“Isn’t it Pretty to Think So?”

Deconstructing thirty years of ideas is arduous, but it offers me the opportunity to look at everything I believe critically; sometimes for the first time. After the passing of loved ones, the discussion of the afterlife comes to up in regular conversation. It often goes something like this.

“I’m sad that Grandpa passed away, but I know that I’ll see him again someday.” Now there’s a lot to unpack with this, but maybe I’ll discuss that another time. The concept of an afterlife is a beautiful idea that religious people cling to in times of distress or need.

The evolution of the Christian afterlife from Sheol, Gehenna and Hades to its current iteration as Hell is a fascinating subject of conversation for another post. The concept of heaven is just as interesting of a subject with its own evolution to the modern day. After deconstructing religion from my worldview, the afterlife brings to mind the ending of The Sun Also Rises by Ernest Hemingway. I hated reading the book, but by the end it grew on me and the sentiment on the last page has stuck with me since the day I finished it.

For a brief context, Jake is impotent and in love with Brett. Brett cares for Jake, but throughout the book is fairly promiscuous in her relationships. They care for each other deeply, but his condition prevents them from having a relationship together. In the ending scene, Brett mentions how good they could have it if it weren’t for his condition. The police officer halts the car they’re riding in and Jake replies, “Isn’t it pretty to think so?”

If Jake weren’t impotent Brett muses they could be together, but Jake knows Brett all too well and says “Isn’t it pretty to think so?” All things being equal, Brett would treat him the same way she’s treated every other man in the story. The subtle image of the traffic cop stopping their car and by extension the thought pattern, is a beautiful transition to the reality of the situation.

When the idea of the afterlife comes up in a hopeful way of seeing loved ones or continuing this momentary conciousness, this same phrase comes to my mind. “Isn’t it pretty to think so?” I do not pretend to know what happens after this life and neither should anyone else. I fully expect it to be an endless unconsciousness, but perhaps the afterlife is less what happens to me, and more what happens to my voice after I’ve left.