The after life, and the new heaven and earth. Heaven or hell?

Heaven, the cosmic waiting room, and the paradox of the soul

When people talk about life after death, they tend to rely on a mix of comforting imagery, near-death experiences, and religious promises. The idea of a heavenly paradise where all your loved ones greet you, your eternal soul soars, and everything is perfectly designed sounds nice — until you think about it for more than five seconds.

Let’s start with the most popular image of the afterlife: the reunion with loved ones. We hear stories of people recognizing their grannies, friends, and parents when they cross over. But here’s a question: why do these relatives always look exactly like you remember them? Your granny is an old lady when you meet her in the afterlife, even though she was once a young woman, a mother, a daughter. How does that work? How do different people see her? Does she take on a new form for each person who remembers her?

This leads to an even bigger question: Why do souls in heaven have gender? If we’re no longer tied to a biological body, what’s the point of remaining male or female? If the soul is supposed to be the essence of a person, why would it retain physical characteristics that belong to a world governed by physical needs like reproduction? It makes no sense unless what we see is made from our own memories.

But let’s dive even deeper. People with near-death experiences (NDEs) often describe heavenly landscapes — fields where the grass is greener than on Earth, where the colors are so intense that they make our world look dull by comparison. Everything is perfect, peaceful, and idyllic. If that doesn’t scream mental fabrication, I don’t know what does. When people experience extreme stress or trauma, the brain kicks into overdrive to protect itself, generating comforting images and experiences. So, it makes perfect sense that these heavenly visions are nothing more than a mental projection to help you cope with the idea of death.

But the absurdity doesn’t stop there. Let’s talk about the logistics of heaven. Thousands of people die every day (an estimated 150.000 every day world wide). Thousands are born every day. Are they all heading to some cosmic waiting room in the sky? Imagine showing up to heaven’s spaceport, only to find out you’re number 78.023 in line. You stand there, waiting your turn, while other souls shuffle through, probably grumbling about how long it’s taking to get processed. It’s not exactly the personalized paradise we’ve been promised.

And if heaven really is a place where every soul gets their personal experience, how does that work with the sheer number of people arriving every day? Are we talking about an infinite real estate in the clouds? Or is it more like a crowded terminal, where you hope you get a decent spot before all the good cloud mansions are taken?

The idea that heaven is some grand, personalized experience seems more like wishful thinking. If heaven is personal, that’s because it’s literally in your head — a mental creation designed to give you comfort. It explains why NDEs often include recognizable landmarks and familiar people, because it’s all drawn from the mind’s own memories and fears. If anything, these visions prove that heaven is a personal experience — nothing more.

But let’s not completely throw out the idea of something happening after death. There’s been a staggering amount of scientific studies on reincarnation, especially young children recalling previous lives with stunning details. The evidence, though not conclusive, is enough to make even the staunchest skeptic raise an eyebrow. Could it be that consciousness survives death — not in some mystical “soul” sense, but in a way tied to information?

Think about it: we already know that neutrinos, dark matter, and dark energy permeate the universe. We barely understand how these things work. What if there’s a whole zoo of particles that we haven’t detected yet — particles that can store information? Consciousness, then, might not be some ethereal soul floating in the clouds. It could be tied to quantum particles or fields we don’t yet understand, allowing for memories, personalities, and experiences to transfer in ways that seem like reincarnation.

Maybe there’s no heavenly bureaucracy, no eternal queue at the gates of heaven. Maybe consciousness — like energy — transforms, relocates, or simply persists in ways that defy our current understanding of reality. That’s a far cry from the cartoon version of heaven we’ve been fed, but it’s infinitely more fascinating.

In the end, if heaven is real, it’s more likely a product of our own minds than a cosmic paradise. And if consciousness survives, it’s probably through natural mechanisms we haven’t yet discovered, not through ethereal souls fluttering around some celestial waiting room. The truth may be both simpler and far more profound than the childish fantasies we’ve been told to believe.

Heaven, hell, and the cosmic book of judgment: A bureaucratic nightmare

As if the logistics of heaven weren’t ridiculous enough, let’s talk about the whole idea of judgment. You know, that moment when you die, and your entire life is evaluated by some divine authority. This isn’t just a quick review, either. No, this is a meticulous examination of everything you’ve ever done, thought, or failed to do. And how does this information get stored? Apparently, there’s some cosmic CCTV system that tracks your every move, thought, and intention. God’s surveillance team knows what you did last summer — and every summer before that.

