In one of the most renowned English language passages, Thomas Jefferson wrote: “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of Happiness (Jefferson, 1776).”
Beyond the revolutionary insight, as I see it, Jefferson presents the unalienable human rights in the order of their relative importance: First, life. Second, liberty — implying that, after survival, the next most important thing is freedom. And lastly, the pursuit of happiness, which can be attended to meaningfully only after the rights to life and liberty have been secured, as it is unrealistic to consider pursuing happiness if either survival or freedom is threatened.
[Sidebar: The fact that Jefferson emphasized the pursuit of happiness as an unalienable human right, rather than happiness itself, is significant — happiness cannot be considered a human right because it is unattainable.]
The reason life is listed first is self-evident – there is no point in discussing human rights where there is no human life. Liberty precedes the pursuit of happiness because freedom is necessary to merely enter the running in pursuit of happiness. The relevance of freedom in the pursuit of happiness is common-sensical. Analytically, the loss of freedom undermines inner peace, passion, and compassion (i.e., the three prerequisites for the effective pursuit of happiness, as discussed in detail in the Happiness chapter and elsewhere in this work).
Liberty is automatically held as extremely precious. It is so highly and doubtlessly valued that world leaders routinely use the notion of “protecting (our) freedom” as a justification for subjecting their constituents to the risk of loss of limb and life in battle, and complementarily, as a legitimation for killing those who are deemed to threaten it. The fact that these extreme measures are considered reasonable is particularly bizarre given that both the callers and the people who heed the calls would be hard-pressed to say what ‘freedom’ — the protection of which justifies killing and dying — actually is.
The prevailing ignorance of the meaning of freedom can be overlooked because everyone knows what freedom “feels like” and, even more palpably, everyone is familiar with the feeling associated with its loss.
The distress associated with the loss of freedom is, of course, not a speculation. In fact, reducing a person’s degree of freedom is a universal form of punishment, manifesting in a very broad range, from sending a child to her room to handing a convicted criminal a life sentence without parole. Even the mere threat of loss of freedom is generally an effective deterrent from taking actions that might trigger it.
The feelings associated with freedom run deep: All sentient beings seem to share a similar sentiment about freedom, with a clear preference for it over the absence of it (I think this is quite remarkable — I doubt there is any other abstract concept that I, a house fly, and my dog feel exactly the same about).
However, dealing with freedom through exclusive reliance on feelings and ignoring its logic (i.e., its cognitive aspects) is likely to have a high cost, especially given the supreme importance; in my opinion, it is unaffordable.
Freedom is surely important enough to justify the effort required to acquire a deeper understanding of it than the prevailing one. Clearly, there is more to know about freedom than just “what it feels like.” This work aspires to make a meaningful contribution to this knowledge.
[Sidebar: 1. Non-sentient living organisms, e.g., plants, appear to be insensitive to freedom. Hence, an organism’s affinity for freedom may serve as evidence of its awareness of its own existence; in other words, the affinity for freedom may be the best evidence of sentience. More on this elsewhere.
2. Sentient beings’ preference for liberty, arguably, is distinct and separate from the preference for life, i.e., the built-in drive to survive. If you put a glass over an ant, once it recognizes its entrapment, it will display “ant distress.” Or, once a flying insect recognizes it is in a confined space — say, a room rather than outdoors — it seems to display a flight pattern suggestive of distress. I don’t claim to be an expert on insect psychology, but I think it is reasonably safe to interpret the behavior displayed by trapped insects as manifesting distress. This apparent distress is most likely directly related to the organism’s realization of a loss of freedom, as it manifested in the absence of specific survival threats and too quickly to be explained by a lack of survival needs, such as food or water.]
As a psychiatrist, I have a particular interest in the cognitive aspects of freedom, which stems from the appreciation of its significant clinical relevance to mental health: The sensation of a lack, or loss, of freedom is, overarchingly, the most common motivation for people to seek mental health help (albeit rarely recognized by either the recipient or the provider of the said help). Consistently, over the years, I’ve asked countless patients (as well as many colleagues and friends) for their definition of freedom. The most common, almost exclusive response, is along the lines of “freedom is the ability to do what you want to do.” To a psychiatrist (at least to this psychiatrist), this answer clearly couldn’t be more off the mark. The executive with obsessive compulsive disorder who makes a U-turn every morning on their way to work to verify that the appliances are turned off and the front door is locked, and the nun who becomes promiscuous during a manic episode, are doing precisely what they want, yet, subjectively and objectively, they are not exercising freedom. Similarly, the poor, morbidly obese person ingesting thousands of extra calories in their fried meal and supersized sugary drink is also doing what they want, and yet cannot be said to be exercising freedom. It’s a serious misconception that has grave, if veiled, consequences to mental health and the pursuit of happiness.
