We heathens have nothing to lose. We don't have to worry about such will'o't'wisps as heaven, nor bother with speculations on what an afterlife might be like: we have certainty, not belief. We had no consciousness of this life prior to birth and will have no consciousness of it once we are gone. Besides, let's say all freethinkers wind up in hell. Upstairs, there's nothing but pious people; the real action goes on La-bas, shall we say. There, the Devil's revels include Voltaire and John Huston, Darwin and Freud, Einstein and Haldane. Even if there is a hell, it might be superior to that other place. I am reminded of Melville's scene in Moby Dick, set in the Harpooner Inn. Long after Ishmael has fallen off to sleep, Queequeg comes back with his unsold shrunken head, smokes a bit on a hatchet-smoking pipe and throws out his arm to go to sleep, taking hold of Ishmael in their shared bed. Once the mutual astonishment subsides and Ishmael is falling off to sleep again, he thinks: "Oh, well. Better a sober cannibal than a drunken Christian." Give me hell or give me death!