To Live Is to Choose
was reading the description in a very fine novel of a death and burial when the thought crossed my mind: Is it possible to be unafraid of dying yet fear being dead?
I’ll make this personal. I’d not hesitate to give my life for family, friends, or faith, but the thought of being in a box six-feet underground is frightening: so cold and dark.
I suppose all that means is I don’t really know what to expect when I die, beyond ultimate joy if I die well. Dying well is good. But one thinks of the haunting statement of Isaiah, repeated by St. Paul (Is 64:3/1Cor 2:9-10):
Eye has not seen, ear has not heard,
Nor has it entered the human heart
what God has prepared for those who love him.
One must assume the same is true about Hell for those who hate God. If only they knew the truth!
I suppose if you’re a Satanist, you may actually want to go to Hell, although that seems to me a clear case of cutting off your joy to spite your misery. Something like that.
Which brings me to Pascal’s Wager.