But hang on. How exactly is this information stored? When you speak, you generate sound waves that dissipate after a short distance. When you act, it can only be observed from close range. Are we really expected to believe that there’s a divine recording device in every dark alley, bedroom, and under every bush on Earth? Does God’s heavenly NSA have footage of every sneaky little thing you did in the dark, even the stuff you can’t see yourself?

And that’s just one person. Now multiply that by 8 billion. How does this universal surveillance system keep track of every human being’s deeds, thoughts, and omissions? There’s not enough cosmic cloud storage in the universe to handle that kind of data. It’s laughable. We can’t even store and organize our own search histories, let alone catalog every interaction of every human in history. The idea that God is somehow keeping track of every lie, every secret glance, every cookie you stole when you were six? Come on!

The hierarchy of heaven: Angels and archangels

Let’s imagine the logistics of heaven for a moment. If we take the angel hierarchy seriously, there are all sorts of celestial rankings — from angels to archangels, to seraphim and cherubim. It’s like heaven’s got its own version of upper management.

And what’s with these angels anyway? Are they eternal, or did God have a “create angels” day at the office? If they don’t have physical bodies, how were they made? If they’re not made of matter, are they made of energy? But here’s where it gets tricky — energy isn’t a stable thing. It moves, it radiates. It doesn’t just stick around in a fixed form unless it’s locked into some kind of system. So how can these angelic beings persist? Do they have some kind of celestial battery?

And let’s talk about those wings. Why on earth (or in heaven) do they need wings? It’s not like angels need to fly through physical space if they’re non-physical beings, right? Are the wings just for decoration? Or did some poor soul with too much wine and a vivid imagination mistake a flock of birds for divine messengers back in the day? The whole thing starts to feel a little… sketchy.

Let’s not forget how angels seem to show up in all kinds of religious traditions, from Babylon to Greece to Rome. In fact, the angel we know from Christian theology sounds suspiciously similar to the messengers of the gods in those ancient cultures. Maybe Christianity was just borrowing from their neighbors, rebranding their winged deities as angels.

And while we’re at it, let’s talk about the logistics of being an eternal being. If angels don’t need to eat, drink, or sleep, what’s keeping them going? Are they plugged into divine energy like some kind of cosmic power grid? And if they don’t need anything to survive, what exactly do they do all day? Just float around waiting for orders? It sounds a lot more like celestial boredom than eternal bliss.

In the end, the whole concept of angelic beings — with their ranks, wings, and vague jobs — feels more like a bureaucratic mess than a beautiful celestial order. If heaven really operates like this, it sounds more like an eternal corporate office, with everyone trying to please the boss and get that coveted promotion.

Who wants to live forever? Spoiler: Not you

Now let’s move on to the afterlife itself, because apparently, you’re not just being judged and sorted into heaven or hell for a few hundred years. No, you’re in it for the long haul — eternity. At first glance, eternal life in heaven sounds great. Floating on clouds, singing hymns, and basking in divine love? Sure, sign me up — until you realize that forever means…forever. After a few millennia of doing the same thing, don’t you think it’d get a little…boring?

Think about it: Infinite time, with nothing new ever happening. Even if heaven is paradise, the thought of spending eternity sitting around, singing “holy, holy, holy” for all of time sounds more like a nightmare. Imagine sitting there after 10,000 years, 100,000 years, one billion years, doing the same thing. Bliss would start to feel an awful lot like torture. Immortality might be great if you’re constantly growing, learning, and experiencing new things, but the static nature of heaven makes it sound more like eternal stagnation.

Eternal hellfire: The ultimate overreaction

And what about hell? Eternity in hellfire as punishment for…what? Telling a white lie? Not going to church? Eternal punishment for finite sins makes about as much sense as being sentenced to life in prison for stealing a candy bar. What kind of cosmic dictator doles out infinite torment for things like that? The whole idea of eternal judgment — whether in heaven or hell — seems wildly disproportionate to anything you could have possibly done in your lifetime. It’s like getting the death penalty for jaywalking. Except it’s forever.

