Bin Laden is Not in Hell After All

An open letter to America...

Dear America,

I'm writing to tell you of a terrible misunderstanding. I know that most of you (two thirds, according to The Public Religion Research Institute) are happy now that Osama bin Laden is burning in Hell. It took us a while to catch bin Laden, but we did it! We finally dispatched him off to his judgement day. And now most of you think Osama bin Laden is suffering in death the way he made others suffer in life.

Sadly, I have to report that Osama bin Laden isn't in Hell suffering. It's all a big lie. Osama bin Laden is not enduring everlasting pain and suffering. He's just dead. After he died, his brain simply stopped working. He's not feeling any pain. In fact, Osama bin Laden doesn't even exist any more.

Even worse, Osama bin Laden didn't suffer in death. He died almost instantly. OK, maybe the Navy Seal who shot him took the body shot first, so the world's worst terrorist felt intense pain briefly. But I'll bet it was less than a second or two

Death Challenges Atheist Convictions

A remarkable woman passed away this weekend. Those of you who have read The Religion Virus will remember my personal story called "The Southern Baptists" about Ruth (not her real name).

Ruth was a strict member of the Church of Christ, born and raised in the heart of the "Bible Belt" of the southern states. She and her husband attended church every Sunday and often on Wednesday. For those of you not familiar with the minutia of America's evangelical churches, the Church of Christ is considered conservative by the mainstream Southern Baptists, who in turn are considered conservative by almost everyone else. The Church of Christ worships twice on Sunday and once on Wednesday, and they don't even allow musical instruments in church, just singing.

On several occasions I joined Ruth and her husband at their tiny rural church in the middle of the cotton, bean and wheat fields from which their people made their living. Although I didn't share their faith, I enjoyed the enthusiasm, honesty, and especially the gospel music. You haven't heard true gospel until you've sat in the pews at a tiny concrete-block church in the heart of the South and listened to a bunch of farmers and their wives, children and grandparents all sing their hearts out. Now that is honest gospel.

Ruth was remarkable to me because she kept her faith and she was accepting of others. Unlike so many people in the evangelical churches,

Should an Atheist Argue with a Dying Person?

Here is an interesting asymmetry.

The other day a terminally ill friend was talking about how he'd come to grips with his fast-approaching death, and that while he was sad about it, he was comforted by the knowledge of what awaits him in heaven. "Oh, no," I replied. "There is no Heaven or Hell. When you die, you're dead, and your soul, which is a made-up concept in the first place, simply ceases and your life is over. It's really a very comforting thought, you know, that you won't have any more worries."

This didn't really happen, of course. But that fictitious scene was inspired by a close friend of mine whose wife is dying right now. Many years ago, he and I sailed together for thousands of miles in the South Pacific, and although I haven't seen him in decades, he's on my Facebook Friends list and we communicate. Every day, he posts his wife's ups and downs, and every day, their close Christian friends offer support and prayers. And although I feel very much sadness for their dilemma, and wish them the very best, as an atheist it's difficult to know what to say when a close friend asks for prayers.

This got me to thinking about the asymmetry of the situation. If I were terminally ill, most Christians I've known would have no hesitation about praying for me, and telling me that they were doing so. In fact, they'd have no trouble at all telling me my atheist beliefs are simply wrong.

Why is it that in extreme situations, it's OK for Christians to express their beliefs, but not for atheists to do the same?

It happens that I'm very content with the facts. I consider this life to be a magnificent journey, one that must be lived in the here-and-now, because when when it's done, I'm gone. I've done many good things in my time, raised some wonderful children, worked in the environmental and medical sciences to improve the world, and generally lived a moral life that, I hope and believe, has made the world a better place. I know that my life has been worthwhile, and that's enough. I don't need any promise of an afterlife to make me feel better, or to distract me from this life.

More importantly, I don't need religious people trying to convince me that I'm wrong, or offering their sincere but ineffective prayers. If someone told me, "I'll pray for you," what they're really telling me is, "I don't respect your beliefs, so I'm going to waste my time doing something ineffective that won't help you, rather than spending that time doing something for the living."

We need to live in this world, and make our lives good now, because this is the only chance we get.

Achieving Immortality

I heard a wonderful quote today on National Public Radio:

It's been a privilege knowing you. I'll live on in your memory. It's the best kind of immortality.
– Fred Stocking

Professor Stocking passed away Wednesday, and was beautifully eulogized by a former student, Barbara Bradley Hagerty of National Public Radio, in her radio essay. If you have a minute, take the time to listen to her broadcast rather than reading it.

I usually find myself praising scientists, or the occasional philosopher, in this blog. Prof. Stocking was a man of literature, a Shakespearean expert, a man with rare skill with words, and a teacher of great repute. It's refreshing to be able to praise a man of letters.