Defining liberty by emphasizing the fulfillment of ‘wants’ unwittingly lowers its value and dangerously elevates the value of desires and their fulfillment.
The most vivid (and often tragic) illustration of this point is the phenomenon of addiction: The primary driving force in the life of an active addict is to “score the fix.” That is what the addict-brain is compelled to do throughout most, if not all, of its waking time. Of course, when an addict scores their fix — doing precisely what they want to do, they are far from exercising freedom. The exact opposite — “scoring the fix” not only highlights the entrapment that an addiction is, it deepens it. Hence, it is absurd to consider the hallmark of addiction — doing what one wants to do — a manifestation of liberation.
This point is profoundly relevant for several reasons: Addictions are extremely common — some studies estimate the 12-month prevalence of addiction disorders among US adults at around 47%, with some assumptions placing it as high as 61% (Sussman et al., 2011) (these studies are contested in the literature as they take into account both chemical addictions, e.g., nicotine, alcohol, opioids, etc., and behavioral addictions, e.g., to gambling, internet, food, sex, etc.). The exact prevalence of addiction aside, the potential to develop an addiction is a defining human trait. In other words, those of us who do not suffer from an addiction are not immune to it, just fortunate.
The point extends further when we consider the addiction phenomenon in the broadest sense — as any persistent craving manifesting with a reversible impairment of judgment. Viewed from this perspective, all humans are susceptible to addiction. A partial list of common cravings includes security, wealth, fame, adoration, youth, intimacy, love, power, recognition, status, justice, and, of course, freedom and happiness. The urge to find relief from cravings readily leads to poor choices expressed through futile, often damaging, actions.
Ultimately, this sequence — even if it is completely subconscious and veiled — manifests as a palpable loss of freedom, i.e., as an entrapment and a cause of intense suffering.
When circumstances prevent us from “doing what we want to do,” we are faced with the need to tolerate our cravings. Understandably, we tend to have no enthusiasm for tolerating cravings — it is uncomfortable, at times even outright painful. Still, the tradeoff of receiving temporary relief from cravings at the cost of digging oneself deeper into a trap is a raw deal. We routinely accept it because of the prevailing illusion that in “doing what we want to do,” we find freedom, while, ironically, it’s the exact opposite.
Having established what freedom is not, we can move on toward a realistic, practically useful definition: Freedom is the degree of deliberate influence one has over one’s own position.
Freedom is encountered on two planes. The first is physical freedom, experienced by all sentient beings as the degree of influence an organism has over its physical position. The second is mental freedom — the degree of influence one has over their mental position. The experience of mental freedom is a defining and, arguably, exclusive human trait.
[Sidebar: 1. Freedom is similar to numerous other concepts, e.g., maturity, intimacy, competency, pain, and resilience, each of which has a single definition and appears on two planes: physical and mental. In general, we attribute a higher value to the mental form of each than to the physical. Consistently, the value associated with mental freedom exceeds the value of physical freedom.
2. The puzzling high prevalence of the misperception of freedom as “the ability to do what one wants to do” is at least partially explained by the fact that preventing one from ‘doing what they want to do’ does feel like a loss of freedom. Indeed, to the extent that one loses influence over their position, it is a loss of freedom. But it should not be confused with the opposite, i.e., the conclusion that ‘the ability to do what one wants to do’ defines freedom. For example, if a prisoner is prevented from leaving their cell, they lose a degree of freedom, but even when they regain the ability to leave their cell, i.e., do what they want to do, they are still a prisoner; they are not free.]
Physical freedom is determined by the surrounding physical conditions. Physical barriers that restrict one’s movement reduce their ability to influence their physical position, resulting in a loss of physical freedom (e.g., iron bars preventing exit from a prison cell, or sharks preventing rafting away from a desert island). Less obvious examples of the same principle include the possession of a passport, a requirement for travel from one country to another, which is therefore associated with a degree of physical freedom; consistently, the loss or revocation of one’s passport amounts to a loss of physical freedom. Alternatively, access to a working vehicle, which expands the range and speed of one’s movement, thereby increasing one’s influence over one’s physical position, is physically liberating (which, at least in part, explains why the invention of the wheel is considered a uniquely monumental milestone).
