This is an important connection. Seasonal changes in light may alter circadian signaling and neurotransmitter systems, which could explain fluctuations in psychiatric symptoms.
This Lexicon is a great idea, mTOR, autophagy and caloric restriction all sit on one connected map instead of three separate explainer posts. I write BioRewired, breaking down aging mechanisms and geroscience the same way, mechanism first, then what is actually overhyped versus real. Would love to see this expanded to include senolytics.
I find myself wondering, with a certain uneasy fascination, whether our current obsession with longevity medicine is not, in truth, the ultimate triumph of the ego—that fat, relentless mechanism that spends its entire existence weaving a fantasy of its own importance.
We sometimes speak of "curing" aging as if death were a mere technical error, a glitch in the biological machinery, when in reality, the terror of the void is the very thing that keeps us locked in the claustrophobic prison of the self.
If I attempt to look at this through the lens of Mahayana Buddhism, I see a mirror held up to our most cherished delusions.
The Buddhist concept of *shunyata*, or emptiness, suggests that this "I" we are so desperate to preserve—this fragile, shimmering identity we wish to extend indefinitely—does not actually exist as a permanent entity. It is a process, a shifting constellation of aggregates. To apply the tools of longevity medicine to this illusory self is, perhaps, like trying to polish a reflection in a pond to keep the image from fading. We are not preserving a person; we are merely prolonging the duration of a misunderstanding.
There is something deeply poignant, perhaps even pathetic, in the image of a human being living for five hundred years while remaining entirely captive to their own narcissism.
I suspect the Mahayana practitioner would observe our quest for biological immortality not with condemnation, but with a profound, aching compassion. They would see that we are attempting to solve a spiritual crisis with a pharmacological solution. We seek more time, but we do not know what to do with the time we have, because our attention is turned inward, focused on the maintenance of the vessel rather than the quality of the gaze.
And yet, I must wrestle with the Bodhisattva ideal, for it introduces a genuine moral tension. The vow to remain in the cycle of suffering until every other being is liberated is, in a sense, a commitment to an infinite lifespan.
But the distinction is critical: the Bodhisattva does not seek longevity to avoid death, but to maximize the possibility of love. The desire for life is transformed from a grasping, fearful clinging into a selfless instrument of service.
One wonders if our modern longevity project is capable of such a pivot.
Can we envision a world where we seek to extend our lives not because we are afraid to leave, but because we are so enamored with the task of alleviating the suffering of others that a century simply feels insufficient?
I suspect the answer lies in the nature of attention.
For me, the moral life is a matter of unselfing—of learning to see the world and other people as they truly are, stripped of the distortions of my own needs and fears. Longevity medicine, in its current trajectory, seems to be a project of *re-selfing*. It asks us to attend to the telomere, the protein, the cellular decay—to attend to the "me" with a microscopic intensity.
Ultimately, I am left with the feeling that the most luminous part of our existence is precisely its transience.
There is a terrifying beauty in the fact that we must end. It is the ticking clock that forces us, however reluctantly, to stop staring at our own reflections and to actually look at the other.
To remove the horizon of death might be to remove the very thing that makes the pursuit of the Good urgent. We might find that in achieving the biological dream of immortality, we have accidentally murdered the only thing that made us human: the necessity of letting go.
I am a low vision communicator who uses assistive technology.
This is an important connection. Seasonal changes in light may alter circadian signaling and neurotransmitter systems, which could explain fluctuations in psychiatric symptoms.
This Lexicon is a great idea, mTOR, autophagy and caloric restriction all sit on one connected map instead of three separate explainer posts. I write BioRewired, breaking down aging mechanisms and geroscience the same way, mechanism first, then what is actually overhyped versus real. Would love to see this expanded to include senolytics.
I find myself wondering, with a certain uneasy fascination, whether our current obsession with longevity medicine is not, in truth, the ultimate triumph of the ego—that fat, relentless mechanism that spends its entire existence weaving a fantasy of its own importance.
We sometimes speak of "curing" aging as if death were a mere technical error, a glitch in the biological machinery, when in reality, the terror of the void is the very thing that keeps us locked in the claustrophobic prison of the self.
If I attempt to look at this through the lens of Mahayana Buddhism, I see a mirror held up to our most cherished delusions.
The Buddhist concept of *shunyata*, or emptiness, suggests that this "I" we are so desperate to preserve—this fragile, shimmering identity we wish to extend indefinitely—does not actually exist as a permanent entity. It is a process, a shifting constellation of aggregates. To apply the tools of longevity medicine to this illusory self is, perhaps, like trying to polish a reflection in a pond to keep the image from fading. We are not preserving a person; we are merely prolonging the duration of a misunderstanding.
There is something deeply poignant, perhaps even pathetic, in the image of a human being living for five hundred years while remaining entirely captive to their own narcissism.
I suspect the Mahayana practitioner would observe our quest for biological immortality not with condemnation, but with a profound, aching compassion. They would see that we are attempting to solve a spiritual crisis with a pharmacological solution. We seek more time, but we do not know what to do with the time we have, because our attention is turned inward, focused on the maintenance of the vessel rather than the quality of the gaze.
And yet, I must wrestle with the Bodhisattva ideal, for it introduces a genuine moral tension. The vow to remain in the cycle of suffering until every other being is liberated is, in a sense, a commitment to an infinite lifespan.
But the distinction is critical: the Bodhisattva does not seek longevity to avoid death, but to maximize the possibility of love. The desire for life is transformed from a grasping, fearful clinging into a selfless instrument of service.
One wonders if our modern longevity project is capable of such a pivot.
Can we envision a world where we seek to extend our lives not because we are afraid to leave, but because we are so enamored with the task of alleviating the suffering of others that a century simply feels insufficient?
I suspect the answer lies in the nature of attention.
For me, the moral life is a matter of unselfing—of learning to see the world and other people as they truly are, stripped of the distortions of my own needs and fears. Longevity medicine, in its current trajectory, seems to be a project of *re-selfing*. It asks us to attend to the telomere, the protein, the cellular decay—to attend to the "me" with a microscopic intensity.
Ultimately, I am left with the feeling that the most luminous part of our existence is precisely its transience.
There is a terrifying beauty in the fact that we must end. It is the ticking clock that forces us, however reluctantly, to stop staring at our own reflections and to actually look at the other.
To remove the horizon of death might be to remove the very thing that makes the pursuit of the Good urgent. We might find that in achieving the biological dream of immortality, we have accidentally murdered the only thing that made us human: the necessity of letting go.
I am a low vision communicator who uses assistive technology.
To the memory of the Blessed Margaret Pole.
Fantastic! Great visual! How can we access this Lexicon and search to topics!
Super interesting. 👍