I'm halfway through a book called The God Delusion, by Richard Dawkins. It can accurately be described as an Atheist manifesto, you know, since the author spontaneously admits that his ultimate goal is to convince his readers that there is no God and urges closet atheists to come out. I know, the nerve some people have! What's next? Telling children there is no Santa Claus? It is, in any case, a good read: although his arguments are not as airtight as he assumes, he makes some interesting points and somehow manages to be humorous while relentlessly attacking all forms of religion - or, at least, as humorous as one can be while assuming very unpopular stances on issues which people usually don't take very lightly. So I would recommend it to anyone, pious or pagan, who is not afraid of some pretty incise questions that, given the impact most creeds still have outside of their respective temples, are undeniably relevant and yet simply sidestepped by most of their followers.
I have no intention of discussing the merits of Dawkins' arguments here; after all, there's a reason why people write books, not blog posts, about this sort of stuff. Still, when you read a book that casts a doubt over nearly every single aspect of religion, you can't help but do some questioning of your own. And the one thing that really bothers me is the concept of paradise, which is central to almost every faith and, objectively speaking, just cannot exist as they sell it to us.
The general idea behind the religious afterlife is that, if you are good enough while alive (or if you die a martyr or maybe in a violent battle, depending on whose word you take), you get to go to Heaven or Shangri-la or Valhalla (all of which, for practical purposes, hereinafter shall be called Paradise). Now, Paradise is like the ultimate vacation spot: it has nice weather, great food and, again depending on who you pick as your travel agent, you may or may not receive a shitload of virgins upon arrival. Still, contractual details aside, it is, by definition, a perfect place where the worthy ones get to kick back and relax for all eternity.
Perfect, huh? That's a bold goal. Firstly, a perfect place should account for the different needs of each and every person living there. For instance, I guess most women would want a package that includes endless supplies of shoes, no-calories chocolate and a 24/7 spa, whereas I would probably ask for daily games of football, an open bar and no shoe-shopping whatsoever. I suppose that part is easy to arrange - in fact, most resorts on Earth already have it covered, with a vast array of activities from which their guests may choose, so it should be no biggie for the All-Mighty to get this one right. I'm sure that Paradise can be every bit as awesome as we imagine.
But then it gets tricky. It's a safe bet that most people would like their loved ones to be there as well. I mean, a perfect place would not be perfect if you didn't have your friends and family around to share it with you, would it? So what if your friends, your spouse, your children or your parents are denied entrance on the grounds of unworthiness? Wouldn't it spoil the whole Paradise experience for you, to know that your best friend or your wife or husband are fighting Hitler over bread crumbs in Hell while you're sipping Piña Coladas on a cloud?
It gets worse: even if they lower the standards and let everybody in (or if you lived a really boring life and everybody you know actually made it to Paradise), there's the issue of conflicting expectations. See, when your mom gets there, she probably won't choose to be the lovely 40-something lady who kissed your booboos and made those delicious pancakes for breakfast. I mean, as happy as she could have been doing that, chances are that it is not her idea of a perfect afterlife. Most likely she'll prefer her younger days - you know, her Woodstock, pot-smoking, free-for-all-sex phase - and witnessing that will probably ruin your week. Another example: imagine Rose Dawson, from James Cameron's Titanic, dying an old lady. As soon as she gets to Paradise, she'll instantly revert to her Kate Winslet form and look for Jack, her one true love, who is probably there waiting for her ever since taking that last dip in the Northern Atlantic. So what happens to Rose's husband? You know, the dude who built a life with her for over 50 years and probably saw her as the love of his life? Assuming they all make it to Paradise, someone will get the short end of that stick and then... well, so much for perfection.
This paradox can happen in any number of scenarios: ex-girlfriends and ex-boyfriends, ex-husbands and ex-wives, sons, daughters, siblings, parents, friends - they can all wish to return to a situation which they deem perfect, but the other parties involved do not. So how can you have Perfect, or even close to that, when it doesn't mean the same thing (and in fact can mean opposite things) to everybody?
I can imagine only one way around this apparently unassailable inconsistency: the contact you have with your loved ones is not an actual interaction, but rather a Matrix-like simulation that allows everybody to have things exactly like they want them. That way, while you still get a grandma that will bake fresh cookies whenever you visit her, your real grandma can be somewhere else getting her freak on.
Albeit logically efficient, that solution is not good enough. Neo, Trinity and Morpheus nearly died trying to put an end to that kind of shit (technically, Neo and Trinity did die, but I like to pretend that the second and third movies never happened), so I refuse to believe that Paradise will be nothing more than a simulation. Furthermore, I remember Captain Kirk facing a similar situation in Star Trek: Generations after being sent to the Nexus, a place that exists beyond the flow of time and where reality is shaped according one's to personal desire. Even though living in the Nexus was described as "being wrapped inside joy", he rejects that notion of Paradise after realizing it was not real. I mean, you have both Captain Kirk and Morpheus saying that this simulation thing is not a good idea after all and those are guys whose opinions you should respect, so I say ixnay on the Matrix.
And even if the concept of a perfect afterlife were not intrinsically paradoxical, you still have to deal with the eternity factor - i.e. if it lasts forever, even perfection would eventually wear on and therefore cease to be perfect. Really, I just don't see how it could work.
What I can imagine, though, is how I would want the afterlife to be - assuming there is one, of course. I picture a big theater, where you get to watch a film of your life; every second of your time on Earth and every thought or dream you ever had would be there for you to review it (unless you want to fast-forward through the boring/bad parts, it's up to you). All those funny moments that made you almost pee in your pants, the cool conversations with your friends, that amazing dream that slipped your mind as soon as you woke up and you could not remember, the butterflies in your stomach in that microsecond when you realized you were about to kiss that cute girl... You would get to watch and relive all those moments again, and as many times as you wanted.
Also, much like a DVD, there would be a couple of special features is this film. The first one would be the Additional Info feature, meaning you would get to peek into other people's heads and know what they were thinking. It wouldn't be always pleasant, but you would finally know if those girls in high school were talking about you as you passed by, if your boss ever really thought about giving you that raise, if that crush you had was mutual, if Oswald really killed Kennedy, and if Bush really thought there were Weapons of Mass Destruction in Iraq. Basically, any unsolved question you ever had in your life could at last be answered.
The second feature would allow you to watch alternative endings. What would have happened if you had the testicular fortitude to approach that girl in that party? Or if you decided to accept that offer to move to another continent, or took that trip, or went to a different college, or picked a different major? Any time you second-guessed a choice you made in life, you would get to see how that would have played out if you had gone the other way.
Then, when you are finally done exploring everything your life was and could have been, you just walk outside and ask to be sent back to Earth to start over. As simple as that - no paradox, no ennui. I don't know if there is an afterlife - and if Dawkins got it right, there isn't - but if I somehow wake up in a bright, ethereal place after I drop dead, I sure hope to find comfortable seats, a big bucket of popcorn and a still-frame of my mom screaming at a nurse for an epidural on a massive screen.
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