In the course of human events, death is unacceptable. However you may wish to rationalize or intellectualize that all living things die, you’re unwilling to acknowledge the end of your own existence. You simply will not tolerate the thought of nothingness and the abject fear that comes with it. But, in the face of criticism for this silly denial, please do not berate yourself unnecessarily. Since the first day of recorded history, humans have done nothing, if not attempt to find some way to escape the utter inhumanity of death. Predictably and quite sensibly, civilizations conjured all manner of deities to cope with the calamity of life and to justify the virtue of death. Unfortunately, unlike the beasts of the field, as well as the crawling, swimming and flying things, humans have the gift, or curse, of cognition. We are obligated to apply logic to absurdity. We are condemned to contemplate the unknowable. How can we explain this exquisite cruelty – to be granted life only to be guaranteed death? Leaning heavily on Genesis, John Milton gave it a shot. He attempted to shed light on the Fall of Man while he himself fell into the abyss of blindness.  But he gave Christianity a boost by bringing Paradise down to earth, even at the expense of humanizing God and His clutch of corporate angelic lieutenants like Michael and Raphael, and characterizing Satan as a charismatic bad boy, actually reminiscent of luminaries who walk among us today.  Before and since Milton’s epic work, theologians have authored thousands of interpretations of biblical documents written by other men in other times, in an effort to validate the core tenet of all serious religions – death is not the end, but the beginning.  You can understand why millions cling to this gospel truth as an essential outcome. And you envy them. Categorically. You covet their self assuredness, their consummate certainty, their infallible knowledge – that eternity awaits. And you can find a mountain of evidence that proves the afterlife has this hypnotic appeal. Consider the 960 members of the Jewish community at Masada in AD 73 that collectively committed suicide rather than submit to Roman rule. Japan is notorious for centuries of suicide tradition, from seppuku (ceremonial self disemboweling) to kamikaze warriors plowing aircraft into Allied warships. In 1978, Jim Jones presided over 900 souls to meet their Maker (although 276 children had no option). The Heaven’s Gate mass suicide on the Left Coast was apparently necessary for 39 people intent on reaching the next plane of existence. On March 17, 2000, 778 members of a group called the Movement for the Restoration of the Ten Commandments met their demise. Billions of Muslims are doggedly secure in their spiritual rewards, some even willing to leave personal charred body parts scattered about, evidently expecting these parts to be miraculously reunited for endless bouts with a bevy of supple virgins. Yes, you can easily dismiss a romp in the heavenly hay. But can you accept the concept that the end of your life is no different than a fall leaf drifting onto the chilly ground? Logically, you must either believe in Creation or believe that this immaculately designed universe is sheer happenstance, a random cosmic accident. You must choose to believe in God because to believe otherwise is to relegate all of human existence to a sort of insane merry-go-round that eventually malfunctions for a final time. Leaving what? One impressive landfill? You must choose to believe in Salvation because to believe otherwise is to admit that justice is a sham, and that good and evil sleep in a common bed. Meanwhile, you’re also unwilling to accept the attempt to institutionalize God, to package Him, to ritualize Him, to have Him fit neatly into the business of religion. Since you have no answer to the Unknown, you may never be at peace with death. But you take solace in the fact you won’t be singled out unfairly — everyone before and after you eventually leaves town. Like Albert Brooks and Meryl Streep in Defending Your Life, you may “awake” to find yourself in Judgment City, lobbying to see if your earthy life qualifies for the “next phase of existence.” No, more than likely, you will show some reluctance to “slip the surly bonds of earth,” like one Ethan Allen, who when whispered to by his bedside attendant, “General, I fear the angels are waiting for you,” replied: “Waiting are they? Waiting are they? Well–let ’em wait.”