Expiry Date

Get on, if you vant to live.
        Arnold Schwarzenegger in Terminator II 

There are many other words for Expiry Date, and even a symbol: Expiration Date (the worst), Use By Date, Best Before, Shelf Life, and as to the symbol, a little hourglass followed by the date. I began to reflect very soberly on these things the first time I made a casual examination of the items in my cupboard. Most foods and medication will give you up to two or three years. I’ve even speculated, with a wry smile, whether I would live that long.

Several things have contributed to my musings on senescence, and the scary rate of technological progress which is leaving many of the older generation behind. There has long been a focus on youth and progress, a treadmill we have all been desperate to keep pace with. Dignity and respect for the wisdom of the elders have gone by the board. The elders are now constrained to keep up, speak the language of the young, dumb down, dress like lamb, move-move-move, e-mail and text, read on Kindle, download, shop on line, and generally have less physical, personal contact with their fellow humans. No more hands on. You may sleep in a real bed at night, and I certainly had a lie-down test on mine in a shop before I bought it, but you will probably buy your stove or washing machine on line, not see or test it before some real people come to install it and take the old one away.

Unless you have had some work done on your face, you may become increasingly aware of being relegated because you are obviously of the older generation. This may be evident in the sometimes snappy way you are asked if you are a pensioner; the slightly raised voice (you are probably deaf), the simplification and slowing down of speech (you are probably a bit slow, too) if you haven’t responded briskly enough to a query in, say, a pharmacy or in the reception area of a surgery. Men and women in large part respond to these less than pleasant experiences differently. There’s the grumpy old codger, muttering in a queue behind you, or sitting in small groups of two or three, grumbling together like a gathering storm. There’s the older bully-boy, who would like to be treated as one of the lads, and is willing to flirt with women of any age. Then there is also the dignified gent, who may strike up a conversation with a stranger, but who maintains his self-respect, and can exude confidence and wisdom. Men, I feel, suffer more from being relegated and dismissed in old age than women. They may be retired, incapable of much physical activity, and generally feel useless and unwanted. There are some, of course, who are most reluctant to relinquish power and control in the face of increasing frailty or diminished capacity to maintain a role, as witness Mugabe, Mubarak, Gaddafi, and even the likes of Berlusconi, not to mention the sick horror that is Kim Jong Il.

It is extremely hard for both men and women when they get the impression that, as far as doctors and dentists are concerned, they are no longer worth the effort, even though they may claim to be able to afford the treatment. There was a dreadful pre-war Austro-Hungarian joke that my grandfather used to tell, about an elderly man who was referred to a urologist. The doctor examines his patient and asks him all sorts of questions. Finally he asks, “How old are you, sir?” “Ninety-two, doctor.” “Oh, well, you’ve peed enough!”

The physical problem that is commoner among men than women is deafness. I have never had confirmation as to whether the cause may be genetic or due to the use of machinery or other exposure to noise. I have had to block my ears at some concerts, because the sound technician, who was obviously deaf, has turned up the volume to painful levels. Deafness may well be a contributory factor to the irritability of some older men.

As for women, I feel sorry for the many who, often well past their prime, feel constrained to dress and conduct themselves like their daughters. Plunging necklines and tight pants don’t do much to enhance a less than perfect figure at any age, and nor do plump arms adorned with tattoos. I was charmed, however, by a television ad of late for up-market cookware, spruiked by an elegant older woman who confesses that she has made some mistakes in her time, and then the camera zooms in on a tattoo around her arm.

Most women of a certain age no longer seek role models and many still command the respect of the younger members of their families and assist in areas such as child care and practical domestic advice. I know a few men who do more than their share of grandfatherly duty. While much of this may be exhausting effort for an older person, these people feel needed, not relegated. Many older people care for a disabled spouse or child, which they do admirably and with love. 

