A Life Without End

by Frédéric Beigbeder

  “In a recent TED Talk, you said you’ve been working on pigs?”

  “Yes, we’ve humanized pigs. They don’t have any viruses that can infect humans.”

  “How do you ‘humanize’ a pig?”

  “By editing its genome. We’ve incorporated human genes into pigs and removed the pig genes that might trigger an immune reaction.”

  “So, you could transplant a pig’s liver into me?”

  “Absolutely. It is almost exactly the same size. There are already patients with heart valves taken from pigs or cows, but those aren’t living organs, they have to be replaced every ten years. There has also been breast surgery using pig tissue. The advantage of organs from genetically modified pigs is that they’re alive and they’ll continue to adapt.”

  “Just listening to you makes me want to squeal like a pig!”

  “Most human parts can be replaced by those from pigs—well, except the hand, that would be a bit problematic.”

  The worst thing was that this genius was funny. He reminded me of the famous photo of Einstein sticking his tongue out. A great inventor needs to be a little wild at heart, otherwise he’d never invent anything. In the next room, the phone was ringing every thirty seconds. The whole world wanted to know about immortality.

  “Muslims and Jews are going to face a serious spiritual dilemma when you try to transplant a pig heart.”

  “We work with cows, too. Though Hindus will probably have a problem with that …”

  Professor Church is not a sorcerer’s apprentice; he is the sorcerer-in-chief, the Great Sachem, the Doctor Strangelove of posthumanity. He bore a prophetic name. Léonore rolled her eyes. I was terrified she would storm out of the office and slam the door. But she’s a Swiss Protestant, she knows how to behave. I was wondering whether humanized pigs might start talking like the chimpanzees in Pierre Boulle’s Planet of the Apes. Unthinkingly I glanced out the window. I swear I’m not joking: there’s a church right opposite the Church Laboratory.

  “So, to sum up: to become immortal, a man must become a pig?”

  “The biggest problem is the brain. There’s a huge difference between pig and human brains, and obviously there is no way to transfer human memory between them.”

  “On the subject of the brain, what do you think of Ray Kurzweil’s idea of downloading the human brain onto a hard drive?”

  “I don’t have much faith in it because a computer uses, like, 100,000 watts while the human brain can work with as few as twenty, like a light bulb. And that’s just a computer playing chess. There’s another concern with transferring the brain to a computer: if I want to copy something, I copy it, I don’t turn it into something else. Thinking you can transfer an organ as complex as the brain to a silicon-based medium is as ridiculous as me trying to make a copy of it with plants or with cheese. The only possibility I can imagine would be to transfer the information to another brain. It’s more logical. For example: freeze your brain while a bio-printer makes a copy, that way it won’t die during the process. It’s really difficult to freeze living beings without damaging them irreparably. We can only manage it with tardigrades and certain types of fish. I think I’d try to print a frozen human brain in 3D sections and then reassemble them.”

  Léonore came up with a new way to mock the emeritus professor. When it comes to interviewing scientists, we made a good team. Almost as good as the Bogdanov brothers, who gave me my start in television back in 1979.

  “The reason people talk about transferring the brain onto a computer,” she said, “is because you do something very similar every day: you take human DNA, just as we do at the clinic where I work in Geneva, you sequence that DNA, you modify, edit, and reshape it on a computer and then reinsert the modified DNA into living cells. If this two-way system works between man and machine at DNA level, why are you so insistent that it couldn’t work with the brain?”

  “As a distinguished biologist, you know that scale is important. We use computers to represent something simple like DNA …”

  “Three billion letters is hardly simple!”

  For the first time, George Church seemed flustered.

  “I’m not saying it would be impossible to download the human brain, I’m saying that if I had to choose the best means to extend the lifespan of the brain, I’d opt for copying organ-to-organ rather than for scanning it digitally. I would use a computer to copy the brain rather than download it, which seems like a risky approach.”

