Iwant to live forever. Or, if that’s impractical, as long as science can keep me operational. Now, obviously, this means elevating my game — more salubrious foods, calisthenics, steering clear of second-hand smoke and what have you. But if my efforts fall short — and I’m inclined to believe that at some point they might — I expect technology to pick up the slack. If this entails replacing my limbs with bionic parts, so be it. If it necessitates pumping me full of experimental pharmaceuticals or plugging me into contraptions that keep vital organs functioning properly, go for it. Nanotechnology? Whatever that is, I’m all in. And, if all else fails, please upload my consciousness into a freshly grown clone — though, if it’s not too much trouble, let’s make this one more athletic.
In his now-infamous Atlantic essay “Why I Hope to Die at 75,” Ezekiel Emanuel, 57, subtly disparages people like me as “American immortals.” I take no offense. Emanuel, after all, is the director of something called the Clinical Bioethics Department at the U.S. National Institutes of Health. He also finds time to run the Department of Medical Ethics and Health Policy at the University of Pennsylvania. Or, in other words, there are people blessed with dazzling intellects who strive to unlock the secrets of the universe or devote their careers to making life more tolerable for the weak, sick, and elderly. And then there are people who crunch numbers to concoct arbitrary human expiration dates.
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