When the passions relax their hold, then you have escaped from the control not of one master, but of many.
—Plato
YOU MAY HAVE NOTICED THAT IT IS DIFFICULT TO be compassionate or wise when you feel anxious, afraid, or stressed. In fact, when we feel that we are under threat, our cortex becomes inhibited and brain processing shifts to networks that specialize in immediate survival and away from measured judgment, self-awareness, and a broad perspective. This doesn’t happen only when we are chased by wild animals; the same brain shift occurs in our day-to-day lives when we are hungry, angry, lonely, tired, or in any state of emotional dysregulation. This shift from cortical to subcortical brain processing is one of the major causes of difficulties in raising children, maintaining marriages, and success at work.
The ability to stay mindful of both our social roles and our internal emotional state supports compassion and wisdom. It also enhances neural plasticity, integration, and brain health. Anxious families demand obedience and loyalty to the family rules, no matter how destructive they might be for one and all. The same is true for fragile totalitarian regimes and businesses with insecure CEOs. The more afraid we become, the more likely we are to resort to rigid ideologies, behaviors, and policies.
LEARNING NOT TO FEAR
The human brain starts working the moment you are born and never stops until you stand up to speak in public.
George Jessel
In thinking about how changes in the maturing brain are conducive to wisdom, we return our focus to two brain regions, the amygdala and the orbitomedial prefrontal cortex (OMPFC). As we saw earlier, it is within the OMPFC-amygdala networks that our ability to regulate our emotions becomes organized. The amygdala is a primitive structure that rapidly scans for danger and, if necessary, mobilizes the body into action by activating the fight-flight response.1 The OMPFC is capable of regulating and inhibiting the amygdala when an extreme emotional response is unnecessary or counterproductive. When the OMPFC is damaged in some way, we become more vulnerable to depression, mania, and antisocial behavior.2
Together, the OMPFC and the amygdala remember the value of social interactions from early attachment to the day we die.3 On its own, the amygdala is capable of unconsciously processing interactions of which we are totally unaware, making us automatically react to and avoid people, places, and things that have previously had a negative effect on us.4 These capabilities lead the amygdala to have a very important role in both our conscious and unconscious experience. Even if we try our best to be mindful of our moment-to-moment emotional experience, the amygdala can shape our thoughts, feelings, and behaviors before conscious awareness.5
Because the OMPFC and the amygdala have a mutually inhibitory relationship, damage to the OMPFC results in less control over our behaviors, perceptions, and judgments.6 In these situations, our thinking is guided less by conscious consideration and more by aggressive, authoritarian, and prejudicial impulses. We are also more likely to engage in compulsive and self-destructive behaviors such as substance abuse, binge eating, or lashing out at others. On the other hand, when we are able to regulate our emotions, we optimize judgment and decision making. A highly developed and well-regulated OMPFC-amygdala network is a prerequisite for psychological maturity and the attainment of wisdom.
THE AMYGDALA NEVER FORGETS
Time moves in one direction, memory in another.
William Gibson
Why is it so easy to forget the name of someone you just met, but so hard to forget a traumatic experience? One reason lies in the differences between the hippocampus and amygdala. The hippocampus, central to explicit memory, remains flexible to new learning and even changes size with changing memory demands.7 In contrast, the amygdala is like the proverbial elephant that never forgets bad experiences.8 So while the hippocampus is constantly remodeling to keep abreast of current environmental changes, the amygdala catalogues past threats and rapidly applies them to new experiences.
Unlike our fragile memories for names and dates, the amygdala has a tenacious memory for what has frightened us. Adding to the tenacity of trauma is the fact that amygdala activation results in chemical processes that actually enhance memories for bad experiences. In scientific terms, our fears are resistant to extinction because natural selection has shaped them this way to protect us from similar threats in the future.
The only brain structure whose size is positively correlated with longevity in primates is the central portion of the amygdala.9 Might a larger amygdala enhance survival and be chosen by natural selection? As primates grow larger, they also live in larger and more complex social groups, creating the need for intricate social communication and vast memory stores for all of the interactions we have with others. Unfortunately for us, a large amygdala may also make us more vulnerable to social anxieties and phobias of all kinds.10
The establishment of secure attachments and positive affect regulation early in life allows us to regulate amygdala functioning as opposed to being victimized by the anxiety and fear it can activate. When a child is neglected or abused, his or her amygdala can become biased toward fear activation, which can emotionally cripple the individual in ways that can last a lifetime. Like a wild horse, the amygdala needs to be tamed to enhance its positive characteristics. With the amygdala, as with horses, taming occurs in the context of an understanding relationship—the establishment of control and regulation through a combination of affection and limit setting. When we share our wisdom and offer compassion to others, we are serving as amygdala whisperers to those whom we touch.