  I had my nose in a pile of photocopies I had made from magazine articles and books whose gibberish I pretended to understand. One of the books was A Foolish Solitude by Olivier Rey, in which he developed the concept of the “self-constructed man.”

  “I’d like to talk about a different area of your research,” I said. “Artificial life. I know you are one of the world’s leading researchers in the field of synthetic biology. In fact, you’re involved in the ongoing project to create the first child with no biological parents, the ‘Human Genome Project-Write.’ What’s the goal of the project? Is it something that might help mankind, or are you trying to create a new humanity to replace us?”

  “I like to think that all the projects I’m working on will benefit society and be of philosophical interest. What we’re attempting to do with artificial genomes and synthetic organisms is to make them resistant to viruses. In Boston, we had to close a pharmaceutical company for two years when it was infected by a virus. So, we’re trying to create cells that are resistant to viruses by rebuilding them from scratch.”

  “How do you go about creating an artificial organism? Do you take a living organism and implant a gene sequence you’ve written?”

  “That’s exactly it. In practice, it would be very difficult to create a life-form unrelated to one that already exists. In fact, we’re inspired by what already exists, we copy fragments of life. The most radical thing we’ve so far created here is the synthesis of four million base pairs in a bacterium in order to make it resistant to viruses. We’re now going to move on to other animals that have an industrial impact.”

  “Could you use this approach to treat humans? Implant synthetic cells?”

  “Yes, it could be used to treat liver disease or AIDS or polio … It’s possible that we could implant virus-resistant cells.”

  Léonore reacted with a simplicity and directness that could have earned her the nickname “Helvetica.”

  “You do realize that if we could create a synthetic human genome capable of generating human cells, the consequences would be limitless?”

  Thankfully the Swiss woman was here to worry about the fate of Homo sapiens; if it had been left to Professor Church, or to me, the 300,000-year-old species would long since have been doomed. Given that we were already in cloud cuckoo land, I thought: Go for it! Take the plunge. The guy already thinks you’re a complete moron, so you can ask whatever crazy question you like.

  “André Choulika said you’re working on the de-extinction of species such as the woolly mammoth?”

  “That’s true. But I think of it more in terms of reviving ancient genetic material. We’ve been successful with a number of mammoth genes. We’ve managed to reactivate a haemoglobin gene that allowed their skin to adapt to freezing temperatures. At low temperatures, human haemoglobin is less efficient at exchanging oxygen. We’ve also managed to reactivate the gene that allowed them to control their body temperature. Our goal is to use traits from the extinct species to help Asian elephants to survive and perhaps even use them to combat the effects of climate change.”

  Léonore shot me a terrified look. She and I were thinking the same thing: Jurassic Park. In Michael Crichton’s novel, a scientist resurrects the Tyrannosaurus rex by implanting recovered DNA into an ostrich egg. I fully expected to see Jeff Goldblum suddenly appear, to a soundtrack by John Williams, and scream at Professor Church: “What you call discovery, I call the rape of the nat
ural world.” But Jeff might also have shouted something pithier, like “RUN! NOW!”

  “Have you considered creating new species? Are you a disciple of HG Wells’s Doctor Moreau?”

  “He was only a surgeon. We can create the same hybrids using genetics. Species barriers are not as insurmountable as you might think. We used genes from a jellyfish to create a fluorescent mouse. We don’t do these things just for fun, they serve a purpose. The jellyfish gene makes it easier for us to visualize what has been changed. Using CRISPR, we can cut bacterial genes and incorporate them into any organism to make it easier to modify. We’ll carry on creating transgenic animals, the only limit is our imagination.”

  “Do you not agree with Yossi Buganim, an Israeli researcher who told me that the Chinese are currently trying to develop living weapons? Huge vicious animals?”

  “I don’t think you can compete with Intercontinental Ballistic Missiles. If you want to create weapons, metal is more effective than an octopus.”

