Chapter 3. Comparing Religions Through the Lens of the Afterlife
- Andrew Mytaf
- Feb 2
- 17 min read
Updated: Mar 19
In Chapter 2, we tackled one of the most challenging and, dare I say, rather offensive questions for sceptics: the notion of punishment for disbelief. We concluded that if a just God exists, His judgment should rest on qualities like goodness, love, and commitment to the common good rather than strict adherence to any single doctrinal image—a concept with countless interpretations. If we’ve correctly understood these values as what are believed to be reflections of God’s nature, then we have inevitably understood God Himself. And at the very least, we might be relieved if He truly embodies these qualities.
Yet, it's difficult to accept the idea of a God who would eternally torment those who blindly adhered to the letter of Scripture—or its distorted interpretations—over true morality and the greater good. This extends even to sceptics who may have lived selfishly, often disregarding the welfare of future generations. While we might hope that such individuals would eventually grasp the impact of their choices, who could endure the thought of even the worst offenders suffering endlessly? Over time, even the distant knowledge of ongoing suffering would weigh heavily on us; this awareness, even in paradise, would cast a long shadow.
Could we truly escape such knowledge? Most religions hold that sacred texts will be studied eternally, as understanding the consequences of evil—and the value of salvation—depends on memory. In Christianity, Christ is said to retain His crucifixion wounds as a reminder of suffering—sufficient, it seems, without knowing that souls suffer eternally under His gaze.
If we lean on logic, God's omnipresence would place Him in hell too. Nothing exists outside of God, who is the sole source of life; there is no place that is truly separate from Him. Without His presence, there would be, well, nothing. Thus, the idea of hell as "separation from God" appears impossible; if God is absent from a place, then so is everything else.
Furthermore, if we retain the capacity to understand sacred texts and reason in eternity, we might recognise that God Himself suffers continuously, as He embodies absolute love and compassion. As rational beings striving to emulate divine attributes, we would naturally cultivate love, empathy, and compassion—even if our compassion falls short of God's. Our eternal bliss, then, would carry a subtle yet constant awareness of our relative comfort compared to those less fortunate—a kind of 'survivor's guilt,' diluted but enduring.
Simultaneously, it's difficult to imagine that eternity would suddenly clarify why eternal torment could be just. Add to this suffering a degree of perplexity. Picture the faithful in conversation with such a God: "You say it's their choice? I doubt that's how they saw it."
"An eternal soul? But You said only the beginningless has no end. Couldn't You, in Your omnipotence, find a solution?"
"Yes, generations suffered because of their ideas! But now, everyone suffers—not only out of compassion for them but from knowing You suffer too?"
"We can't understand? That's frustrating, as well!"
If there is a hidden explanation for all of this, eternity hardly seems the place for it to be unveiled; now would be far better. This question is one of the main reasons so many rational and good people struggle with the concept of such a Creator. Even biblical figures like Moses and the Apostle Paul pleaded to be erased from the Book of Life or even cursed on behalf of those condemned. Those who would rather suffer alongside others than revel in eternal bliss are, in a sense, the righteous—representatives worthy of paradise, as they reflect the sacrifice of God’s crucifixion and His compassion for sinful humanity. Yet, paradoxically, all who truly understand a perfect God would find themselves in hell, where God is also present, suffering alongside them—fully capable of feeling everything His creation feels and, by the very definition of perfect love, choosing this path consciously.
Personally, I find the idea of eternal hell rather immoral. I suspect I'd opt for any alternative if a few questionable interpretations of religion turned out to be true.
However, since our goal here is to examine the most logical religious concept of punishment, let's briefly explore a few popular beliefs and weigh up the sceptic-friendly options.
Islamic Insight
The Qur'an offers thorough and vivid descriptions of hell, leaving little room for metaphor or abstraction. No recognised school of thought treats these depictions as symbolic.
