Epigraph

We will set up scales of justice for the Day of Resurrection so that no one can be wronged in the least, and if there should be even the weight of a mustard seed, We shall bring it out–– We take excellent account. (Al Quran 21:47)

[And Luqman continued], ‘My son, if even the weight of a mustard seed were hidden in a rock or anywhere in the heavens or earth, God would bring it [to light], for He is all subtle and all aware. (Al Quran 31:16)

Written and collected by Zia H Shah MD, Chief Editor of the Muslim Times

Introduction

Every human culture has grappled with the big questions of life, death, and justice. We live in a world where good people suffer and the wicked sometimes prosper with impunity. This stark imbalance sparks a profound longing: a hope that somewhere beyond this life, wrongs will be righted and goodness rewarded. In short, many of us feel a deep need for cosmic justice – a grand moral reckoning that might only be satisfied by the existence of an afterlife. In what follows, we’ll explore how this universal longing for justice has led philosophers, psychologists, and the great Abrahamic faiths to argue for an afterlife. Along the way, we’ll see how scriptures promise a Day of Judgment, how thinkers like Immanuel Kant and Viktor Frankl reason about justice beyond this life, and why the belief in an afterlife offers so much hope and moral guidance for millions.

The Human Longing for Justice

From childhood, we are keenly aware of the cry “It’s not fair!” when faced with injustice. As we grow, that cry only deepens. We witness honest, kind people facing undeserved hardships, while deceitful or cruel individuals sometimes go unpunished. Our hearts instinctively demand that somewhere, somehow, things must be made right. Philosopher Immanuel Kant pointed out that in this life virtue and happiness don’t always coincide – the world often fails to reward the good or punish the bad. To resolve this, Kant postulated that there must be a longer, cosmic horizon for justice. He argued that the highest good (what he called the summum bonum, a perfect union of moral virtue and happiness) is rarely attained in our earthly life, which implies “the summum bonum… is only possible on the supposition of the immortality of the soul; consequently this immortality, being inseparably connected with the moral law, is a postulate of pure practical reason.”​ In simpler terms, our moral consciousness requires an afterlife for justice to prevail. This intrinsic need for fairness is not just a philosophical fancy – it’s a near-universal human sentiment that suggests we were made for a just world beyond the one we know.

Indeed, the famed author C.S. Lewis echoed this idea in a relatable way. He noted that every natural desire corresponds to something real: hunger to food, thirst to water. Therefore, “If I find in myself a desire which no experience in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that I was made for another world.”​

The unsatisfied desire for perfect justice and goodness hints that “another world” (perhaps reached after death) would fulfill it. This doesn’t prove an afterlife, of course, but it makes the idea deeply plausible – even satisfying – to our minds and hearts. Rather than resigning ourselves to moral chaos, we intuitively hope for a world or time to come when justice finally “prevails” and every tear is wiped away.

Justice Promised in Scripture

The Abrahamic religions (Judaism, Christianity, and Islam) have long taught that the story doesn’t end with our earthly life. They assure believers that a Day of Judgment or world to come will bring ultimate justice. The Bible’s wisdom literature, for example, grapples candidly with injustice. In Ecclesiastes, attributed to King Solomon, the writer observes corruption in courts and righteousness unrewarded. Yet he concludes with hope, saying to himself: “God will judge the righteous and the wicked, for there is a time for every matter and for every work.”​

In other words, there is a time set by God to balance the scales, even if it’s beyond our present life. Likewise, the Jewish Mishnah teaches that this life is just the lobby to a much greater reality. Pirkei Avot records Rabbi Yaakov’s famous saying: “This world is like a vestibule before the world to come; prepare yourself in the vestibule, so that you may enter the banqueting-hall.”​

Here the “world to come” is envisioned as a grand banquet of reward – but only after we leave the “waiting room” of this life. Such teachings reinforce a core Jewish belief: ultimate justice and reward await in the afterlife (often called Olam Ha-Ba, the world to come), where God’s fairness is fully revealed.

