It just occurred to me that The Godless such as myself will be treated to an Interesting Surprise at least, if Life-after-Death turns out to be in fact a real feature of this vale of tears.
While folks who lived their entire lives merely assuming and anticipating the Eternal Un-moveable Feast will, by contrast, only be able to cluck, “Well of course. Whoever doubted it?”
And then I suppose the only relevant follow-up question is: ‘What ambient temperature awaits us infidels?’
For if we too are escorted briskly into the Main Dining Hall whose plastic-slip-cover-ed folding tables over-flow with potato salad and chicken casserole, under the loving out-stretched Arms of the King of Kings, and maybe his Mom, we shall have, not only the prospect of a warm meal after our final dwindling years on Social Security pasta or hospital IV nutrition to smile about, but also the oddly-gratifying perk of having bet on the Wrong Horse and still doubling our money.
Of course some from the deodorized Safe-bet crowd were dearly hoping we’d pay for our Sins-of-Unbelief in vats of super-heated oil for Time Im-memoriam. This will make for some uncomfortable seating arrangements:
“So, what church did you go to?”
“Um.. I didn’t. Could you pass the salt please.”
*looks around the Room* ‘Security?!‘
On the other hand, the scene amid the Flames of Hell may be equally conflicted, as those such as I scream:
“F*ck this, man. I never even stepped on an ant! Why me?”, and the church-going philanderers, wife-beaters, and serial tax-cheaters search frantically and in vain, again, for ‘Security?
‘Blaze’ Pascal wagered roughly:
1) “If I bet on ‘This earthly life is all she wrote’, and I’m right, I win, factually, but I won’t be around anymore to spend the bucks when I die. No fun there…”
2) “But if I bet on an Eternal Life awaiting me, there’s two(2) possible outcomes:
2a) Either I was wrong; I get dead, the lights go out, and I’ll never know about it, or:
2b) I was right! dammit, there was an Afterlife! In which I’ll either:
2ba ….play my out-of-tune harp forever and ever, amen… Or:
2bb) ….watch my gonads saute in lard for eons. Not the perfect career-choice, but at least I’ll be able to gloat to the other deep-fries: “Told ya so!”
Whew. Based on all that, Pascal advised Men to go with the Hunting Grounds, happy or not.
I think someone found a fatal flaw in the ointment of his reasoning, but I’ll have to Google it.
….while there’s still Time.