A Life Not Long


I’ve been working on several posts, which had been taking longer than expected — especially a post on euthanasia, which is beginning to look like another multi-part series. I hope to start getting some of these up in the near future.

In the meantime, a link from Glenn Reynolds hooked into something I’ve been ruminating on in recent days: the endless pursuit of longer life.

Here’s the question I’ve been pondering: is it an absolute good to be continually striving for a longer life span? Such a question may seem a bit odd coming from a physician, whose mission it is to restore and maintain health and prolong life. But the article which Glenn linked to, describing the striking changes in health and longevity of our present age, seemingly presents this achievement as an absolute good, and thereby left me a tad uneasy–perhaps because I find myself increasingly ambivalent about this unceasing pursuit of longer life.

Of course, long life and good health have always been considered blessings, as indeed they are. But long life in particular seems to have become a goal unto itself–and from where I stand is most decidedly a mixed blessing.

Many of the most difficult health problems with which we battle, which drain our resources struggling to overcome, are largely a function of our longer life spans. Pick a problem: cancer, heart disease, dementia, crippling arthritis, stroke — all of these increase significantly with age, and can result in profound physical and mental disability. In many cases, we are living longer, but doing so restricted by physical or mental limitations which make such a longer life burdensome both to ourselves and to others. Is it a positive good to live to age 90, spending the last 10 or more years with dementia, not knowing who you are nor recognizing your own friends or family? Is it a positive good to be kept alive by aggressive medical therapy for heart failure or emphysema, yet barely able to function physically? Is it worthwhile undergoing highly toxic chemotherapy or disfiguring surgery to cure cancer, thereby sparing a life then severely impaired by the treatment which saved that life?

These questions, in some way, cut to the very heart of what it means to be human. Is our humanity enriched simply by living longer? Does longer life automatically imply more happiness–or are we simply adding years of pain, disability, unhappiness, burden? The breathlessness with which authors often speak of greater longevity, or the cure or solution to these intractable health problems, seems to imply a naive optimism, both from the standpoint of likely outcomes, and from the assumption that a vastly longer life will be a vastly better life. Ignored in such rosy projections are key elements of the human condition–those of moral fiber and spiritual health, those of character and spirit. For we who live longer in such an idyllic world may not live better: we may indeed live far worse. Should we somehow master these illnesses which cripple us in our old age, and thereby live beyond our years, will we then encounter new, even more frightening illnesses and disabilities? And what of the spirit? Will a man who lives longer thereby have a longer opportunity to do good, or rather to do evil? Will longevity increase our wisdom, or augment our depravity? Will we, like Dorian Gray, awake to find our ageless beauty but a shell for our monstrous souls?

Such ruminations bring to mind a friend, a good man who died young. Matt was a physician, a tall, lanky man with sharp bony features and deep, intense eyes. He was possessed of a brilliant mind, a superb physician, but left his mark on life not solely through medicine nor merely by intellect. A convert to Christianity as a young adult, Matt embraced his new faith with a passion and province rarely seen. His medical practice became a mission field. His flame burned so brightly it was uncomfortable to draw near: he was as likely to diagnose your festering spiritual condition as your daunting medical illness–and had no compunction about drilling to the core of what he perceived to be the root of the problem. Such men make you uneasy, for they sweep away the veneer of polite correction and diplomatic encouragement which we physicians are trained to deliver. Like some gifted surgeon of the soul, he cast sharp shadows rather than soft blurs, brandishing his brilliant insight on your now-naked condition. The polished conventions of medicine were never his strength–a characteristic which endeared him not at all to many in his profession. But his patients–those who could endure his honesty and strength of character–were passionate in their devotion to him, personally and professionally. For he was a man of extraordinary compassion and generosity, seeing countless patients at no charge, giving generously of his time and finances far beyond the modest means earned from his always-struggling practice.

The call I received from another friend, a general surgeon, requesting an assist at his surgery, was an unsettling one: Matt had developed a growth in his left adrenal gland. His surgery went deftly, with much confidence that the lesion had been fully excised. The pathology proved otherwise: Matt had an extremely rare, highly aggressive form of adrenal cancer. Fewer than 100 cases had been reported worldwide, and there was no known successful treatment. Nevertheless, as much for his wife and two boys as for himself, he underwent highly toxic chemotherapy, which sapped his strength and left him enfeebled. In spite of this, the tumor grew rapidly, causing extreme pain and rapid deterioration, bulging like some loathsome demon seeking to burst forth from his frail body. I saw him regularly, although in retrospect not nearly often enough, and never heard him complain; his waning energies were spent with his family, and he never lost the intense flame of faith. Indeed, as his weakened body increasingly became no more than life support for his cancer, wasting him physically and leaving him pale and sallow, there grew in him a spirit so remarkable that one was drawn to him despite the natural repulsion of watching death’s demonic march.

Matt died at age 38, alert and joyful to the end. His funeral was a most remarkable event: at an age in life where most would be happy to have sufficient friends to bear one’s casket, his funeral service at a large church was filled to overflowing–thousands of friends, patients, and professional peers paying their respects in a ceremony far more celebration than mourning. There was an open time for testimony–and such a time it was, as one after another took to the lectern to speak through tears of how Matt had touched their lives; of services rendered, small and large, unknown before that day; of funny anecdotes and sad remembrances which left not one soul of that large crowd untouched or unmoved.

