Techno-immortalism promises eternal life via tech, but Catholics see death as a pilgrim’s gate to resurrection. Embrace health; reject hubris. True hope: Christ’s victory over mortality.
Newsroom (06/11/2025, Gaudium Press ) In the quiet cadence of the Roman Missal, a Preface for Ordinary Time offers a profound thanksgiving: God has “fashioned for us a remedy out of mortality itself.” This ancient prayer underscores a Christian truth—that death, though an enemy, is woven into the tapestry of redemption. Yet humanity has long chafed against this boundary, alchemists brewing elixirs, pharaohs entombing themselves in pyramids, witches invoking forbidden rites. Today, the quest for eternal life dons the garb of science, nestled within transhumanism’s broader ambition to transcend human limits through technology. At its vanguard stands “techno-immortalism,” a movement vowing to vanquish aging entirely.
Bryan Johnson, the 48-year-old tech mogul turned anti-aging evangelist, embodies this crusade with messianic fervor. Founder of the “Don’t Die” movement—a slogan as blunt as it is audacious—Johnson proclaims himself the “most studied human being in history” and the “healthiest person on earth.” His regimen, algorithmically optimized and broadcast in real-time on his website, includes 50 daily supplements, precision-tuned sleep, diet, and exercise, plus experimental therapies like plasma transfusions from his teenage son.
Johnson, a lapsed Mormon, frames Don’t Die as a new religion, aiming to make it “the world’s most influential ideology by 2027.” “Most religions are selling a version of ‘Don’t Die,'” he declared in a recent interview. “Whereas before we had to make up stories, now, technically, it’s potentially possible.”
Johnson is no outlier. For two decades, gerontologist Aubrey de Grey has championed “longevity escape velocity,” the purported tipping point where medical advances extend life indefinitely, one breakthrough at a time. De Grey envisions humans routinely living thousands of years. Futurists like Ray Kurzweil push further, advocating “mind uploading”—digitizing consciousness into AI for perpetual existence in the cloud.
Catholics may dismiss this as Silicon Valley eccentricity, but leading thinkers warn of its creeping influence on healthcare, policy, and culture. Charles Camosy, a moral theology professor at The Catholic University of America who has dialogued with transhumanists in California, sees sincere intent but flawed foundations. “The Church teaches that life is a gift from God; we are stewards, not owners,” he explains. Techno-immortalism, he argues, feeds a “death-denying culture” that banishes the dying to institutions, erasing mortality from daily life. Pursuing infinite deferral risks amplifying this evasion, treating the body as an escape pod rather than a pilgrim’s vessel. Scripture calls death an enemy, yet the Church has long harnessed reason and science—building hospitals, advancing medicine—to alleviate suffering without denying finitude. “Death gives our lives meaning as pilgrims,” Camosy notes. “This is not our natural home.”
Stephen Umbrello, managing director at the Institute for Ethics and Emerging Technologies, echoes the call for dialogue. Many immortalists, he finds, are driven by grief and compassion—shared Catholic values, albeit misdirected. He urges them to heed Church teachings on death’s dignity and solidarity with the poor, lest longevity become an elite privilege. Mind uploading, he cautions, offers only a crude facsimile, never capturing the immortal soul. Catholics, he advises, should pray for equitable laws, protect the vulnerable, and urge pastors to revive memento mori preaching, eschatology, and funeral catechesis. “Salvation by machine is a false promise,” Umbrello insists. “Christian hope rests on the Resurrection and a glorified body given by God.”
Not all elements warrant rejection. Legionary Father Michael Baggot, a bioethics professor at Rome’s Pontifical Athenaeum Regina Apostolorum, affirms disciplined health habits as temperance, honoring the body as a “temple of the Holy Spirit.” Yet Johnson’s cult-like aura—biometrics over virtue—distorts priorities. “Parents and religious know that care for others disrupts optimized routines,” he observes. “Preoccupation with biometrics should not exceed concern for virtue.” Radical longevity could erode urgency for holiness; saints model a good life over a long one. “Extreme longevity is a sad substitute for eternal life,” Father Baggot declares.
Brian Patrick Green, technology ethics director at Santa Clara University’s Markkula Center, predicts practical benefits from longevity research—better treatments for age-related ills. But true immortality? “Extremely unlikely,” he deems it, viewing the movement as a godless remaking of reality. Jesus commanded healing, yet this ideology evangelizes with billionaire backing, risking a stratified future: eternal youth for the rich, obsolescence for the rest. Young people will confront it head-on.
Techno-immortalism seduces because it promises control in an uncontrollable world, echoing Eden’s temptation. Catholics must engage critically: embrace science’s gifts, reject its hubris. As policy tilts toward these visions—perhaps subsidizing unproven therapies or redefining end-of-life care—the Church’s voice is vital. Pastors, educators, and families should foster cultures that stare death down with hope, not denial. In Christ’s remedy from mortality, we find not evasion, but victory. The quest to “Don’t Die” ultimately reminds us: true life begins where this one ends.
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