Thoughts on Immortality by Mike Perry
To approach the issue of immortality, it is first worthwhile to consider why immortality is—or should be—important. From one point of view the issue seems transparently simple. Life ought to be worth living. If life is worth living, it should not come to an end, therefore one ought to be immortal. This, of course, overlooks the details of what one might be doing with one’s life as well as such other features as what sort of society would emerge if individuals were immortal. These matters are impossible to second-guess in detail, but some things can be said with reasonable confidence.
Whatever the details of a life may be, they should be such as to produce meaning and fulfillment—including, most importantly, a reason to continue, to find something always new, interesting, exciting, something from which one can learn. This applies to our limited existence today; it should apply all the more in a hoped-for immortal future. Life should be habit-forming! With the prospects for future betterment, I think it will be, both because there should be so much of interest to experience and know about, and because our means to deal with the problems of lack of interest and other negatives will itself be much greater and more refined.
Another aspect of life being worth living is that it should be worth remembering. Pleasure alone thus is not enough. The nature of one’s experiences should be such that thinking of them later causes enjoyment too—a requirement that, I think, should not prove too difficult in the sort of future that seems possible, even though people today often do not seem to value the remembered past.
Finally, what is worth remembering is also worth sharing. Life should be something shared with others so that all in the end will mutually benefit. Of course it must be the “right” others, which will follow if individuals are well disposed and develop in reasonable ways.
In short, then, commonsense notions that apply to life today, even with its present limitations, lead to the conclusion that immortal life, properly conducted, would be good and desirable. This is also bolstered by considering the opposite viewpoint. Could we learn to make peace with death? Could we see in it something other than final ruin and frustration? Could we find meaning in spite of (or because of) the thought of an eventual, permanent conclusion, a restitution once and for all of all our striving and cares? But I think all attempts to do so must ring hollow. Knowledge of one’s mortality and its apparent inevitability is not an easy burden for the rational mind to carry. I doubt if belief in one’s impermanence can inspire much real satisfaction, except perhaps for those who view life, fundamentally, as a burden that ought to end. Certainly life should have more to offer than that. There is no proper substitute for immortality and the benefit that springs from a reasonable hope and confidence in its likelihood.
Bertrand Russell, a leading twentieth-century British philosopher, was firmly convinced of the inevitability of death, based on cosmological considerations: if nothing else life must eventually and uniformly come to an end in the Heat Death of the universe. Not just individuals were doomed but species, civilizations, and in short, the whole enterprise that we know as life, whether earthly or elsewhere in our cosmos, if it should exist there. Russell was not happy with this state of affairs but thought it must be accepted, arguing that “…only on the firm foundation of unyielding despair, can the soul’s habitation…be safely built.”1 His solution was to downplay the issue. The thought that “life will die out…is not such as to render life miserable. It merely makes you turn your attention to other things.”2 But again, this rings hollow. In particular, it invites the question of whether painless, immediate suicide would not be a better alternative than prolonged and distracting efforts at “other things.”
True, there are venerable schools of thought that accept death as a necessary accompaniment of life. In the early centuries c.e., “[t]he Stoics insisted that man must learn to submit himself to the course of nature; it is not death which is evil but rather our fear of it.”3 The related, roughly contemporary Epicurean doctrine held that “there are only a limited number of gratifications, and, once these have been experienced, it is futile to live longer.”4 Buddhism, more ancient still and still quite active today, considers the “wish for continued existence” a form of “defilement.”5 Many now hold similar attitudes, and much has been written and said by way of rationalizing death as an acceptable transition, a nonburden. Such rationalizing philosophies deserve at least some respect for their effort to make the most of a difficult position while adhering, as they generally do, to doctrines based on reason. Happily, however, modern science offers new perspectives and makes feasible a more optimistic but still reason-based outlook. We see increasing prospects, both for the means of eliminating death and for meaningful activity beyond what many have seen as unassailable limits.
