I do not believe that our bodies, souls, or consciousnesses survive our
deaths. I do not believe in an "afterlife." In my
own
eight points of belief, I wrote
"that human consciousness is the result of natural
selection. Human beings do not have immortal souls nor will
consciousness survive death. Thus there is no afterlife. There is no heaven, no
hell, and no need for salvation from one realm to another."
Can I prove this? Of course not. I have no desire to try to do
so or to convince anyone. I simply am being honest about me. It is
what I believe. It is what I be-
love. I give my heart to
that reality. It is a religious and spiritual
belief. It is also consistent with what I have observed about
life and death.
I am not personally comforted by thoughts of heaven. For me,
afterlife seems to make this life less valuable. It seems like a
wish-fulfillment dream. But again, that is just me. I don't
insist. I don't particularly care if people believe that their loved ones
have survived their deaths and that they will meet with them
someday. If it works for some people, that is great. In
fact, as a minister, I often use the traditional liturgy at funerals that
affirms resurrection. Some people likely find comfort in
it. I do, too, in a way. For me, it is like singing old hymns
about God. They are poetic. They reflect a yearning and a feeling
that seeks to affirm the sacredness of life. But I don't take any of it
literally. I sometimes wish that there were more hymns and
prayers that affirmed this life. I often turn to contemporary poets for
that. Mary Oliver is one of my favorites.
This is not merely academic for me.
My son died nearly
seven months ago. I don't think he is in heaven. It isn't
because I don't think he completed the requirements for admission; it is because
I don't think such a place exists. The same is true for hell and
for any other possible place or state. I don't think I'll see Zach
again. It doesn't bring me sadness that I won't see him in
heaven. What is devastating is that I won't see, touch, hear, and smell
him
on Earth. That is devastating every single day. No
amount of "heaven" would ever substitute for that.
Theistic forms of comfort or afterlife affirming forms of comfort don't do
anything for me. My boy is gone. His memory will remain as I
cultivate it. And that is life.
What I find in my grief for my son is that when I say what I really think,
it truly disturbs some people. That is sad for me as it makes my
grief even harder. They really want me to believe that he is
somewhere out there or is communicating with me. I don't say anything as
I don't want to offend them or upset their faith. I don't write this post
to disturb. I write it because it is true for me and I know I am not
alone. I grieve without the hope of afterlife.
There are people who grieve without God and need to be encouraged and comforted
in their grief.
Many people think that isn't possible. The Apostle Paul famously wrote
in
1
Thessalonians:
"But we do not want you to be uninformed, brothers and sisters,
about those who have died, so that you may not grieve as others do who have no
hope."
He goes on to say how both the living and the dead will be caught up in the
clouds to meet the Lord on that great day. I don't believe
that. So I guess I grieve as
"others do who have no
hope." If that is the only definition for "hope" then
I have none.
You know what? I think I have earned the right to this
honesty. I have been through hell. Not a day goes by, not an hour
goes by, when I don't miss my son. From what I have been reading on the
topic of the manner of my son's death, my grief will likely get worse before it
"gets better." I really don't appreciate the smugness of
the opinionated such as Dennis Prager, who writes of "the intellectual and
emotional emptiness at the heart of atheism" in his piece,
The
Atheist Response to Sandy Hook. I mean, really?
Those of us who are not theists are not intellectually bereft or emotionally
empty. We simply don't believe in God or in afterlife.
For us, if there is such a thing as "hope" it is something to be
found this side of the grave. We can comfort one another with our hearts
and minds. We can care for one another with our words, deeds, and
silence. We can share tears. We can acknowledge new shoots of
green. Some of us don't even mind singing the old hymns and using
"God" language. I happen to think that language about God is
really about us and what we are and can be. I think I might be a
post-atheist,
for what it is worth. That simply means that I like religion and seek to
bring its language and accomplishments to further the cause of human well-being
and the well-being of Earth.
I don't grieve as one without hope. I hope to integrate my son's life
and death into my life. I hope to become a better
person. I hope to be able to listen deeply to others. I hope
to be joyful on occasion. I hope to do meaningful work. I hope
that all assault weapons will one day turn into garden hoes. I hope
that we can learn more about suicide and help others through their pain so that
they can make different choices. I hope that those who survive the
suicide of a loved one will be able to relieve their burden of
guilt. I hope those who have lost children will find their
courage. I hope for a lot actually.
I also hope that Dennis Prager stops picking on atheists. Some
of us are grieving here.