Christian scripture builds on this hope as well. The New Testament writers repeatedly emphasize that earthly life is not the end, and a final judgment is coming. St. Paul comforted the oppressed Christians of Thessalonica by reminding them that “God is just: He will pay back trouble to those who trouble you and give relief to you who are troubled…”​. This reckoning, he explains, occurs when Christ returns – a clear reference to the afterlife and Judgment Day. Jesus himself spoke often of a coming judgment and a Kingdom beyond this world where the “first will be last, and the last first,” indicating a great reversal to correct Earth’s injustices. In the Gospels, the parable of the rich man and Lazarus dramatically illustrates this reversal: the selfish rich man finds himself in torment after death while poor Lazarus is comforted at Abraham’s side​. And at the Bible’s climax in Revelation, we see a vision of God wiping away every tear and righting every wrong. The takeaway across the Old and New Testaments is unmistakable – God’s justice may be delayed, but it is not denied. A final moral accountability is woven into the fabric of creation, and the afterlife is where divine justice finally manifests in full.

Islam, too, places tremendous emphasis on the afterlife as the realm of ultimate justice. The Qur’an stresses that God’s judgment is exact and all-encompassing, even for the smallest deeds. It vividly describes the scales of justice that will be used on the Day of Resurrection: “We set up the scales of justice for the Day of Judgment, so no soul will be wronged in the least. And even if a deed is the weight of a mustard seed, We will bring it forth.”​

This poetic imagery reassures believers that no good act goes unrewarded and no wrongdoing goes unpunished – even those as tiny as a mustard seed will be accounted for by the all-seeing Judge. The Hadith (sayings of the Prophet Muhammad) reinforce this idea of cosmic fairness. In one hadith, the Prophet cautions people to seek forgiveness for any wrongs they’ve done “before the Day of Resurrection when there will be no money to compensate for wrong deeds” – warning that on that day justice will be served by the exchange of good and bad deeds instead​. Another concise hadith puts it bluntly: “Beware of injustice, for oppression will be darkness on the Day of Resurrection.”​

Islam teaches that Zulm (oppression or wrongdoing) creates spiritual darkness for the offender in the hereafter, implying that unchecked injustices in this life will assuredly be dealt with by God in the next. For the oppressed, this promise is a powerful comfort: their suffering is seen, and their patience will be vindicated by Allah’s justice. For wrongdoers, it is a stern warning that no evildoer escapes the ultimate court of God. Across Judaism, Christianity, and Islam, the message is harmonious – the scales may not balance today, but they will inevitably balance in the hereafter.

Philosophical Perspectives on Afterlife and Morality

Beyond sacred scripture, some of history’s greatest minds have reasoned their way to the plausibility of an afterlife – especially when wrestling with the problem of injustice. We’ve already touched on Immanuel Kant, the 18th-century philosopher who essentially made a “moral argument” for immortality. Kant observed that our sense of moral duty demands a fair universe, yet real life often isn’t fair. To resolve this discrepancy, Kant proposed that we must assume two things: a God who is perfectly just, and an immortal soul that can live on to see justice done​. In his view, without an afterlife, the moral order would collapse – virtue might go unrewarded forever, which to him was an unacceptable contradiction of reason. It’s important to note that Kant wasn’t appealing to emotion or tradition; he was using cold logic to argue that ethical behavior only fully makes sense if our souls outlast our bodies. Think of it like a story that demands a final chapter: if a novel set up a great battle between good and evil but then ended abruptly with evil winning, we’d feel the narrative was fundamentally wrong or incomplete. Similarly, Kant felt the human story needs an afterlife chapter where justice finally triumphs, so that our pursuit of the good is rational and meaningful in the end.

Other philosophers and theologians across cultures have made comparable arguments. In medieval Islamic philosophy, for instance, scholars like Al-Ghazali emphasized both God’s mercy and justice, warning skeptics that ignoring the afterlife is foolish. Al-Ghazali succinctly advised: “Live as long as you want, but you must die; love whatever you want, but you will become separated from it; and do what you want, but you will be repaid for it!”​

This line, addressed to a disciple, captures a logical progression: life is transient, death is certain, and accountability is inevitable. It’s a reminder that from a rational standpoint, our actions should have consequences – if not here, then hereafter. Even earlier, Plato’s famous “Myth of Er” (at the end of The Republic) imagined souls judged in the afterlife, receiving reward or punishment before being reincarnated – a philosophical story meant to underscore that justice must catch up with us eventually. Across eras, thinkers have found it hard to escape the notion that something in us is meant to survive death to answer for our lives.

