My struggle with immortality

Last weekend I was challenged to an idea: wouldn't it be great to live forever? The argument goes: if and when we discover the cure to aging and can live naturally protracted (if not infinite) lives, this will be heralded as a great thing given that nobody really wants to die. I couldn't explain why my gut reaction was one of mild repulsion and discomfort, so I spent the week trying to unravel why I felt this way. And it threw me, quite unsurprisingly, back into the familiar lap of a crisis of meaning.

So here follows my arguments with myself - a short philosophical foreplay - on the subject. 

Let's first acknowledge that there are a lot of practical issues to overcome.

• Obviously it's not a gift that would be evenly distributed, and likely to benefit the rich and privileged. Plus there are some people out there whom the rest of us would not want around forever (mean dictators etc.) However, life is not fair to begin with and this doesn't disqualify the concept from being good or desirable at an individual level. 
• Overpopulation, overburdening our planet (perhaps we could institute a 'one in, one out' policy?).
• The unpalatable idea of having all your friends and loved ones die around you. For the purpose of this thought experiment, assume that everyone around you might also live a very long time.  
• Not all lives are equally happy. You might have depression. You might have chronic pain. You may have had a highly traumatic childhood that's given you a less optimistic outlook on life or set you off on a disadvantage. On one hand, eternity means more time to overcome whatever cards life randomly dealt you. On the other hand, how does the prospect of suffering forever sound? The challenge for those who suffer greatly is that often, in the midst of the suffering or depression, there simply doesn't seem to be a way out. The belief, however false, is that it will always be this bad. 
• Society at large would be very different. For one, I can envision an industry arising around assisted dying, to service the needs of people who just eventually tire of it all but can't seem to overcome the biologically hardwired impulse towards life, in order to end it on their own. 

All of this aside, at an individual level, these are the potential implications of removing "death" from our natural conception of human life. 

The possibility of death motivates us to make the most out of life

Death (or aging) is the major constraint on our most prized asset: time. If our time were limitless, so too would be our options. The sense of urgency which drives so much of life's choices evaporate. 

Hypothesis: more procrastination. Why do anything difficult or take a risk if you could not fuel it with the fire of fear - the fear that you unless you act, you would squander the one precious life you have in which to travel, find love, build a meaningful career? If time were boundless, you might always opt for what's preferable in the moment with a view that there are infinite chances to pursue something better later.

Frankl says: If we were immortal, we could legitimately postpone every action forever. It would be of no consequence whether or not we did a thing now . . . . But in the face of death as absolute finis to our future and boundary to our possibilities, we are under the imperative of utilizing our lifetimes to the utmost, not letting the singular opportunities . . . pass by unused

Alternative hypothesis: You might actually cease living your life out of fear (which is generally a result of socially conditioned pressures anyway) and start doing things that actually bring you joy, leading to a much more intrinsically fulfilling life. If you want to keep playing video games or enjoy the company of family and friends over another season of Rick and Morty, why not? Removing the constraint on time fundamentally shifts our relationship with risk. The opportunity cost of time invested goes down. You don't have just one shot to work towards making it as an actor in your 20s or getting a PHD in physics; you could do it all and role play your heart out, experiencing several lives in one, until being unexpectedly hit by a truck.

So it's a combination of "you can do it all" and "but you don't have to do it right now".

I have a sneaking suspicion that the relationship between death and life-motivation is not necessarily a singularly linear one, but a multiplying force for whatever traits are dominant in an individual. The ambitious might take it as extra fuel for their ambitions (world domination is a real possibility when the opportunities are almost infinite), those more inclined to enjoy themselves will do more of that, and those intent on saving the world will see an endless canvas on which to make an impact. 

But won't life lose its lustre and cease to be worth living? 

I've always been nostalgic about the charms of youth (even while I was young). It's hard to argue with the notion that the young have a rare capacity to experience life in a raw and profound way, with fresh eyes - unsullied and unjaded by repeat experience. Over time, our emotional tolerance builds and things that once moved us greatly may only bring a nostalgic smile. This is of course a generalization. But still, it seems hard to believe that a tenth great love will shake us as ferociously as the first three. Or that there will be sufficient charm and excitement in the prospect of moving abroad to rebuild one's life for the fifth time, to make it worth the discomfort and struggle. Would our ability to derive pleasure and satisfaction from life decline? Will we constantly be on the search for new thrills, crawling from one sex dungeon to the next? In this view, death is a preventer of intolerable boredom, saving us from a ghostly spectre of a life that increasingly resembles a never-ending battle against apathy and numbness. 

My spirit will tire, even if my body does not.

Too many tears. Too much heartache. Too much disappointment. Too much life. More life means more potential suffering. 

Or maybe not. I guess this comes down to how "awesome" you perceive life to be in the first place. If life is good, then how can more of it be a bad thing? Perhaps just as we never really tire of good food, we will never tire of life if, overall, it's still enjoyable in the sum of its parts. 

On that note, I'm switching sides. Because I think all of this just led me back to the conclusion that perhaps this is what life is, after all - the sum of the parts, every moment in themselves. And the freedom from death will give every soul the opportunity to discover and truly come to terms with this: the point of it. Or the lack of a point. Our long, long time on earth will teach us that all things come and go. Experiences remain transient, though we may not be. We can finally then wrap our arms around the elusive truth that Buddhists and new age mystics seem to have known all along… that all we have is right now. And this will bring us contentment, much like it does for the smiling, toothless old grandfather sunbathing on a dreamy porch somewhere, enjoying the peaceful breeze.

So it isn't so much that we "tire of life" but that we "accept the impermanence of life". In other words, witnessing impermanence in the universe by counter-intuitively being permanent ourselves (subject to constantly shifting identities and the limits of human memory).

I can only conclude from this that actually, it is our inability or unwillingness to cope with loss that makes the prospect of eternity frightening. Living forever does not mean that time hangs suspended, frozen in the golden hours. It means that there is an infinite expanse in which we may encounter and bid goodbye to people and experiences, however good or bad. And just as the people who touch our lives are but one of many river banks that we caress as we flow down the never-ending currents of life, so too are we just one feature in their vast landscape.

This all seems rather disheartening to those of us who are still hell-bent on finding some greater "meaning" to it all through our attempts to weave a coherent narrative of our lives. 

Maybe there's something beyond the veil

Final thought: Could we be cheating ourselves of the possibility that there is something more in store for us after death? I will not offer a view on this, only that I can imagine a world where, having lived long enough, there are no longer any mysteries of this world left to investigate… And so, being the curious humans that we are, death becomes the only unconquered mystery left, the last remaining frontier to be explored. So wouldn't every human eventually want nothing more than to die?