Therein lies the connection between wealth and (physical) freedom. Access to the funds needed to purchase an airplane ticket or a car (and gas) readily translates into influence over one’s position and, thus, more freedom (by extension, revoking a passport or a driver’s license, even imposing a financial fine, amounts to a reduction in freedom and, thus, a punishment).
Freedom can also be lost without any restriction of movement: A person may be in the middle of an open space, with absolutely no barriers limiting their movement, and be just as trapped as a prisoner in a prison cell — if they don’t know where they are and how to orient themselves to their surroundings (e.g., which way is North and which direction is the nearest oasis).
A person in such a predicament may be able to move in every direction unhindered, but — unless they know where they are and where they wish to move to — they are not free, as they can not exert deliberate influence on their position.
However, once this person comes into the possession of a map, they are liberated (assuming they know how to use it — i.e., they can tell which way is North and orient themselves and the map accordingly). Having a map amounts to regaining the ability to deliberately and meaningfully influence their movement.
The analogous mental function that provides this navigational ability and thus protects (mental) freedom is inner discipline.
Inner discipline is universally poorly understood; consequently, the level of enthusiasm about it is somewhat limited, to put it mildly. Contrary to popular belief (or, more accurately, popular misconception), inner discipline is liberating. Moreover, cultivating inner discipline is the only way to invest in one’s own mental freedom (at least it’s the only way I know of). It’s difficult to overemphasize the importance of inner discipline and the practice of cultivating it in the pursuit of happiness. Nonetheless, I do give it my best shot in the detailed discussion in the Inner Discipline chapter and the Cultivating Inner Discipline chapter.
Mental freedom is not insulated from external circumstances, but it is ultimately determined internally, by one’s level of influence over one’s own mental position and processes.
For example, freedom of speech, which, by the same definition, is a measure of one’s influence over the positioning of their ideas, thoughts, and beliefs, is determined by the external restrictions on moving one’s ideas (which we do using speech) from one’s own brain to others’ as well as by one’s ability to form and express their thoughts in coherent speech and motivation to share them with others.
Political freedom follows a similar pattern. Using our definition, political freedom boils down to the ability to re-position one’s political support — to move it from one political entity to another. Hence, it requires having more than a single option to choose from and the mental capacity for ideological (i.e., mental) shifts.
For a range of movement to exist (on both the physical and mental planes), there need to be at least two points to move between. Religious freedom requires the ability to move one’s worship from one deity or religion to another. Genuine political or religious freedom requires (at least) two options to choose from. A single option system offers zero range of motion — no range of motion equals no freedom.
[Sidebar: Modern dictators often claim to be in power as a result of a democratic process (e.g., the late Iraqi dictator Saddam Hussein or the Russian dictator Vladimir Putin). They boast of conducting impeccable democratic elections, and indeed, it may be the case, but for a single caveat — the pristine “democratic” elections held by dictators essentially feature only one candidate running. A single option doesn’t offer a range of movement, which, in turn, negates the ability to influence one’s position.]
The “mother of all mental freedoms” is freedom of choice. It requires a range of options (at a minimum of two) to choose from, as well as the ability to influence one’s own mental process, beginning with attention. Meaningful freedom of choice depends on attention, which is necessary to identify all of one’s available options and compare them, so that the optimal option can be selected. Consequently, any interference with the ability to shift attention volitionally and any disruption of the ability to sustain attention impedes mental freedom.
That is how cravings undermine freedom — by hijacking attention, and thus negating the chance for a meaningful comparative analysis of one’s options. (The hijacking of attention by cravings has another devastating consequence: it also undermines the discovery of meaning, which, as discussed in detail in the Meaning chapter, requires attention to map the causal connections in reality.)
Chronic pain has a similar impact. Pain, by evolutionary design, is prioritized to receive attention. Consistently, chronic pain patients invariably complain of an impairment of their normal ability to sustain attention (Zhang et al., 2021). The persistent interference with the ability to redirect attention at will translates into a sense of entrapment, an ever-present component of the chronic pain syndrome.
