Was I wrong about the afterlife? No.
And so I have. I have discovered little that I had not expected from even a casual reading of the scientific literature, although as the months have passed, I have sometimes wondered at the apparent duration and persistence of these hallucinations. I take some comfort in the knowledge that the execrable evangelists and their ilk will have to wait for all eternity before I will betray my principles by proclaiming a newfound, servile belief in God or the afterlife. I suspect, however, that it is only a matter of time before some New Age or Christian publishing huckster sees the lucre to be made by publishing the spurious recantations of dead atheists and freethinkers. Expect him to conscript bogus mediums to fabricate tract after tract of Hume, Voltaire, Paine, Orwell, Mencken, and me, among others, confessing the errors of our godless ways. Expect learned introductions by Harold Bloom—or his spirit, after he dies—to give the entire Dead Repentant Writers Library of America series a patina of respectability.
Don’t believe a word of it.
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