AMYGDALA WHISPERING
Life shrinks or expands in proportion to one’s courage.
Anaïs Nin
For most of our lives, negative emotions weigh more heavily than positive ones in our evaluation of ourselves and others.11 While it is generally assumed that aging results in an increase in fearfulness, the research shows an actual decrease of fear and anxiety with age.12 Sixty- to 80-year-olds show decreased amygdala activity and increased frontal lobe activation while analyzing facial expressions.13 These changes are not due to a decline of amygdala functioning but to a change in the OMPFC-amygdala balance toward decreased fear processing.14 In line with this finding, older individuals also show less cardiovascular reactivity (triggered by amygdala activation) when watching emotionally charged films.15 Thus, there appears to be an age-related shift away from anxiety that may be an important contributor to the emergence of compassion and wisdom.
It has been found that as we age, we are influenced less by the way questions are framed when presented to us.16 In other words, we are less likely to be influenced by the current situation or persuasion by others. The advantages of a less reactive amygdala are not just a relaxation of fear and anxiety, but increased cortical involvement allowing for slower and deeper reflection. The maturation of the OMPFC-amygdala circuit works against the impulses and mandates of youth to be certain and act fast.
In comparison to adolescents, older adults rely more on problem-focused than emotion-based reactions in difficult situations.17 Advancing wisdom includes the expansion of consideration and taking time to understand the complexities of a situation. The general downgrading of fear later in life may open us to a deeper understanding and compassion for others, and more love for humanity in general. To a great degree, the experience of love is the absence of fear. The taming of the amygdala may be one of the primary gifts of aging and a component of becoming a more loving person.
ACCENTUATE THE POSITIVE
Wisdom begins in wonder.
Socrates
The OMPFC-amygdala network is so central to our social and emotional experience that any changes in its functioning are reflected across the board in memory, thinking, and personality. Research has shown that, far from being cranky and pessimistic, older individuals tend to retain positive emotions, while negative ones are more likely to decrease.18 In general, older adults exhibit more emotional control and have fewer negative experiences.19 This shift toward positivity with age has been found to occur from 18 to 60 years of age, at which point it seems to level off.20
As we age, research has shown that we tend to remember more positive and neutral visual images than negative ones.21 Older subjects also tend to look away from faces with negative expressions and toward those with positive ones.22 This likely relates to a decrease in the amygdala’s guidance of the visual system, which emphasizes vigilance to negative and dangerous aspects of the environment.23 Another study showed that when we look at faces with different emotions, we have greater activation in brain areas that reflect positive emotions as we age.24
Older subjects have also been found to have a greater bias toward remembering positive words than younger subjects, reflecting the OMPFC-amygdala system shift away from anxiety.25 Overall, older adults tend to (1) experience fewer negative emotions, (2) pay less attention to negative stimuli, and (3) be less likely to remember negative experiences.26 Older adults also show this positivity effect in recalling autobiographical memory and tend to spin their histories in ways that make them look more competent and feel better about themselves.27
This reminds me of the clothing brand Old Guys Rule, whose motto is “the older we get, the better we were.” In this way, older adults probably don’t differ from the rest of the population. However, when older adults are informed about the need for accuracy of recollection, this positivity bias diminishes, while younger subjects tend to hold onto their egocentric distortions. As we get older, we tend to show less emotional fluctuation, greater emotional regulation, and more understanding of our emotions. We’re also better able to employ coping strategies when strong emotions arise.
The positivity effect on remembering and recounting life history edits our life story with a positive spin. The optimism this may engender correlates with enhanced physical and mental health.28 It may also serve to instill hope in younger people, who have traditionally depended upon the stories of the elders to create a vision of the future. What better gift can we give to our children and grandchildren than grandparents who enjoy life and show them that despite hardships, life is very much worth living?
THE CYCLE OF OPTIMISM
Old people don’t get crabby, crabby people get old.
Steve Otto
Optimism and a positive attitude correlate with physical and mental health, happiness, and longevity. Optimistic people are better connected, employ better coping skills, and take better care of themselves than pessimistic people. Pessimism earlier has been shown to be a risk factor for poor physical and mental health.29 It has been shown that optimistic people are significantly less likely to be rehospitalized after bypass surgery, demonstrate quicker recovery patterns, and tend to have better survival rates after being diagnosed with head and neck cancer.30
In one study of patients with breast cancer, optimists were more likely to use coping mechanisms such as acceptance, humor, positive reframing, religion, and social support.31 Optimistic beliefs about one’s health predicted greater attention to medical information, better coping with bad news, and better emotional regulation while pursuing health care.32 Optimistic people may have more positive expectations for success, so they approach difficult situations, expend energy to solve problems, and experience better outcomes.
