A Deathwish and Dilbert
The Arrogance That Assumes Reality Will Bend
Last week, I wrote a political column lamenting the tragic shooting in Minnesota and highlighting the very different realities our one nation is living in.
The final line of that article was this:
“The arrogance of modern activism is dangerous for everyone.”
That arrogance shows up in the agitator and the warrior alike—the belief that law, logic, and consequence will eventually bend to human will. That chaos can be summoned without cost. That force, volume, or moral certainty can override reality itself. It is just that. Dangerous.
I saw an article over the weekend that illustrated this same arrogance—but not on city streets.
It played out in eternity.
A Tragedy That Did Not Begin With Politics
Renowned public relations expert Anne Isenhower died by suicide on New Year’s Day—less than one month after the death of her only son, Max Podowitz, a freshman at New York University. Max died by suicide on December 7, 2025.
Anne’s longtime friend, Mitch Leff, shared memories of her along with excerpts from the letter she left behind.
“Anne was a successful publicist, a passionate activist, a loyal friend. But by her own testimony, her greatest achievement and deepest devotion was her son.”
Everything I ever did was for him, and every minute I spent with him was a joy.”
Leff explained with painful honesty:
“Anne didn’t see a path forward for herself without Max.”
In her letter, Anne wrote:
“Wherever Max is, he misses me and he needs me. I’m not religious, but I believe there’s something out there. I will find him, and I will take care of him.”
Grief Is Not the Crime Here
Suicide is awful.
The despair and hopelessness that precede it are awful.
My family knows this firsthand. My grandfather took his own life before I was born. Though I never knew him, I know well the wounds his death left behind—visible even forty years later in grief that resurfaces, in questions unanswered, in sorrow that never fully resolves.
The purpose of this post is not to dissect suicide, pronounce judgment on the suffering, or speculate beyond what Anne herself stated.
Anne seemed by all accounts to be a devoted mother, a loyal friend, and a tireless advocate for causes she believed in. She was mourned deeply. Tributes celebrated her activism, her work, her ferocity.
This is not about her goodness.
This is about what she believed.
The God She Knew Not
Anne stated plainly that she was not religious. Nothing in her words suggests confidence about where her son was after death—only fear that wherever he was, he was lacking.
“Wherever he is… he needs me.”
I cannot imagine a more heartbreaking thought.
Not only the loss of a child—but the belief that he is lost forever. Not only gone—but alone. Not only absent—but in need, frightened, insufficiently cared for.
That grief, paired with uncertainty about eternity, would make life feel unbearable to anyone.
This is not arrogance in the loud, street-level sense.
This is a quieter pride—far more dangerous.
When Earthly Assumptions Are Applied to Eternal Reality
I can understand grief distorting perception.
What I cannot understand is the belief that by surrendering one’s life—by relinquishing consciousness, control, and agency—one would somehow gain the power to navigate the unknown, locate the dead, and rescue them.
How?
From where?
To where?
One will set the captives free but it won’t be you and it most certainly won’t be me.
Friends, this is not cruelty—it is clarity:
Believing earthly laws do not apply is one thing.
Believing eternal truth does not apply is entirely another.
On earth, reality eventually wins. Every imagined identity, self-defined purpose, or invented moral universe collides with what is. Though they struggled with it a bit at SCOTUS today.
Eternity is no different.
There is Heaven.
There is Hell.
There is one true God.
There is one way to Him.
Jesus did not hide the path. He became the path—bridging sinful man and holy God.
You cannot force your way into Heaven.
You cannot force your way out of Hell.
Love, grief, sincerity, and intention do not override truth.
Apart from proclaiming the gospel to the living, no one rescues anyone from anywhere after death.
Humility Versus Power
Conversely, before his death, Scott Adams—the creator of Dilbert and a lifelong atheist—shared something remarkable.
As he battled aggressive cancer, many Christian friends pleaded with him to trust Christ. Near the end of his life, he acknowledged them with humility and was moved by their sincerity:
“They surely believe this—and because they believe it, they pleaded with me so that I would be saved.”
In a recorded message and a letter read after his death, Scott said in essence:
“I don’t know what happens next—but eternity is not a risk I’m willing to take. I believe I need Jesus.”
Now, his conversion or profession will not fit many of our familiar formulas and people will wonder about its efficacy because of it. I am optimistic. As was the thief on the cross.
Humility about power–about eternity– led Scott in one direction.
Confidence in self-determination led Anne in another.
A Final Question
What will happen when you die?
What is your theology of eternity?
Because if flawed, will not be overcome with good intentions.
Eternity will not bend to our will.
Truth never does.
We have but one Savior.
So That You Will Know
Our God has withheld nothing from us. He is quite clear. I know where I will be, who I will be with and what I will be doing in eternity–with a certainty that has robbed death its sting and made boldness and the consequences of it a pleasure to bear.
My family will be sad but not worried for my want or need. They will grieve but be comforted because they will see me again. I will not be lost to the void.
Friend, we know what the very streets of our Heavenly home will look like.
AND I CAN INVITE FRIENDS.
How much more at peace, free of fear, and filled with joy I should be–with guaranteed, unrestrained, can’t be contained, no trial can take it, no earthquake shall shake it–HOPE.
In a Savior who lives.
