Eternal Bodies, Finite Minds, and the Notion of Reincarnation

 

I did not believe in reincarnation in my past life, and I still don’t — Woody Allen

Arun Kumar

Arun Kumar + AI

Summary: Imagine a world where our bodies are immortal, but our brains have finite capacity. In this scenario, life would become a cycle of forgetting and re-learning, much like reincarnation but without the retention of past memories. With cognitive limits in place, perpetual rediscovery could ensure that life, despite its lack of temporal boundaries, remains dynamic and engaging rather than becoming a tale of boredom.

Immortality

It is the opposite of the finiteness of our existence — a finiteness that, once encountered and internalized, has the potential to shake our comfortable, often unexamined lives. The realization of our finiteness has led to many profound (and mundane) explorations and inventions throughout human history, including religion, various constructs of the afterlife, reincarnation, fortune telling, and dreams of finding the fountain of youth.

The notion of immortality in this discussion focuses on the physical body. It does not concern the continuation of our soul or self in any form; these concepts may simply be constructs to soften the harsh reality of our finiteness.

Can We Become Immortal?

The immortality of the physical self may not be such a far-fetched idea. With medical and technological advancements, most of our body parts might become replaceable. The possibility of 3D-printed body parts may not remain science fiction for much longer. Just as we walk into an auto parts store to buy a replacement for a worn-out windshield wiper, imagine one day walking into a human body shop, providing the required genetic information, and walking out with a new thumb to replace the one feeling twinges of arthritis.

There is, however, a part of our existence — the brain — that has unique limitations. Even if it could be considered physically immortal, its functional capacity has limits.

What About the Brain?

The brain is always working, constantly communicating with different parts of the body to keep us alive. It stores our memories, experiences, and everything we have learned. For humans, it is the seat of our consciousness. With its neurons and the connections between them, the brain is the organ that creates the self. Ultimately, however, the brain’s capacity for information is finite.

For all the intricate functions it performs, the brain has high energy requirements. This small, three-pound organ consumes 20% of the body’s energy. One could imagine that adding or augmenting the brain’s capacity and functionality would only increase its energy demands. Another unique aspect of the brain is that unlike other bodily organs, the brain — and what resides and occurs within it — uniquely defines who we are.

Following this chain of thought, a plausible scenario is that while the physical parts of the self could be immortal, the brain’s capacity and functions might remain limited.

A Counterfactual World

Let us indulge in imagining a world where our physical bodies are immortal, but our brains have finite capacity.

In such a world, our capacity to retain past experiences and memories would be limited. As we accumulate memories and knowledge, we would eventually reach a point where new information could only be retained at the expense of letting some go. This would lead to a cyclical pattern of learning and forgetting, somewhat akin to the notion of reincarnation. We live, accumulate memories that help define the self, die, and when we are reborn, nothing is remembered, and we start from scratch to build a new self.

The cycle of learning, forgetting, and relearning might seem tedious, but it has a silver lining. Even with immortality, we would not face eternal boredom or a lack of novelty. Despite the repetition, the human capacity for novelty and pleasure would persist. Each cycle would allow us to rediscover activities and experiences, deriving joy from them as if they were new. This perpetual rediscovery could sustain our engagement with life, even as our cognitive limits constrain our ability to retain all our experiences.

Sounds Like We are Talking About Reincarnation

Functionally, this existence would mirror reincarnation, with each cycle offering a fresh perspective unburdened by the weight of past memories. The finite nature of our cognitive capacity would necessitate a continuous renewal of our experiences, ensuring that life remains dynamic and engaging along with our immortal bodies.

In conclusion, while physical immortality with a finite brain capacity presents challenges, it also offers a unique form of existence where the joy of discovery and the novelty of experiences can perpetually renew our engagement with life.

The same is true for our finite existence — it is the joy of learning, discovery, and novel experiences that help us age gracefully and ensure a sense of vitality and interest. The challenge, of course, is to balance our desire to thrive with our awareness of mortality, without letting the latter become overwhelming.

Ciao, and thanks for reading.

Having the fortitude...

It was eons ago -
(or it seems to be so) -
I was bicycling
through the lanes of Lucknow:
some narrow, some broad,
some brightly lit,
and others, pitch dark.

Then, I neither knew
where I’d be fifty years from then
nor had the fortitude
to even ask.

And today,
here I am,
fifty years later,
just realizing:
it has been a good journey.
It could have been worse,
but thankfully, it was not.

The least I can do
is to have the fortitude now

to thank the universe for that. 

Would Immortality be a Cure for the Existential Crisis?

 

I don’t want to achieve immortality through my work. I want to achieve it through not dying — Woody Allen

Arun Kumar

Arun Kumar + AI: Bored

Summary: This blog post delves into the concept of existential crisis, examining how our awareness of mortality shapes our search for meaning. It explores a counterfactual world where immortality might seem like a solution, only to reveal that existential angst could persist in different forms. The discussion highlights the complexities of finding an optimal lifespan that balances health, novelty, and purpose and minimizes existential crisis.

