Immortality and sentencing law

The time may not be far away where we may be able to live much longer than we do now – potentially forever. This will have an enormous impact on the way people live their lives as the underlying premise that life is finite underpins many of the central decisions and life choices we make. This paper outlines some philosophical and legal doctrines that are based on the premise that life is finite and some of the changes that may need to occur in light of medical advances in ageing. In particular, it focuses on the changes to sentencing law that may be necessary to accommodate increased human longevity. For the skeptics who refuse to accept the concept of immortality, the arguments presented do not depend on living forever. Some of the issues discussed here are also relevant, albeit in an attenuated manner, because of increases in human longevity that have occurred in the last 100 years.

Death and life at the cinematic beach

In this article, I will examine the ways in which the beach and its shoreline is designated as both a mortal and immortal location in cinema. On the one hand, I will suggest that the beach and the shoreline can bring death to those who visit it temporarily or who go there to claim it as a permanent home of their own. The beach creates a set of narrative and aesthetic possibilities for tragic endings, murderous encounters, physical and existential suicides, and spectacular battles between opposing forces to take place. The dangerous beach, then, is locatable as a site that participates in, and helps enact, loss and the death wishes of those who come to contemplate endings, kill or fight on its shifting sands, watery edges and lost horizons. On the other hand, the beach and its shoreline will be understood as a liminal place and space, where regeneration possibilities are enacted. In cinema, death at the beach and its shoreline may not always be the end but a new start beyond the life of the frame. At the beach, within the coastal water, mortality becomes immortality, flesh and body becomes transcendence and spirit, and the death of one self can lead to the (re)birth of another.

The Black Side of the Sun: Camus, Theology, and the Problem of Evil

Albert Camus is typically categorized as an atheistic thinker, in the same breath as Sartre. Yet there is a sizable, often sympathetic, theological response to his works, which deal at great length with Christian themes, wrestle with the problem of evil, and are animated by his own avowed desire — in strong contrast with Sartre and other existentialists — to preserve a sense of the sacred without belief in human immortality. This essay reconstructs three components of Camus’s rapport and disagreement with Christian theology, which he approached pre-eminently through the figure of Augustine, central to his early Diplome thesis. First, we recount the young Camus’s neopagan ‘‘religiosity’’ — a sense of the inhuman majesty and beauty of the natural world at the heart of what he termed (and later regretted terming) the ‘‘absurd,’’ and rooted in Camus’s own unitive experiences growing up amidst the sea, sand, and blazing sun of North Africa. Second, we look at Camus’s engagement with the problem of evil, which for Camus — as for many early modern thinkers such as Bayle or Voltaire — represented the decisive immanent tension in later medieval theology, vindicating — in ethical terms — the modern rebellions against altar, pulpit, and throne. The essay closes by rebutting the charge, strongly argued recently by Ronald Srigley, that Camus was (both) anti-modern because anti-Christian. Camus’s aim, we propose, was instead to bring together a neopagan sense of the wonder of the natural world and our participation in it, with the egalitarian components of Christian ethics, severed from secularized eschatological content.

Precarious decencies: negotiating creative (im)mortalities, in life, together

This paper takes up the question of what might hinder the collaborative impulse among artists and specifically poets, and offers—as one possible answer—the complication posed by the urge of an artist for immortality, or for their (individual) name to live on. The paper begins by returning to a moment in Plato, namely that of the Symposium and its observations concerning the connection between poiesis (making) and a questing after immortality. Contrasting with what seems like Plato's broadly positive framing, the paper takes up a second reading of immortality (or the 'will-to-live') found in an early text of the Yogic canon, that of Patanjali's Yoga Sutras. In this second text, written somewhat later than Plato's, the will-to-live is framed otherwise, as one of five afflictions that can be 'made thin' by practice. The paper's wager is that, viewed in this way, as an affliction, the will-to-live (or urge for immortality) deserves consideration as a hindrance to the impulse towards collaboration. Noting, however, that in the poiesis of writing poetry, where there is both the making of things and the action of making things, this creative constellation always contains the tempering solution to its own inherent lures. Writing, although providing fuel for immortal appetites (due to what it makes), also works to temper the worst of this same impulse via the contribution of practice—as dedication, craft and community-as-practice. The practice of writing, therefore, is already at play, and can be emphasised explicitly for any poet or maker who also wants to be able to want to collaborate. The practice of writing, then, and its turn away from investments in identity, works to thin out the more destructive face of an urge for a dubious eternity that can eclipse our ability to work together creatively with others in this life.