There is, in particular, the prospect that developing biotechnology can alleviate some of the burdens of aging for those now living, giving longer and healthier lifespans than were ever possible before. In time it seems reasonable that aging and now-terminal illnesses will be cured, and other advances made so that individuals could live, minimally, for centuries or millennia. Arguably the advances will not stop there but interest will quicken with the successes obtained so that further great efforts will be made at extending life, and lifespans of many millions of years will be possible to those who want them. How to achieve a meaningful life, as opposed to merely a long life, should also be intensively studied at levels beyond our present comprehension so arguably it is likely that such long lives will be demanded when they are possible, and be found worthwhile when lived.
As for the ultimate fate of the universe, it is still unknown. But astronomical perspectives have undergone a rather profound shift in quite recent times with the apparent discovery of dark energy and cosmic acceleration. It’s too early to pass judgment on the fate of life as a whole or even of an advanced individual who has passed beyond the biological constraints that now limit our existence, though certainly an extremely long life should be possible. And even if the universe is finally doomed, all is not necessarily lost. Some interesting, nonmystical prospects for continued existence involving parallel universes are not ruled out, and these could even extend to otherwise hopeless cases of deaths that have occurred in the past.6
Thinking about these rather mind-boggling possibilities nevertheless raises the prospect that we are growing older and weaker. We would like simply to be rid of this problem and avoid the death that now awaits us as it did our forebears. We must instead face the possibility, a high probability for many of us, that advances in biotech and other fields will not be fast enough to bring about our rescue. For this problem however there is cryonics—having oneself placed in cryogenic storage after clinical death in the hopes that future technology will be able to achieve one’s reanimation and restoration to full, vibrant health with any diseases or disorders appropriately treated. Overall, then, we have much to inspire a reason-based outlook that rejects the inevitability and finality of death and instead is hopeful on the prospect of personal immortality.
Today our civilization is very bent on documenting its history, even very ancient and obscure events which nevertheless have enough interest that there is no serious call to discard the information. (Indeed, considerable efforts are being made to find more of it and carefully preserve and accurately disseminate what is found.) The same, I think, will probably hold true in the future when personal history in the form of memories can be stored long-term, rather than perishing as people die. From there it is but a short step to the idea of an integrated system or continuing individual (a “civilization in miniature”) recording and from time to time reviewing its personal history. If this went on without disruption you’d have an immortal, which could amount to a continuation of a person of today, one of us in fact.
Some difficulties have been raised in connection with the idea of an immortal person, one of which is that one could not reasonably continue to identify, indefinitely, with past versions of the self. One reason why this must inevitably follow, it is alleged, is mathematical in nature. The quantity or volume of information involved in any past version of the self is finite, but memories must accumulate without limit as our prospective immortal ages, to provide the sense of having lived through increasingly vast stretches of time. Eventually, then, the total of memories must vastly outweigh those pertaining to, for example, those of the first fifty years of one’s life. For the fifty-year-old self and others before it to “survive,” however, the experiences of this age and earlier must be recalled again and again as our person grows older. We have to repeatedly review our archive of earlier memories or else accept that the “selves” of those earlier times are now defunct and departed since they will not be thought of again. It is not impossible that the earlier memories could be revisited infinitely often as time goes to infinity, of course. This we’ve considered above by analogy with historical records today, where we can be sure historians will be aware indefinitely of past events through study of the surviving records. But it still seems we must, at least in most cases, devote an ever-shrinking fraction of our time to any given past experience or finite period of time however long, so it arguably becomes less and less a part of our self. The mathematical difficulty seems unavoidable in one form or other, and it may have something to do with the problems we actually see in the way people view their past.
John Hick, a prominent theological philosopher, has misgivings on this issue. There must be a limit, he says, to how much we can identify with earlier states in which we were very different. Hick considered the diary he composed as a fifteen-year-old (emphasis original): “…I know that it is my diary, and with its aid I remember some of the events recorded in it; but nevertheless I look back upon that fifteen-year-old as someone whose career I follow with interest and sympathy but whom I do not feel to be myself.” This sort of dissociation is, I think, very common and perhaps a majority viewpoint among people today, though not universal. (I for one feel able to identify with my earlier stages, even going back to early childhood despite the many changes.) It is noteworthy that Hick says he does not feel he can identify with his earlier self. It is not likely that any arguments offered here would soon change such a viewpoint. But let it be said that we both ought to be able to make an identification with our past selves and in the future, I think, will be able to do so, if our general advancement continues.
