Sunday Sermonette: On Tidy Endings
I’ve been thinking a lot about death lately. This Sermonette is cross-posted; many of my friends know that my mother-in-law passed away recently. Her death has raised questions, both in my own mind and from my friends. What do atheists believe about death? How do we handle grief? How does life have meaning without a final judgement or an afterlife?
Atheism itself is not a religion. It has nothing to say about death or an afterlife, it is simply an answer to the question, “Do you believe in the existence of a god or gods?” For life’s big questions, you need to consult science and philosophy.
Philosophically, I try to be a skeptical materialist and humanist. Not only is there no compelling evidence of the supernatural, virtually all supernatural claims have been debunked and exposed as frauds. It may be, as some believe, that I am an invisible spirit that animates my body and survives my death. The evidence from doctors and neuroscientists, however, suggests that my mind, that which I call me, is an electrochemical process in my brain. Mind is what brain does, in short. When my brain is starved for oxygen at the end and synapses stop firing,that which is me will cease to be. I will not know it, I will simply no longer exist.
Believers say that I have a soul, or even that I am a soul and have a body. I don’t know how that would work or why they find comfort in the thought. Without my physical body with its appetites and demands, without glands or sensory input, whatever exists cannot possibly be me. Imagine what it would be like to possess consciousness without being able to speak, touch, hear, see, or feel. It would be the most exquisite torture imaginable, and one would very quickly go mad. Fortunately, there is no evidence of any such thing.
Some people, believers and non-believers alike, are frightened by the prospect of ceasing to exist. Personally, I take comfort from Epicurus. He said, “If I am, death is not. If death is, I am not. Why should I fear that which cannot exist when I do?"
Unbelievers handle grief the same way as anyone else. We are bereaved. We mourn. We celebrate the lives of our loved ones and experience all of the same emotions associated with loss and grief. Believers say that religion provides comfort at this time, but I’ve never seen it and I’ve participated in a lot of funerals. The only thing that religion seems to do is provide people with something pat and rather thoughtless to say. “Well, at least he’s in a better place now.” and “We’ll pray for her.” I’ve never seen those words give much comfort.
That said, while I might not say those words, no atheist I know would contradict people’s beliefs during their time of loss. The most important thing is the comfort of the survivors, not scoring debate points. If they want to sing hymns or pray the rosary, I don’t know any atheist who wouldn’t join in out of ordinary human compassion.
Sadly, religion is not always so empathetic. Some funeral services I’ve attended have been thinly veiled attempts to proselytize. But again, bereavement is a bad time to point this out.
There is one thing for which I must give credit to churches: they can organize people quickly. If a member of the parish is bereaved, all it takes is a couple phone calls and there are helpful friends at the door bearing casseroles and fried chicken, helping out the grieving family with the basics so that they have time to deal with everything else, including their own sorrow. Death, while not unexpected, is usually unprepared for, and there is a lot that the closest relatives need to do in a very short amount of time when they may be in no condition to make decisions. Churches provide an instant community of care that we atheists have not yet matched.
I had a chat with Rich Lyons, a former Pentecostal preacher who now produces the excellent Living After Faith podcast with his wife, Deanna Joy. He’s helping organize an active atheist community in his city, and sees this as a growing movement. His most recent podcast, #39, is an interview with the founder of Grief Beyond Belief, an online support organization.
The religious contend that life without the prospect of eternity can have no meaning If anything, I think it is faith in an afterlife that robs this life of purpose. Life isn’t a waiting room, a dress rehearsal, or a final exam. If I wrong you, I’d better make amends quickly. This is the only life we get, no Mulligans or do-overs. Now is the time to say, “I love you.” If there’s a chance to see a gorgeous sunset, I’d better run off and see it. One night only, no repeat performances. No patron will be seated during the final 80 years of this show.
Life is a symphony. It has an overture and a coda and often some beautiful music in between. Stretching it out does not improve the melody. This has been done a few times by performance artists and the results have been dismal and tedious. Life has a beginning, and it has an end, and it is up to each of us to give meaning to the interval between.
“No one wants to die,” Steve Jobs told the graduating class of Stanford in 2005. “Even people who want to go to heaven don't want to die to get there. And yet, death is the destination we all share. No one has ever escaped it, and that is how it should be, because death is very likely the single best invention of life. It's life's change agent. It clears out the old to make way for the new.”
Bereavement is a time when atheists mourn the dead, comfort the mourner, and reflect on our own mortality.
