Bryan Johnson’s recent turn on Jubilee’s Surrounded and his wider media tour have made one thing plain: the Silicon Valley elite are not merely tinkering with health anymore — they’re trying to build a secular religion. Johnson openly says “existence is the highest virtue” and argues that science and AI will remold what it means to be human, a claim he made in a long profile that has since circulated widely. This is not modest scientific curiosity; it is the language of utopian hubris dressed up as progress.
The man behind the rhetoric is no back-alley quack; he’s a wealthy tech entrepreneur who sold Braintree, poured money into neurotech and venture funds, and put a $2 million-a-year regimen at the center of a branded anti-aging movement called Project Blueprint. He even stars in a Netflix documentary promoting the project and the fantasy of buying more years with the right cocktail of supplements, machines and treatments. When billionaires use their wealth to market immortality, the public should ask whether they’re advancing science or selling a sermon of self-worship.
We’re also not blind to the business reality: Johnson’s “Don’t Die” movement and Blueprint are commercial ventures with real costs and organizational strains, and even business press reports say he’s considering shifting or merging parts of the enterprise as the burdens mount. The point is simple — this isn’t purely noble altruism; it’s ideology built on elite taste-making and expensive access. Conservatives should be clear-eyed: when longevity becomes a luxury product for the wealthy, it deepens inequality and rebrands privilege as moral truth.
Beyond the money, the deeper danger is spiritual. American tradition and the Bible teach that life, dignity and purpose come from a Creator who alone holds life and death in his hands. The Gospel does not promise more years on earth as the ultimate good; it promises eternal life through the cross and resurrection of Jesus Christ. Any worldview that elevates mere biological survival above repentance, virtue and worship is a counterfeit faith — attractive in its promises, hollow in its hope.
This ideological push also has political consequences. If a new tech-driven creed crowns “existence” as the supreme value, expect pressure to restructure public priorities around risk elimination, surveillance, behavioral engineering and unequal access to life-extending services. Conservatives must resist letting hubristic technocrats rewrite morality in the name of efficiency or “optimization,” because liberty and the moral language that sustains a free people depend on a robust, lived faith and a social order that recognizes human limits.
What should faithful conservatives do? We must contest the narrative with conviction and compassion — point people back to Scripture, expose the vacuity of techno-idolatry, and defend policies that protect families and the vulnerable rather than funnel resources into vanity projects for the already powerful. We can welcome legitimate medical advances, but we will not surrender our souls to an ideology that treats human beings as problems to be optimized rather than image-bearers to be loved.
In the end, hardworking Americans know what elites sometimes forget: life isn’t a product to buy; it’s a gift to steward. The cross gives us a hope no lab can replicate, and the church must boldly proclaim that truth while holding the line against the siren song of a pseudo-religion promising citizenship in eternity through Silicon Valley’s latest contraption. Patriots who love liberty and the Lord will not be fooled.
