Guest Post from MSI Press Author, Dr. Dennis Ortman: Aging and Freedom
AGING AND FREEDOM
“My
actions are my only true belongings….
My
actions are the ground on which I stand.”
--Anguttara
Sutta 5:57
I recently vacationed with an old friend. Our friendship is
old. For fifty years we have golfed together. He is also old in years, 89, to
be exact. During our time together at his condo, we played golf. As a natural
athlete, Ray could still hit the ball well. Yet, after each shot, he asked,
“Where’d it go?” I yelled and pointed, but he did not hear. “Do you have your
ear plugs in, Ray?” I asked. That was our ritual. Ray had his own cart and
walked slowly and carefully, to avoid falling. His arms and legs were purple,
from banging into things. His paper-thin skin bruised and bled at the slightest
touch. He often complained of his back and legs being sore. So he titrated his
moving about according to his pain level. While not playing golf, Ray spent his
time praying, reading, and writing. Sitting in his chair, he would often fall
asleep and forget what he was reading. Perhaps he is anticipating eternal rest.
I see Ray as my future—if I am lucky enough to live so long.
However, I am acquainted with the peculiarities of aging. At 77 years old, I feel
the usual aches and pains that come with age. Yet I continue to go to the gym
daily and work part-time as a psychologist. I tell myself, “I would rather wear
out than rust out.” People ask when I will retire. I respond, “When one of my
three Bs gives out—my brain, my back, or my butt.”
One of my 90 year old patients told me she has a pillow on
her chair which reminds her of the reality of passing time. The pillow says,
“Aging is not for sissies!” We talk about what makes growing old such an ordeal
that demands so much courage and resilience. From my personal and clinical
experience the answer is straightforward: the loss of freedom and independence.
Yet is aging a complete loss of freedom, or is there also
some hidden gain? As our lives shrink, do they also expand with the passing of
time? While these losses can make us bitter, can they also make us better?
PROGRESSIVE LOSSES
Originally, the Greeks understood freedom as freedom of
movement “to go as I wish.” This freedom was understood in a physical sense.
Slaves were not free because their masters would not allow them to move about
on their own. Humans were viewed as prisoners of their bodies, unfree because
confined by somatic handicaps and poor health. Certainly, aging imposes
limitations on our freedom as our bodies decline and our health worsens.
Scientists tell us that we begin losing our vigor and muscle strength at age 30.
The decline is relentless, despite our best efforts to avoid it. Our bodies are
built to break down. As we age, we cannot move around as we once did when
younger, or as we wish we could when older.
Our experiences of space and time change with aging. Our
world shrinks as we have increasing difficulties moving around. We may become
confined to a wheelchair, our homes, and eventually to our beds. The loss of
our vision and hearing further isolate us. Coping with pain due to medical
problems also makes us withdraw within ourselves. The loss of vigor saps us of
the motivation to go out and be active. We sleep more. In our weakness, gravity
takes over, and we risk falling. Eventually, we may not be able to live on our
own. The loss of independent movement can be humiliating and intolerable.
Time both slows down and speeds up. We move more slowly, and
it takes more time to accomplish anything. We are aware of how much time has
passed by and how little time we have left. Because time is limited, it is more
precious. How can we use it? Unlike youth who look forward, we look backward
and tell ourselves, “How quickly our life has passed!” Reviewing our lives, we
may entertain many regrets about our failings and how much we left undone. We
may become nostalgic, longing for better times in the past. In our increasing
isolation, we have more time to dwell on our lives. How do we assess our lives
in retrospect? How do we relate to a past that cannot be changed? The loss of
freedom over the past can be shameful and intolerable.
Carl Jung, the noted Swiss psychologist, divided life into
two halves. In the first half of life, we follow society’s agenda. We expend
our energy developing our personalities, pursuing our careers, and creating a
family. Then, around midlife, we may face a personal crisis and ask ourselves,
“What does this all mean?” We experience significant losses of loved ones,
disappointments, and even health problems. We are confronted with our
mortality, awakening to the reality that more life is behind than ahead of us
and that one day it will all come to an end. Most of our life we avoid thinking
about our own death, but now its reality assails us. In the first half of life,
we build the exterior of our house. In the second half, we examine its interior
and ask ourselves, “What is most important to me, not what society tells me?
What really lasts?” We are invited to spend time alone with ourselves and
become more contemplative.