What has dismayed me, as an older person, is my inability to keep up with technological progress. All right, I write on the computer, I Google information (and get disgusted and impatient with the bum steers), I do some banking (not all—I still pay many bills by phone), but I don’t e-mail or Skype or download music or edit photos. Something inside me has said, Enough. There are real people out there who will help me. “Real people” have been an advertising ploy recently adopted by several businesses. I have just bought a new camera, but technophobe that I am, I have yet to practise using it. There are people out there who can help me.

I was gobsmacked by an article in the February 21 issue of Time magazine on the exponential acceleration of computer technology. The article examines a mind‑blowing movement called Singularitarianism. Get your mind and your tongue around that! My computer’s spell-checker is not wearing it. It sounds like a religion, and a scary one, doesn’t it? According to one of the chief proponents, Raymond Kurzweil, computers are getting faster and faster, and by 2045 will surpass the brainpower of all human brains combined. We will have been Darwined out! The only small comfort I can take is in the meaning of Kurzweil’s name, which translates roughly from German as “diversion” and hints at a certain transience.

As the author of the Time article, Lev Grossman, points out, Singularity is a term borrowed from astro-physics, referring to a point in space-time, as, for example, in a black hole, at which the rules of ordinary physics do not apply.

Singularitarians believe in humanity’s cyborganic destiny. Kurzweil refers to exponentially accelerating progress which he calls the law of accelerating returns. Grossman notes that those attending the August 2010 Singularity summit included not only computer scientists, but also psychologists, neuroscientists, nanotechnologists, molecular biologists, and a specialist in wearable computers, among many others.

One Singularity summit veteran, Aubrey de Grey, is one of the world’s best-known life extension researchers involved in regenerative medicine. Kurzweil himself has written two books on life extension, and his program involves taking up to 200 pills a day. And I thought my eight pills a day was ludicrous.

The most alarming element of Kurzweil’s projection is the possibility of transferring our minds to sturdier vessels such as computers and robots, offering us the promise of being functionally immortal. Lev Grossman states reassuringly, “But it is also possible that there are things in our brains that can’t be duplicated electronically … The neurochemical architecture that generates the ephemeral chaos that we know as human consciousness may just be too complex.” Grossman poses a number of philosophical and ethical questions, including, “As we approach immortality, omniscience and omnipotence, will our lives still have meaning?”

Many of us will not live to see the Singularity eventuate, and would not be keen to be immortalised in any case. I wonder what criteria would apply to what would inevitably be a very privileged elite?

How would these sturdier vessels be maintained? What production line and resource gathering would be involved? Would the organic world eventually fall into neglect and disuse in the distant future? What need then of animal husbandry and farming practice? What of breeding and procreation? What of moral obligation and responsibility? What of love, or emotion, or engagement of any kind? Who would bother with nostalgia for Mozart, or even for Creedence Clearwater Revival? Who would read or remember poetry? The Singularitarians seem to have no interest in anything outside their Aspergerish line of vision, which seems pretty linear, despite their radical exponential claims.

In the next few weeks there is predicted to be a huge solar flare which, it is predicted, will disrupt all manner of electronics and communication. Wouldn’t this sort of event possibly cause the cyborgs of the future to fall down in a heap? I recall the apprehension in the world of technology as we approached the new millennium. It was our take, then, on chiliasm, or the feeling that the end is nigh. In the event there was no collapse of telecommunications. The internet did not go haywire.

We may rage, rage against the dying of the light, but the prospect of living forever in a world devoid of any real beauty or joy is not very appealing. Kurzweil’s projection may well be on the cards, but I hope and pray my children and grandchildren will enjoy the best things in a real life. And I doubt that the Singularity will be able to remove pain and sorrow.

In the meantime I’m going to study the instructions for my new camera, or I might go back to Alexander McCall Smith’s latest Mma Ramotswe book, The Double Comfort Safari Club. Much more joy in that. Besides, I like hard copy, the feel and experience of a real book, with pages to turn.

Valerie Murray lives in northern New South Wales.