So not only do the different stages provide a direction in which to take steps and achieve goals, but it is the whole finitude of our life that gives our life a frame within which some things are valuable and some other things are not. If I want to climb Mount Everest and can only do so before, say, the age of 50, then I know that climbing Mount Everest is a priority during a certain stage of my life. Over a mortal life throughout which I age, I would know that goals requiring intense physical effort should be achieved by my late 20s, goals requiring intellectuals effort should be achieved when my intellectual capacities are at their peak (say, between the age of 30 and 60), and projects requiring minimal physical and intellectual effort should be saved for a time when I am old. But if I can climb a mountain at any chronological age, write a book at any chronological age, spend five years watching TV at any chronological age, then—assuming that I would like doing all of these things—I would have no criteria for prioritizing one project over the other.
In this sense, extending life indefinitely would move, or perhaps even dissolve, all of our current goalposts. It seems undeniable that increasing the human lifespan while reversing the ageing process would drastically modify our understanding of life as a series of distinct stages we usually go through. Perhaps there would still be stages, but because the correspondence between biological and chronological life would be deeply altered, the stages would be profoundly different from those that characterize “human” life as we know it. Admittedly, though, it is very difficult to understand why people tend to behave according to conventionally defined life stages. I think that at least three plausible hypotheses can be put forward to explain this tendency:1.People behave in ways considered appropriate to their stage of life because of the physical and physiological characteristics that are associated with a certain age. For instance, people often stop clubbing in their 30s because their body gets older and struggles to keep up with dancing and partying for several hours in a row. So, if it were the case that people behave according to different life stages because of biological ageing, then it would seem that eternal youth might imply being stuck at a certain stage of life indefinitely (such as the stage of life at which people usually enjoy clubbing).
2.People behave in ways considered appropriate to their stage of life because of societal expectations about age-appropriate behaviours. Perhaps people stop clubbing because there is social pressure to stop clubbing at a certain age, and people who keep clubbing well beyond their 20s are frowned upon. So, if it were the case that people behave according to different life stages because of social pressure, it would seem that eternal youth would give people a way to avoid the pressure of having to move to the next stage of life. First, people around them would probably have no idea about what kind of stage of life is appropriate to a person who is, say, 2000 or 10,000 years old. Second, as nobody would be able to distinguish between a 2000-year-old and a 20-year-old, no one would frown upon them if they did not behave according to their age.
3.People behave in ways considered appropriate to their stage of life because they change preferences after having experienced something a certain number of times. Perhaps people stop clubbing because clubbing becomes uninteresting and boring after one has clubbed for a certain number of years. So if it were the case that people behave according to different life stages because most things become boring after a while, and all people start trying them around the same age, then eternal youth would not keep people stuck at the same stage of life forever, as people would nonetheless get bored and move to the next stage. Perhaps there would be whole new stages of life we cannot imagine yet—a stage at which one buys a house on Mars, say.
Let us move on to the second question: we need to understand whether there is something valuable in experiencing all the different stages of life that we currently experience, and whether we would stop being recognizably human if we were to remove these stages.
In an internal report on ageing, the President’s Council on Bioethics (2003) argued as follows:[W]e must take into account the value inherent in the human life-cycle, in the process of aging, and in the knowledge we have of our mortality as we know it. We should recognize that age-retardation may irreparably distort these, and leave us living lives that, whatever else they might become, are in fundamental ways different from—and perhaps less rich than—what we have to this point understood to be truly human.
It is possible that members of the President’s Council on Bioethics are wrong in assuming that there is something valuable in experiencing life as a cycle, with its succession of stages as we know them. Perhaps this is a fallacy similar to the one we discussed in the first chapter, when we saw how most people assume that the perfect age to become a parent is around the early 30s—which just so happens to be just before the time a woman’s fertility decreases significantly. We saw how in vitro fertilization (IVF ) and other fertility treatments contributed to change this assumption, and that nowadays fewer and fewer people think that there is any normative value in biological fertility. Similarly, there may be no particular reason to assume that there is something morally good in becoming biologically old(er). Perhaps a good life does not necessarily involve biological and psychological ageing, but can consist of a long, perhaps eternal, youth.
However, one could argue that, even if there were no value in maintaining a particular structure in the succession of stages of life, there might be something valuable about experiencing all the stages of human life. Perhaps there is something valuable in being old, and if immortal beings never reach that stage of life, then immortality would deprive us of a valuable experience. Perhaps we feel sad when a young person dies not only because they were deprived of a certain number of years, but also because we regret that they did not have the opportunity to experience all of the different stages of life.
