By: Jim Taylor
Perhaps it's the shortening hours of sunlight as
we approach the winter solstice. Or the on-rushing panic of
Christmas shopping. Or just the typical
Whatever it is, I
find myself hoping there is no eternity.
As I have written
before, my notions about eternity -- life, in any format, after earthly death
-- have evolved over the years.
When my mother
died, in 1972, I was convinced that she had merely moved on to another
dimension. To paraphrase John's gospel, I believed that she had "gone
before us, to prepare a place for us."
When my son died,
in 1983, I was less confident. I would have hurled myself down the stairwell in
the hospital, if I thought that sacrificing my life would save his. But I
wasn't really sure. And if it didn't save his life, I would leave Joan with two
tragedies instead of one.
Before my father
died, in 1998, I asked him what songs and readings he wanted at his memorial
service. "I don't care," he replied. "I won't be there."
I had not expected
that reply. He had spent his life as a missionary, a minister, a theologian. He
had two earned doctorates, and three honorary ones. I expected him to be quite
confident of whatever lay ahead.
Not that he
rejected the possibility of a continuing existence. Because
he later asked me to scatter his ashes on his favourite
fishing river.
EMPIRICAL EFFECTS
Personally,
I'm willing to suspend both belief and disbelief in life after death, until it
happens. But I have a sinking feeling that if there is an eternal life, my
generation may not enjoy it.
Because
we may spend eternity regretting what we have done, and are doing, to the
earth.
Global warming is
no longer a scientific theory. It's an empirical fact. What remains unclear is
whether rising temperatures are a short-term blip or a long-term trend.
Similarly, the
proportion of greenhouse gases in our atmosphere is empirically testable. Prior
to 1750, the level of carbon dioxide in the atmosphere had not risen above 280
parts per million in 400,000 years. Since 1750, it has climbed exponentially
from 280 parts per million to 350.
The increases in
methane and nitrous oxide follow precisely the same curve -- now rising more
and more steeply.
There's little
doubt about the cause. It began with the industrial revolution. In the past,
greenhouse gases may have come from natural sources, such as volcanoes. Today,
the emissions correspond directly to human use of fossil fuels in industries,
homes, and cars.
There is, of course,
no way of proving that greenhouse gases cause climate
change. A few contrarians argue that Human Enhanced Water Evaporation offers a
more plausible explanation.
Despite the
internal squabbling, however, both theories agree on two fundamental facts:
First, climate
change is happening.
Second, human
actions are the primary cause.
RUNAWAY CLIMATE CHANGE
In An Inconvenient
Truth, Al Gore says we have no more than ten years to reverse the onrushing
disaster. A few more radical voices suggest we may already have passed the
point of no return.
That is, each
climate change precipitates further changes, which cause more changes, like a
runaway nuclear reaction that starts fueling itself.
As the polar regions warm, for example, there's less ice and snow
to reflect the sun's heat back out into space. More heat absorbed melts more
permafrost. Melting permafrost turns into bogs, which release trapped methane
from the anaerobic decomposition of ancient organic material. The additional
methane increases the atmosphere's ability to trap heat. Which
melts more Arctic ice.
And the planet
spirals towards becoming a giant convection oven, like its sister planet Venus.
Global warming was
once considered a crackpot idea. But so was continental drift, when Canadian
geologist Tuzo Wilson advocated it in the 1960s.
Today, climate change is accepted everywhere -- except, of course, among George
Bush and his cronies, who don't believe anything unless it's backed up by a
Bible verse.
And it's my
generation that has put the planet at risk. The exponential graph turns most
steeply upward during my lifetime.
My generation
elected the governments who let it happen. My generation supplied the corporate
executives who saw the world as an opportunity for profit, regardless of the
consequences. My generation became the engineers who treated the planet as a
vast septic tank to flush toxic wastes into.
My generation did
a lot of good. We brought in civil rights, banished polio and smallpox, and
invented computers. But we stubbornly continue to buy gas-guzzling Hummers, fly
in jet planes, and cut down forests.
LAST THOUGHTS
So we blunder on,
making things worse.
That's the painful
part. My generation thought that progress meant more toys. My generation saw
belching smokestacks as a sign of success. My generation developed the economic
theories that equated
I don't want to
spend eternity regretting about what we have done.
The first time I
ever recall thinking about eternity, I was a university student working in the Kootenays for the summer. A truck driver made a fatal
mistake. He drove off a cliff, on the treacherous road between the Kootenay
Lake Ferry and Creston, and plunged 200 feet into the lake.
I remember
thinking at the time that I would not want my last thought, echoing through
eternity, to be, "Oh, shit!"
If indeed we have
passed the point of no return, if global warming progresses to the point of
mass extinctions, if earth eventually becomes a planet hostile to life as we
know it, I do not want to spend forever thinking, "Oh, shit!"
Because
we don't seem able to learn from our mistakes.
That's why I hope
there is no eternity.
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Copyright © 2006 by Jim Taylor. Non-profit use in congregations and study
groups permitted; all other rights reserved.
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