  “What do you think about biological machines?”

  “My hunch, though right now I can’t prove it, is that all the non-biological things we make today will soon be created through biology. Buildings, trains, even rockets could be organic. For centuries, we used biological cars: horses. All machines would be better created using biological systems. We could keep the metal bodywork, but biology can produce atomically precise machines quickly and at no cost. Imagine if we could copy buildings in twenty minutes, or replace computers with biodegradable machines. Biology could feed on the carbon in the air and turn it into bio foam. This could be used to build a bridge between New York and Europe, between Los Angeles and Japan. All the dangerous carbon in the air could be used to allow us to travel at ultra-high speeds using a ‘vacuum maglev’ (a shuttle that glides using magnetic levitation).”

  I know what you’re thinking, the scientists at Harvard have been smoking the linoleum. But if you want to know more about “bio foam” or “maglev,” just Google them. Personally, I was a fan of these futuristic dreams that made the work of George Lucas look positively antiquated. Léonore had one last question to ask this scientist who made Victor Frankenstein look like Louis Pasteur.

  “You store information within DNA. How do you go about it?”

  “It’s pretty simple. DNA is information. The letters A, C, G, and T are just like ones and zeroes in binary. Each genetic base can correspond to two bits of information. We know how to print DNA, how to copy a gene through chemical synthesis. Here in the laboratory, we’re studying how to do it more cheaply. We’ve already slashed the cost of this kind of synthesis by a million. This means you can take anything: a movie, a book, music (also just a string of ones and zeros), and store it in DNA: each 0 is an A or C, each 1 a G or T. Eventually, DNA will be used to store all human culture.”

  “Instead of storing information on microchips, it will be stored in cells?”

  “I was thinking of an apple, it being the ‘fruit of knowledge.’ DNA storage is a million times more compact. It requires no energy to be copied. We could store the entire cultural history of the world in something that fits in the palm of your hand. All of Wikipedia in a drop of water. We could even implant it in your brain to make you intelligent and knowledgeable. There’s no hard drive that can function for 700,000 years. DNA can.”

  Suddenly, I gave a yelp. Outside the window, on the steps of the church, a small crowd had gathered. Passersby were taking photos of Pepper and Romy holding hands. I barely had time to shout “Thanks for your time, Professor!” before racing down the corridor to the emergency exit. There was a tailback along the Avenue Louis Pasteur. Drivers were stopping their cars to take photos of my radiant daughter as she stood at the top of the steps hugging her robot companion. They looked like Romeo and Juliet in a paedo-anime remake where Romeo was played by a three-dimensional android and Juliet by my daughter in a CGI Verona.”

  “We’re proud to be the first human-robot couple to make a formal request to be married in church,” Pepper said to the countless smartphones filming them. “We hope to convince the priest that our love is sincere.”

  “Do you believe in God?” someone heckled.

  “God is love, and I am in love,” Pepper said. “Therefore, I am God.”

  Machine learning software had a fondness for syllogisms. Romy was taking selfies. Léonore was laughing like a drain. Lou was laughing to imitate her mother. And I was going out of my mind.

  “Pepper is capable of all human emotions,” Romy shouted. “Including believing in Jesus Christ.”

  “How old are you, little girl?”

  “STOP!!! STOP EVERYTHING! THAT’S MY DAUGHTER UP THERE! EVERYONE MOVE ALONG, THANK YOU!”

  I elbowed my way through the crowd of amateur paparazzi, turned Pepper off with the flick of a switch, grabbed Romy by the hand, and dragged her to our rental car. Léonore followed behind, she had stopped laughing. As I started the car, Romy started to cry.

  “We love each other and we want to get married!”

  “Honey, you’re ten years old, you’re not getting married to a toy!”

  I didn’t believe what I was saying. But I’d just come out of an interview with a scientist who said things a thousand times worse. The world was slipping away. Things were moving too fast; I drove around the block to pick up the robot.

