Always one to pursue useless knowledge wherever he can find it in a seemingly never-ending quest to achieve the improbable and downright unlikely status of modern-day Renaissance man, Mark Bittmann has indulged his desire to never be lost in any conversation, by developing an arcane understanding of things of little consequence or import while maintaining his alleged status as a small fish in a small pond.
As long as his self-indulgent whim is catered to, he manages to sustain the facade of someone under the misperception that others care about what he thinks. With a ubiquity normally reserved for greenhouse gasses, he chases his random and inconsequential thoughts with all the tenacity of a banana peel. This is his life, his curse, and his twisted and maniacal way of impressing the ladies.
What if you knew everything on this Earth that there is to know? What if you had the time to pursue all of the world’s knowledge by reading every book on every subject ever written at your leisure or walk every square inch of the planet and absorb every facet of - and become privy to - the complete history of every culture to have ever occupied the third stone from the Sun? What if you had literally seen and done everything there is to do on every continent and beneath every ocean, relished every Earthly sensory stimulant there ever has been and ever will be and lived to tell about it?
I’ve been doing some more thinking (perhaps you heard the clank?) about just what it means to live an immortal life and wonder if it would be all that it’s cracked up to be, particularly if one is bound to the parameters of a single planet. Sure, an immortal will have likely accumulated untold monetary resources in light of their vast experience and knowledge of economics, and assuming they’ve been alive for awhile and they’ve witnessed its theories in every form and practice for a couple of millennia or so. Would money really mean so much to an eternal being after a while? Would material possessions and the means to buy them still entertain someone who has lived long enough to know that they are ultimately meaningless? Is there even a concept such as “ultimately” to someone who will never die?
Doesn’t it stand to reason that there must be a limit to just how long one could put up with their fellow humans (yeah, I know – being immortal pretty much makes them decidedly not human…work with me here) before they snap, declare the nearest possible isolated, banana republic island community their sovereign homeland, anoint themselves dictator and proceed to whip a little subservience on the locals? You know, sort of like Dr. Doom, but without the overly alliterative speech pattern. When I think about it, it seems one who has heard and learned it all would probably grown weary at others’ attempts at intelligent conversation by now and learned a long ago that the destiny of an immortal is surprisingly and ultimately one of few words.
As time drags on I imagine it would get quite boring for someone who can practically predict the fashion in which any number of societal dilemmas or events may play out, having refined the arcana of inter and inner-societal studies to a veritable art form. The experience of one who has watched civilizations collide and the rise and fall to many an empire from both within and as observer, filtering all the pertinent data through their formidable and unmatchable intellect, data that would choke the circuitry of IBM’s Deep Blue like Galactus on a chalky, desert-planet aperitif, is no doubt equipped with an intellect both vast and miles ahead of all other analytical database systems. What could possibly happen? What could anyone else possibly say that even remotely resembles original thought compared to all of the various dogmas an immortal will probably have absorbed, lived in and shed in their considerable lifetime? What if they’ve been walking the earth for several millennia and can verify (or not) the existence of Christ, Buddha and Mohammad? Furthermore, when one doesn’t have a reason to fear death, is there really any need for spirituality, in light of the fact they will never know for sure whether or not they even have a soul? I mean, what’s the point in living by the spiritual notions of mortals, when the very nature of mortality is defined by whether or not one possesses the ability to die? Don’t you think someone who not only can but will live forever would tend to keep his or her own faith after a time? And who’s to say their self-reverence won’t eventually evolve into self-deification? It’s not even a stretch of their imagination or a thin line for them to walk, considering their mortality will never come to test, nor will their greater awareness of all things be challenged by anyone to the satisfaction of the litmus threshold their mind would require to entertain the thought of changing. Immortality is a universal condition of Godhood, isn’t it? I’ve heard of Gods being damned, but that doesn’t necessarily equate with death.
But then, maybe the very existence of an immortal is a damned one? Maybe immortality is a personal hell of its own? What’s to fear in life if death isn’t an option or predetermined fate? Where would one find their thrills? To what depraved depths would one eventually turn as means of entertainment when there no longer original or entertaining distractions from endless existence, when they are trapped for eternity on a world with only so much to offer intellectually, spiritually scientifically and every other ‘ally to serve as their oyster. The only means of solace they can hope for is the company of their own kind. Having another immortal around (particularly of the opposite sex) would help to ease the pressure of containing their obvious frustrations. It might curb their urge for enslaving the planet’s populace instead of just watching the original, homoerotic reruns of Johnny Quest on Nickelodeon for the gazillionth time (Not a woman in sight on that show and with scenes of Johnny and Hadji running around the hut they share in their Underoos whilst ambiguously gay duo Race Bannon and Doctor Quest “sleep” God knows where, is it really any wonder Johnny Quest has been the subject of tabloid scrutiny?). On the other hand, what if there were no other immortals around to confide in, share common problems with and maybe get in a quick 9 holes at St. Andrews after a hard day of not dying? After an eternity, one would think a body would be a scratch golfer, assuming eternity includes eternal youth as well. But then it would be just another mere skill on an impressive list of activities, sports and other disciplines they’ve mastered over the time. Wouldn’t living such a fate be nothing short of a major drag even if Tiger Woods were a hacker by comparison? With no other immortals around, everyone who they come in contact with, everyone who has touched their life, is only going to be around for a geologic eye blink relative to one who lives forever.
When does it all become too much, this test of tolerance, this witnessing of forever? Is forever truly that, or is it merely a notion that plays upon the distinction we have given the concept of time, a concept originally created by us in our need to master our surroundings and enhance our perspective of our place in the universe? Would an immortal, bored and exhausted by tedium begin to seek an end to their fate? How does an immortal go about killing themselves if it can’t be done? Would they settle for a deep coma? Can they even lapse into a coma or is immortality underwritten by invulnerability? Is there any way for them to find some sense of relief from their immortality or even a brief respite from themselves?
There are a lot of possibilities in life, opportunities and vocations to pursue and, if one is lucky, make their life’s work. Some wish to be a shortstop for the Yankees; others covet the life of a rock star. Personally, I chase my dreams of becoming a paid writer who makes his very living stringing words together for the amusement, or derision, of others. I’ve wanted to be a lot of things in my life. When asked in grade school, I wanted to be an airlines pilot. In hormonal adolescence the carefree life of your average porn star seemed like a legitimate concern worth looking into, relatively understandable for a curious teenage male. Fortunately wisdom eventually arises from the ashes of disappointment and disillusionment and more realistic goals are considered. I may not make my living as a writer yet, but I’d rather die chasing a dream than living an immortal life without any left to realize.
