So Sorry Your Dad Died – Too Bad He's Burning in Hell

Death is always sad, but it can bring out kind and comforting words from family and friends. These good wishes really do help us feel better. Whether it's a simple expression of sorrow, some shared tears, or an enlightening story, our friends' kind words help us accept death, cherish the memories, and get life going again.

Now it happens that most of my relatives and close friends aren't Christian. We're a broad assortment of Deists, pantheists, paganists, agnostics and atheists. There's hardly a Christian among us.

So what do Christians write in their condolences? "The peace of the Lord is on your father." Or, "Your mother is resting in Jesus' arms now."

I know they mean well. But if these Christians were true to their faith, they'd say, "So sorry that your loved one is now being tortured with

Will Religion Go Out of Business When Science Gives Us Eternal Life?

A couple decades ago when the first digital cameras hit the market, the head of the Eastman Kodak company declared that in a decade their film business would be closed. One of the most profitable products in history ("make it by the mile, sell it by the inch"), was going to be completely obsolete in a virtual eye blink. And he was right: by the end of 2009, Eastman Kodak made its last roll of film, and in 2010 the company was removed from the S&P 500 index.

What would happen if religion's best product, "eternal life," went the way of Kodachrome? If we can get eternal life from a scientist instead of from God, will religion shut its doors too?

Every marketing guru on Madison Avenue knows that sex, food, and fear are what sell. Find a product that fills one of these needs (or make it seem like it does), and you'll be rich. And in the end, religion is nothing more than a big business with a product – eternal life – to ease your fear of death. Death is at the very foundation of

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,

Would you rather be happy or know the truth?

Far too much of religious faith is based on this scary fact: People believe what makes them happy, not what's true. Worse, they even admit it proudly.

There was a great discussion yesterday over at Unreasonable Faith called Thoughts of a Dying Atheist. One exchange summarized one of my favorite topics:

John C [a Christian]: So sad, such utter darkness and despair. “Nothingness” is not the truth, is not the offer that the Truth (Himself) makes you, its far better and its…true.

Ty: No despair. And nothing is sadder than delusion masquerading as hope. You’ll wind up in exactly the same place all the rest of us will, you’ll just have wasted the one life you had first. What could be sadder than that?

Ty hits the nail on the head. I'd rather live the truth, however sad, than to live a lie. Darwin himself said it best:

A scientific man ought to have no wishes, no affections, a mere heart of stone.

In other words, what we want to believe doesn't matter. We have to seek truth, no matter how unpleasant. In my mind, this is the single most important sentence that Darwin ever wrote. It is the very foundation of the scientific method, the very thing that made all of Darwin's other discoveries possible.

Religion works in the exact opposite direction from Darwin's advice.

Do Not Scatter your Ashes when you Die!

According to the Catholic Bishops, scattering your ashes when you die shows "contempt" for the Catholic faith, and encourages the idea that people become "nothingness" when they die. We wouldn't want people to think that when they're dead, they're really ... well, just dead!

And even cremation, while not prohibited, is discouraged. Never mind that Italy's cemeteries are all just about full, the good Bishops have decreed that everyone has to be buried in a cemetery, even if they're cremated. Apparently, it helps hold the Catholic Church together if you bury the dead together. (No, I'm not making that up, it's the bishops' official teaching.)

Maybe they figure the world will end pretty soon. I mean, in 10,000 years or so, won't the whole surface of the Earth be a graveyard, with no place left for the living? But if there's going to be Armageddon, it probably doesn't matter, we'll be gone before the graves take over.

I particularly like this part: The Roman Catholic Church only ended its official ban on cremation in 1963, when they finally realized that cremation does not affect the soul, "nor prevents the omnipotence of God from rebuilding the body." You'd think if God created the universe, he could put a few ashes back together for His big resurrection day. But apparently it took the Catholic Church a couple thousand years to figure this out.

I guess I'd better get Grandpa's ashes off the fireplace and hike on over to the graveyard...

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.

"Faith healing" causes another child's death

It just makes me sick to read another one of these stories. A young girl died while her parents and other members of their religious sect tried to heal her with prayers rather than seeking proper medical care. The girl had diabetes, not a pleasant diagnosis, but she could have controlled the disease and grown up to have a happy, healthy life.