Let’s put this into perspective: You steal a cookie. God sees you. You get hit by a car and die. Instead of forgiving you, God sends you straight to hell to burn forever. You’re tortured for eternity because you couldn’t resist the chocolate chips. Does this sound like justice? No. It sounds like a tyrant who gets off on sadism. You don’t need to be a moral philosopher to see how completely insane this is. The punishment doesn’t fit the crime — it’s an eternal overkill.

In the end, the afterlife is a mess

When we step back and look at the whole afterlife concept, it starts to feel like a bureaucratic nightmare rather than a divine plan. A book of judgment that tracks 8 billion lives in excruciating detail, eternal life that sounds more like eternal boredom, and a hell that overreacts to minor infractions with infinite torment — none of this adds up. And if you really think about it, the whole thing starts to seem less like divine justice and more like a poorly run celestial DMV, where everyone’s stuck waiting for their number to be called, and once it’s called, you’re not exactly thrilled with the results.

If there is anything after death, it’s not going to be the oversimplified mess of heaven and hell that religious doctrine has fed us. It’s going to be something far more complex, and maybe even tied to scientific principles we don’t yet understand. But whatever it is, let’s hope it’s not eternity spent in cloud karaoke or fiery torture chambers. Because if that’s the best the afterlife has to offer, I think we’d all prefer reincarnation — even if it means coming back as a houseplant.

Where exactly is heaven anyway? Because it sure isn’t “up there”

Back in the day, people had a simple idea about heaven. It was a real place, somewhere just beyond the clouds. You could almost picture it — like Mount Olympus, but for the biblical God and His entourage. A place where God sat on a throne, the angels sang non-stop, and everyone enjoyed eternal bliss. Heaven was just “up there” — accessible if you only had a long enough ladder.

But as humanity advanced, so did our understanding of the cosmos. The universe isn’t a cozy little dome with heaven perched on top. It’s a vast expanse — 96 billion light-years across and expanding. So, where the heck is heaven in all this? Is it just a little hidden pocket of space we haven’t discovered yet? Maybe it’s tucked behind a particularly large galaxy, hiding from telescopes.

And this brings us to Harry Mulisch’s novel, The Discovery of Heaven. In this brilliant piece of Dutch literature, one of the characters stumbles upon the secret location of heaven, only to get struck by a space rock. In the film adaptation, heaven is depicted as a cold, creepy, stone medieval castle, full of endless stairs and Escher-like architecture. It’s dark, cold, and completely inhospitable — not exactly the paradise you’d expect. It’s more like Dante’s purgatory with a heavy dose of cosmic bureaucracy.

The more we learned about the universe, the more awkward it became to explain heaven’s location. Now, we’re told that heaven isn’t “up there” but rather “outside of space and time.” But hang on. Didn’t we already establish in chapter one that nothing happens outside of space and time? There’s no information, no processing, no intelligence, no observations — just frozen nothingness. So, what’s heaven supposed to be in this timeless, spaceless void? A cosmic waiting room for souls that doesn’t even exist in any meaningful way?

And then there’s the biblical description of heaven, which sounds more like a fever dream than a divine paradise. A throne made of gold, a glass sea, a city with streets of gold, hosts of angels, and some truly bizarre creatures — the throne is literally covered in eyes! Did God hit up the heavenly IKEA to furnish this place? Are there celestial quarries where angels are mining for gold and glass to build the city?

Where did all this nonsense come from? Were ancient scribes just winging it, throwing in random things they thought sounded impressive? The Bible seems to suggest that heaven has a real, physical presence, but if heaven is outside of space and time, where are they getting the building materials? Is there a spaceless lumberyard somewhere?

It’s amazing to think that people still take these descriptions seriously. Heaven has evolved from a place you could almost walk to — if you had wings, of course — to this inaccessible, nebulous concept. And the more we think about it, the more it feels like a childish fantasy that hasn’t kept up with the times. It’s like believing in Santa but insisting that he’s upgraded his sleigh to a spaceship because the North Pole is no longer believable.

In the end, when we apply a cosmic lens to heaven, the whole thing falls apart. If it’s real, where is it? And if it’s outside of space and time, then by our own logic, nothing can happen there. So, what exactly are we waiting for when we talk about going to heaven?

The logistical nightmare of resurrection: Where are we getting all those bodies?

