A deal on death

Here’s a hypothetical deal only one person I know would take:

You agree to reduce the length of your life by five years. In return you get to observe—without any chance to participate in activities or interact with people—for an extra ten years.

You’d be like a ghost for those ten years: just seeing and hearing, not acting, not helping, not being able in any way to make your presence known.

High price to pay, right?

You would sacrifice five years of hugging loved ones, chatting with friends, kissing, explaining, patting a back, giving advice, petting a pet, saying something funny, offering a hand, saying “I love you.” You would surrender, in other words, five years of being a presence on this planet.

In return for what? You would receive ten years of knowing what happens: to friends and family, to your country, to the planet, to humankind. Who partnered with or split up with whom? Which young people ended up doing what or going where? Who lived long? Who died young?

And more: Did global warming flood coastal cities? Did artificial intelligence prove a threat or a boon to humankind?  Did the Knicks somehow manage to win a championship? Who won future presidential elections in the United States—if there are future presidential elections in the United States?

That one person I know who might take this deal dreads death in large part because he or she—okay, he—aches to know what will happen next. Curiosity is, uh, killing him. He can’t stand the thought that he will never find out the answers to all these questions.

And that one person who might accept this deal is, of course, me.