But wouldn’t you think that in a place like Heaven, you’d be, hopefully, on a little bit of an elevated plane of existence where everyone’s (for lack of a better term) superego has been diminished due to an inexhaustible supply of material resources and time…to the point that souls can freely congregate as they see fit, and an introvert staring into a pond by him or herself would be just as valid a use of time as anything else.
But you’ve caused me to think a new thought: If Heaven is populated by our human souls (and hopefully those of our earthly pets), wouldn’t it be subject to the same forces of human nature that apply here on earth?
With nothing to do, an ever-increasing population (good people keep dying after all), and an infinite amount of time and resources, we’d for sure fuck it up. It’s so incompatible with human nature that the best and most noble of us, with enough time and lack of selection pressure could produce seemingly anything.
In all seriousness, you're actually touching here on a central point in 'This Life: Secular Faith and Spiritual Freedom' by Martin Hägglund: without finite time and resources no conception of value (useful to humanity) can ever exist. The religious notion of eternal life and capitalism's notion of transcendental value are two sides of the same coin, for example, that do precisely that. Instead, the key to human freedom lies in a (collective) recognition of, and engagement with, our finite existence in a finite world (enter: democratic socialism).
The title maybe makes it sound like cheap self-help trash from an airport bookstore, and my summary maybe makes it sound like inaccessible and ultimately vacuous academic posturing, but it's a really extraordinary piece of work, and a good read at that.
(I think there's a version of this book with an even shittier title as well; something like 'Why Mortality Sets Us Free'.)
Anyway, I'd take the risk with my disembodied consciousness floating in space, hoping that the lack of stimulation of my brain gives me a warm, colourful, happy psychosis, before eventually shrinking to the size of a peanut and remaining conscious only in the broadest definition possible. Plus, I really really don't want anyone touching my pee hole, not even if Hell uses clean, slightly moist, warm q-tips.