The Existential Crisis

All seems to be going well, or at least it appears so. Mornings come, hours of the day are spent engaged in various activities, and by 10 pm, it’s time for bed again. The cycle repeats over and over. Indeed, it all seems to be going well, and then…

…one afternoon on a brilliant September day, sitting outside a café, enjoying a glass of crisp Sauvignon Blanc and watching people pass by, for a moment, the usual sum of two and two does not add up to four. There is a momentary flutter in the fabric of space and time, a glimpse of us watching ourselves from high above, and a sense of unease that the us below is a complete stranger. Does that stranger have a narrative of where he has been, where he is, or where he is heading? Or is the narrative just an incoherent story of random steps that add up to zero? That, after all, is the hallmark of random walk.

It is only when we take a break from the motions of living, sit back, and try to put the meanderings of our footprints in the sand into a coherent story over a time span longer than merely a day, a month, or even years, that the question of a larger narrative strikes. Those are the moments when the alienation of an existential crisis emerges.

The concept of an existential crisis is deeply rooted in human experience, often arising from the awareness of mortality and the search for meaning of our finite existence. Perhaps it is the price we pay for the gift of consciousness. The luxury of consciousness did not turn out to be a free lunch.

Given that an oft-cited cause of existential crisis is our awareness of mortality, wouldn’t it be interesting to consider a counterfactual world where we were immortal? Would we then be free from the ailment of existential crisis (if I can call it an ailment)? Starting with the role mortality plays in sustaining existential crisis, let us explore that counterfactual world of immortality.

Existential Crisis and Mortality

In mortal life, the finite nature of existence shapes much of human experience. The awareness of death brings several existential concerns to the forefront. The inability to discern a coherent narrative about being born one day and dying later, along with trying to attach meaning to everything we do in between, can be disorienting. This cognitive dissonance leads to significant unease, anxiety, and fear. With a limited lifespan, we frequently wonder and strive to find purpose and meaning in our lives.

The question about the meaning of our existence may lay dormant most of the time, only to awaken when jolted by life transitions — such as the death of a loved one, the realization of our aging and the magnified reality of mortality, or transitioning from a long career into retirement, which can upend many facets of our identity. Such events are rife with the dangers of awakening the sleeping giant of an existential crisis.

The realization of life’s temporariness can lead to feelings of insignificance and dread, prompting philosophical and spiritual explorations. This might involve developing narratives like the notion of an afterlife or a universal connectedness, where our present physical form, although dispersed, continues as part of something else, all in attempts to soothe our unease.

The awareness of life’s finiteness can also inspire a desire to leave a lasting impact or legacy, driving many of us to achieve accomplishments, create, and contribute to society. The cure may also lie in developing a portfolio of engagements that align with what we value.

What would happen if we were immortal? In such a counterfactual world, would we be free from the angst of an existential crisis? Let us imagine life in such a world.

Existential Crisis and Immortality

Imagine living in a world where we are immortal. Without getting entangled in the logistical issues such a world might present, let us focus on what might happen to our feelings of existential angst.

With the fear of death no longer haunting us, the questions about comprehending the grand sum of the meanings of our engagements should no longer exist. It is only within the finite limits of a beginning and an end that questions like “Why am I here?” and “What is the meaning of coming into existence one day and then dying at a later time?” are magnified. These questions are further complicated by the lack of assurance that the self we are aware of will continue to exist in some form beyond our death. With those edgy questions gone, it seems like such a world would be a kiss of death to the existential crisis.

Or would it?

If you were to zoom in and look closely at humans in that world, you might notice a different kind of existential angst etched in the furrows of their brows. The inhabitants of that world might grapple with a sense of eternal boredom. With endless time, the challenge might shift to finding ways to stay engaged and avoid monotony over an infinite lifespan. Without the pressure of a finite life, finding a sustained sense of purpose and motivation could become a different flavor of existential angst.

Over an eternal life, maintaining a coherent sense of self and identity could become challenging. As experiences and memories (particularly the negative ones) accumulate indefinitely, their weight might become burdensome. Observing the humans in that counterfactual world, life does not seem as rosy as we might have imagined.

Is There a Sweet Spot?

It is beginning to sound like there is no escape from the existential crisis, and it may come in different flavors. If we are mortal, there is the struggle to find meaning in finite existence. If we are immortal, the problem may then be overcoming boredom and lethargy, not knowing what to do with infinite time. The desire for novelty and engaging in new activities urges us to get out of bed and look forward to tomorrow. Take that away, and suddenly, an immortal life starts to sound drab. Perhaps there is a sweet spot of longevity between mortal and immortal life where the feeling of existential crisis would reach a minimum.

What could that optimal lifespan be? Perhaps the answer lies in considering several dimensions — the interplay between healthspan and lifespan, the novelty of experiences, the financial well-being. Balancing these dimensions involves trade-offs and personal preferences. In essence, an optimal lifespan may be a multidimensional optimization problem.

Like other aspects of life, the acuity of existential crisis in the context of lifespan may follow a U-shaped curve. If the benefits of sleep, food intake, stress levels, and exercise hours often follow a U-shaped relationship, why not a similar relationship between the length of lifespan and the level of existential crisis?

In summary, an immortal life may not be a cure for the existential crisis that consciousness brings.

Ciao, and thanks for reading.

Retirement…

 

…is a rug being pulled
from under the feet,
thrown in the air,
landing with a thud
on a sagging butt.

After the fall,
if no bones are broken,
it’s time to rise—
for an old dog to learn new tricks.
Maybe Pickleball,
so when someone asks,
"Hey, what are you up to?"
you can wag your tail and say,
"I’ve picked up a new
play today."