The Dark Side of Heaven
Take away 70 vestal virgins and would there have been a 9/11? Take away the threat of hellfire and brimstone, and would we have a religious right or a Catholic Church?
I know, I know – there are those who would say that religious embrace comes from a deep-seated need to be connected to an Almighty, or as a response to the love of God, or as a means to quell misdirected passions. But take away the reward of heaven and how committed would any of us be to a God? Religious institutions know about this deepest yearning of the human psyche – to live forever. Religious institutions also have the ticket – we just have to buy it. It’s always been for sale.
Human imagination is a wonderful and a terrible thing all at once. Consciousness gives rise to all sorts of “possibilities.” We stake our beliefs on the desires we covet, not necessarily the hopes that can be achieved. Living forever is one of those desires - even if it is a notion that is contradicted by every nuance of experience. It is a hope for which we are literally willing to sell our souls. And, what’s the problem with that, you say?
9/11 may have answered that question for some.
For the rest, let me put it this way - heaven, no matter how configured, has a dark side. It is one of those squishy propositions that finds residence in temples, churches, and mosques – but can find no certain definition. As such, it has become a powerful plaything of manipulators and tyrants, as much as a promise offered by the well meaning. Describe this wonderful reward in the terms you choose – then pattern the behavior required for its attainment. Religion empowers itself by so doing, and sends its missionaries to proclaim the gospel of eternal life – and eternal death. It, they claim, is up to you to make the choice. Really? That’s a pretty big hammer, if you ask me.
The cosmos is a big (very big) and strange place. Maybe tucked away in some far away galaxy there is a spot certain called “heaven.” Maybe as our last breath oozes from our lungs and consciousness gives way, we are magically transported to that place. Maybe. For sure, the flesh, bones, sinew, tissue, and neurons that define who we are in time and space, will not make that trip. The atoms that make us up would be rudely treated by any foray off this planet – and not likely reassembled somewhere habitable. So, what of us survives to “live” in this “other” dimension? Uh, dunno. Maybe someone else does, but I can’t conjure it – religious dogma notwithstanding. And, sorry, I can’t just “accept it by faith.” My faith takes me somewhere else.
My faith takes me to a grave where my body will fertilize new and different life. My faith takes me to an end point from which I will never return – except in the memories of others. My faith takes me to a personal demise – even as my genetic material travels an infinite journey of permutation through progeny. “That’s it,” you say. No life everlasting, no heaven. Just death? Where’s the hope? How depressing.
Actually, not. As I fall into alignment with every other thing that has ever existed – organic or inorganic – and then succumbed, it humbles me and makes present moments even more profound. As I consider killing or judging others in the name of God for the sake of eternal reward, a heaven-less eternity gives me pause.
If my ethic is not based on eternity, how should I behave? It seems to me that demons consume the evil in time. Eternity isn’t relevant. Does history treat evildoers well? Do evil ones find solace in their deeds? Does the threat of eternal damnation inhibit those who delight in the infliction of pain and suffering? In contrast, even without the promise of eternal bliss, do the good not benefit from their goodness? Is their goodness not sufficient in and of itself? Are we not more in concert with our Creator when we ask for nothing more than what we have been given in time and space? When greed or desire for more is quashed, are we not made free?
Lots of questions, here – here’s one more: are we willing to lay on the altar the proposition of heaven if it brings to us a world in which we love one another as much as we love our dogma?
I know, I know – there are those who would say that religious embrace comes from a deep-seated need to be connected to an Almighty, or as a response to the love of God, or as a means to quell misdirected passions. But take away the reward of heaven and how committed would any of us be to a God? Religious institutions know about this deepest yearning of the human psyche – to live forever. Religious institutions also have the ticket – we just have to buy it. It’s always been for sale.
Human imagination is a wonderful and a terrible thing all at once. Consciousness gives rise to all sorts of “possibilities.” We stake our beliefs on the desires we covet, not necessarily the hopes that can be achieved. Living forever is one of those desires - even if it is a notion that is contradicted by every nuance of experience. It is a hope for which we are literally willing to sell our souls. And, what’s the problem with that, you say?
9/11 may have answered that question for some.
For the rest, let me put it this way - heaven, no matter how configured, has a dark side. It is one of those squishy propositions that finds residence in temples, churches, and mosques – but can find no certain definition. As such, it has become a powerful plaything of manipulators and tyrants, as much as a promise offered by the well meaning. Describe this wonderful reward in the terms you choose – then pattern the behavior required for its attainment. Religion empowers itself by so doing, and sends its missionaries to proclaim the gospel of eternal life – and eternal death. It, they claim, is up to you to make the choice. Really? That’s a pretty big hammer, if you ask me.
The cosmos is a big (very big) and strange place. Maybe tucked away in some far away galaxy there is a spot certain called “heaven.” Maybe as our last breath oozes from our lungs and consciousness gives way, we are magically transported to that place. Maybe. For sure, the flesh, bones, sinew, tissue, and neurons that define who we are in time and space, will not make that trip. The atoms that make us up would be rudely treated by any foray off this planet – and not likely reassembled somewhere habitable. So, what of us survives to “live” in this “other” dimension? Uh, dunno. Maybe someone else does, but I can’t conjure it – religious dogma notwithstanding. And, sorry, I can’t just “accept it by faith.” My faith takes me somewhere else.
My faith takes me to a grave where my body will fertilize new and different life. My faith takes me to an end point from which I will never return – except in the memories of others. My faith takes me to a personal demise – even as my genetic material travels an infinite journey of permutation through progeny. “That’s it,” you say. No life everlasting, no heaven. Just death? Where’s the hope? How depressing.
Actually, not. As I fall into alignment with every other thing that has ever existed – organic or inorganic – and then succumbed, it humbles me and makes present moments even more profound. As I consider killing or judging others in the name of God for the sake of eternal reward, a heaven-less eternity gives me pause.
If my ethic is not based on eternity, how should I behave? It seems to me that demons consume the evil in time. Eternity isn’t relevant. Does history treat evildoers well? Do evil ones find solace in their deeds? Does the threat of eternal damnation inhibit those who delight in the infliction of pain and suffering? In contrast, even without the promise of eternal bliss, do the good not benefit from their goodness? Is their goodness not sufficient in and of itself? Are we not more in concert with our Creator when we ask for nothing more than what we have been given in time and space? When greed or desire for more is quashed, are we not made free?
Lots of questions, here – here’s one more: are we willing to lay on the altar the proposition of heaven if it brings to us a world in which we love one another as much as we love our dogma?
posted by Don Doan at 7:44 PM
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