From the earliest known writings to the cutting edge of modern science, humanity has been enamored with the idea of attaining immortality. Geneticists today think it feasible that, through the application of their craft, the human life span could one day be extended to–I kid you not–500 years.
Unless eternal youth comes with this hypothetical longevity, the very state of earthly being would be profoundly, frightfully altered.
With geriatrics resisting the siren call of sweet, sweet death for up to 500 years, current sustainers of social welfare such as Social Security will either become obsolete or demand that employees at all levels toil unnaturally on. Can you imagine another hundred or so election nights spent with Dan Rather? Could Joan Rivers be chemically preserved long enough to chronicle the inevitable further deterioration of fashion? Do we want a world in which Strom Thurmond is looked back upon as a veritable spring chicken?
From the political to the religious realm, if today's trend of repeated divorce and remarriage is given several centuries to continue, the gales of the second circle will become fatally clogged with the fickle and lustful. (Righteous revenge shall however be had–the superfluous wait for the payoff will no doubt deter gold-diggers like Anna Nicole from profaning the institution of marriage.)
Congestion would also occur at the surface. Mean highway speed would dip into the single digits. The returns counter at Target would assume a purgatorial air. Jostling for position at Ponderosa's buffet would escalate to all-out mayhem.
Disturbing indeed, as is the fact that the average person would not be considered "middle aged" until age 250 or thereabouts. A mid-life crisis would then entail stepping out on the missus with a buxom young centenarian and perhaps springing for a shiny new set of vital organs to boot.
Sure, the delusional contingent best known as the optimists will find a way to allay such fears. More life is unequivocally good, they'll say. Firsthand memory of historical mistakes, from civil injustice to genocide to stirrup pants, will allow humanity to make real improvements, real progress!
Pishaw! There must be a place for natural selection, and this level of meddling with the process is utterly unconscionable. As it stands, certain seniors cannot afford both food and the medications necessary to sustain corporeal function. When are we as a species going to take the evolutionary hint and just give it up already?
Once I reach the age at which I cannot wear impractical shoes without risking a hip fracture, I for one am going to do just that and metamorphose into Daredevil Granny. I'll be out doing all those things I yearned to do but abstained from out of concern for mortality and social mores: scaling Everest, walking up to random individuals and hissing at them, joining a PETA rally decked head-to-toe in leather and fur, skydiving, stalking my celebrity fictional husbands, eating Spaghetti-O's straight from the can, carjacking the pope-mobile...
But for those of you who choose to stick it out to the bitter natural end, you will no doubt have ample company–take advantage and invest now in Botox so that, though you may end up a miserable, decrepit shell of a creature, at least you'll be rich.
Holly Noe's column runs each Friday. Oblivion (and readers) may beckon at [email protected].