Ask someone if they want to live longer and they’ll say yes. Ask if they want to live forever and watch their face change.
Something about infinity breaks our intuition. We can imagine being 90, maybe 120. But 1,000 years? A million? The mind rejects it.
I think the terror comes from boredom. Not the kind you feel on a slow Tuesday. The kind that comes after you’ve done everything.
Every conversation you could have, you’ve had. Every book that could be written, you’ve read. Every place you could go, you’ve been. Every person you could love, you’ve loved and lost and loved again.
What then?
Bernard Williams, a philosopher, argued this makes immortality meaningless. Life only matters because it ends. Deadlines create urgency. Scarcity creates value.
If you had forever, why get up tomorrow? Why call your friend? Why learn anything new? You could do it next century. Or the one after that.
Maybe this is wrong. Maybe an immortal mind would be different enough that boredom wouldn’t apply. Maybe there are infinite meaningful experiences waiting.
But right now, thinking with this mortal brain, forever doesn’t sound like a gift.
It sounds like the worst possible punishment.
Related reading: