BBC: Death... Not Quite Permanent?

I've been pondering life and death again (you know, as you do). We humans tend to think of the two as definite, opposing states of being. The vast majority of the time, we have no problem identifying someone as "alive" or "dead." But, as science fiction has predicted, we've arrived at an age when these concepts are no longer quite binary -- when it's possible to restore to life someone who's been, albeit briefly, declared dead. See this article from last year:

http://www.bbc.com/future/story/20140704-i-bring-the-dead-back-to-life

Cryonics and cryogenics has been a well-trodden trope in popular fiction for decades, from the works of Robert Heinlein and Arthur C. Clarke (of the "Golden Age of Science Fiction") to Captain America's decades of being frozen in a block of ice. Science is nowhere near such capabilities, of course, and it's important for the general public to understand what is and is not possible, to be able to distinguish between fact and fiction (and fiction that might well become fact in the future). Most of the scientists cited in the above BBC article, for example, are careful to qualify their work. But the mere possibility -- the mere notion that we might be capable of blurring the boundary between life and death -- calls into question some of humanity's most deep-seated beliefs.

One of the most memorable moments in genomics research (which could be considered the other end of the debate) came from Dr. Craig Venter, the geneticist and entrepreneur best known for his work in mapping the human genome and in artificially synthesizing life. When he was asked how he felt about "playing God," Venter famously replied, "I don't play."

Clever quip aside, the creation of life and the reversal of death are traditionally the provinces of myth. Much of human fascination with divinity and the supernatural stems from our desire to understand -- and in some small way, influence -- these opaque, immutable bookends to our time on earth. We, like all other living creatures, are by nature afraid of death, and seek to stave it off as long as we can. If given the option to return from the other side, I'd venture that most people would do so without hesitation. And who wouldn't want to bring back a newly-deceased loved one, if they could?

What, then, might it mean to live, if we could choose not to die? Issues of reproduction and overpopulation aside (though those, too, would become important challenges), would near-immortality change the nature of humanity? How and why would one decide to die? Tolkien's elves, incidentally, would be a close approximation of that dilemma.

I'm reminded of something a wise man once said, about that final journey:

"After all, to the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure."

~Albus Dumbledore, Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone

Discover: How Would Time Travel Actually Work (or, something for all the Whovians)?

A good, cogent article on the physics of time travel:
http://discovermagazine.com/2010/mar/02-the-real-rules-for-time-travelers/

I first encountered this explanation of time travel in Harry Potter and the Prizoner of Azkaban, where Harry and Hermione use a Time-Turner to save Sirus and Buckbeak. (I trust that I didn't spoil the book for anyone -- and if I did, you're way behind the times!) The detail of the Time Turner chapter that I found most memorable was the thud of the executioner's axe: Harry and Hermione heard it fall in real time and assumed that Buckbeak had been beheaded; however, when they went back in time to rescue the hippogryff, they realized that the sound they'd thought was Buckbeak's decapitation was actually the executioner swinging the axe into a hunk of wood in frustration upon discovering that Buckbeak had escaped. Harry and Hermione, therefore, did not change the timeline using the Time Turner; rather, events incorporated all nonlinear parts and intersections of the timeline.

The concept of free will, as the above article notes, becomes problematic if this framework of time is true. Nature, it would seem, is more like a Greek tragedy than we Americans would like to believe. We are uncomfortable with the idea of external limits on our free will, and time is too nebulous to most of us to think its laws as insurmountable as, say, those of Newtonian physics. If we were told that our free will is limited by gravity (no matter how much we might wish to levitate through the air, we cannot), we do not find it unjust. Told that Oedipus had no choice but to kill his father and marry his mother, despite all of his attempts to escape his fate, we find his situation grossly unfair. The above description of time travel suggests that our universe operates more like Oedipus's than we'd imagined.

I believe in free will. I do. But I'd love to try time travelling -- it sounds fascinating.

Owl Hunts Invisible Prey

Speaking of birds, here's a cute video my sister showed me a few days ago:



I want one! I think a large component of my early enthusiasm for Harry Potter formed around the arresting idea of keeping a pet owl to carry my mail. It's a literal amalgamation of two things I love: owls and handwritten letters.

I have no idea what it thinks is on/behind that door, but I'm sure it makes perfect sense in its own little head. Its expression is wonderful -- but then again, I suppose that's not really its doing. It reminds me of kittens with ping pong balls. (My father likes telling stories about how kittens are adorably stupid -- they can keep on chasing a ping pong ball for ages not realizing that they're never going to catch it.)