Not everyone agrees, of course, and philosophy offers plenty of skeptical views. But what’s striking is how persistent the moral intuition is: our hearts and minds keep circling back to the afterlife as the stage for ultimate justice. Whether couched in Kant’s formal reasoning or Al-Ghazali’s wise counsel, the argument is that an afterlife isn’t just wishful thinking – it’s a logical extension of our deepest ethical convictions.

Psychological Insights: Hope and Meaning Beyond Suffering

Belief in an afterlife isn’t only about abstract justice or theological doctrine; it also profoundly affects people’s psyche and well-being. Renowned psychologist Carl Jung observed that ideas of life after death are archetypal – they appear in some form in virtually every culture and religion, suggesting they spring from deep within the human psyche. Jung himself had a near-death experience in 1944 and later remarked on the powerful impressions it left on him. He noted that “what happens after death is so unspeakably glorious that our imagination and our feelings do not suffice to form even an approximate conception of it.”​ While Jung spoke as a psychologist and not a preacher, his awe-filled words convey the hopeful unknown that many associate with life after death. The very “dissolution of our time-bound form in eternity”, he said, “brings no loss of meaning.”​

In Jung’s view, the human psyche naturally leans toward believing that our lives have meaning beyond the grave – that death is not a meaningless end but a transition, perhaps even a fulfillment, of our story. This perspective can be enormously comforting: it frames death not as a negation of life, but as part of life’s meaningful narrative.

Psychotherapists have often found that patients facing trauma or loss cope better when they have some spiritual or hopeful outlook on ultimate justice. Viktor Frankl, the psychiatrist and Holocaust survivor, witnessed first-hand how crucial hope can be in the face of extreme injustice. Imprisoned in Auschwitz, Frankl observed that those who felt their suffering had no meaning or thought that nothing awaited them beyond the barbed wire were far more likely to succumb to despair. By contrast, those who held onto faith or a sense of higher purpose endured with more resilience. In his classic book Man’s Search for Meaning, Frankl wrote: “If there is a meaning in life at all, then there must be a meaning in suffering. Suffering is an ineradicable part of life, even as fate and death. Without suffering and death human life cannot be complete.”​

This statement resonates strongly with the concept of an afterlife. It suggests that even the darkest experiences (suffering and death) contribute to a larger picture of meaning – a picture that may only fully make sense in light of eternity. Frankl, being Jewish, subtly alludes that life’s completeness might come after this earthly chapter, where the suffering we endure now is somehow redeemed or made understandable. His survival in the face of the Holocaust became a testament to hope: he later said that among the key differences between those who lived and those who perished was hope – often hope beyond this world. Many prisoners derived strength by believing they would one day be reunited with family, or by trusting in God’s ultimate justice when earthly justice was absent.

Modern psychology concurs that belief in an afterlife can provide immense emotional relief. It offers a form of coping mechanism for grief – for example, someone mourning a loved one may find solace in imagining they are in heaven at peace. It also offers a way to process trauma: victims of heinous crimes might sleep a little easier believing that a just God will deal with the perpetrator eventually, even if courts fail. Far from being a mere “opiate,” such belief often empowers individuals to endure hardship virtuously rather than become bitter or vengeful. In this sense, the psychological benefits of afterlife belief reinforce its underlying moral logic: it encourages patience in suffering and restraint in wrongdoing by extending our view to a longer timeline. If you’re convinced that every secret act will one day be brought to light, it’s easier to resist the temptation to do wrong thinking you’ll “get away with it.” And if you trust that your undeserved pain carries eternal meaning or reward, it’s a bit easier to bear. As psychologist Carl Jung might say, the afterlife serves as a powerful archetype of hope that helps many people navigate the storms of life with their sanity and morality intact.

Injustice, Suffering, and the Cry for Cosmic Justice

To truly appreciate the yearning for an afterlife, we need only look at the most painful injustices in life. Think of personal tragedies: a gentle soul who battles illness for years, or a victim of a random crime. We often hear people say, “She didn’t deserve that,” or “There has to be a reason for this.” In moments like these, the idea of an afterlife becomes a healing salve. It allows us to imagine a realm where a loving God compensates the innocent for their undeserved sufferings – a place where someone like a murdered child is embraced by eternal love, safe from all harm. This isn’t just wishful fantasy; it’s how human hearts deal with the otherwise unbearable. The alternative – that cruel misfortunes are purely meaningless – is too bitter for many to accept. The hope of cosmic justice says to the grieving parent: your child’s story isn’t over; they are at peace and justice will be done in the end. Such hope can be the thin thread that keeps someone from falling into complete despair.

