Who is the who of WHO we ARE? And when we die......where does the "who" go?

by Terry 19 Replies latest watchtower beliefs

Terry

Is the dying person in the hospital bed the same mother we hugged when we were eight years old?
Her hair, face, body and voice don't look anything like the mother we once knew.
The cancer has stolen THAT person from us.
So, who....WHO is in that bed dying from the wasting disease?
She recognizes us and responds with a smile and grasps our hand and wants our embrace--it must be the same mother.....mustn't it?
Those are the CLUES that lead us to conclude she IS indeed our Mom.
But, she is not dead. She is only dying.
A more tragic scenario now unfolds.
What if our mother has been suffering Alzheimer's? What if the personality has eroded? What if she no longer thinks, talks or responds with the same loving kindness or individual traits that are so familiar and identifiable?
Is THAT Alzheimer's suffering lady REALLY our mother?
If you say--"yes", you are only going on appearances and the exact knowledge of her gradual decline over time. The actual confrontation with the PERSON before you contradicts everything you know.
My mother was sweet.....this lady that only looks like mom is nasty.
My mother was a happy and loving woman and this lady in the hospital bed is rude and cynical!
So--with all the above clearly in mind---we are now ready to ask: When did the MOTHER who really IS our mother "die" if she is really still alive??
This is a trick question.
It is a trap.
It takes advantage of a weird belief about the human SOUL.
The weird belief is that a human body is possessed by a SOUL.
The weird belief is that the 'actual' person IS the SOUL and not the physical body.
But, where is your mother's soul when she is suffering Alzheimer's over a period of years?
How is the SOUL so vulnerable to deteriorations? Spirit isn't tangible, physical and corruptible.
Well, it isn't. It is the belief in the soul that is distorting understanding.
WHAT ARE WE if we are not a tent of flesh inhabited by some miracle spirit?
Is it possible we are hundreds of billions of cells co-operating blindly and that our Personality and our Individuality is some random manifestation?
No. Now we've become blinded by standing too close to PROCESS.
How do we discover who the WHO is in each of us? Don't we need some quirkly "thing" like a spirit or soul to hang our hat upon?
Are we like an ice cube that is standing in a warm room? One minute we are a square of crystalized hydrogen and oxygen and a few minutes later
we are a puddle of water. Where IS the ice CUBE? Well, we understand well enough because we have no emotional investment .
Are we like a snowflake? So complex and individual floating miraculously down from the heavens pure white upon the ground and when the blazing sun has its way with us.....where the hell did all that WHITE disappear to???
We know well enough because we don't call a snowflake "mother."
We know from our technology and science that billions of cells without a "mind" are functioning rather simplistically in our bodies.
Electro-chemical actions and reactions animate those cellular functions. Each cell is connected at the molecular level with process upon process grinding away second by second by second for our lifetime.
If you stand too close while peering through an electron microscope you may as well be looking at a puddle of rainwater with bacteria swarming in it.
Is a puddle of water a "person"? Ummmm...I'd have to say "nah".
But, if you stand back far enough we see some dude in a basebal cap spitting tobacco on the ground and winding up to throw a baseball at 90 mph at some other dude who will swing a wooden bat at it. If he hits it he will attempt to run toward a series of bags lying on the ground while thousands of other extremely interested persons scream wildly at the whole damned enterprise! Wow! Are we witnessing a miracle of cells, chemistry, neurons and synapses gone berserk?
Yeah, kind of.
Humanity can be as simple or as complex as where you are standing when you look at it and how you make your observations.
But--none of this answers the question: WHAT HAPPENS TO the who of YOU...when you die.....?
I propose to answer this question very neatly. Simply. Without fuss or belief or faith or religious assertions.
Think of the value of your mother to you as a child. She is probably just about the most important human in the universe to you, right?
Now think of your entire personal wealth as you are about to retire and what you will depend on for the rest of your life. Extremely important, right?
We are going to make an analogy as a kind of "thinking experiment".
Let us compare one kind of VALUE with another kind of VALUE and observe the processes involved.
If all of my personal wealth is in my bank and I have it deposited in my interest bearing checking account follow what happens next...
I can write a check.
The check I can make out to you.
The total of the check can amount to ALL of my personal wealth.
Got that so far?
Okay, what if I say to you: "Don't deposit that check until I tell you to."?
The money is still mine but you can change all of that by making the deposit.
If and when you deposit the check from me in your own bank--WHAT HAPPENS TO MY ACTUAL PERSONAL WEALTH?
1.Is the wealth itself the actual dollars and cents sitting on a shelf to be removed and trucked over to your bank? Answer: No. An electronic
"transfer" occurs between banks and no ACTUAL money goes anywhere! The only thing that has changed is a bookkeeping entry!!
2.What happens to my ability to use my entire personal wealth? Answer: I lose all control of the power I had to transact any business.
3.What happens to your ability to use what use to be MY personal wealth? Ansswer: it is entirely up to you what it is used for--if at all.
Now, with the above 3 points firmly in mind---why should our "life" or "personality" or "individuality" be any different?
Can there be an analogy with the man-made idea of a "soul" or "spirit" which we either are able to use to transact our life's business---or--in death--we lose and can no longer function with its loss?
In other words---is God's mind our Bank Account?
The actual 'value' doesn't go anywhere at all. It is a mere accounting or holding to account!
When we die we go bankrupt and our entire life savings doesn't really "go" anywhere. The accounting procedure, however, is with god.
No soul. No spirit. Merely an account. A bookkeeping entry.
If we are "saved" Jesus Christ has written the full amount of our bankruptcy on a check for us in our name---it was UP TO US if we deposited that in our account or tossed it in the trash.
Our "life" savings is a bookkeeping entry we compliantly accepted as a free gift. Or--we did not. Our choice. Our decision.
If the above analogy makes any sense to you we no longer need to posit the existence of a "thing" which is immaterial soul or spirit.
Our LIFE......the WHO of who we are...has been funded originally by the gift of God our humanitarian benefactor.
He started the family account thousands (millions?) of years ago.
It went into a trust fund.
Each generation has been funded more or less according to whim, luck, choice, whimsy or caprice.
Some of us humans have been rich indeed and others very very poor.
But, the account itself? Held in the Bank of Jehovah and Jesus Ltd.
So, how do we answer the question of What happens to you when you die?
What say you?
Phizzy

