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The macaw and the African elephant
In a recent announcement that excited only other scientists, researchers say they have discovered Bald Cypress trees in a North Carolina swamp that are over 2,500 years old—which is about a thousand years older than any previously known trees in the region. With core samples taken from the trees, climate historians can examine annual growth rings and learn about weather patterns going way back to the year in which Nebuchadnezzar was crowned king of Babylon.
Trees live a long time. The oldest tree in the United Staes is a Great Basin Bristlecone Pine from California: it’s over 5,000 years old. Even the average oak tree lives 200 years. That’s more than double the average human lifespan. But I never hear anyone squawking about the cosmic unfairness of trees outliving humans.
Things hit a little closer to home when we look at animal longevity. The macaw lives between 60 and 80 years. The African elephant lives 70 years. Galapagos tortoises regularly top the 100-year mark. The bowhead whale averages 200 years. If humans sit on top of the evolutionary pyramid, you might ask, how come our dominance is not reflected in our life expectancy? Are we going to settle for a tie with the macaw and the African elephant? Can we not aspire to reach Galapagos tortoise levels—or even try to catch up with the bowhead whale? What is it reasonable for us to shoot for?
The steady increase in human knowledge in general and medical treatments in particular has certainly pushed the average lifespan upwards. According to a 2013 report from the chief actuary of Canada, the average life expectancy at birth in Canada was barely 50 years in 1901; now, it’s nudging over 80.
Is there any rule that says we can’t shoot for a hundred? Or, for that matter, two hundred? The chief actuary, playing spoiler, warns that the current rate of increase won’t be sustained and that life expectancy at birth will only hit 90 years for males in 2075. Any further out and you’re closer to the realm of science fiction than actuarial science.
That prognosis runs contrary to the views of Yuval Noah Harari, the author of the 2015 book Homo Deus: A Brief History of Tomorrow. His view is that we should be preparing ourselves for a future in which any part of the body—a heart, a knee, an eye, a brain—can be replaced, opening up the possibility of indefinite extensions of life, which would put us past all the animals and into Bald Cypress tree territory. People—at least those who could afford the replacement parts—will therefore become like gods, he asserts.
Even allowing that there might be a little hyperbole in Mr. Harari’s writing, I shudder at his prediction Does this imply that a Mark Zuckerberg or an Elon Musk will be able to buy his way to an indefinite life. These guys are enough to cope with in their 30s and 40s respectively; I hate to think what will they be like once they turn 150 and are merely hitting the first bend in the road. They’re going to have to come up with some way to allocate life extension technology equitably. And for those who say this would give us a chance to keep the next Einstein around, I say, so who wants to be the one deciding who gets indefinite life extension?
Just consider the effect on family life. You may find yourself having two parents, four grandparents, eight great-grandparents and 16 great-great-grandparents all alive at the same time. How are you going to keep all their addresses and personal anniversaries straight? How will you manage date conflicts? How are you going to decide which relative goes to whose house for Christmas? These issues could tear apart even the most resilient of families.
Let’s drill a little deeper. Suppose you are Donald Trump Jr., and you have reached age 80. You would like to think that by this milestone, you are looked up to as a venerable old man and wise manager of the family fortune. But, no, your 121-year old father is still around undermining you and sucking all the oxygen out of the room. And your son Donald Trump III is a 50-year-old who is impatient to be given some real responsibility rather than being an office errand boy. Would you expect Donald Trump Sr. to offer such profound insights that his being kept around could be a net positive? No; he’s just clogging up the system.
Maybe it’s time we accepted that we belong, in lifespan terms, with the macaw and the African elephants— with long term aspirations to match the Galapagos tortoise. They’re not really bad company. And maybe we shouldn’t be assuming we sit at the top of the evolutionary pyramid.
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