Fear has a similar effect. Fear (also, by evolutionary design) consumes attention; persistent fear thus reduces freedom. Terrorism in any form (whether it’s perpetrated by an individual, a rogue organization, or a government) is the deliberate infliction of fear for the purpose of reducing the victim’s freedom and ultimately undermining their pursuit of happiness.
Freedom and Emotions
Mental freedom is often lost in the face of strong emotions. Emotions have the potential to cause suffering because of their impact on (mental) freedom. Intense emotions reduce the mind’s range of motion. Even favorable (i.e., ‘positive’) emotions can restrict mental freedom. Anyone who has fallen in love should be able to relate. While “fallen” (in love), the ability to think about anything else but the person one has fallen in love with is diminished, sometimes severely so. This translates into a loss of influence over one’s mental position — i.e., loss of freedom, which equals suffering.
Buddhist terminology refers to a number of negative emotions as afflictive emotions (kleshas), which might be called ‘intoxicating emotions’. These are hatred, anger, greed, lust, envy, and arrogance. The intoxicating emotions are obsessional. It is difficult to think — about anything else — under the influence of an intoxicating emotion. Thus, the intoxicating emotions reduce the range of mental motion. The intoxicating emotions are like glue that sticks, or attaches, the mind to a single point in the mental terrain. The hate-filled mind is attached to the destruction of what it hates. The angry mind is attached to getting revenge. Minds intoxicated by greed, lust, and envy are attached to the coveted objects of their desire, the ‘self’s’ entitlement to them.
Intoxicating emotions thus restrict one’s mental range of motion, making it difficult, if not impossible, to think about anything outside of the focal point of the intoxication. Inevitably, this amounts to a loss of one’s influence over one’s mental position, which is synonymous with loss of mental freedom, an unaffordable loss in the pursuit of happiness.
Loss of mental freedom can be inflicted by eliciting any of the intoxicating emotions (the most common and easiest of these emotions to elicit in another person is anger, and, as discussed in the Anger chapter, its predecessor, frustration). Containing and ultimately neutralizing the afflictive emotions amounts to protecting freedom — a core aspiration in the practice of mindfulness.
The revered, late Nelson Mandela exemplifies this. Mr. Mandela’s physical freedom was taken away from him for almost three decades. His incarceration (as are all political imprisonments) was not genuinely a punishment for a crime. Whatever its stated justification, his incarceration functioned as — and may well have been intended as — an attempt to inflict sufficient suffering to provoke hatred and rage. Responding with such would have been his (expected) defeat. Mandela, however, transcended the trap and did not succumb to hatred. In so doing, he demonstrated something universally uplifting about the human spirit: It has the capacity to protect mental freedom in the face of the loss of physical freedom.
Mr. Mandela’s unequivocal refusal to succumb to hatred, together with his unwavering highest level of inner discipline, kept him mentally free while physically incarcerated in the most horrific conditions. He offers us an inspiring example of the human spirit’s ability to maintain mental freedom in the face of the most extreme forms of physical oppression.
We often encounter similar circumstances, on a much smaller scale, in our daily lives. Whenever we experience a pain that our brain concludes was deliberately (or even carelessly) inflicted on us by another person. When that happens, we are at risk of responding automatically, reflexively, with anger or even hatred. Even the (perception of a) threat of pain, to which we typically respond with fear or anxiety, can be enough to trigger an intoxicated emotional response. This reflexive negative emotional response leads to a loss of mental freedom, which, in turn, makes the initial offense seem much worse. It is an entry point into a damaging (psychological and interpersonal) cycle, the cycle of suffering. It is simple logic to resist following habits that lead to entering it. It is equally logical to make efforts to change such habits.
One of the dangerous effects of each of the intoxicating emotions is the legitimization of the use of force. Force simply does not fit into the pursuit of happiness (arguably, the use of force may be justified in the survival arena, but not in the pursuit of happiness). Instead of the use of force, in the pursuit of happiness, one must rely on strength. The difference is tolerance.
Tolerance is defined as “The calm willingness to experience an unpleasant or painful sensation without reacting to it.” One uses force when one’s tolerance ends — when the willingness to experience a discomfort or a pain without reacting to it evaporates (e.g., thoughts such as “I can’t take this anymore” are usually followed by a show of force when one has it to show, or agonizing over not having it). This is important because the cost of relying on force in the pursuit of happiness is guaranteed to exceed any benefit (typically, it has no benefit at all). The willingness (and worse — the insistence) to use force when survival is not at stake is based on automatic habits (reflexes), ignorance, or delusional thinking. Mindfulness practitioners aspire to overcome primitive habits, ignorance, and the propensity for delusional thinking that undermine tolerance and, consequently, legitimize the use of force.