If optimism enhances our emotional state and decreases stress, then it should also have a positive impact on our immunological functioning. In fact, an optimistic outlook has been associated with higher T-cell and natural killer cell levels in a healthy population, as well as slowed disease progression and lower mortality in patients with HIV.33 This positive association among optimism and bodily health may explain why optimistic men have a slower progression of heart disease and are less likely to develop it in the first place.34
Considerable evidence suggests that optimism may be correlated with longevity.35 In the United States, it was found that people who interpret events in pessimistic ways are more likely to become depressed, become physically ill, and die earlier.36 Interestingly, a study of the oldest old in Veneto, Italy, found that centenarians were less inclined to complain about their physical condition and had a positive attitude toward life despite any disabilities.37 Having a reason for living, a zest for life, and plans for the future went along with decreased mortality rates and better health 10 years later.38 This is why it’s always good to have a long-term project on your to-do list.
Seligman suggests that pessimism may increase mortality because pessimists (1) have more negative life events, (2) believe nothing they do makes a difference, or (3) have depressed immune systems.39 Pessimism and hopelessness are also characteristics of depression, which has been shown to correlate with higher rates of mortality.40 In one study of 5,201 people aged 65 years and older, the risk of mortality was 43% higher among individuals with depressive symptoms, while another study found depressive symptoms in women to be a significant risk factor for illness-related mortality.41
One explanation for this relationship may lie in differences in health behavior. Optimistic people tend to use proactive coping strategies that aim to eliminate, reduce, or manage stress and negative emotions.42 Whether optimism is a cause of these positive outcomes or a natural consequence of robust health and living a good life is difficult to sort out.43 It is safe to assume that optimism, social support, physical health, and longevity have positive synergistic effects on both well-being and longevity.
SHATTERED ASSUMPTIONS
The wound is the place where the light enters you.
Rumi
Although the reality of our mortality is present throughout life, optimism, denial, and other defenses help us to be oblivious to them most of the time. As we grow older, however, we start to gain an increasing recognition of the inevitability of death. The lucky ones among us have the luxury of confronting these existential realities gradually and in small doses. For many, suffering and loss come too hard and too early in life. When children and adolescents are traumatized, their assumptions of safety can be shattered, catapulting them into lifelong anxiety.
In stark contrast, traumatic experiences are also capable of enhancing self-discovery and supporting the attainment of compassion and wisdom. Think back for a moment to the list of the 10 wisest people:
1. Gandhi
2. Confucius
3. Jesus
4. Martin Luther King Jr.
5. Socrates
6. Mother Teresa
7. Solomon
8. Buddha
9. The Pope
10. Oprah Winfrey
Suffering played a role in the lives of many of these people, not just personal suffering, but shared suffering through their empathic attunement to the pain of others. Most of these wise people were transformed by their experiences and were motivated to act on behalf of others. They were, in a sense, able to regain control over their fear and shift back to cortical control. So while none of us would choose to suffer, the experience of suffering can play a central role in our personal histories. In fact, the central tenets of Buddhism are based on the belief that suffering is at the core of human existence and that transcendence of suffering is the path to enlightenment.
The most important aspect of early attachment relationships is the establishment of a sense of safety, which eventually gives us the strength to cope with life’s more difficult realities. Because primates are such social animals, and our very survival depends on our connection with others, the more familiar, safe, and loving people there are in a child’s life, the less likely she or he will feel alone, abandoned, or afraid. The maturation of brain systems that modulate fear and our ability to reframe life in a more positive manner are a valuable gift that elders can pass on to their children and grandchildren.
We have evolved from simple and separate biological organisms into conscious, social, and cultural creatures. In this long and complex evolutionary process, our experience of self and our sense of identity have expanded to include our families, friends, communities, and religious beliefs. We can now be traumatized, not only when our physical safety is at risk but when the people and ideals we care about are threatened.
NATHAN AND JOSHUA
Nathan and Joshua were father and son. Nathan, a hard-working and devout man, dedicated his life to taking care of his parents until he married in his 40s, and had Joshua, his only child. At 80, Nathan had “lost some spring from his step,” but was quick to add he was “as sharp as a tack.” Joshua was a caring, sensitive man and a gifted illustrator. Joshua and his father had always had a close and caring relationship that was grounded in deep love and mutual respect. Nathan was proud of his son’s accomplishments, and Joshua was proud of his father.