Certain interpretations of the Qur'an allow a purgatory-like fate for those with even a trace of faith in Allah, despite minimal good deeds—unless they have killed an innocent believer. For those without faith, however, eternal punishment is inevitable. Moral unbelievers are granted the mildest eternal sentence, which involves 'fiery sandals that cause the brain to boil.'
Rationalising such justice is a challenge. (Out of deep respect for the world's largest religion—and a strong desire to preserve my well-being—I'll tread lightly with any critique. Some groups possess remarkable skills in creative interpretation, not only of the Qur'an but also of any academic analysis. The last thing I want is to spark an impromptu one-sided theological debate in a dimly lit alleyway).
Reincarnation Ideas
To cool down our brains a bit, let's consider religions with reincarnation, though even their founders found it challenging to explain. One of the most relatable explanations likens reincarnation to the law of energy conservation. For instance, grass eaten by a cow becomes energy for the cow, which, if poisoned by pesticides on the grass, decomposes and returns energy to the grass. Another example is that of physical objects colliding, transferring energy from one to another.
This analogy is, of course, just that—an analogy. If reincarnation truly mirrored physical energy conservation, we'd all cycle endlessly through plants, insects, and animals, regardless of caste or karma, with only the particularly lucky ever becoming human. Self-awareness would be inconsistent, as there could be no preservation of consciousness without an initial sense of 'I.'
According to such teachings, rebirth in the wheel of Samsara is a purgatory of personified energies. Breaking free from the cycle of rebirth means ceasing to experience any feelings, thoughts, or sensations—something already achievable in purgatory through meditation (which has proven to be a good alternative to a nap).
In practice, few people claim to recall past lives. Interestingly, many who do recall a past life remember being a prominent historical figure—Cleopatra alone was claimed by over eight hundred respondents in surveys conducted between 2012 and 2017. Even the enlightened recall only snippets of past lives, making a thorough moral assessment of previous actions a long shot—let alone for the majority of us, who can barely remember what we did last evening.
Moral progress seems hazy here, especially considering these teachings recommend avoiding those with "bad karma," which includes not only the evil but also the poor, the illiterate, the sick, and the crippled—all seen as tainted by negative karma from past lives.
The most spiritually revered in this view are those who abstain from worldly interaction entirely, sometimes even falling into catatonic states in the lotus position as examples of supreme enlightenment.
From a sceptic's perspective, any belief system where punishment for moral lapses is more appealing than the final goal doesn't seem overly rational. Many find reincarnation's appeal in the idea of punishment—keeping karma clean to avoid rebirth as something basic and mundane. And most are careful not to overdo self-improvement, just in case they accidentally reach nirvana—an end state that sounds suspiciously like a permanent flatline, or, as some might put it, a spiritual equivalent to a flat encephalogram.
Judahite Versions
The Jewish take on hell involves interpreting the Torah's sparse mentions of it as a quiet place of containment, where souls experience twelve months of suffering for the wicked. (The origin of these twelve months remains a mystery, though it might stem from the typical employment term for Jews in companies they don't own.) For the virtuous, there's bliss – albeit a somewhat languid version – and for both, this is followed by a grand reunion with new bodies in a heavenly eternity. Most schools of thought assume that even unbelievers (assuming they aren't outright villains) will eventually come round to appreciating God's company after a stint in purgatory. Jewish scholars might chuckle at the idea, saying, "Why wouldn't they? It's free!" However, there are some perspectives that suggest true "refuseniks" or incorrigible villains will be dissolved into non-existence – and even these perspectives don't entertain the notion of eternal hell.
The Torah provides an ideal playground for interpretation. It hints at rewards for following commandments, but it keeps the threats limited to such earthly concerns as a contemptible death or shortened lifespan.