Now consider historic atrocities and societal injustices on a large scale. History is rife with tyrants and genocidal regimes that were never brought to justice on Earth. The Nazi leaders of the Holocaust largely met their demise – some by suicide, some escaped – but even those who were tried could never truly repay the six million lives extinguished. In Rwandan and Bosnian genocides, in Stalin’s gulags, in the slave trade, and so many other horrors, the scales of justice were left horribly unbalanced. It’s here that the cry for cosmic justice becomes a shout. Without an afterlife, how do we make sense of the moral ledger? Would we say those millions of victims just suffered for nothing and that was the end of their story? And what of perpetrators who died rich and comfortable, evading all consequences? Such thoughts deeply trouble our sense of right and wrong. The afterlife offers a compelling answer: there will be a reckoning. In Christian theology, for instance, there’s the sobering promise that “we will all stand before the judgment seat of God” and “each of us will give an account of ourselves” (Romans 14:10-12). Similarly, Islam teaches that even the oppressor and the oppressed will be confronted on Judgment Day, to settle every last score down to “an atom’s weight” of deed​. The idea that no atrocity, no matter how large, will slip through the fingers of divine justice is profoundly reassuring. It allows communities to move forward after unspeakable trauma, trusting that vengeance is in God’s hands, not theirs. In fact, many leaders of oppressed groups have explicitly invoked afterlife justice to quell the cycle of violence. For example, Martin Luther King Jr., grounded in Christian belief, urged oppressed people to protest without hate, in part because he believed “the arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice.” That long arc can be understood as extending into eternity, where God’s providence finally sets right all that is wrong.

Even in more everyday societal injustices – say, systemic poverty, corruption, or discrimination – belief in a future judgment can inspire positive change rather than complacency. It reminds us that history is overseen by a just Power. As one commentary on Scripture puts it: in God’s “courtroom,” “No one escapes His verdict… Every deed—good or evil—will be weighed by the only Judge who sees it all. That should bring both comfort and conviction. Comfort, because the injustices we witness today won’t go unanswered. Conviction, because we, too, will stand before Him.”​

Knowing that we must answer for how we treat others motivates us to pursue justice here and now, not just wait for the next world. And knowing that the downtrodden have a divine Defender gives us hope that, ultimately, goodness wins.

Hope, Accountability, and a Moral Compass

One of the most powerful aspects of afterlife belief is how it interweaves hope with accountability. On one hand, it offers hope to those who suffer innocently: the promise of heaven, paradise, or eternal life becomes a beacon through the dark nights of pain. On the other hand, it serves as a stern accountability check for those who might be tempted to do wrong: hell, judgment, or karmic consequence (in non-Abrahamic faiths) warns them that moral laws are built into the fabric of the universe. This combination is like a two-sided coin that guides behavior – a carrot and a stick, but on a cosmic scale, fostering virtue and discouraging vice.

Hope is a lifeline for many. The thought of reunion beyond the grave can comfort a spouse who lost their lifelong partner, believing they will meet again in a world free of tears. The belief that one’s endurance in adversity will be rewarded by God can give someone courage to persevere. As the Bible says to those who endure persecution for doing right: “great is your reward in heaven” (Matthew 5:12). The Qur’an likewise constantly pairs doing good with rewards in the hereafter, describing gardens of peace and joy awaiting the faithful. These images are not meant to make us escape reality, but to inject hope into reality. A person with hope in their heart is often able to do astonishingly positive things despite hardship – hope literally empowers. Viktor Frankl noticed this in the concentration camps: prisoners who held some hope (even if it was spiritual or otherworldly) had a far higher will to live and a sense of inner freedom that the Nazis could not take away. In our everyday struggles, believing “this isn’t the end of my story” can be the anchor that keeps us from drifting into apathy or suicide. In short, hope in an afterlife can be profoundly life-affirming. It says: your life matters, your love matters, and no goodness is ever lost – even if unseen by others, it is seen by the Divine and will blossom in eternity.

