But they’re both wrong. In truth, God lives a life very much like ours—we were created not only in His image but in His social situation as well. God spends most of His time in pursuit of happiness. He reads books, strives for self-improvement, seeks activities to stave off boredom, tries to keep in touch with fading friendships, wonders if there’s something else He should be doing with His time. Over the millennia, God has grown bitter. Nothing continues to satisfy. Time drowns Him. He envies man his brief twinkling of a life, and those He dislikes are condemned to suffer immortality with Him.

The Unnatural

When you arrive in the afterlife, the Technicians inform you of the great opportunity awaiting you: make any single change you want, and then live life over again. Their pamphlet suggests that you might choose to make yourself two inches taller, or give everyone on the Earth a better sense of humor, or make birds talk. You then get to rerun that choice on the Earth to see what happens. They inform you proudly that this is a unique experiential education program.

Having just attended your own funeral, you may be tempted to propose a clever choice: you want to be the one who eradicates death altogether from our planet.

Just be forewarned: if you propose this, a kind Technician may pull you aside to let you know that you have tried this path before in your previous reruns of life, and it inevitably led to frustration.

Are you telling me this because it will put you out of a job? you ask.

No, the Technician replies.

Is this because death is incurable? you ask.

No, the Technician says.

In that case I would like to have my wish fulfilled.

Suit yourself, replies the Technician.

So in your new life you grow into a famous medical visionary. You argue that there is no such thing as a natural death and raise millions to fund your research. You program computers to calculate all possible mutations of viruses before they happen and design prophylactic treatments against them. You compute the exact effects of every medication on the normal cycles of the body. Your aggressive anti-death program is a success: after the final breath of an incurably ill elderly woman, you are able to announce that hers represented the last natural death. Great celebrations ensue. People begin to live forever, healing just as they would when they were young, free at last from the overhanging cloud of mortality. You are greatly admired.

But eventually, just as the Technician warned, your success begins to lose its shine. People come to discover that the end of death is the death of motivation. Too much life, it turns out, is the opiate of the masses. There is a noticeable decline in accomplishment. People take more naps. There’s no great rush.

In an attempt to salvage their once-dynamic lives, people begin to set suicide dates for themselves. It is a welcome echo of the old days of finite life spans, but superior because of the opportunity to say goodbye and complete your estate planning. That works well for a while, rekindling the incentive to live strongly. But eventually people begin to take the system with less than the appropriate seriousness, and if some large new development occurs, such as a new relationship, they simply postpone the suicide date.