Nobody knows if when you are dead anything real about you remains in existence in some way, I like to hope it does, I rather think it does not.
As a rationalist non-theist it really doesn't bother me, we all will find out eventually, or not as the case may be.
What does bother me is that we do not, at least here in the U.K, have the choice as to how and when we die.
I think, as death is a part of life, the very last part admittedly, but as it is, we should have the right to choose the time and nature of our death, within reasonable parameters, of course, insisting that we are blown up on the Kingdom Hall steps as a protest death is probably going a bit far.
A lot of research is needed into what "mind" is, and therefore what/who the indivuidual that mind belongs to is.
Funding for such research is unlikely to ever be high, so in my lifetime and yours Terry, we will probably know no more than we do now, which is not a lot !
If my "soul" or whatever should survive, and I go first, and you are still here on this mortal coil, I promise I will do my best to contact you so that you will be the first to know !
I shall send you a PM on here, having first registered as "Phizzy from the Farside".
Terry

I'd say the being 'alive' is a physical process that makes the elusive "mind" possible.
When the physical no longer operates then the possibility is gone.
return of parakeet

You're steering very close to the philosophy of Zen Buddhism, Terry.
If you haven't yet read Alan Watts' "The Way of Zen," you might want to give it a look. It asks and answers (in a way) the questions you're posing here.
StoneWall

hmmmmm isn't this the same thing that The Who wanted to know? Who are you?
Years ago and yet the question remains the same. Who are you?
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PdLIerfXuZ4
Terry

My preferred method of reconciling all things is this: All the tragedy and misery in human history is the downside of an ongoing consideration
of what MAY happen IF God decides to create living beings. In other words, His imagination is so energetically vivid WE ARE CONSCIOUS while
HE is provisionally considering our existences and fates IN ADVANCE of our actually being created.
Chew that one for awhile :)
Sea Breeze

