On Death

As I mentioned a few days back, one of my friends was nearly killed in a car-wreck. Today here at work, one of my coworkers just learned that a family member, who was only eighteen, has died. These two things are inspiring me to write a little on my thoughts on death and what happens after.

Death is, at present, a needed biological process. From the point of view of the individual, particularly the one it is happening to, it’s not a great thing, but for the species as a whole it is vital and necessary. It’s not an entirely bad thing, really, but understandably most people aren’t anxious to have it happen to them or someone they love.

The question of what happens after we die is something that’s been speculated on at least as far back as the Neanderthals, who burried their dead in such a way as to indicate a belief in the afterlife. But what do I believe happens after you die?

Someone, I don’t remember who, but I think it was Sammuel Clemmens, once remarked that he thought the experience after you die is the same as the experience before you’re born, and I think that’s likely, since there’s zero evidence that indicates otherwise. I think my body will moulder, if it isn’t burned as I’d like it to be (Viking funeral, here I come!). But the part that actually makes up me, my conciousness, I think that just… ends. There’s no real reason to believe otherwise. I’d say this is a shame, and tragic and awful, but frankly once it happens, there won’t be any me to feel bad about it. It’ll be like going to sleep, only not waking up at any point.

Of course, this could all change should future generations heed my advice, but barring that, I just don’t see any reason to believe we do anything other than simply end when we die. But really, that’s not a bad thing, is it? No pain and suffering. None of the torment of Hell or the boredom of Heaven. You’re just… ended. And there’s nothing wrong with that.