JOURNEY INWARD
The imposed confinement of the body becomes an opportunity
to expand our minds. To answer the relentless questions of the second half of
life, we must give up our preoccupation with keeping busy and productive and
enter solitude. Being still, quiet, and listening to ourselves may be
threatening because of its unfamiliarity. We are so used to keeping ourselves
distracted. Perhaps we avoid being alone with ourselves for fear of what we
might discover. We enter unknown territory, unsure of where it will lead. The
physical work of our early life is hard, but we realize that mental work is
harder. It is far easier and safer to follow the crowd and not think for
oneself.
In this inward journey, our task is to become critical
thinkers. We do not ignore the questions that emerge from the silence of solitude,
but pursue them courageously to discover the truth of our lives. Following
Socrates, Immanuel Kant, a German Enlightenment philosopher, encouraged
critical thinking “that exposes itself to the test of free and open
examination.” We are not aware of the extent we live in mental prisons, locked
into our biases, illusions, and prejudices. We are inmates asleep to our true
condition. Kant proposes three maxims of understanding to liberate ourselves.
The first maxim of unprejudiced thought: “Think for
oneself.” As we grow up, our thinking is conditioned by our environment. Our
parents, teachers, and society shape the way we view ourselves and our place in
the world. We rely on the authority of tradition and our elders to guide us.
However, as we mature and suffer innumerable losses and disappointments, we
discover that their supposed wisdom does not always apply to the uniqueness of
our lives. Questions may arise that frighten us. “What if I disagree? Will I
lose the approval and acceptance of others?” We can only be free when we decide
for ourselves what makes sense and what values to pursue.
The second maxim of enlarged thought: “Think from the
standpoint of everyone else.” Our solitary inner dialogue with ourselves is not
enough to gain a fuller truth. We tend to believe whatever we think must be
true. We can easily become lost in our own self-created fantasy worlds,
isolated from others. As social beings, we seek truth together to build a
stable society. So we enter into dialogue with others in this mutual search. We
seek to understand others’ points of view which can enrich our limited perspectives.
It is particularly valuable to engage with those who think differently from us
and see if we can find common ground. True dialogue involves a plurality of
opinions. Only through open and honest conversations can we liberate ourselves
from the ever-present danger of self-deception.
The third maxim of non-contradiction: “Always think
consistently.” When we engage in honest dialogue with ourselves and others, we
inevitably arrive at contradictory opinions. We are then at odds with ourselves
until we can resolve the conflict. The inner discord spurs us to consider more
deeply the questions we face. Like a scientist, we gather the evidence, analyze
it, and arrive at some conclusion. The answer does not have to be the final
answer, but a tentative one that makes most sense to us at the moment. However,
we are still open to more evidence that will lead us to another conclusion. In
the mystery of life, there is no final mental answer. However, we keep
exploring to be free. We also try to make our actions consistent with our
thinking and values.
As we age, our cognitive abilities decline. We become more
forgetful, confused, and inattentive. Some of us may suffer dementia and become
unable to think clearly. Our mind operates through the vehicle of our physical
brain, which inevitably deteriorates and breaks down like our bodies. An
important question we must face, then, while we are still able to think
critically, emerges, “Am I more than my body and mental capabilities?” Religion
and philosophy guide our reflecting.
If we did not die, we would not need religion and philosophy
which make sense of our longings for immortality. Each provides a variety of
perspectives. For example, Hindus view death as shedding our bodily clothing.
Socrates reasoned (I’m paraphrasing): “There are only two options. Life either
goes on, or it doesn’t. If it doesn’t, I get a good sleep. If it does, then
good conversations.” However, disciplines only offer pointers which we must
personally consider and make our own. To be free, we must arrive at our own
answer to this unavoidable existential question.
The Hindu culture has always been oriented toward the
spiritual. Ancient Indian wisdom divides life into five stages. In the first
stage of childhood, the individual grows the body and brain to full potential.
The second student stage is a time to acquire both spiritual and practical
knowledge in preparation for adulthood. The third householder stage is
dedicated to earning a living and raising a family. In the next stage, which we
call retirement, the householder hands over work and home responsibilities to
the next generation. He withdraws from the affairs of the world and dedicates
himself to gaining spiritual knowledge and wisdom. The last stage of elderly
status is called renunciation. This stage is marked by the renunciation of
material desires and prejudices and dedication to the whole-hearted pursuit of
spirituality.
LETTING GO
We gradually die to ourselves before we die. In this final
stage of life we prepare ourselves for the final surrender of our life, which
is the moment of death. As Hindu wisdom points out, it is a privileged time of
renunciation, of our false selves dying. We become more aware of our hidden inclinations
and attachments which have enslaved us our entire lives, without our clear
awareness. Beyond examining our thinking, we awaken to the secret desires that drive
our thinking and behaving. We undertake a fearless and searching moral
inventory. This is like wandering in the wilderness, as Jesus, the Buddha, and
the Jews did, to face our demons and experience divine aid. Spiritual work is
the hardest, more difficult than physical or mental labor. It goes against our
nature. We want power and control over our lives, but now must surrender and
let go to be free.
