So, my husband’s a total atheist. I am not. Let’s say I am agnostic, for the sake of simplicity. The other day we were talking about what happens when we die. His answer, of course, is nothing. My answer is, well, TBD. Although I think it would be the finest joke in the universe if the light you go towards when you croak is in fact the opening at the end of the birth canal of your next mother. As in, there is no transcendence, no dead relatives waiting for you at the celestial arrivals gate, you don’t get to look up any of the Big Answers at the Askashic Library, you’re just unceremoniously pulled out of your meat suit to be dropped straight into another that you’re going to have to wire from scratch to walk and talk and remember shit. Ha! A freaking infinite hamster wheel.
Anyway, we were talking about what happens when you die, and I posited to him something I’d like to share with you. It’s called Pascal’s Wager, Douche Bag Version:
You should believe in an afterlife because, whether or not there is one, you win either way. As in, if there is an afterlife, I get to find my husband in spectral form and go, “Ha! Suck it, atheist!” Whereas if there’s nothing and neither one of us exists, he doesn’t get to lord it over me. Sad, no? So, the moral is: Believe in God, it’s the only way you get to win the ultimate marital argument.