When we talk about the resurrection of the dead, it sounds like a scene from a horror movie. Imagine billions of decayed bodies, skeletal remains, and long-buried flesh suddenly being reanimated. Sounds like a party, right? But let’s really think about it — what exactly is being resurrected?

The idea of people coming back to life in their physical bodies raises a few awkward questions. First off, what happens to people who have been cremated? Will God be reassembling their molecules from the ashes? Or how about people who were lost at sea or had their bodies scattered across multiple continents? Maybe a shark got hungry and took a bite of someone. Does that mean God has to find and reconstitute that specific piece of shark poop?

Even more mind-boggling, think about all the generations of humans who have died. Where do all those bodies go? We’ve got over 7 billion people alive today, but that’s nothing compared to the total number of people who’ve ever lived and died. Estimates say that around 100 billion people have died throughout human history. So, where are we putting 100 billion newly resurrected bodies? Are they all going to squeeze onto this planet, or do we need to start planning for some major urban expansion in heaven?

And let’s talk about decomposition. The dead don’t exactly look great after a few years underground. Will God be restoring all the rotting corpses back to their prime, or are we stuck with zombies? And for that matter, what age are you resurrected at? Do you come back at your peak physical condition? If so, people who lived to 100 and died frail and wrinkled might be in for a shock when they wake up looking like their 25-year-old selves. Then again, do babies come back as fully grown adults, or do they get resurrected as infants?

If you think about it, the idea of a mass resurrection starts to feel like the ultimate logistical disaster. Billions of fleshy zombies staggering around, confused, trying to figure out what year it is and where their old house is. The infrastructure required to resurrect and rehome billions of people — let alone coordinate their arrival — would make any angelic bureaucrat’s head explode.

The soul’s awkward physicality: Do souls really need eyes, ears, and noses?

Once we get past the logistical nightmare of resurrecting bodies, there’s still the issue of what exactly we’re working with in the afterlife. If heaven is all about souls — these ethereal, non-physical things — why does everyone keep seeing, hearing, and feeling stuff?

How exactly does a soul without a body experience the world? You don’t have eyes anymore, so what are you seeing with? You don’t have ears, but you’re supposedly hearing the celestial choir singing hymns? And the classic imagery of heaven includes walking on streets of gold, eating, drinking, and feeling eternal bliss. But hang on — how do you walk without legs, and how do you feel bliss without a brain to process emotions?

This is where the whole idea of a bodiless afterlife becomes laughable. We’re talking about a world where physical sensations still exist, even though you’ve shed the body that made those experiences possible. How are you supposed to see a loved one in heaven when there’s no visual cortex in your brain? What do you even look like? And why is everyone still gendered in the afterlife? Are souls male and female? Do souls still get haircuts and wear clothes?

It’s like we’ve taken all the features of physical life and awkwardly crammed them into a place where they don’t even belong. The logic breaks down quickly when you think about it. If you’re just a disembodied soul, you’d be floating around in some weird sensory deprivation tank — not dancing, feasting, or basking in divine glory.

The very idea of soul sensory experiences reveals just how impossibly tangled the concept of the afterlife is. It’s a weird blend of physical and non-physical ideas mashed together without any thought for how it’s supposed to work. You’d think heaven, being designed by an all-knowing God, would at least be internally consistent, but nope, we get disembodied souls with phantom limbs and ghost ears.

The soul’s dream state: Are we just hibernating in a cosmic sleep pod?

If we follow the logic that souls in heaven are somehow experiencing sights, sounds, and sensations without a body, it starts to sound an awful lot like being in a dream state — like The Matrix. You’re plugged into some non-existent world, and the only reason you can experience it is because your mind is essentially creating it for you.

Now, if that’s the case, then heaven is just one big dream, and the souls are like sleepers experiencing it. But here’s the creepy part — what if, instead of floating around as disembodied spirits, we’re actually all hibernating in some immense cosmic structure, billions of bodies lying still in some twisted divine sleep pod while our minds are fed this fantasy of heaven?

Imagine this: an endless structure, larger than any megacity, filled with rows upon rows of sleeping souls. Billions of people, all in this suspended animation, dreaming of streets of gold, celestial choirs, and reunions with loved ones. But in reality, they’re just lying there, plugged into the ultimate simulation, like some dystopian nightmare.