Now, I should note: any irony aimed here at Jews is, of course, meant as complimentary. After all, the intellectual resilience of the Jewish people, I'd argue, is practically a matter of scientific regularity. It's a consequence of their ancient religious mandates on hygiene, developed since the dawn of their civilisation: systematic washing of dishes, hands, bodies with ash (an alkaline agent); covering food to protect it from insects; excluding predator and scavenger meat; competent instructions on treating wounds; using pain relief; setting up leper colonies and appointing priest-doctors; prohibition on consuming stagnant water; boiling water for cooking; abstaining from raw meat; mandates on touching the dead (with a purification ritual in case it happens); a rudimentary sewage system; mandatory laundering of clothing; temperature control; mould management; avoiding infection through prohibitions on touching facial skin with blades; religious-sanitary circumcision of the foreskin to prevent accumulation of secretions; nail cutting, and the list goes on. Added to this, fixed fasting periods during illness, regular preventive fasts (about once a month), and over 300 hygienic prescriptions (some of which still defy explanation, such as not wearing garments of mixed fabric) helped conserve genetic resilience. This preservation of genetic information protected against constant diseases that weakened other peoples through early childhood resource expenditure, particularly affecting energy-intensive brain regions and limiting the variability of alleles – much like how successive copies on a printer gradually fade. Alongside a strict code of morality and assigning children adult responsibilities by age 12, these measures undoubtedly preserved their genetic heritage. At the same time, I disapprove of those who use their inherited potential not for the benefit of society—and especially those representatives of a nation that has endured genocide, who now distort its perception in the opposite direction.
When diving into Jewish Scripture, it's vital to remember that the Torah – and all of the Ketuvim – speaks in parables and metaphors. Death is described variously as a grave, pit, or dungeon (the underworld), or more poetically as an open maw or the gates of doom.
Here are some examples from the Ketuvim's views on hell: "Who is the man that shall live, and not see death: that shall deliver his soul from the hand of hell?" (Psalm 89:48 ).
"What will you gain if I die, if I sink into the grave (hell)? Can my dust praise you? Can it tell of your faithfulness?" (Psalm 30:9, NLT).
Sheol, the Hebrew concept of the underworld or realm of the dead, is usually depicted as undesirable and bad, an enemy of life. Premature death was considered a punishment and a curse.
"If I wait, the grave is mine house: I have made my bed in the darkness. I have said to corruption, Thou art my father: to the worm, Thou art my mother, and my sister. And where is now my hope? as for my hope, who shall see it? They shall go down to the bars of the hell, when our rest together is in the dust." (Job 17:13-16.).
Of course, there are some ambiguous verses we could dissect a bit: "Sheol from beneath is excited about you, to meet you at your coming; It stirs up the dead for you, All the chief ones of the earth; It has raised up from their thrones All the kings of the nations. All they shall speak and say unto thee, Art thou also become weak as we? art thou become like unto us? Thy pomp is brought down to the grave, and the noise of thy viols: the worm is spread under thee, and the worms cover thee." (Isaiah 14:9-11.).
In context, Isaiah speaks of the Assyrian king, whom he retroactively compares to Lucifer, but this hardly applies to either figure individually. "Raised up from their thrones" resembles Valhalla more than a scene of eternal suffering; it's merely a sardonic nod to death's levelling power. The references to "become weak as we" and worms covering them clearly describe the physical reality of decomposition underground.
And then we have the Nevi'im (or Prophets) segment of the Hebrew Bible, which gives us the dramatic story of King Saul consulting a woman-necromancer to summon the spirit of the deceased prophet Samuel. This act was a serious violation, as necromancy (i.e., summoning and speaking to the dead) was strictly forbidden and classified as an occult sin. When Samuel appears, he launches into a scolding tirade against Saul, ending with: "… tomorrow you and your sons will be with me. The LORD will also deliver the army of Israel into the hand of the Philistines."
It's intriguing that despite Saul's transgressions, Samuel tells him that he and his sons will join him in the same "place" upon their deaths. Here, it seems the righteous and the sinful alike have a similar posthumous fate.