It is common, at times seemingly inevitable, to negatively judge a person who (appears to have) caused you pain; we think of such a person as irresponsible, inconsiderate, or nasty and outright dangerous. It is surprisingly quick and easy to become attached to the conclusion that the incentive behind their hurtful behavior has to be negative — selfish or, at best, self-centered. Overlooking all other possible explanations but the one that fits the negative emotion is a part of the intoxicated emotional response. When this happens, the result is a loss of mental freedom. A quick and easy way to enter the cycle of suffering.
In the pursuit of happiness, we must develop alternative patterns of thinking, even if at first it may feel unnatural or awkward. These patterns are based on the conscious rejection of anger and hatred (anger and hatred, arguably, may be beneficial when fighting for survival, but in the pursuit of happiness, they are all cost and no benefit). The thoughts (and ultimately, actions) that support the pursuit of happiness are based on patience, tolerance, and wakeful containment of the magnitude and importance one attributes to the self.
Perhaps the most insidious cause of loss of mental freedom is ignorance (which explains the otherwise inexplicable threat that education poses to dictatorships). According to the Buddhist worldview, ignorance is the root cause of human suffering. Consistently, full enlightenment, i.e., the complete abolishment of ignorance, is the cessation of suffering.
Realistically, full enlightenment may not be within our reach (at least not immediately). We may need to be satisfied with moving in its direction, i.e., with gradually reducing our ignorance.
The aspiration to reduce ignorance aligns with the aspirations for freedom, minimizing suffering, and ultimately, the universal wish to pursue happiness effectively; thus, it is difficult to overstate its value (but I’ll keep trying). Ignorance can be addressed and reduced in several ways, which include formal education, informal education (e.g., apprenticeships, world travel), and mind-expanding experiences (e.g., contemplative meditation and, somewhat more controversially, the use of mind-expanding substances).
[Sidebar: 1. Fun fact about international terrorism — Terror organizations have been disproportionally focused on attacking modes of transportation, such as airports, airplanes, sea vessels, trains, and buses; this is peculiar because these are not population-dense targets (in comparison to sports arenas, for example). Targeting modes of transportation is an assault on the victim population’s sense of influence over its movement — an assault on freedom.
2. The practice of meditation can potentially enhance mental freedom by improving one’s ability to pay attention. Think about attention as a spotlight that can illuminate different areas on a stage (of consciousness). Meditation practitioners strive to cultivate a growing ability to observe and influence this “spotlight.” Practitioners aspire to exert deliberate influence on the “spotlight” so that it illuminates a specific, chosen part of “the stage”, rather than randomly or reactively shift all over it. In other words, the practice of meditation is geared first to improve one’s ability to notice what one’s mind is attending to (i.e., by paying attention to one’s attention) and then to improve one’s ability to direct and sustain attention on a chosen target. (For more on this topic, see the Meditation chapter.)
3. As mentioned above, the experience of freedom, be it physical or mental, hinges on having a range of motion (physical or mental, respectively). Any limitation to one’s range of motion limits their freedom. Open-mindedness, therefore, supports mental freedom, and consequently, open-mindedness supports the pursuit of happiness. A “closed” mind is incompatible with an effective pursuit of happiness. Fanaticism, the extreme form of closed-mindedness, doesn’t offer any range for mental movement; essentially, it is an entrapment, an incarceration, and thus a form of suffering, regardless of the sufferer’s having an awareness of it or not.]
REFERENCES
Jefferson, T. (1776). The Declaration of Independence.
Sussman, S., Lisha, N., & Griffiths, M. (2011). Prevalence of the addictions: A problem of the majority or the minority? Evaluation & the Health Professions, 34(1), 3–56. https://doi.org/10.1177/0163278710380124
Zhang, X., Gao, R., Zhang, C., Chen, H., Wang, R., Zhao, Q., Zhu, T., & Chen, C. (2021). Evidence for cognitive decline in chronic pain: A systematic review and meta-analysis. Frontiers in Neuroscience, 15, 737874. https://doi.org/10.3389/fnins.2021.737874
Mandela, N. (1994). Long Walk to Freedom: The Autobiography of Nelson Mandela. Little, Brown and Company.