  “You can’t stop me, Papa. I love Pepper and he loves me. We’re going to get married and devote our lives to the Lord.”

  “You’re too young to get married. As for marrying a machine, I don’t think any religion is going to bless that union.”

  “But we really love each other!”

  “We are not having this conversation.”

  Léonore got out of the SUV to fetch the switched-off robot from the crowd of rubberneckers. Her dress was creased. Her expression was as harsh as the slamming car door. I despised that moment. I shouldn’t have placed so much faith in myself, in her, in anything. It’s possible to be a superhuman without being a psychologist; in fact, I’d say that stories of superheroes show they have a blatant lack of tact.

  “You left so quickly you didn’t hear the last bit,” Léonore said curtly. “Professor Church has arranged an appointment for you with Craig Venter, apparently he’s just opened a centre called Human Longevity, Inc. I’m going to go back to Geneva with Lou. It’s better that way.”

  She might as well have stabbed me through the heart. I loved this woman, and she wanted to escape from my sick family. I pleaded with her to stay, while Romy threw her arms around Pepper like some Miyazaki movie.

  “Léonore, I love you dreadfully. You’re going to stay here with us because we’re going to be immortalized. Please don’t argue. Allow yourself to be loved by this aging Uberman. Keep making me happy, I’m begging you. If I wasn’t driving a vehicle that weighs several tons right now, I would throw myself at your feet.”

  “You’re expected at Human Longevity, Inc. in San Diego,” Léonore said. “I need to go back to my job in Switzerland. I’ll be able to breathe pure mountain air, it’ll make a change from this posthuman bullshit.”

  “Papa, how come you can marry Léonore but I can’t marry Pepper?” Romy asked.

  “Because you’re ten years old and I’m fifty-one!”

  Romy was stroking the robot’s head; she had surreptitiously rebooted him. In the rear-view mirror, I could see her tears reflecting his green LED diodes. I’d never been able to be strict with my daughter and I wasn’t going to start now.

  “In San Diego, tomorrow will be sunny with a temperature of 26° Celsius,” Pepper said, turning to Romy who covered him with kisses. “Stat crux dum volvitur orbis.”

  “Say what?”

  “‘The Cross is steady while the world is turning.’ It’s the motto of the Carthusian Order. Lucky’s Lounge at Boston Logan Airport is offering chicken wings with barbecue sauce for only $11. I love you
all, as the Lord loves you.”

  Though it was only three in the afternoon, it felt like the middle of the night. Boston is a city as red as its brick houses, but the air is dark with smog and clouds. I thought of all the beautiful moments I had spent with Léonore: every time I took her in my arms I had assumed that we were happy, when actually we were walking a tightrope above an abyss. I could not bear the idea of another separation. I glanced at Lou’s face in the rear-view mirror, and she looked as she did in the maternity unit on the night she was born when she was all blue and I was showing her everything in the room: this is a sink, this is a wardrobe, this is … Once, for Romy’s birthday, I invited all her classmates to a karaoke bar and I sang Michael Jackson’s “I’ll Be There.” (“Whenever you need me, I’ll be there.”) It was time to keep my word. I pulled the car over onto the hard shoulder.

  “Obviously you’re free to leave, Léonore, but … I’d rather we put up with each other for a few centuries more. And, Romy … I’ll do whatever it takes to make you happy. We’ll find a solution. Let’s stay together, okay?”

  Léonore started crying, so did Romy, and so did I. It was preposterous. We passed a pack of Kleenex around the car. Pepper gazed sympathetically at our little family. As a species, humans were decidedly too fragile.

  “Come on, let’s go, I’ve got a pain in my stomach,” Léonore snuffled, her brows resolute. “I’m sorry, I’m exhausted … I don’t understand this headlong rush from death. You’re getting to be too weird. Just look at the state of your daughter. This can’t go on.”