If there's any sort of immortality to be had, it's not in a soul that lives on after death, but rather in the things we leave behind. Everything from a child that we raised, to the work we do, to a simple, pleasant memory left with a friend ... this is the only true immortality we can achieve. And it's an immortality worth having.

Those who believe in God look for their immortality in the afterlife. In many ways, their lives here on Earth are almost irrelevant – many Christians even believe that accepting Christ as their savior is really the only thing that matters here on this Earth. All the deeds, good or bad, that they do here on Earth are essentially for nothing in the end. That's always struck me as a deeply flawed way to lead your life.

But even for those believers who have a more whole-life, "karmic" understanding of goodness and sin, who believe that it's the overall balance of their goodness that matters, their lives here on Earth are just a blip in the cosmic time scale of eternity. What happens here is over in an instant, compared to the billions of years immortality they believe will follow.

Not so for the non-believer. As Professor Fred Stocking so clearly put it, all we'll leave behind, our only immortality, is memories, which are only as good as we are. Life to the non-believer is far more precious than it could ever be to a theist, because when you're gone, that's it. If you don't leave any memories behind, then you're truly dead.

Religious People More Afraid of Death than Atheists

According to this article on the BBC, those who are the most religious are three times more likely to receive intensive life-prolonging care, and are much more likely to die in a hospital rather than at home with their loved ones.

I know the Atheist community likes to point to studies like this and ask, "What are you afraid of?" It seems logical that those who believe in an afterlife would be less likely to fear death than those who don't. So Atheists are fond of implying that the faithful, by fearing death, show that their faith really isn't that strong.

I don't buy this argument. I don't think a fear of death should be held against anyone, whether religious, agnostic or Atheist.

In fact, it could easily be just the opposite: Those who don't fear death in the first place are far more likely to become Atheists. It could (for example) be that our desire to live, and our consequent fear of death, is more of an inborn trait, or something that we acquire as children as loved ones die. Who knows? And those who, for whatever reason, happen to fear death the most, would naturally have the hardest time accepting the Atheist's understanding of the world.

Death is a sad thing, no matter what you believe. To paraphrase Clint Eastwood in the movie Unforgiven, when you die, you lose everything you ever had, and everything you'll ever be. Your friends and family lose your love, your wisdom, and your friendship. Your coworkers lose your skill and knowledge. There is nothing good about death, except that from an evolutionary point of view, it makes room for the next generation.

I suspect that the truth about why religious people fight death so hard has very little to do with any lack of conviction in their faith. If anything, I believe it's the other way around, that their faith is (in part) inspired by their fear of death.

It takes a certain degree of calm and fortitude to be an Atheist. It's hard to accept that when you die, you're dead and gone. The desire for immortality — life here on this Earth with our friends and loved ones, not some abstract second existence — is strong in all of us, even if some of us don't believe it will come true.

Why Death is Good for Religion

Saturday I had the honor to attend my uncle's funeral in Arizona, to remember his life and mourn his death. He was a good man: an artist, musician, corporate executive, father, husband, and so much more.

Uncle Ted was also a devout Christian, of the sort that I respect. His religion was personal and simple: When he needed help, he prayed for guidance, when things went well, he gave thanks. He didn't push his beliefs on others, but if you asked him about it, he'd tell you. I don't share his beliefs, but I respect Uncle Ted's honest, straight-ahead approach. Uncle Ted's religion was moral, honest, and light-years ahead of the destructive, dishonest, aggressive tactics of the evangelical ultra-conservative groups that dominate the news and politics.

His memorial service was conducted by a Christian minister, a very sweet woman and good friend of Uncle Ted. Listening to her prayers, at that emotional, sad time, I got a deep understanding of the appeal, of why religion makes so much sense to so many people. I wrote about this extensively in my book, in fact it's the core thesis: Religion is an evolving species that has had thousands of years to adapt to fit the human psyche perfectly, to be incredibly appealing (irrespective of whether it is true or made up).

Listening to The Lord's Prayer at Uncle Ted's memorial, I finally understood emotionally what I knew intellectually. We just don't want to say goodbye, forever, to Uncle Ted. The thought that his life, and everything he ever had, is gone, is sometimes too hard to bear. All those wonderful cowboy songs, his beautiful voice, the way he strummed his guitar, his talent with a paintbrush, his gentle but mischievous smile, his generosity (unless you were playing cards against him!), his charity work, his wise advice ... all gone forever. How can this be? Isn't there another answer, a way that, even though he is gone from us, that somehow he's not really gone? Can't we see Uncle Ted again someday?

Alas, no. He's really gone, and all that's left of him is the good memories, and the lessons he taught those of us who were lucky enough to have him in our lives.

And I now have a deeper understanding now of just how appealing religion is.

Tags: death religion afterlife christian atheist atheism