How to age well: messages from the social sciences
Part I: Old age can be a time of development, like any other age
Healthy Aging? Isn’t that an oxymoron? I remember learning about oxymorons in school at the age of about 12. We talked about deafening silence, sweet sorrow and open secrets — all contradictions in terms. The one that seems to come most easily to mind these days is living dead. Not that I’m at that stage by any means, but isn’t that where we are all heading, and what we most dread? I find myself thinking quite a lot about how to avoid this particular oxymoron , and asking myself the all-important question: is it possible to be healthy and old — even ancient — at the same time?
We are exposed to so much information about the physical effects of aging, and what we can do to give ourselves the best possible chance of being healthy and active in the winter of our life. We are constantly reminded that making the right choices in our middle years will have a lasting effect on our bodies, enhancing our chances of ageing well. It makes good sense: eat healthily, but not too much, move plenty, sleep well, manage stress. Great advice if you’re in your 40s, but that particular boat sailed for me about 30 years ago. Although I find myself in the winter of my life, I hope that the snow is only just beginning to fall, and that there is still time to address the psycho-emotional side of things: how do we feel about our ageing selves? I am beginning to think that we need to focus less on healthy ageing and more on happy ageing. Whilst the two are inextricably linked (it’s hard to be truly happy if you have chronic severe pain, for example) I wonder just how much attention is paid to contentment in old age. How do we respond emotionally when we find ourselves on the long, downhill slope? How do we deal with increasing loss, in its various forms? I reflect: what can philosophy and the social sciences teach me about being happy as I navigate this, the final downhill slalom? Surely it is not a contradiction in terms to talk about a happy old age?
A classical theory of ageing
I am interested to observe that Classical theories of ageing go back at least as far as Cicero. His essay “De Senectute” (On Old Age) written 44BCE, is still studied by gerontologists today. He acknowledges that old age is indeed a period of loss and decline, when “the pursuit of bodily pleasure” is no longer an option. Old age, he tells us, provides an opportunity to focus on “the virtues of the mind”, to relish the natural world and to seek fulfilment from our own internal resources. He draws on the Greek philosophy of Stoicism, which encourages self-mastery in order to overcome and rise above the niggles, miseries and tragedies that strew our path through life. The closer we get to death, the more we realise just how small we are — we take our place within the universe for the briefest of moments and then…. we are but dust. This gives us a greater sense of perspective; we ease off our habit of sweating the small stuff. What mattered once — ambition, physical passion, material acquisition — are much less relevant now. Negative feelings such as anger, jealousy and frustration seem like a pointless waste of energy.
How do we think in old age?
In 1955, the German existentialist philosopher Martin Heidegger gave a speech in which he described two kinds of thinking: calculative and meditative. For much of our life, a lot of our thinking is calculative: we have to sweat the small stuff. We spend time working out how to get the kids out of bed and off to school, what we are going to say when we give that report in the meeting, what we are going to have for supper. So much of our lives is lived in the world of immediate problem-solving. Calculative thinking races from one prospect to the next, Heidegger suggested. Calculative thinking never stops, never collects itself. He argued that this type of thinking has such a hold over us that it dulls our capacity for reflection and meditative thought. As an illustration of this, Heidegger talked about advances in medicine that meant that doctors can prolong life. He asked the question: just because you can, does it mean you should? Are there circumstances in which meaningful living becomes more important than simply being alive? Such ethical questions are at the heart of modern medicine, which, like the teaching profession, has embraced “Reflective Practice”. Committed reflective practitioners think about their actions in order to learn from them; they are in a state of constant professional development.
Put quite simply: when your days are numbered, you have to make every day count.
As teacher and teacher-trainer, I was always aware of the value of reflection as a professional development tool, and saddened by how little time teachers had, in their pressured lives, to exercise this form of thinking. We were all, much of the time, in a calculative mindset. A decade on from my last Reflective Practice publication and training session, I find myself thinking differently, letting in more of the meditative mindset that Heidegger talked about. This is partly to do with having more time on my hands and less energy for all that racing about that leaves no space for contemplation, but I think it is much more than that. Put quite simply: when your days are numbered, you have to make every day count. And a day doesn’t count for much if you have spent it fretting that the washing will never dry, or dashing off to meet a ‘friend’ that you never liked all that much anyway. You find yourself becoming much more selective about how, and with whom, you spend your time. And you become more introspective. Do you find yourself examining your past — both the good and the bad times — in greater detail? Do you feel an increasing affinity with the generations who came before you? Does it matter less that you haven’t bought a new outfit for Christmas? Are you happy to spend time alone, maybe reading, or gardening, or simply thinking, when at one time you would have sought company? I recognise all of these trends in myself in my 70s.
Gerotranscendence
In 1997, the Swedish gerontologist Lars Tornstam coined the term gerotranscendence to describe this “contemplative dimension of aging”. He observed that personality development continues into old age, and is characterised by an increased interest in past and future generations, a decrease in concern for material possessions and things perceived to be inconsequential, greater tolerance of others and an increase in pleasure from the small things in life. There is a good summary here
In a previous article, I claimed that in old age we are the same person we were when younger, except that we are older. Tornstam’s observations suggest that this is a somewhat simplistic view. It may be the case that our fundamental character remains the same, but there is something comforting about Tornstam’s use of the phrase personality development when most of us perceive old age in terms of decline. I am more than happy to see my old age as just another stage in my personal growth.