A journey such as his casts critical light on our mindless pursuit of life lived only to live long. In Matt’s short life he brought more good into the world, touched more people, changed more lives, than I could ever hope to do were I to live a century more. It boils down to purpose: mere years are no substitute for a life lived with passion, striving for some goal greater than self, with transcendent purpose multiplying and compounding each waking moment. This is a life well-lived, whether long or short, whether weakened or well.

Like all, I trust, I hope to live life long, and seek a journey lived in good health and sound mind. But even more–far more indeed–do I desire that those days yet remaining–be they long or short–be rich in purpose, wise in time spent, and graced by love.

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11 thoughts on “A Life Not Long

  1. Your friend seems to give weight to the phrase “The good die young.” His life, as you’ve described it, certainly does sound as if it was lived in love – active love for everyone around him.

    Few can lay claim to such unyielding selflessness in their journey …

    I think that if many of us examined the content and direction of our lives, we would certainly have to question whether longevity is a worthwhile pursuit. We may find that self honesty is wont to bringing about a spiritual and emotional exhaustion which could mitigate the ardency of our quest.

    Dr. Bob, excellent post, as usual. Thank you.

  2. Well said. And at some level one comes to terms with the very pliable phrase “qlality of life.”

    I work in a retirement community where the median age is mid-eighties. Two quick images come to mind.

    First, I overheard one resident say to another, having learned that she just turned ninety-three, “That’s a wonderful age! Every day is a gift from God!”

    Second, another resident past the one hundred year mark has lived to see her son’s medical problems complicated further by his wife’s descent into Alzheimer’s. That mother is not ready to die because her health is excellent, her appetite is good and her mind is clear. But when I think of how strong her faith must be to sustain her to the end, knowing that nothing she can do can ameliorate her son’s suffering, I stand in awe of her example.

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  4. OK, cyncism bomb to follow. You’ve been warned.(snicker)

    All these people who long for unlimited extension of their lives MUST be having more fun than me…

    I’ve wondered if the most important lesson of life is dealing with the lack of it.

  5. An importnt issue.

    Swift, in Gulliver’s travels, depicts the Laputans (bilingual pun probably intended), a people who are immortal, but continually deteriorate. It’s a daunting picture.

    And there’s the intro to The Waste Land: “The children asked the Sibyl, why are you crying?” “I want to die (apothanein thelo).” The Sibyl, it seems, was condemned to eternal life, and not happy about it.

    There is a church in Bahia, Brazil–Our Lord of the Good End. A good thing to pray for.

    Such are the random associations you have evoked.

  6. Your blog glared at an issue I encounter daily…..living too long. My self, I lived rather well in that I saw a lot, experienced a lot, shared and loved a lot, then came the year 50. That was the time in which completely good working body parts started to quit; pains and conscious awareness of my environment started to suffer, without removing the memories of what “it used to be like” along with the failure of this body.

    Now at 65 I want life to end. I have been left with a biological body that does not work anymore. It cannot see without mechanical help, nor can it hear anywhere near. . . huh? What, you say?; my many memories are uncollectable when recalled. It is just a mess. I ask my doctor to just make my last years, days, minutes, comfortable for me with out too much pain. No pills, no new medicines, nothing. It was no fun to get old, at least for me. I was not ready for it to unscrew, bend, and break perfectly good parts when it did. But I can remember well, the age of 50, which to me was the end of the rope for any usefullness for my mind and body. They all worked fine until one morning I got out of bed, then poof, Was I going to bed or did I just get up??

    Too much time and money is wasted in trying to get me to live longer than I was designed to live. More money should be spent on younger humans, those who can really enjoy life and make a contribution to it. Yep, I am ready to go home now. I really am.

  7. I am almost 66, in decent health,still working and enjoying life at present. But I do not want to prolong my life beyond my usefulness to my family and friends. Once I start to deteriorate physically or mentally, I hope I go quickly, and I will do little to prolong it (if I have a choice in the matter).

  8. First issue: long life for the sake of longevity. I have watched enough loved ones age into deterioration of both body and mind, to and beyond the point of essentially treading water, waiting for release from the prisons of this life. I don’t know anyone who would choose to reach that stage of life, much less to be stuck in it for several years.

    Second issue: How we live, or for what we live. I have heard a former pastor and current educator, Tony Campolo, speak about “titles or legacies.” Example: Pharoah had the title, but Moses had the [better] legacy. Your friend, Dr. Matt, had the title, but he also had the legacies, as shared by many people at the service celebrating his life.

    I tried the quest for a title and human recognition, but it did not satisfy me one whit. Sponsoring my girls and finding sponsors for other children has become my passion. That is not a boast; it is, rather, an expression of deep gratitude and of the joy found in serving people in Jesus’ name and living for a cause of eternal value. That is what gives my life meaning; marriage to an incredible husband and best friend makes it even more fun.

  9. I will be interested to see what happens when my mother gets to the age her mother died, because by all indications, my mother is yards and away healthier than my Nana was at any point past forty.

    I’m curious mainly because my Nana’s death hit my mother hard, mainly because her ill-health was due to poor personal choices such as chain smoking and not exercising (as is not leaving the house.) So though I know she will probably be healthy and strong into her eighties or even nineties, it’s going to be odd to see that first realization on her face when she realizes that she’s older than her mother.

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