It is not possible to say whether life extension would make people miss the opportunity of experiencing some stages of life. On the one hand, it is plausible that growing older without ageing biologically would dramatically affect the way we experience the passing of time. If a large part of ageing has to do with looking older and being perceived as older by the people around us, then by extending life through rejuvenation, we would affect the unfolding of our life cycle. If in order to experience, say, the calmness of old age one needs to actually feel that their body is becoming weaker, then it is reasonable to foresee that a person that never ages biologically, regardless of their chronological age, would never experience life as an old person and the calmness that comes with it.
But, on the other hand, it is also possible that the passing of time leaves a deeper psychological mark in our life, and that ageing brings about some radical psychological changes even if one’s body does not age at all. If ageing has mostly to do with gaining experiences, learning from mistakes and successes, and developing psychological tools that allow us to navigate the world more safely—gaining wisdom, in other words—then the fact that our body looks and feels young should not have much of an impact on the process of ageing.
In sum, it is hard to predict whether indefinite life extension and rejuvenation will dramatically change the structure of life as a series of distinct stages humans usually go through. It is not even clear whether the concept of stages of life would simply just disappear once indefinite life extension became a reality. At this point, we have no idea whether ageing biologically is a necessary step for ageing psychologically. Moreover, we do not know whether ageing psychologically is valuable per se, or whether it is valuable only in the context of a finite life.
Within all this uncertainty, it nevertheless seems fairly certain that, from the perspective of human creatures like you and me, it would be difficult to recognize a life that does not go through these stages as a human life. However, a life worth living does not have to be necessarily human. We saw in the previous chapter how what matters in order to attribute a value to our own life, and to have an interest in continuing to live, is to be a person, not a human bei
ng. It seems to me that there is no reason to doubt that someone born human and subsequently made immortal would not cease to be a person.
Would Virtual Immortality Deprive People of Eternity in Heaven?
Up to this point, we have explored some implications of an indefinitely long life by considering death as the only plausible counterfactual. This is because, from a secular perspective, one ceases to exist as a person and subject of experience as soon as one dies. But most belief systems worldwide tend to include eschatological claims about the supposed persistence of subjective experience and personal identity after death, usually in the form of either an afterlife in a separate metaphysical dimension or some form of spiritual reincarnation in this one. Although I am personally sceptical about claims of this sort, they represent most people’s ethical beliefs about death and form an integral part of most societies worldwide, so no ethical analysis of death would be complete without taking them into account. Hence, we will now explore some implications of cryonics and indefinite life extension in this context.
According to some religions, including the three most populous ones worldwide (Christianity, Islam, and Hinduism), one’s soul continues to exist indefinitely after death.4 The kind of immortality featured by these religions is what I have described as coerced immortality. I would argue that coerced immortality is not desirable because one could become bored and tired of life even if it was pretty good and varied, but especially because we cannot rule out the possibility that one’s life could become extremely painful, and, in that case, to experience pain for eternity would surely be extremely undesirable. If one had to suffer an eternity of what Dante Alighieri described in the first part of his Divine Comedy, one would surely be better off dead (i.e. nonexistent). Of course, for people who hope to end up in a more heavenly scenario, where they experience eternal bliss and contentment, the prospect of immortality looks far more appealing.
Unlike people who would try to achieve eternal life through brain uploading, immortal souls would not have to worry about the risk that their brain might get hacked and tortured. And unlike people who would try to achieve eternal life through cryonics and rejuvenation, immortal souls would not have to fear the possibility that a major accident or an incurable disease could kill them.
It seems, then, that people who have good reasons to believe that an eternally blissful afterlife awaits them after death would have no reason to try to achieve immortality through medical and technological means. Indeed, they would have no particular reason to even extend their own lifespan beyond what has been assigned to them by God. If someone were sure that there is a God who will provide them with eternal bliss, it would be irrational for them to pursue not just immortality, but even moderate life extension. Life on Earth surely is not constantly blissful; on the contrary, it involves significant amounts of pain and suffering even for the luckiest of people, let alone those who live under particularly difficult circumstances. So if Heaven were a likely alternative to Earth, even the luckiest people would have good reasons to keep life as short as possible. Considering that suicide is considered impermissible by a number of religions and hence would not work as a shortcut to Heaven, it would make sense for religious people to keep the length of their life to a minimum. However, it does not seem that religious people are less keen than non-religious ones to use life-saving medications, from simple antibiotics to complex surgeries. Indeed, most people, including religious ones, are interested in extending their lifespan.
There are some possible explanations for this apparent lack of eagerness to pass on to the afterlife. One explanation could be that, even though religious people believe that the afterlife will be better than their mundane lives, they are nevertheless scared of death. If so, it is unlikely that such fear would decrease over time, as they get older and older thanks to rejuvenation. If anything, it is possible that, since death will be perceived as increasingly alien to humans (as people die at a way slower pace or do not die at all), the idea of dying will be perceived as even scarier, because death will be less of a common experience.
