Death, the final frontier. Or the undiscovered country, as Hamlet (and Shakespeare) once said. The one destination for which medical science spends billions of dollars each year in a vain effort to delay that last lonely trip we all must take.

One might assume that atheists and those of little faith would cringe in terror as the reality of their death approaches, grasping at every opportunity science has to offer to extend their pitiful and miserable lives. One might also assume that those of great religious belief, the true defenders of the faith, those for whom God had a plan so to speak, and who submitted to his will in all things, would resist the impulse to aggressively delay their imminent entrance into the Kingdom of heaven, full, as they are, in the certain knowledge that soon they would be sitting at the right hand of God receiving their just reward. One might assume such things, but then, it seems one would be wrong, and wrong in a big way:

People with strong religious beliefs appear to want doctors to do everything they can to keep them alive as death approaches, a US study suggests. […]

Those who regularly prayed were more than three times more likely to receive intensive life-prolonging care than those who relied least on religion. […]

The researchers from the Dana-Faber Cancer Institute found these people were the least likely to have filled in a “do not resuscitate” order.

As well as receiving resuscitation, they were much more likely to be placed on mechanical ventilation in the last few days of life.

A fascinating result, and one that at first glance appears counter-intuitive. Far be it from me to condemn the choices individuals make at the hour of their deaths. That’s a personal decision for each of us and I don’t believe that anyone should have that decision dictated to them by others. But I find the use of extreme measures to extend life by individuals who know they are mortally ill, especially measures that will increase their own torment and pain, and the mental anguish of their friends and family, personally curious. That so many of those who profess the greatest religious faith choose so often to avail themselves of such measures is a telling statistic.

Here is my supposition, or hypothesis, as it were, to explan these results. I suspect that fear is the primary motivator in these cases. For those not counted among the faithful, the fear is of a prolonged and painful death which would extend their own agony and the agony of those who care about them.

For those, however who profess the religion most strongly, who wear it on their sleeve, there is a different kind of fear. Fear of what will happen to them in the afterlife. The fear that they haven’t been faithful enough, haven’t prayed enough, had too many wicked thoughts, to be granted the grace of god. Fear, literally of hell. For not every person who prays constantly, not every person who declares that Jesus will save you just as he has saved them, is truly certain of that salvation. Many deeply religious people, and by that I mean individuals who by all appearances are extremely pious, going to church regularly, praying regularly, and so forth, are actually, in my opinion deeply insecure individuals, filled with doubt. Not all, but a significant number of them.

I saw it in my own grandmother whose last years on earth were a torment to her, not only from the physical suffering she endured, but also from the psychological suffering that her fear of hell and damnation created within her. For traditional Christian religion in America offers us not only eternal salvation, but it also promises us eternal damnation in a fiery burning pit of hell where we shall be tortured forever for not having enough faith. Just watch any televangelist on TV and you will see that sooner or later the conversation shifts from the “miracle of Jesus’ sacrifice” and his “gift of eternal life” to the horrors that await those who fail to fully or properly accept him as their personal savior and Lord. My Grandmother watched those televized preachers incessantly the last few years of her life, and sent them money, money she couldn’t really afford to send, because at her core, she was deeply afraid of what death would bring for her. She wasn’t sure her faith was strong enough. She doubted herself and the life she had led and the many sins she had committed in her lifetime (and “sin” is such an easy thing to find in oneself if one is taught long and enough where to look for it).

But that’s just my theory. Personally, my own religious views have shifted from those that my grandmother would have recognized as true and correct to a less certain, but I hope, a more compassionate and open spirituality, which focuses on what I do for others in this life. I have fallen away, one could say, from that old time religion which forces its proponents to condemn others for their sins and praises to (forgive me for what follows) high heaven the superior moral virtues of their own faith, while attacking the faith or lack of faith of those who do not belong to their church or profess their beliefs. Am I afraid of death? Yes, but less so the older I get. I was far more terrified of it when I was young and a “devout” Christian (of the Lutheran persuasion). Back then I dreamed of hell, and punished myself with excessive guilt for my sins on a regular basis.

Still, I could be wrong. Perhaps the faithful choose to take advantage of the advances of medical science to extend their terminally ill lives with painful and extreme procedures for other reasons that are beyond my ken to fathom. I can’t think of any that make sense to me, but I don’t discount the possibility. Yet, if I truly had no doubt about my God and my salvation and my reward in paradise which that faith justifies, I don’t think I would choose to prolong my miserable existence when heaven’s gate is there waiting to be opened for me. I don’t think a loving Jesus would require that sort of sacrifice from his followers at the end of their days. I wonder, therefore, why so many of them seem to think that they should extend their pain and suffering when it serves no purpose. It makes no sense to me.

Unless, that faith is less certain than they proclaim.