Since necromancy in the Torah was equated with demon-summoning, many interpret Samuel's spirit as a demonic impersonation, as indicated by the accusatory tone. Regarding prophetic knowledge, this may be parallels with the Book of Job, where the devil receives permission from God to act, and the Book of Numbers, where Balaam, driven by greed, is used by God to convey a message contrary to his intentions to do evil to Israel. But if this was not the spirit of Samuel, then Saul and righteous Jonathan should end up with the devil, which is very strange while there is no mention of torments and tortures in the Torah, or more likely this is information transmitted to the devil, stating that Saul will be in the same place as Samuel, namely in the ground.
"There is no work nor devising nor knowledge nor wisdom in Sheol, the place to which you are going." (Ecclesiastes 9:10.).
However, there is a glimmer of eternal life with the Creator somewhere down the line. Sheol might be a temporary holding place "where there are no thoughts."
"Many of those who sleep in the dust of the ground will awake, these to everlasting life, but the others to disgrace and everlasting contempt." (Daniel 12:2.).
As a sceptic, I'd argue the Torah and early Jewish scriptures are perhaps the most promising foundation for building a rational concept of the afterlife.
Christian Assumptions
Now, we encounter another group interpreting the same Torah, with a small yet crucial addition—and this group happens to be the largest among the five major religious doctrines. This collective includes Catholics, Orthodox Christians, Protestants, near-Christian teachings, various sects, and over 38,000 denominations worldwide—all of which consider the Torah a foundational part of their doctrine.
(No need to worry—we'll focus on the core sources rather than dissecting all of them.)
It's worth noting that, unlike the Old Testament, the New Testament contains a few more references to support theories about hell. In it, an allegory emerges in the form of "hellfire" or "Gehenna." Historically, the Valley of Hinnom was purposefully turned into a refuse dump, where the corpses of unclean animals and criminals were burned. This valley provided a deeply disturbing sight: a desolate landscape filled with foul stench, smoke, shadowy figures in robes with cloth-bound faces weeping, bones strewn about, blazing fires consuming flesh, vultures circling, jackals skulking, and worms wriggling. Those passing by would instinctively grimace and clench their teeth in disgust. This Gehenna, the very place Christ referenced with the phrase, "where their worm does not die, and the fire is not quenched" (Mark 9:47-48.), was originally a literal location, not a metaphysical concept—an image of rejection and confinement, intended as a powerful deterrent.
Indeed, all New Testament references to hell—images of fire, eternal worms, weeping, and gnashing of teeth—are often interpreted as allegorical references to this site. This interpretation is far more logical than conjuring a vivid image of endless, conscious torment.
The concept of 'eternal' hell can be better understood by examining the original language, where two distinct terms are used. Interestingly, the term often applied to hell in the New Testament is also used for temporary or transient things within the Bible. This includes ceremonial laws, such as the rule about carrying a spade for burying excrement, and promises of 'eternal desolation' for once-thriving locations that have since become densely populated.
To illustrate, let's consider two particularly challenging passages:
1. "And these will go away into eternal punishment, but the righteous into eternal life." (Matthew 25:46.). Here, eternal life and eternal punishment could be metaphors for final states after resurrection—either eternal annihilation for the unrighteous or eternal life for the righteous.
2. "And the smoke of their torment goes up forever and ever, and they have no rest, day or night" (Revelation 14:11.). The phrase "no rest, day or night" emphasises the finality of their condemnation, not endless conscious suffering. In biblical language, such expressions often represent the completeness of a judgment, signalling an absolute state rather than a continuous experience. Coupled with the imagery of smoke rising eternally, this verse symbolically conveys an unalterable fate, where "no rest" emphasises the permanence and irrevocability of their condition rather than suggesting ongoing torment.
A Parable About Lazarus—or the Lazarus of the Parable?
We're left with one seemingly convincing argument often cited in favour of a specific place for torment: the Parable of the Rich Man and Lazarus, told by Christ and recorded by Luke in Chapter 16. To understand this story, we need to look at its timeline and the circumstances surrounding its telling.