Instead, her life was tragically cut short by ignorance. Although I would like to blame her parents, they are just as much victims of this fraud as their daughter. Their sect teaches that God will bring cures, a belief that is plainly, blatantly wrong.

The obvious and glaring answer to this foolish belief (assuming you believe in God) is that God did provide a cure for this child. He gave us all brains, so that we could learn about His universe, about biology, physics and chemistry, and invent cures for the diseases that God chose, in His infinite wisdom, to inflict upon us. God provided the cure, these parents rejected His wisdom in favor of ancient voodoo and hocus pocus.

Or maybe there is no God, we're on our own, and we have to take care of each other. What a beautiful concept.

How very tragic, for the girl, for the parents, and for all of us.

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

The Death of a Dog, the Death of a Man

Last week I had the bittersweet task of helping my dog, Skittles, for the last time. I had to help her die, by taking her to the veterinarian to be "put to sleep." The task was incredibly sad, because she was a great dog, a good friend, always happy, and an integral part of our family. Yet, it was a task that I did out of love and duty. Even when death is inevitible, when there is no hope, the body doesn't want to give up; the heart keeps beating and the lungs keep breathing, only prolonging the suffering. When a beloved pet's death is inevitable, and the animal is only suffering, most pet owners, out of true love for their pets, help their pet one last time by gently and kindly helping them to die.

Why is it that we can't do the same kindness for the people we love?

Yesterday, television viewers in Great Britain had the opportunity to see a man commit suicide, a real suicide, in the documentary about Craig Ewart's death. Ewart had a degenerative motor neuron disease that left him paralyzed and suffering. As he put it, "If I go through with [this suicide] I die, as I must at some point. If I don't go through with it, my choice is essentially to suffer and to inflict suffering on my family and then die."

Mr. Ewarts case struck very close to my heart, because my own father died of the exact same disease, except that he had to let nature take its course. It was a terrible thing to watch, seeing my father suffer a long, drawn-out death, with weeks and months of unnecessary suffering.

The sad memories of my father's death came rushing back to me as I was helping Skittles for the last time, when the veterinarian said, "Can you imagine, we can do this kindness for our pets, but not for our own mother and father?"

One of the greatest tragedies that religion has inflicted on us is the idea that humans are somehow different than animals; that because we possess a "soul" that was put there by some mythical god in the sky, we have to wait for that same mythical god to take the soul away. Worse, like many other religious ideas, this one has become part of our legal system.

Mr. Ewart chose to take his life early, while he still could. My father wanted to kill himself. We talked about it many times. But as the paralysis gradually took over his body, he was faced daily with a terrible choice: Do I kill myself today, while I still can? If I wait too long, will I become incapable, and end up suffering for years, paralyzed in a hospital bed, in discomfort and pain, wearing a diaper, unable to read a book or even watch television? The terrible dilemma was that, as long as he was able to take his own life, his life was still good, still worth living.

If he'd killed himself when he still could, he would have lost a year of a life that, while not perfect, was still decent. He wouldn't have heard about his granddaughter graduating high school. He wouldn't have learn that his grandson won the World Juggling Championships. He wouldn't have gotten to see videos of his other grandson playing a mean saxophone. But the price he had to pay for that year was very high indeed – he became too weak to take his own life, and had to suffer through a "natural" death.

I don't mind if religious people want to choose a painful, lingering death for themselves or their loved ones. But why can't my family and I choose the moral and ethical route. Why is it that we can help a mere dog, but not help our own parents, wives, brothers and sisters, when their time comes to die?

Death is part of life, and life is good. Skittles knew that, and if she could have talked, I know she would have thanked me for helping her. Here's a funny little tribute to Skittles. This is what happens when you give an engineer a new MacBook pro dual CPU with 4 GB of memory, two dual SATA 750 GB disks, a hi-res second monitor, Final Cut Pro movie-editing software, and Soundtrack Pro music editing software. He makes a video of his dog. Enjoy!

Tags: euthanasia assisted suicide death dying religion christian god craig ewart atheist atheism