Another explanation is that they are scared that they will not be awarded eternal bliss, and they will end up in Hell. Even though most religions prescribe specific behaviours, there is always room for uncertainty about how God could judge one’s overall conduct. From this perspective, people might try to live long enough in order to have the chance to prove to God that they deserve to be in Heaven. If in the current scenario this trial would normally last, at most, one century, it is possible that in a future where the average life is way longer, people will feel more anxious about trying to be good and secure themselves a place in Heaven. So they might feel compelled to keep trying for several centuries while conducting increasingly virtuous existences.
Religious people may also have some doubts about the existence of God and the afterlife, and thus want to make the most of their mundane life in case there is nothing in store for them after they die. This doubt is not likely to be alleviated with more time, so if one is motivated to use current life-saving treatments based on the doubt that there is nothing better waiting for them in the afterlife, they might end up using rejuvenating techniques for way longer than they had planned—perhaps even indefinitely.
It is also plausible that since religious people conceive life as a gift from God, they want to show their appreciation by making the most of that gift by trying to avoid death and extending their life. Again, if a person wants to show appreciation for the gift of life, it is not so obvious that they should stop showing such appreciation as they approach the natural lifespan of humans. One could argue that this “natural” limit reveals the measure of the ideal lifespan according to God. But what is considered the natural human lifespan in a Western country is quite different from what is considered the natural human lifespan in a developing one, and the natural lifespan of people living today is longer than the natural lifespan of people living even just a few centuries ago. As we modify the environment surrounding us by removing dangerous predators from inhabited spaces, or by developing aqueducts that bring drinkable water to everyone, or by developing glasses for people with short eyesight, or intensive care units for people suffering severe accidents, we change the “natural” lifespan of humans. In this sense, rejuvenating technologies will not represent a novelty, but a simple continuation of the human project aimed at making human life more comfortable and longer.
Finally, both religious and non-religious people live closely connected to others, and feel responsible towards people dependent on them and worry about the impact of their death on loved ones. So even if one were really confident of the goodness of the afterlife, they would still have a good reason to try to stick around as long as possible in order to support people close to them. If most people keep living indefinitely, the feeling of responsibility towards them will also be extended indefinitely, as will the feeling of wanting or having to live indefinitely.
Regardless of why religious people try to live longer despite believing that they could be better off by dying and by ascending to Heaven, it seems that the option of an indefinite long life could translate into a difficult decision for them to make. If and when rejuvenating technologies will be used as preventive medicine, many people will undergo rejuvenation in order to avoid, for instance, to get cancer. But as more and more people will choose rejuvenation, the average lifespan will become noticeably longer. Eventually, religious people would find themselves in the awkward situation of having to choose between immortality on Earth and the prospect of immortality in Heaven (or in Hell).
Even though this is not a good enough reason for not pursuing indefinite life extension, it is worth considering that, if it turned out that Heaven actually existed, people living an indefinitely long (and suboptimal) life on Earth would end up missing out on a much better alternative.
Boredom
The most common argument against immortality or extreme life extension is based on the idea that life, after a certain point, wou
ld necessarily become boring (cf . Fischer & Mitchell-Yellin, 2014). One of the first philosophers to introduce this objection was Bernard Williams who, as we saw in the previous chapter, argued that a long life would become necessarily boring because of the depletion of categorical desires that usually propel people into their future.
Other philosophers have highlighted the issue of boredom as an inescapable feature of an immortal life. Shelly Kagan has argued that after a certain number of years, be it centuries, millennia, or billions of years, one would necessarily grow bored with life. According to Kagan , over a very long life, one would eventually achieve most of their goals, or become disengaged with the issues that used to keep them interested. For instance, someone with an interest in mathematics would eventually become bored with mathematics, even if there were still mathematical problems they had not tackled yet. So, in Kagan’s view, boredom does not seem to necessarily develop from exhausting categorical desires, as Williams argued, but rather from losing interest in everything. An immortal human being would necessarily become disengaged with the world (Kagan, 2012).
Similarly, Todd May (2014) suggested that, after a certain point in a very long life, one would become bored of learning, practising, and improving their skills. May gives the example of a musician: musicians usually need a lot of practice in order to become very skilled, so an immortal musician could practise for much longer and thus become better at playing than any mortal musician. But for how many centuries could someone keep playing music before they stopped feeling like they are improving, or stopped enjoying it? May says that even though we could not be sure that a musician with infinite time to perfect his or her skills would necessarily become bored of playing, there are good chances that this would happen at some point: “Even the deepest of passions is likely to fade with the passage of enough time. What was not eroded by decades will probably be eroded by centuries or millennia” (ibid., p. 62).
The Ethics of Cryonics Page 12