Despite many abstract details, if this story were not about real events, it would hardly use someone's name—in this case, Lazarus. It sounds convincing as it is indeed the only parable with a name. The name Lazarus appears in the New Testament in several contexts. In the Gospel of Luke, it is mentioned in the Parable of the Rich Man and Lazarus. In the Gospel of John, Lazarus is the brother of Martha and Mary, who lives in Bethany, and Jesus raised him from the dead.
However, the sequence of events is somewhat unclear. The Gospels do not offer a precise chronology for all of Jesus' teachings, making it difficult to determine which mention of Lazarus occurred first. Let's break it down:
1. The parable of the Rich Man and Lazarus appears in Luke (Chapter 16), with no clear date for this teaching.
2. The events in Bethany, including Lazarus' resurrection, are covered in John (Chapter 11), closer to the end of Jesus' ministry.
In the Gospel of John, we learn the "chief priests plotted to kill Lazarus also" (John 12:10.). This event, chronologically, is close to the time of the parable's exposition in the Gospel of Luke, which took place near the temple. Notably, in both Gospels, shortly after these events, the Pharisees plot to kill Jesus.
Following this, Lazarus is curiously absent from Scripture while his sister Mary continues to appear. Given his miraculous revival, Lazarus's absence from later events is puzzling—one might expect him, after being raised from the dead, to become one of Christ's most devoted followers, along with the apostles. The idea that he may have been killed by the chief priests not only fits the context but arguably makes more sense than other theories for his absence.
Indirect accusation was a characteristic feature of Christ's teachings, so it's quite possible this parable hints at a particular person, offering a public yet subtle condemnation of a premeditated evil act.
In reality, Lazarus was not destitute; he had a home, caring sisters who provided for Jesus' followers, and even used expensive perfume ("Why wasn't this perfume sold and the money given to the poor? It was worth a year's wages." (John 12:5.)). His household was clearly not poor. Here, "poverty" might refer to Lazarus' lowly status in the eyes of the chief priests and Pharisees. If Lazarus' "poverty" was figurative, then the "rich man" in the story—often interpreted as representing Jewish leaders (Luke 16:14.)—and his fate could also be metaphorical, symbolising a judgment that would bring regret, mental suffering, and a second death.
Still, we cannot exclude the possibility that it was a story about an actual poor man, even considering the metaphorical nature of the place as Abraham's bosom, Abraham's role as a mediator instead of Christ, and the very idea of communication between heaven and hell. Either way, we're left with an alternate interpretation, fitting logically within context, which means there is no single verse left explicitly confirming a traditional concept of hell—unlike, say, the Quran.
Thus, biblical teachings, if interpreted sensibly, could offer a more rational and just framework.
One might suggest it represents the emotional turmoil awaiting those on the day of the second resurrection, at the final judgment for those condemned to incineration. This suffering could symbolise the final moments of our old universe collapsing into nothingness—whether through black holes consuming entire galaxies, a swift contraction of the universe itself, or stars drawing everything closer with their overwhelming gravitational force.
"And, Thou, Lord, in the beginning, hast laid the foundation of the earth; and the heavens are the works of thine hands: They shall perish; but thou remainest; and they all shall wax old as doth a garment; And as a vesture shalt thou fold them up, and they shall be changed" (Hebrews 1:10-12).
"And the heaven departed as a scroll when it is rolled together; and every mountain and island were moved out of their places." (Revelation 6:14).
Sin
Let's now turn to a central argument against the concept of eternal torment:
The Bible tells us that sin is lawlessness, and that lawlessness leads to death. If God had merely devised an arbitrary set of rules, branding some actions as sinful and others as virtuous, this would indeed seem like capriciousness. However, rehabilitating religious thought suggests that God opposes sin for objective reasons. As the Creator of all, He established ideals for a fulfilling existence, and their opposites, which cannot logically reverse within the order He created.