Accountability, the flip side, functions as a moral compass. When people internalize that someone is always watching, even when no human witnesses are around, they often think twice about their choices. For believers, that “someone” is God and His angels, and the “watching” is not to catch us in a “gotcha” moment, but to ensure justice. The Muslim notion of taqwa (God-consciousness) captures this beautifully – it’s the sense of being mindful of God in all actions, knowing we answer to Him. The hadith we cited earlier about making amends “before the Day of Resurrection… when there will be no money to compensate,”​ is essentially teaching personal accountability: if you’ve wronged someone, don’t wait – fix it now, because you won’t evade responsibility forever. This mindset, shared across faiths, tends to create more conscientious communities. For example, someone who truly believes in Judgment Day is less likely to cheat their neighbor or exploit their employee, because they fear the higher court even if they could bribe an earthly court. Belief in afterlife justice has historically inspired movements for social justice too. Many abolitionists and civil rights activists were fueled by religious conviction that slavery and racism were not only crimes against humanity but sins before God – sins that would incur divine judgment if left unrepented. Thus, they fought oppression knowing that either society must fix it now, or God will fix it later. This gave them both moral urgency and moral patience: urgency to strive for change, patience to not repay hate with hate.

On a personal level, the idea of answering to a perfectly just Judge can be humbling and ennobling. It humbles us because none of us is perfect – we all will have to account for times we’ve failed morally. It ennobles us because it affirms our choices truly matter in the grand scheme. Every act of kindness, every sacrifice for good, every injustice we refuse to commit or condone – all of it counts in the divine ledger. Knowing this can guide us like a compass when life tempts us to stray. For instance, a businessperson might avoid a lucrative but dishonest deal, remembering the proverb, “What does it profit a man to gain the whole world, yet forfeit his soul?” In a very real sense, belief in an afterlife keeps human morality from drifting aimlessly. It ties our small day-to-day decisions into a larger narrative about good and evil, reward and punishment.

Conclusion: A Just Cosmos and Our Place in It

In our journey through scriptures, philosophy, psychology, and personal experience, one theme stands out: the hunger for justice is an essential part of being human, and the idea of an afterlife is a response to that hunger. We’ve seen how the Abrahamic scriptures boldly declare that God’s justice will have the last word – every deed weighed, every tear accounted for. We’ve heard philosophers like Kant insist that without a life to come, our moral striving would be in vain, and psychologists like Jung and Frankl affirm that belief in something beyond death gives profound meaning to life. This convergence of insights from different fields suggests that the afterlife is more than just a religious teaching; it’s a reflection of a deep truth written on the human heart.

Critics might say, “Isn’t the afterlife just a comforting illusion?” It’s true that the afterlife brings comfort – but as we’ve discussed, it also brings challenge and responsibility. The notion of cosmic justice doesn’t let us off the hook; it puts us on our toes. It’s not a fairy tale to escape reality, but rather a vision that infuses reality with purpose. Under the watchful eye of cosmic justice, how we live each day matters immensely. Our kindness matters, our integrity matters, our courage in the face of injustice matters – because these virtues contribute to a just cosmos that will ultimately bloom, if not now, then in the life to come.

In a very real sense, belief in the afterlife can make people more alive, more compassionate, and more just in the here-and-now. It assures us that love, justice, and truth are not defeated by the grave. As the Qur’an beautifully implies, even a mustard-seed of goodness will be seen and rewarded by God​. As the Bible comforts, our labor in doing good “is not in vain” but storing up treasure in heaven. And as an old Christian hymn joyfully puts it, “This world is not my home, I’m just passing through.” Not that this world doesn’t matter – it matters immensely, because it is the soul-making place, the proving ground for our values, the vestibule to eternity​. We prepare our souls here for the world to come.

In closing, the plausibility of an afterlife rooted in the need for cosmic justice speaks to something optimistic in the human spirit. It tells us that the universe is ultimately moral, that our deepest yearnings for justice and meaning are not cruel jokes but clues to our destiny. We long for a world where every unjust suffering is redeemed and every hidden good is celebrated – and the very existence of that longing hints at its fulfillment. Perhaps, as C.S. Lewis suggested, we were made for another world. And in that world to come, as promised, wrongs will be righted, tears will turn to joy, and love and justice will prevail – finally and forever.