Gen 49:33 And when Jacob had made an end of commanding his sons, he gathered up his feet into the bed, and yielded up the ghost, and was gathered unto his people.
When Jacob's body expired, who was it that was went to his people?
Answer: Jacob
Teddnzo

Here is one option of a belief system that suits me. This is a JWLITE version of Pascal’s wager.
Stay physically in the JWs to the extent of going to meetings and assembly’s/conventions when it suits, maybe give items occasionally but not putting too much effort into them. Half the time on zoom in your slippers and PJs with a nice cuppa.
Going in ministry groups mainly zoom only for the social aspect and very occasionally in person at the hall or someone’s home, but never going on door to door work. Just say you are going to do ‘calls’ or street park witnessing but never actually do any of that. Then meet up for coffee breaks. Make the most of all gatherings and be very zealous at visiting members of the congregation.
Make it look like you are at the heart of the congregation and be very involved with everyone as this is the only good part of staying physically in.
Mentally live as pascals wager but a JWLITE version according to the latest AGM. Live how you want as it really doesn’t matter according to the latest AGM. If the JWs turn out to be right you can repent last min.
The advantage to this approach is the placebo affect compared to being an atheist. With at least a tiny amount of faith Jesus said the size of a mustard seed you could move a mountain.
So keeping one foot in and one foot out the get the best of both worlds.
When you analyse someone with faith in God particularly the JWs they do have this placebo affect where they don’t worry so much and can cope with illness even short life expectancy diagnosis.
Yes I can have this placebo affect even though it may not be true I can hope that it is.
Terry

THAT IDEA is embedded in this very short story I wrote:

THE LUCKY TICKET
Banks closed and long lines formed to snatch a free loaf of bread in hope of feeding a desperate family!
There was nothing Great about the Great Depression.
________
In a cabin in the Appalachian mountains there lived a family of four.
Plain folk. Ignorant. Proud. Godly.

There were two young children, (a boy 12 and a girl 9) as well as their mom and their father who had recently lost his job at the local sawmill.
The children were afraid they'd starve to death. The subject arose all too often.
It was probably a comment they’d overheard the last time they went into the town last week, a final end-of-season trip before winter closed the roads and passes.
______
"Mommy," the little boy moaned, "are we going to die?"
"No, no, no," his mother reassured him as she forced a broad smile.
"Let me show you two something."

Their mother straightened her posture and strode confidently into the adjacent room.
She took her son's hand and walked the boy and his small, delicate sister over to the pantry. . . and opened the door with a mysterious and grand gesture of importance.
She found a step stool and jigged up . . . stretching with some effort to reach a colorful box on the top shelf of the pantry closet.
A thin strap she grasped at last and the tug revealed a rather bountiful box. Their mother turned around with wide eyes and a beaming smile--as though she were holding a Christmas present.

Her cheerful and excited audience overflowed with anticipation reflected in the brightness of their eyes. She paused for effect, arched an eyebrow teasingly, and tossed her head in a gesture of “Follow me.”
The giggling children scampered behind their mom into the kitchen with the precious cargo ceremoniously lowered atop a Lazy Susan turntable.

The mother’s movements were achingly slow, deliberate, and powerfully evocative.
The lid appeared tightly fitted and held in place with two clasps not unlike a steamer trunk only much smaller.
_____
What could possibly be so wonderful to deserve such a presentation?
Their mother tilted the box and cooed a rather musical squeal of self-delight to punctuate the moment of grandeur.

“Here’s our box of miracles! I won this at Sears and Roebuck catalog store! Out of a hundred folks--I drew the lucky ticket!”

Inside: all manner of brightly colored fruit! Perfect Oranges, dazzling bananas, portentous grapes, gleaming cherries, and pineapple of impossible proportions!
"You see that my little Darlin’s?"
The children nodded silently with wonder brimming in their eyes.

Their parents squinted at the box and at each other.
He shrugged. She pursed her lips and snorted.

“Miracle fruit for cheery kids!”

Their mother searched their faces for any signs of disappointment and found none at all.
"As long as we have this we are never going to starve to death, silly boy.”