As Jobs said, “Remembering that you are going to die is the best way I know to avoid the trap of thinking you have something to lose. You are already naked. There is no reason not to follow your heart.”
Atheism itself is not a religion. It has nothing to say about death or an afterlife, it is simply an answer to the question, “Do you believe in the existence of a god or gods?” For life’s big questions, you need to consult science and philosophy.
Philosophically, I try to be a skeptical materialist and humanist. Not only is there no compelling evidence of the supernatural, virtually all supernatural claims have been debunked and exposed as frauds. It may be, as some believe, that I am an invisible spirit that animates my body and survives my death. The evidence from doctors and neuroscientists, however, suggests that my mind, that which I call me, is an electrochemical process in my brain. Mind is what brain does, in short. When my brain is starved for oxygen at the end and synapses stop firing,that which is me will cease to be. I will not know it, I will simply no longer exist.
Believers say that I have a soul, or even that I am a soul and have a body. I don’t know how that would work or why they find comfort in the thought. Without my physical body with its appetites and demands, without glands or sensory input, whatever exists cannot possibly be me. Imagine what it would be like to possess consciousness without being able to speak, touch, hear, see, or feel. It would be the most exquisite torture imaginable, and one would very quickly go mad. Fortunately, there is no evidence of any such thing.
Some people, believers and non-believers alike, are frightened by the prospect of ceasing to exist. Personally, I take comfort from Epicurus. He said, “If I am, death is not. If death is, I am not. Why should I fear that which cannot exist when I do?"
Unbelievers handle grief the same way as anyone else. We are bereaved. We mourn. We celebrate the lives of our loved ones and experience all of the same emotions associated with loss and grief. Believers say that religion provides comfort at this time, but I’ve never seen it and I’ve participated in a lot of funerals. The only thing that religion seems to do is provide people with something pat and rather thoughtless to say. “Well, at least he’s in a better place now.” and “We’ll pray for her.” I’ve never seen those words give much comfort.
That said, while I might not say those words, no atheist I know would contradict people’s beliefs during their time of loss. The most important thing is the comfort of the survivors, not scoring debate points. If they want to sing hymns or pray the rosary, I don’t know any atheist who wouldn’t join in out of ordinary human compassion.
Sadly, religion is not always so empathetic. Some funeral services I’ve attended have been thinly veiled attempts to proselytize. But again, bereavement is a bad time to point this out.
There is one thing for which I must give credit to churches: they can organize people quickly. If a member of the parish is bereaved, all it takes is a couple phone calls and there are helpful friends at the door bearing casseroles and fried chicken, helping out the grieving family with the basics so that they have time to deal with everything else, including their own sorrow. Death, while not unexpected, is usually unprepared for, and there is a lot that the closest relatives need to do in a very short amount of time when they may be in no condition to make decisions. Churches provide an instant community of care that we atheists have not yet matched.
I had a chat with Rich Lyons, a former Pentecostal preacher who now produces the excellent Living After Faith podcast with his wife, Deanna Joy. He’s helping organize an active atheist community in his city, and sees this as a growing movement. His most recent podcast, #39, is an interview with the founder of Grief Beyond Belief, an online support organization.
The religious contend that life without the prospect of eternity can have no meaning If anything, I think it is faith in an afterlife that robs this life of purpose. Life isn’t a waiting room, a dress rehearsal, or a final exam. If I wrong you, I’d better make amends quickly. This is the only life we get, no Mulligans or do-overs. Now is the time to say, “I love you.” If there’s a chance to see a gorgeous sunset, I’d better run off and see it. One night only, no repeat performances. No patron will be seated during the final 80 years of this show.
Life is a symphony. It has an overture and a coda and often some beautiful music in between. Stretching it out does not improve the melody. This has been done a few times by performance artists and the results have been dismal and tedious. Life has a beginning, and it has an end, and it is up to each of us to give meaning to the interval between.
“No one wants to die,” Steve Jobs told the graduating class of Stanford in 2005. “Even people who want to go to heaven don't want to die to get there. And yet, death is the destination we all share. No one has ever escaped it, and that is how it should be, because death is very likely the single best invention of life. It's life's change agent. It clears out the old to make way for the new.”
Bereavement is a time when atheists mourn the dead, comfort the mourner, and reflect on our own mortality.
As Jobs said, “Remembering that you are going to die is the best way I know to avoid the trap of thinking you have something to lose. You are already naked. There is no reason not to follow your heart.”