Nearing life’s end, we naturally undertake a review of our
lives. The full tapestry is more visible from our mature perspective. Our
tendency is to reflect on what was missing and become sad, guilty, or
resentful. However, we can look back with an open mind and heart that allows us
to be surprised by discovering the new. If we appreciate the miracle and
abundance of life, we will begin to see connections between all the events. Everything
belongs. An inner harmony slowly emerges. A beautiful life shows itself. We
realize that all that has been was meant to be. Even our failures,
disappointments, and tragedies shaped us and became opportunities for growth. Our
consciousness expands, and we feel a sense of communion with all of life. Looking
back then, we feel gratitude and welcome the next stage of our journey.
To aid in this process of self-examination and renunciation,
I often reflect on the Buddhist Five Remembrances, which helps keep me focused
on reality and not my willful illusions:
1.
I am of the nature to grow old. I cannot escape
old age.
2.
I am of the nature to get sick. I cannot escape
sickness.
3.
I am of the nature to die. I cannot escape
death.
4.
All that is dear to me and everyone I love are
of the nature to change. I cannot escape being separated from them.
5.
My actions are my only true belongings. I cannot
escape the consequences of my actions. My actions are the ground upon which I
stand.
In considering these remembrances, I realize that all life
is passing. Everything is impermanent. I also reflect on what I try to make
permanent in my life, what I cling to tenaciously. I ask myself, “Where is the
sticking point? What do I wish were different than it is?” I may desire my
medical condition to be different. I may wish for youth again. I may crave
possessions, power, prestige, praise, a proud self-image, and so forth. Especially,
I may hang on to relationships in a way that denies these too will pass.
However, only our actions and their consequences endure. We
must first untangle the knots of excessive attachment by renunciation, by
cutting the strings that bind us. Then, we can devote ourselves to behaving in
ways that are consistent with our higher, rather than lower, nature. That is
the only path to authentic freedom, the freedom to be our true self.
The Beatitudes best express my current aspirations for
living a full life. Contrary to the predominant culture, those are blessed who
are “poor in spirit, sorrowing, meek and humble of heart, hungering and
thirsting for holiness, showing mercy, single-hearted, peacemakers, persecuted
for holiness’ sake, and insulted for Christ’s sake.” (Matthew 5: 3-12) In
particular, I pray for patience, kindness, and gentleness both toward myself
and others. The “thou shalt nots” of the Ten Commandments do not go far enough
as a challenge to wholesome living. In contrast, the Beatitudes suggest divine
perfections, putting on the mind and heart of Jesus Christ. I know I cannot
live up to them. This brings me to my knees in humility, begging for God’s mercy.
I empty myself to make room for God’s grace.
The most important moment in our life is the last one, when
we stand at the threshold of eternity. According to Hindu tradition, our last
thought summarizes our life, expresses our karma, and accompanies us into the
afterlife. We die as we live. Our whole life is a preparation for that critical,
once-in-a-lifetime, never to be repeated moment. We want to embrace it as
consciously as possible.
Jesus’ final words on the cross were his farewell address to
the world. They certainly summarize his life and message. Jesus refused to be
drugged as he hung upon the cross. His attention was focused on the Father, and
not on himself. Fully aware in the throes of death, he prayed, “Father, forgive
them, for they know not what they do.” In gratitude for his mercy, I want to
make his forgiveness present in all my interactions. His final prayer, “Father,
into your hands I commend my spirit.” In my meager efforts at
self-renunciation, I consciously participate in Jesus’ supreme self-sacrifice
to the Father’s will, trusting in God’s love and goodness.
We Americans tend to idolize youth as a time of strength,
vigor, and hope for the future. “Forever young!” we chant. In contrast, we
think of aging as a process of decline, diminishing freedom, and a dreadful
march towards death. However, old age is also a time of expanding freedom,
wisdom, and joy. We escape the rigorous demands of our social agenda. The race
and competition are over. We become more contemplative and turn our attention
inward to what is of lasting value. The shortness of life provokes us to let go
of the prejudiced thinking and excessive fears and desires that captivated us
throughout life. Unburdened, we feel liberated to go beyond our old selves. Our
hearts are then open to the movement of the Spirit which allows us to embrace
death with a sense of freedom, peace, and joy, grateful for a life well-lived.
For more posts about Dennis and his books, click HERE.
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