Immortality once the bloom of youth has withered is akin to a tortoise without a shell. What's the point? To roll out existence to the outermost reaches of eternity means to attack the process of ageing, to replace decaying organs and body parts, to substitute even the brain like a scene from a Heinlein novel. Medicine is not remotely close.
Various organs have been created from stem cells now and transplanted, medicine is a lot closer than you think.
What keeps the fires of my interest burning in the subject is in that all the systems of post-mortem remuneration lies the unspoken notion that pain surmounted is bliss achieved. Fiddlesticks! The pastimes out of which we draw most joy, literature, music, theatre and cinema deal in essence with the interplay of emotions. They are studies in conflict. The hero falls for a young lovely, they break up, she is kidnapped by a villain, he ties her to a railway track and the hero comes to rescue the day. Such in very basic outline is the trajectory of all narrative plot lines.
I would agree with this. I wonder if part of the reason we enjoy pain is because of whatever healing process follows, rather than the pain itself. To borrow Spinoza's terminology, pain is descending to a lower state of completeness that you may reascend and experience pleasure. What say you?
What does it mean to have no concept of suffering?
The same thing it would mean to have no concept of pleasure, I would think?