Why Don’t The Most Religious / Holy '?' People Want to Die? And So Called Woo Woo Wuchan Non-Religious But Spiritual People Are Though ''Non Suicidal'' DGAF Too Tuff ? Why Didn’t the Popes Fight in the Crusades?

Death, the great unknown, should, by all accounts, hold less fear for those who claim to be the representatives of God among us based on their mouth's utterances and their supposed deep belief in an afterlife, whether it’s the bliss of heaven, the paradise of Jannah, or reunification with the divine. 

These are teachings ingrained in religions like Christianity, Islam, Judaism, and Shintoism. So why do we see that, when confronted with death, many of the most devout—those who lead and promote these religious systems—cling to life with a passion that seems embarrassing almost ironic? 

Why do we often see religious leaders put on life support, kept in comas indefinitely, with the explicit hope of recovery, when one might expect them to “let go” with grace, more acceptance?

Take Pope John Paul II, for instance. When his health declined, he was kept alive through every conceivable means until the very end. 

Another example is Ayatollah Khomeini, who, despite a profound belief in the afterlife, received the most advanced medical treatments available at the time, fighting against death till the last breath. 

The message seems clear: when faced with the end, even these super religious dudes—those who claim to understand what lies beyond better than the rest of us, those who imply that they have a direct red cellphone with only 1 number Gods number in Triangulum '?' —fight tooth and nail to stay alive. It’s a strange paradox that defies expectations.

Then there’s the question of those who order others to die while doing everything to avoid that same fate themselves. Think of some notorious terrorist leaders. 

Osama bin Laden, the orchestra-tor of thousands of deaths under a religious pretense, was found holed up in a compound, heavily guarded and concealed, seemingly desperate to avoid his own death. 

Abu Bakr al-Baghdadi met a similar end, hidden away in a bunker, encircled by security, willing to do anything to preserve his life until it was no longer an option. 

What happened to martyrdom, to dying with faith in a cause or conviction? 

Their actions send mixed signals, even to their own followers: it’s okay to send people to die in the name of religion, but it’s also apparently okay to do everything possible to avoid that end oneself.

Why Didn’t the Popes Fight in the Crusades? 

When we think of the Crusades, we imagine endless battles and Arabs being massacred on their ancestral lands, in their beds as they sleep by some people who like ancient Israelite's insist that their God has commanded them to wage these land grabbing, wealth exchanging ETC battles, knights donning armor, Rapes, Vandalism, I mean the “holy” mission to reclaim sacred '?' land. 

Yet, in all the Crusades that swept through Europe and into the Middle East, from the First Crusade in 1096 to the final campaigns of the Eighth Crusade in 1270, not a single pope ever took up a sword, donned armor, or set foot on the battlefield to lead his army in combat, repeat , operative words here are ''his'' ''army'' 

Given the high stakes and the central role of the papacy in declaring these wars, you’d think the popes themselves would be eager to stand on the front lines. Yet history records a different reality. 

First Crusade (1096-1099): Called by Pope Urban II but carried out by European knights who took up the cross, with Urban staying safely in Rome.

Second Crusade (1147-1149): Initiated by Pope Eugene III, who rallied leaders like Louis VII of France and Conrad III of Germany to fight. But Eugene himself? He stayed far from the fray.

Third Crusade (1189-1192): Orchestrated by Pope Gregory VIII, though it was famous kings like Richard the Lionheart and Philip II who took the field. Gregory never left Rome.

Fourth Crusade (1202-1204): Declared by Pope Innocent III, the crusade ended up in a controversial sacking of Constantinople, not even reaching the Holy Land. Innocent stayed put, far from the bloodshed.

Fifth Crusade (1217-1221): Under Pope Honorius III, the Crusaders attempted to capture Egypt. Again, Honorius did not join in the fighting.

Sixth Crusade (1228-1229): Led more diplomatically by Frederick II, with little active papal involvement from Pope Gregory IX, who opposed Frederick’s negotiations with the Muslims.

Seventh Crusade (1248-1254): Inspired by Pope Innocent IV but led by the French King Louis IX, with Innocent nowhere near the battlefield.

Eighth Crusade (1270): Once again, Pope Clement IV stayed in Europe, while Louis IX led the charge, ultimately ending in failure.

Despite calling on European monarchs and commoners alike to give their lives for the cause, no pope ever strapped on armor or set out to face the enemy firsthand. This absence is worth remembering, especially given the popes’ role as the ultimate representatives of Christian faith and the moral authority behind the Crusades. If belief in the afterlife and the righteousness of their cause were as central to their mission as they professed, one might expect them to lead by example, embracing potential martyrdom to inspire their followers. Instead, the actual fighting, the bloodshed, and the mortal risk were reserved for the knights, soldiers, and “foot soldiers of God.” From a certain perspective, it almost appears as if the papal approach was to declare the battles and direct the show, while keeping themselves far from any physical danger.

This absence speaks to a paradox: if these religious leaders believed so strongly in eternal salvation, why didn’t they personally risk everything in the holy wars they proclaimed? Surely, with their direct access to divine favor, they’d be expected to leap at the opportunity to face “holy” death. 

And yet, we see the opposite. Popes stayed in safety, commanding from a distance, while others were sent into the flames of battle.

This strange fear of death among the highly religious seems especially puzzling when you consider how non-religious but spiritual individuals tend to approach mortality. You’d think that those without a structured belief in heaven or a guaranteed afterlife would be terrified. 

But, in reality, it’s often the non-religious but spiritually inclined individuals who appear the most nonchalant about death, almost indifferent. They seem more inclined to embrace mortality as part of a greater cosmic journey, rather than fearing judgment or punishment. 

I look at this and wonder: why aren’t the devout, those who preach heaven and paradise, the ones we’d expect to be stepping into death’s embrace with open arms? Shouldn’t they be the ones we have to talk down from eager martyrdom, convinced that the hereafter offers a million times more bliss than anything on earth?

Eastern warrior traditions illustrate an approach to death that feels more genuine. 

In these cultures, ancient warriors like the Japanese Samurai trained their minds to accept death as inevitable. Samurai codes like Bushido emphasized honor and loyalty, seeing death as a path to something beyond the material, with a peace that didn’t require a religious promise of paradise. 

Norse Vikings, believing in Valhalla, embraced death in battle as an honorable and direct route to an afterlife of continued valor. Death wasn’t something to fear but to accept. 

Even Indigenous cultures used trances, meditation, and psychedelics to experience “death” before dying—tools to confront and overcome the fear of mortality, achieving a genuine fearlessness. 

Their belief systems didn’t necessarily promise an idealized afterlife, but they cultivated a sense of peace and acceptance.

I find myself deeply disappointed even puzzled by this seeming inconsistency. 

Shouldn’t those who claim to know what waits on the other side of death be eager, or at least ready, to face it? It’s as if, somewhere deep down, the most devout actually have doubts—questions about what lies beyond that they’d rather avoid altogether. If they’re afraid, it calls into question the very doctrines they preach, the convictions they claim to hold, and the faith they expect others to embrace.

Ultimately, it’s the ones who live outside these religious doctrines—those who are simply “spiritual” or just connected to the mystery of life—who seem least fazed by the prospect of death. It leaves me wondering if there’s something to be learned here, something about authenticity, conviction, and peace that transcends religious teachings.

 Maybe those without rigid beliefs are onto something, without all the bribes and promises of paradise to achieve maximum control of people physically and mentally.

Olofin