It’s not far off from The Matrix — an elaborate illusion designed to pacify souls, keeping them in eternal slumber while they think they’re experiencing paradise. The idea that heaven might just be some massive sleep state gives a whole new meaning to “resting in peace.” Except now, you’re stuck in this endless dream loop, never waking up, never aware of what’s really happening.

If this is the afterlife, then it sounds more like a cosmic horror movie than paradise. Heaven becomes the ultimate illusion, a place where your mind is trapped in a never-ending cycle of fake experiences. And when you think about it, doesn’t that kind of eternal dream sound a lot more like hell?

The “new heaven and new earth” concept: Why is God scrapping his first draft?

So, there’s this idea in Christian eschatology that, after the end times, God will create a new heaven and a new earth. Which begs the question: Why? Why would an all-powerful God need to hit the reset button on the universe? It almost feels like God’s treating this whole thing as a failed prototype — like the world we’re living in right now is a first draft that didn’t quite meet expectations.

If you think about it, isn’t this like a celestial “do-over”? Imagine God up there, saying, “Well, this didn’t work out the way I planned. Let’s scrap the whole thing and start over.” But hold on a second — this is supposed to be God, the omniscient, omnipotent creator. How did He mess up the first universe so badly that He needs a new one? It’s like God is admitting, “Oops, maybe I shouldn’t have put those black holes everywhere, or perhaps I went a little overboard with the supernovas.”

The disturbing truth behind the new heaven, new earth concept

And here’s where it gets really disturbing. Billions of Christians are raised with the belief that this current world doesn’t matter because, in the end, it’s just going to be replaced. This idea has deeply warped how people view the planet. Why bother protecting the ozone layer? Why care about climate change, forever chemicals, or microplastics? After all, this planet is disposable, right? It’s just the first draft, and a new one is coming, so let’s run this one into the ground.

If there’s any group of people or religion that bears a huge share of the blame for the environmental destruction we’re facing, it’s the Christian doctrine and its followers who preach the nonsense of “new heaven, new earth.” This belief has become a silent justification for the environmental carnage we see today, especially in Western industrial societies. Why care about the world’s future when you’ve been taught that it will soon be wiped clean and replaced?

Is it really surprising that our whole industrialized world was mostly built by Christian-based societies? These are the same societies where caring for the planet is not only a non-topic but often denied. The white male industrialist, driven by this Christian belief in disposability, has wreaked havoc on this planet. And that, frankly, pisses me off.

What’s worse is that this mindset is so deeply ingrained in religious circles that it’s not going to change anytime soon. Even as the planet cries out for help, many continue to turn a blind eye, waiting for their new earth to arrive, as if this one wasn’t already good enough.

A world without cycles: What happens when everything is forever?

In the Christian vision of the new heaven and new earth, everything is perfect. There’s no sin, no death, no suffering, and no evil. Sounds great on the surface, right? But let’s really think about what that kind of world would look like in the context of a physical reality.

Everything in nature is cyclical — that’s the fundamental principle of life. Seasons come and go, plants grow, bloom, and die. Animals hunt and are hunted; species evolve through survival of the fittest. Even the stars burn out and collapse into black holes. Life, by its very definition, is part of a cycle — the circle of life, as the Lion King so poetically puts it.

But in this new earth, there’s no death. No one ages, nothing dies, nothing decays. What does that mean for life as we know it? Well, for starters, there’s no growth. No spring, no summer, no autumn when the leaves fall, and no winter where everything lies dormant, waiting for rebirth. There’s no cycle, no transformation. It’s like living in a stagnant pond where nothing moves and nothing ever changes.

A world without predators or prey? In our world, every single animal is either eaten or doing the eating, unless you’re lucky enough to sit at the top of the food chain. Does this mean there’s no eating involved in paradise? Really? We’re talking about cutting out the favorite part of most people’s day — the very highlight of existence: food. The divine banquet hall is just a juice bar? That’s what we’re heading for? No steak, no sushi, not even a cheese platter?

Think about it: our social lives, our cultures, even entire societies are built around the ritual of food. We bond, we celebrate, we live around meals! Imagine inviting your friends over for a feast and serving nothing but endless bowls of rice and carrots. Even as a flexitarian, this is my idea of hell! No occasional fish, no eggs, not even a humble chicken breast? What am I supposed to do with my cast iron skillet? How is heaven supposed to sell itself as paradise if the culinary experience feels like a lifetime punishment at a yoga retreat?