I see no insurmountable obstacle to such identification, even though there is the issue we just noted, that, generally, only a decreasing fraction of our time can be devoted to recalling any given experience. If we must continually change so that, in time, our earlier experiences were of someone very different this might indeed prove a fatal impediment, but I do not think it must or will be so. This brings up the issue of what sort of beings we might be expected to develop into over a long stretch of time, in which today’s limitations would not apply.
Clearly there are many possibilities, but I conjecture that personality types capable of and desiring very long survival will not be so varied or inscrutable in their basic nature as to baffle our understanding today. Instead, I submit, they will basically be profoundly benevolent, desirous of benefiting others as well as themselves, respectful of sentient creatures in general, and acknowledging that enlightened self-interest requires a stance with a strong element of what we would call altruism. They will be intensely moral, but also joyful in the exercise and contemplation of their profound moral virtues—for an element of joy will be essential in finding life worth living, even as it is today. These joyful, good-hearted beings, then, will be the types to endure, and will refine their good natures as time progresses, so as to increasingly approximate some of our ideas of angelic or godlike entities, as endless wonders unfold to their growing understanding.
Beings of good will who are seeking what is right and best and to develop in wonderful and rewarding ways over unlimited time, always with love, respect, and consideration for others, should not find it hard to feel a kinship with past versions of themselves which also had these attributes. Love must conquer all. The conjectured disinterest with one’s more distant past, then, will be swallowed up in the universal affection and regard for persons in general, past as well as present, which must logically extend to versions of oneself along with others. If we are good enough, then, our everlasting survival, as separate though interacting and considerate selves, becomes morally mandatory and recognizable as such by the advanced beings we shall become. So it is this high calling we must aspire to, and it may well be necessary to our survival. And, I submit, being virtuous and considerate will also make us more accepting of our earlier selves, even if they were less enlightened and rather “different,” or even, in more extreme cases, evil and misguided. The bad in our earlier selves can be acknowledged when we are confident it is cured.
In the future there should be wonders aplenty for the searcher and many paths to pursue in a vast architecture of possibilities. So each of us should be able develop in interesting and unique ways, with joy accompanying our efforts, including those occasions when we reflect on where we’ve been before and how far we’ve come, something that should both comfort and inspire. Joy will thus help us maintain a reasonable sense of our identity as time goes by. If this course of development can be pursued, the rich diversity of individuals will, I submit, produce greater benefits overall than if all were subsumed in a vast collective enterprise, with individuality devalued or obliterated. As a possible precedent, we may consider how collective enterprises in our own history, and particularly totalitarian governments with centrally planned economies, have been unable to compete with more decentralized, democratic systems. The separate, developing, considerate, immortal ego, then, should have more to offer all around than some form of “nonself” or a fused consciousness.
In our advancement, of course, we should make use of whatever discoveries and technologies may be applicable. Inevitably this will involve risk but “nothing ventured, nothing gained.” In fact I think our deepening understanding will make adaptations possible that would otherwise be out of the question. The elimination of aging and biological death should be accompanied by increased understanding of the psychological difficulties connected with immortalization, with a proliferation of possible remedies. People should have numerous means to deal with various “illnesses” they may have inherited from the mortal past, along with the difficulties they encounter in the course of a hopefully unbounded future.
Notes:
1. Bertrand Russell, Why I Am Not a Christian, and Other Essays on Religion and Related Subjects. Ed. Paul Edwards. New York: Simon and Schuster, 1957, 107, as quoted in Frank J. Tipler, Tipler, The Physics of Immortality: Modern Cosmology, God, and the Resurrection of the Dead. New York: Doubleday, 1994., 69.
2. Ibid., 11, as quoted in Tipler, Physics of Immortality, 70.
3. Gerald Gruman, “A History of Ideas about the Prolongation of Life.” Transactions of the American Philosophical Society 56, no. 9 (December 1966), 15.
4. Ibid., 14.
5. Hammalawa Saddhatissa, Life of the Buddha. New York: Harper and Row, 1976, 31.
6. See R. Michael Perry, Forever for All: Moral Philosophy, Cryonics, and the Scientific Prospects for Immortality, Parkland, Florida: Universal Publishers, 2000, esp. Chs. 12-14.