“The unwise life is one long struggle with death the intruder–an uneven contest in which age is obsessively delayed through artifice and the denial of time’s erosions.” Huston Smith, The World’s Religions
Recent conversations with our children have revealed how differently they view the lives of their parents, not only as contrasted with their own lives, but with our earlier lives. This has led me to revisit a concept of great interest to me during my year as a Fellow at the Harvard Divinity School’s Center for the Study of World Religions.
Shakespeare took an age-old concept (one that goes at least back to Aristotle) and turned it into much-quoted humor. He describes seven stages of life: we grow from “puking infant” to “whining schoolboy” to lover “sighing like a furnace with a woeful ballad/ made to his mistress’ eyebrow.” Then comes the heroic stage of soldier, “seeking the bubble reputation/ Even in the cannon’s mouth.” Next comes prosperity and social status perhaps, represented by the justice or judge, “full of wise saws.” But during the sixth and seventh stages, diminishment begins with loss of manly voice and appearance of the second childhood, until finally we appear “sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.”
Not so, say our brothers and sisters to the East. According to Huston Smith’s The World’s Religions, perhaps the most comprehensive, and surely the most accessible, guide to the lay reader on comparative religion, long before Shakespeare, and perhaps even before Aristotle, Hindu thinkers had described not seven but four stages. The first stage is that of learner or student, about ages 8 to 24 when she or he not only learns facts and gains knowledge generally but also develops good character, good habits and personal skills. One’s duty at this stage is to learn, to “offer a receptive mind to all that the teacher, standing, as it were, on the pinnacle of the past, could transmit.”
During the second stage of everyone’s life, which Hindus call that of the “householder,” one marries, finds suitable work and joins a community. Here the basic human desires are usually satisfied: pleasure, through one’s family and marriage; success through whatever vocation one has adopted, and a sense of duty fulfilled through civic participation. Hinduism says all this is fine, fulfill these desires but do not be so attached to them that you cannot let go. Sex and other sense pleasures, success at whatever game of life you have joined, responsible fulfillment of your vocation or duties, all will eventually begin to grow stale, to lose their novelty and ability to surprise. Each person is somewhat different, of course, not only in the years he takes to complete each stage, but also in the way he responds to his life’s goals based on his temperament and vision. Typically, in the Indian culture, this begins to happen around age 50. In our culture, the householder stage probably ends closer to age 70.
Smith notes that like seasons yielding, each in their turn, to the next, so too, do human beings naturally accept each successive season. But, he cautions,
“some never do. Their spectacle is not a pretty one, for pursuits appropriate in their day become grotesque when unduly prolonged. A playboy of twenty-five may have considerable appeal, but spare us the playboys of fifty.”
Similarly those who hold on to positions at work or in politics must, at some point, yield to the younger generation with its new ideas and vastly greater energy. Yet there is a problem. What else can they do? There is often not a role for them in the West. Some travel, some play golf, some take up causes. Many turn to fulfill their lifelong yearning to learn another language or pursue a favorite research topic. Often there are great rewards in becoming close to family members and discovering the uniqueness of each grandchild. But eventually most ask, “Is that all there is?” When and if that happens, they are ready for a third stage and the Hindus have a different kind of answer to what happens after middle age.
If one’s supreme values are those of the senses, of the table and the bed, of body image and luxury, the one ought to resign oneself to the fact that life after youth must be downhill. Similarly, if it is success and power we value, middle age, the stage of the householder, will be the peak of life. But Hinduism says there is more: the Upanishads, the source of ancient wisdom say, “Leave all and follow Him! Enjoy his inexpressible riches”–sounding much like the Christian gospels. The “He” referred to here is not Christ, of course, for he was unknown when those words were written. The reference is instead to finding and following one’s true Self. Lower-case self refers to the ego which must diminish; capitalized Self refers to the Divine and that part of us that connects with the Divine. With confidence and eagerness for this next challenge, the devout Hindu enters the stage of retirement.
At this time, any time that is, after the arrival of the first grandchild, says Smith,
“the individual may take advantage of the license of age and withdraw from the social obligations that were thus far shouldered with a will. For twenty to thirty years society has exacted its dues; now relief is in order, lest life conclude before it has been understood.”
One’s true adult education can now begin. To find meaning in life’s mystery becomes the final fascinating goal. The practice of religious Hindus who respond to the “lure of spiritual adventure” seems extreme to the Western mind: foresaking the comforts of home and family, leaving business and economic concerns behind along with “the beauties and hopes of youth and the successes of maturity.” To work out one’s own personal philosophy and to integrate that philosophy into a way of life, to find the reality that lies beneath the natural world is the next charge.
Westerners, if so motivated, may turn to Zen or other forms of meditation. They might investigate that often misinterpreted field called mysticism: that is to say, an inquiry into the deeper side of the spiritual life, and a recognition of the relative superficiality of daily life. It is an attempt to reach the depth of other levels of life that must be individually proved to exist and to experience how these deeper levels can be reached, however arduously. Hinduism calls this stage of life “going into the forest”, leaving secular life behind during retirement.
After several years “in the forest,” comes the final stage beyond retirement. Having abandoned earthly cares and learned the discipline the forest has provided, the pilgrim can now freely return to the world as a different person. He or she no longer seeks wealth, success or even “to be somebody.” On the contrary, one’s wish is to “remain a complete nonentity on the surface in order to be joined to all at the root.” According to Smith, a Hindu would ask why we would wish to take up again all the “posturing and costumes of a limiting self-identity” when there is a newly recognized intrinsic self. The strictest Hindu here takes up a begging bowl, has no obligations, is completely detached and neither loves nor hates anything. He cares not about the body nor if it falls or remains, for “the faculties of his mind are now at rest in the Holy Power, the essence of bliss.”
I have received several letters from friends who have retired (yes, there are a few out there who prefer paper to screen and completely private messages to social media). Many of them exhaust me with their busyness – admirable causes and book clubs, travel experiences and crafts. But I also hear the message of the Hindus. There is another level of reality and I want to spend time there.
On the other hand, there are other ways of approaching later life. Shakespeare expressed a view that was close to my own mother’s attitude. Although she became a more devout Catholic as she aged, she also would approve of what the Bard wrote in The Merchant of Venice:
“With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come
And rather let my liver heat with wine than my heart cool with mortifying groans.”
Journal of a Former Nun 