And don’t give me that manna talk either. If the brochure for eternal life suggests an all-vegan, flavorless, no-chew diet plan, count me out. I’d rather stay home — or better yet, take my chances in the fiery pits of hell where the menu might be more exciting!

Eco-systems: down the drain

No parasites, no need for defense mechanisms? You can kiss the intricate, complex, and downright badass eco-systems goodbye. In this paradise, it’s not survival of the fittest, it’s survival of… well, whoever’s just hanging around, apparently. Imagine a world where all the fierce beauty of nature — the predator-prey dance, the vibrant colors of birds-of-paradise trying to out-flirt each other, the haunting cries of wolves on the hunt — has been replaced by what can only be described as a heavily curated petting zoo.

No sharks, no lions, no tigers, no bears — oh my! Forget that. Everyone’s just chilling, doing… nothing. What are we left with? A bunch of lethargic animals politely waiting their turn at the all-you-can-eat salad bar. Oh, and say goodbye to mushrooms, folks. That beautiful autumn walk through the forest with the earthy smell of funghi? Nope. In a world without decay, funghi don’t even make the cut. So not only are you missing the gorgeous sight of mushrooms sprouting on the forest floor — you won’t even get to toss a few in your stir fry.

And let’s talk about mating rituals. Those stunning displays of feathers, colors, and elaborate dances to attract a mate? Completely unnecessary. Why bother? Everyone’s eternal, after all. No competition, no struggle, no drive to pass on those glorious genes. Just a sterile assembly of perfectly peaceful animals staring blankly into the void. Birds-of-paradise? More like birds-of-I-don’t-give-a-damn-anymore.

It might sound like heaven to some, but when you dig deeper, it’s more like a demented version of a toy store. Plastic animals, plastic trees, plastic people, all perfectly posed and perfectly boring, with no change, no spark, no life. If this world were in a vacation brochure, I’d skip the all-inclusive and book myself a nice, messy, wild staycation on Earth instead.

In a real physical reality, things age and evolve. Life feeds on life, and ecosystems are a complex dance of interdependency. Remove death, and you remove the very mechanism that makes life so beautifully complex. The natural world, from the tiniest microorganism to the largest predator, depends on the balance of creation and destruction. If you take away death, you’re not left with paradise — you’re left with a lifeless diorama, like a museum exhibit frozen in time.

How do the Christians imagine this world, where no one grows old, no one changes, and everything just exists forever? Are we all going to be like those plastic figurines? Just standing around in our eternal perfection, waiting for nothing to happen? No challenges, no growth, no adaptation — it’s a world where life itself has lost all meaning. The very engine that drives the beauty of existence has been removed.

This so-called paradise is not just a dream — it’s a nightmare. Without the cycle of life, there’s no renewal, no creativity, no transformation. You might as well be living in a sterile bubble, watching the same sunset every day for eternity. And without decay, there’s no need for innovation, no need to learn from mistakes or to develop new ways of survival. Everything is just… there.

So, the question is: Is this what we’re aiming for? An eternal, static reality where nothing ever changes? Because if that’s the promise of the new heaven and new earth, then maybe we should start rethinking what we really want from eternity.

Time to repent… but for real this time

If there’s one word Christians love to throw around, it’s “repent.” Well, it’s time to truly understand what that means. Because if there’s anything to repent for, it’s the reckless, short-sighted destruction of this planet. The one, real, beautiful planet they’ve been gifted. This nightmare scenario, this delusion of a new heaven and new earth, is just an excuse to ignore the mess we’re in right now.

If you truly understood the word repent, then repent for the wicked ways that have led to climate change, pollution, and the reckless disregard for this fragile ecosystem. It’s time to let go of the fantasy of some cosmic reset button and start acting like this is the only planet we’ll ever get — because guess what? It is.

Start loving this Earth, the only home you’ll ever have. Take care of it, because there’s no heavenly bulldozer coming to sweep it all away and hand you a shiny new version. This isn’t some disposable draft, this is your final copy. And if you don’t take care of it, there won’t be anything left to repent for.