The possible defeat of death by science is often considered a fait accompli. In daily conversations, it is often assumed, a future assured. It is the end of history, and we have seen it afar off. Whether we shall be there in that final step and in whatever form it may come, we are sure it is sure to come. I myself find that I am not so sure, but though I cannot share the materialist’s childlike faith, I do not think this a foolish impossibility.
The question might be posed, “How long can this flesh be preserved?” but I might rejoin, “How long may smoke be preserved?” If an artist preserved smoke, say in a painting or perhaps by the clever means of some resin sculpture or whatnot, if a scientist preserved smoke, say on a photograph or by video—whatever method employed, the end would not be smoke. Ceci n’est pas une pipe. We may preserve the image on some indelible material by some indefatigable method, but not the substance.
I said earlier that I do not think such a final state a foolish impossibility; I might say that I fear it is a foolish probability.
Tale Told 