The brother and his little sister relaxed and radiated a profound relief. The tension fell away as mischievous covetousness arose.
"Can we have a cherry right now?" Her son’s eyebrows lifted.
"No, sweetheart, this is for later. Much later--only for emergencies. You know, just in case…” She stopped herself short of finishing with “... things get really really bad."
_____
Weeks crawled by and their Daddy hunted the woods for squirrel, rabbit or even less appetizing possibilities such as frogs and lizards. The menu and its variety slacked steadily into a kind of punishment rather than a reward as the children began to lose weight.
Bitter cold surrounded them. Clouds hugged the treetops and very little sunlight shone through the permanent ashy gray of full winter.
The normally spry and fidgety little boy and his vigorous sister soon lost the radiance in their eyes. Day by day they became listless . . . played very little . . gradually turned hollow and pale. An old carrot and half a potato made into soup lit no fire inside.

Their parents listened with hearts breaking to muffled whimpering in their beds at night with their little bellies growling like distant thunder.
Sometimes it was unbearable. Maybe one turnip for four people.
Mother would light a candle and fetch the box from the pantry shelf and place it on their bed in front of the starving children as though she were god’s own angel summoned to answer the prayer for salvation.
"It looks so delicious, Mommy! Please, please....can't we have just a taste of.....one....just one grape?"
But, their mother would sternly shake her head from side to side with great sadness and tell them it was for later. Her face was a mask of profound resolve. She heaved two lingering sighs before the awful phrase.
"When things get really bad." (After all, there was grass and shoe leather left.)

The little ones understood in the marrow of their bones, their Mommy and Daddy really loved them and once again, reassured-- they'd drift off to a peaceful sleep. Their parents held back their sorrow and buried their faces in the pillows to stifle the sobbing of despair.
______
Winter was hard and snowdrift prevented much hunting. All game animals seemed to vanish. Each hour of the day was like the next. Neither day nor night seemed much different from the one before or the one yet to come.
Nights were exhausting and punishing in freezing gales overcast with frequent high winds and flashing bolts of hostile lightning snarling like beasts outside. Every moment conspired to end hope itself. Dreams paused and even the pain of anemic hope ceased all meaning.
_____
Spring had come!
The quick thaw brought a new season as the forest came alive with birdsong and the rustle of rabbits and foxes in tall grass.
Hunters on horseback arrived at the cabin.

The burly men dismounted and unpacked a sled filled with comestibles. The tall man with the red beard knocked the door with his large knuckled fist. Loud. Louder. Again. Once more.
Knowing the people who lived inside, they grew worried.

The anxious trappers leaned hard into it and burst open the door and called out, "Anybody home?"
It was abyss dark inside and there pervaded a terribly offensive smell chilling the hearts of those men.
These were seasoned men accustomed to most hard things in life and yet they stood motionless in a premonition neither was willing to accept.

Gradually, their eyes adjusted to the veil of darkness.

They found them. All dead in their beds.
Holding each other-- the little brother and sister; the Mom and Dad.
Gaunt and wispy they were-- like the limbs of a leafless tree.
The stillness was heartbreaking...impossible to take in or accept. Profoundly cruel and yet not uncommon in these mountains and hard times generally.
On the dinner table a few feet away stood a box.

The men jerked at rags used as curtains, tugging them away from the window glass and the garish beams of light flooded the room with dreadful details to haunt their nightmares ever after.

They crept over to the table and the box--the only color visible in the entire world inside the cabin.
The men opened it not knowing what to expect.
Inside that box was an obscenely cheery and colorful display like you’d sometimes see in the large department stores back East.
A few gnawed pieces of colored fruit.
Four empty spaces.

Tucked in the corner of the lid was the lucky ticket.
They slowly made out words under the lid:
"It looks just like the real thing!"
At the bottom of the card in small letters, it read:
WAX FRUIT Sears and Roebuck.

Caution
Tiny letters in red:
(For Display Only...poisonous)

__________
T.E.Walstrom
Sea Breeze

Though he slay me, yet will I trust in him - Job 13: 15
Terry, in your short story, do you think the people went anywhere after they died?

Who is the who of WHO we ARE? And when we die......where does the "who" go?

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