Can science make us live forever—and should it?

From ancient myth to modern medicine, the dream to live longer has moved into the lab

I have always been fascinated by our obsession with time. We want to stop it, stretch it, outwit it. The oldest known surviving epic poem, The Epic of Gilgamesh, from ancient Mesopotamia is a tale of a man chasing immortality. Spanish explorer Juan Ponce de León, whether or not he searched for the Fountain of Youth, has gone down in history as if he did. The Greeks had Clotho, the spinner of life’s thread, and the gods themselves were defined by eternity, what mortals could never have. Or could they now? From the beginning, we have looked at ageing not as a natural course but as a problem to solve.

Now, the myth has moved into the laboratory. The alchemists of today are not trying to turn lead into gold but to turn back the clock. We know now why we wrinkle, why our joints creak, why memory fades. Our DNA frays at the edges, like the tips of shoelaces. Some of our cells turn zombie, refusing to die but refusing to live, releasing toxins that drag everything else down with them. Even mitochondria, the supposed powerhouse of the cell, lose their charge. What was once fate has been itemised into a checklist of processes, each with its own potential fix. This is where a new class of drugs called senolytics comes in, designed to specifically clear these rogue cells from the body.

In one of my more memorable encounters, I listened to Bali-based Cuban research biologist Diego Garrido speak of a protein called Klotho. The name comes from Clotho, the Greek Fate who spins our lives into being. Klotho, he said, could be the molecule of youth. When its levels are high, the body stays sharper, the mind clearer. When they fall, deterioration sets in. Mice with extra Klotho live up to 30 per cent longer, their bodies strong, their brains alert. Humans with more of it tend to live almost a decade more than their peers. Imagine, a single injection of DNA instructing the body to secrete more Klotho, sharpening memory, even nudging IQ upward. It sounds like science fiction; but once it moves beyond animal testing and into human trials, it could be a reality.

Above Young woman with a photo of an aged eye over her own (Photo: Getty Images)

Young woman with a photo of an aged eye over her own (Photo: Getty Images)

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The irony is that exercise, an hour of sweat, can also trigger Klotho. So here lies the paradox. Do we really need the miracle syringe when the treadmill is cheaper? Today, a new class of drugs called calorie restriction mimetics is being tested, which may offer a third path, a pill that mimics the effects of a workout. This tension between the futuristic and the elemental, between gene therapy and the jog around the block, captures the heart of longevity.

Scientists are now less interested in how many birthdays you have had than in how old your body really is. Enter the epigenetic clock, a way of reading patterns on your DNA to tell if your tissues are aging faster or slower than the calendar. GrimAge, one of the most accurate clocks, predicts mortality more reliably than telomere length ever did. Yet even here, well-ageing physician Dr Kaycee Reyes, whom I spoke with at her clinic Luminisce, reminds me not to get carried away. She laughs at the glamour of these clocks because, as she puts it, what people want is not a number. They want to stay strong, sharp and disease-free. They want the feeling of youth, not just its measure.

In Manila, longevity has moved from journals and conferences into clinics. What once sounded like the stuff of Davos panels is now a menu of treatments at Belo, Aivee and Luminisce. Consider the exosome therapy now on offer. What once existed as a concept in a research lab, tiny cellular messengers that instruct cells to behave young again, is now a routine injection. Patients are paying for ampoules of these cellular whispers, hoping to tell tired tissues to repair themselves, to coax the skin into a glow. This isn’t just about surface beauty. It’s a direct intervention at the cellular level, echoing the latest in regenerative medicine, including breakthroughs in stem cell therapy, the futuristic goal of organ regeneration and even 3D bioprinting to grow human tissues and organs from scratch. An almost alchemical promise grounded in biology, it’s a testament to our unwillingness to accept decline without a fight.

Above A buetay procedure in progress (Photo: Pexels)

A buetay procedure in progress (Photo: Pexels)

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Reyes sees patients who ask for more than smooth skin. They want clarity of mind, energy, a sense that life is still in their hands. She tells me that people in their fifties who surround themselves with younger friends seem to age more slowly, as though youth can be caught by osmosis. And perhaps it can. In Okinawa and Sardinia, the famed blue zones where centenarians thrive, the secret is not a serum but a sense of purpose, a circle of belonging. Austrian neurologist and psychologist Viktor Frankl survived the Holocaust and lived up to age 92 because he clung to a reason to live, a theme central to his philosophy.

Still, I cannot shake the discomfort that radical longevity might not be for everyone. The billionaires funding gene therapies are likely to be their first beneficiaries. While a single infusion of NAD+, a popular longevity treatment, can run well over PHP 60,000 (US$1,000), the true cutting edge of longevity science, like comprehensive health assessments and personalised cellular therapies, can cost millions of pesos or tens of thousands of US dollars annually. The gap between rich and poor, already a scandal of injustice, could stretch further into time itself. To live longer would become another privilege, bought and sold. What happens when money buys not just mansions and yachts but decades?

Above Two senior women in a convertible car, arms outstretched (Photo: Getty Images)

Two senior women in a convertible car, arms outstretched (Photo: Getty Images)

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Philosophers have long said that life draws meaning from its finiteness. A flame is mesmerising because it will eventually burn out. A snowflake is unique because it melts on contact. If we could live forever, what would urgency mean? What would sacrifice mean? There is a risk that in seeking to extend life at all costs, we forget what it is for.

For me, the answer lies not only in the lab or the clinic. Longevity is also in the long dinners with friends, in laughter, in purpose, in the human bonds that no infusion can replicate. Research tells us that loneliness can kill as surely as disease. It raises the risk of heart attacks, dementia, even early death. Human connection, on the other hand, extends life. Which makes it, perhaps, the simplest therapy of all.

So, who wants to live forever? I would say not me, not exactly. What I want is more time to feel alive. If science can buy us healthier years, let us take them, but let us also fill them with purpose, beauty and connection. The true miracle is not eternity but a flame tended long enough to wish it could burn a little more.

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Opinion: who wants to live forever? Our pursuit of longevity may come at the cost of meaning