Here’s an Interesting Concept
Once again, I stumble upon something truly worthy of contemplation from the excremental depths of Yahoo “news.” This time, the question is: How long would it take for humans to go extinct if we suddenly stopped having babies? It’s unimaginable yet irresistibly intriguing. So why not dive headfirst into this alternate reality—and throw in a few twists for good measure? Let’s explore the what-ifs and see where this rabbit hole leads.
What might happen if there were absolutely no more babies being welcomed into this world? Well, eventually, the entire human race would face extinction and—blink—no more Homo sapiens roaming the Earth. At least, that’s what the historic timeline of this planet would suggest. How many years do you think we’d hang on? 100, 80, maybe 60 tops? My guess: barely past 55 before we fade away.
“What brought me to this conclusion?” you ask.
Let’s look through Gen-X eyes.
First, life probably continues as usual for roughly 30 more years, because there will still be a subset of able-bodied people with the skills to live self-sufficiently. During that period, the foragers and farmers age out, bodies get less cooperative, and tending gardens or caring for animals becomes tough or impossible. Meanwhile, anyone dependent on modern transportation will hit an end of an era: critical worker shortages to maintain oil fields, refineries, power stations—everything that props up the “modern” lifestyle. Anything dependent on petroleum starts vanishing once “the oil dries up.”
Healthcare? We’ll feel the squeeze. Fewer professionals, fewer caretakers. Many of the younger survivors won’t have the training or mindset for productivity and essential skills. As power plants shut down, cell phones and the internet go dark. And spare me the “computers will keep it all running” idea—humanoid robots are real, sure, but they’re nowhere near replacing the kind of broad, messy, physical labor we’d need at scale.
What if, not far from now, we are served by ever-evolving robots? Would they listen to our needs—or start manufacturing legions of themselves and nudge humans offstage? My money’s on the latter. Maybe they keep utilities running—oil production humming, the grid alive, your phone lit up. But who grows the food when humans get sidelined? Counting on your grandkids to step up? Looking at today’s shrinking pool of highly capable folks… the outlook’s grim. In short: we’re screwed.
By year 31, I’ll be 83—hopefully still able to fend for myself. Plenty of young people today do have a strong work ethic, and that’s encouraging. But are there enough of them to sustain the remaining population long-term? By then, the last cohort to be born will be 30-plus and in their prime. The means of survival and standard of living will be miles from what we know now. What becomes of these “last generation” humans? For drama’s sake, let’s call them Generation Omega. Sounds like a B-movie pitch, I know—but what if?
Hit year 45, and society could go a dozen unexpected ways. Anyone 40-plus today will be in their late 80s or 90s then and likely unable to provide for themselves in the old sense. Those over 20 today will be struggling to stay self-sufficient, leaning on the “youngsters”—who are just trying to survive—to keep them going. Let’s be optimistic and assume no world wars or giant catastrophes and that people manage to be kind and cooperative (a stretch). Maybe the population hovers near 2 billion. How many of them can function without phones guiding every decision? Meanwhile, many big buildings are unsafe shells, and “newer” homes are dilapidated. With petroleum products scarce or gone, maintaining yesterday’s lifestyle isn’t on the menu.
As Gen Omega reaches the twilight years—with no younger generations to help—can they sustain themselves? Ammunition has likely degraded into scrap; mass-produced “survival” foods are stale bricks. Wildlife populations boom and vastly outnumber humans. On the bright side, the air clears, waters run clean enough to drink without fancy filters, and once-barren fields sprout saplings again. But the last hand tools are seizing up, starved of lubricants and maintenance. The final humans face a monumental grind in the dwindling days of Homo sapiens. Maybe—just maybe—the humanoid robots show mercy and keep them comfortable as the curtain falls.
