consider it, fail to cope. 

An “object” by definition is “a material thing that can be perceived by the senses,” according to Miriam-Webster. Most of us readily think of objects as solids, and that’s not wrong. But what is a solid? What is matter? And now we’re in the realm of physics, where if you get small enough, nothing is solid. It’s all atoms, moving particles so tightly compact we think an object is static. We think an object is an object, not a bundle of energy.

I know most of us don’t look at our dogs or each other, for that matter (ha, a pun, maybe. Moving on…), and think, Wow, I love that combination of protons, neutrons, and electrons! But we do. We are. I don’t understand it, but I know it’s true. Objects are energy. We are energy.

Maybe object permanence should be called energy permanence, and maybe when we are older than toddlers we should revisit the whole idea, keeping in mind that first law of thermodynamics—energy cannot be created or destroyed, only converted to other forms. 

Maybe, if we better understood that the bodies we inhabit hold so much space between the atoms spinning within us, animating us, we would understand that we are already a part of infinity and infinity is within us. Maybe, that’s what Luke 17:21 means when the Bible says, “The kingdom of God is within you.” Or maybe not. I’m not a theologian. Or a physicist. But, I am human, and I’ve felt grief, and I’ve experienced enough oddity to know that those who are no longer present in the body are not gone. They simply exist somewhere else, unseen. And, that affords me a way to cope, some security, even faith.