For many years, Joshua secretly struggled with his sexual identity and learned to skillfully deflect the usual questions from his parents about girlfriends, marriage, and a family. The year Joshua turned 37, he sat his parents down and told them he was gay. At first they sat frozen in stunned silence. After a few moments, his mother regained her equilibrium and told Joshua that she loved him. Nathan remained silent and eventually left the table without a word. Nathan’s assumptions had been truly shattered, and he sank into an uncharacteristic depression. After a few weeks, he sought my help to try and make sense of what had happened.
“How could my son choose to be gay?” Nathan asked me during our first session. “He had a good home, never wanted for anything, went to the best schools. We gave him love, everything he asked for. . . . How could this happen?” I could see and feel the depths of Nathan’s confusion, anger, and disappointment. “I’ve lost my son. How can I continue to have a relationship with him and expect one day to face God? It isn’t possible. I can’t believe I have to forsake my own son!” Nathan was indeed caught between a rock and a hard place. On one side stood a son whom he deeply loved and cherished, and on the other stood his beliefs, prejudices, and fears that had been shaped over a lifetime. There were so many conflicts running through his mind that I wasn’t sure where to begin, so I just encouraged him to keep talking.
Over a number of sessions, Nathan told me about his early life, his marriage, and raising Joshua. Story after story poured forth, and I could see that he had done an excellent job of integrating the various aspects of his life into a coherent narrative. “I’m no Abraham,” Nathan told me. “I can’t sacrifice my son for my faith, yet I can’t imagine living without my faith. I feel like I’m being torn in two.” I was beginning to suspect that Nathan’s all-or-nothing, black-and-white thinking was about to collapse. Here was an opening for me to move from a solely supportive position and become a collaborator in solving his dilemma. Thinking about it now, this would have been a good time for us to have read Huckleberry Finn.
We gathered information and read articles about homosexuality and how different religions have dealt with the issue. Nathan’s thinking gradually shifted from assuming that homosexuality was a conscious choice to an appreciation of the power of biology on sexual identy and orientation. This shift in perspective went a long way in helping Nathan to see that his son was not doing this to hurt him or his family. We also read personal accounts of homosexual men, especially stories describing the anguish at coming out and being rejected by their parents. I shocked Nathan one day by reminding him that the extermination of homosexuals, along with the Jews, was part of Hitler’s final solution. As he showed me pictures of Joshua as a young boy, he began to put the pieces together. He recalled Joshua’s avoidance of sports, his lack of interest in girls, and how his room was always the best-decorated one in the house. He told me that when Joshua was 9, he had stopped his subscription to Sports Illustrated in preference for Architectural Digest.
“It’s not easy to teach an old dog new tricks, is it, Lou?” Nathan asked after many months of exploration and debate. “The truth is that I have no option but to love and accept my son. It’s the right thing to do; it’s the only thing I can do. If this is who he is, then I have to learn to understand and accept him. If it means that I have to change synagogues, rethink some of my beliefs, and deal with being embarrassed in front of my friends, so be it. He is my son, and nothing is more important.” By now, both of us had tears in our eyes. Nathan had somehow found the strength, courage, and flexibility to deal with issues that required serious neural rewiring. This old dog had learned a new trick.
Nathan decided to invite Joshua to our next session because, as he said, “I might need some backup.” The session was wonderful. Nathan began by apologizing for his recent distance, and Joshua quickly accepted his father’s apology. He seemed to appreciate and respect what his father had been going through and had faith that he would eventually understand. Joshua talked about his struggle over the years with the dawning awareness of being gay and his fears about what it would mean to his family. Nathan looked over to me from time to time as Joshua described experiences similar to those we had read about. By the end of the session, Nathan asked Joshua to take it slow and give him a little time before he introduced him to his boyfriend. We all laughed.
In subsequent weeks, father and son spent time together and found a rabbi to speak to about their relationship. I was very impressed with Nathan and let him know it. During one of our final sessions, he recalled some of his experiences while serving in World War II. He told me that of all the lessons he learned, the most important was that life was confusing, beautiful, and fragile. “Nothing is more important than the people we love. If what I am doing is wrong,” Nathan said, “I hope God can understand and forgive me.”
Nathan had learned to regulate his emotions, face problems directly, and come to appreciate his own biases all the while keeping in mind what was truly important. In my eyes, Nathan was the embodiment of the deepest aspects of wisdom and the faith he lived by.