We cannot fault God's omnipotence simply because He cannot nullify the consequences of sin, rendering all actions virtuous. Equality of contradictions—a round square, dry wetness, or increasing knowledge through its absence—is an inherently absurd idea and an express path to non-existence.
Anything that destroys life—whether gradually or abruptly, directly or indirectly—is evil by definition. Not because non-existence itself is 'bad' (it is neutral) but because life is a clear good, evidenced by the universal human drive to live, sometimes despite suffering. This desire holds true, even in distress, as long as there's some prospect of experiencing reality. Most people, given the choice, would prefer reliving their lives to never existing at all.
Of course, people often overestimate their quality of life due to various optimistic cognitive biases, such as the Pollyanna principle or habituation. Yet, the concept of amor fati, or ‘love of fate,’ reflects a positive attitude towards one’s destiny, regardless of its challenges, because something far more valuable exists than simply the absence of suffering: self-awareness. This sensation remains humanity’s most precious experience, which explains why older adults, of all ageing issues, fear problems with consciousness and thinking the most.
Prominent thinkers throughout history have recognised consciousness as life's fundamental pleasure. Socrates, Descartes, Mill, Nietzsche, Jung, Steven Pinker, Nobel laureate Daniel Kahneman, and Stephen Hawking have all emphasised that the ability to think constitutes life's main delight—though not everyone recognises this truth. Daniel Dennett extends this further, asserting that consciousness itself holds extraordinary value, regardless of one's specific experiences.
Non-existence is inherently contextual—it can be either the antithesis of good or a relief from overwhelming pain that drowns out existence. However, suffering and pain—and the desires that often lead to them—are more fitting candidates for absolute evil. While certain painful processes, like childbirth or training, can result in positive outcomes, wouldn't it be preferable if they could occur without pain? The pleasure associated with overcoming pain arises from the dopamine released upon achieving the outcome, not from the pain itself. When experienced without this context, even the discomfort of training-level pain is perceived as suffering.
Pain does serve a protective function in our current reality, governed by the second law of thermodynamics, where everything is subject to decay and destruction. It helps us avoid injury, mutilation, and even death. However, it's the desire to avoid pain—not pain itself—that ultimately guards us from harm. In this light, pain can be seen as a form of pure evil or sin, the very aspect of existence that God aims to eliminate.
In Greek, hamartia (ἁμαρτία) means "missing the mark"—anything outside God's original design for reality. The Bible distinguishes between sins resulting from human agency and those embedded in the natural order: "Wherefore, as by one man sin entered into the world, and death by sin…" (Romans 5:12.). This entrance of sin affected physical laws and processes, allowing for the exercise of free will. Nevertheless, all pain in our world, as a deviation from God's intention, remains a form of sin.
Given this, for pain and suffering to persist in eternity would mean retaining precisely what God opposes in this universe—a universe that exists within the omnipresent God. Like black holes in space or nails driven into infinity, this destructive process is incompatible with God, who is, by definition, life itself. It would also stand in stark contrast to a being whose nature embodies absolute love.
Conclusion
The concept of eternal torment challenges our intuitive understanding of morality, logic, and even scriptural interpretation. It seems likely that Christ used vivid images of decay, worms, and fire not to depict a literal place of endless punishment but as metaphors, highlighting the value of existence over non-existence, aimed at discouraging self-destructive tendencies with a divine grasp of life's inherent worth.
Humans, on the other hand, may invoke the idea of hell to deter disbelief. Yet, in such interpretations, elements of sadism—traits far removed from the divine—often emerge.
Encouragingly, many advocates of hell who possess both empathy and logical insight concede that they would rather the "annihilationist" position—that souls of the wicked simply cease to exist instead of suffering eternally—be true. And this is precisely what intuitive morality dictates to every human being.
This perspective offers a more humane and rational approach to divine justice, aligning with the nature of a benevolent and just God.
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