J o u r n a l of Religion a n d Health, Vol. 25, No. 3, Fall 1986
Editorial
How Old Is Old? M a n y scholars and teachers older and wiser than we are have undertaken to describe in detail their theories of the stages of life.W e have read them with interest but still think it comes d o w n to three basic aspects of a h u m a n life. There is a beginning period w h e n we are young and weak and pretty ignorant. W e have a great m a n y things to learn very fast. They run all the w a y from care of the body, recognition of the natural drives of hunger, sex, self-preservation, to the more subtle ones of desire for knowledge, power, love, and even something more: beauty, truth, goodness, or eternity itself. There is a second stage when, more or less well prepared, we are pushed or dragged into the stage of life where we have to put to work such knowledge, powers, and concerns as we have in various social forms like families, churches, academies, governments, and numerous other human associations. We have to create and raise a family, practice a profession, function as citizens, create whatever works of usefulness and beauty we can, and contribute something of value to the general good of society and the advancement of human knowledge and decency. The demands and excitements of this stage of life, the comings and goings, the successes and failures, the wild pursuits and struggles to escape are so varied and many that we hardly have time to think of anything else or get anything into a broader perspective. "The tides of life are flowing," as the hymn says, "fresh, manifold, and free." Then, at flood tide, the movement begins to change. Watching it dally, because we live beside a tidal cove, one can see the water reach its height and begin to ebb, not fast at first but perceptibly, until at length the bottom appears here and there with familiar rocks, promontories, and even an occasional island formerly hidden by the high tide. The ebbing is the season of age. Santayana said that the gradual losing of what we have been and are is death. And Emerson wrote: This losing is true dying; This is lordly man's down-lying, This his slow but sure reclining, Star by star his world resigning. It is not so sad really. There are a lot of things one has been that one can be glad not to be any more. A n d there are a lot of things one can be that one has never had a chance to be before. Henry Cadbury, a distinguished scholar and teacher w h o lived well into his nineties, was asked h o w he felt about the prospect of death. H e replied with a smile, "Don't want to live too long; don't want to die too soon." W e believe he spoke for most of us. Of course, these stages of life are never absolute. The process is more like a flowing river than a series of stations along the way. S o m e of us in some part remain children all our lives, and that is not wholly a bad thing. Children learn very fast, and the guilelessness and innocence of childhood are at times enor171
9 1986Institutes of Religionand Health
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Journal of Religion and Health
mously valuable in later years. After all, somebody has to be bold enough and sharp enough to tell the emperors they have no clothes. We preserve into the years of retirement and aging many of the loves and concerns we found in childhood and middle life. We do not know how old old is. It seems to depend to a very large degree on the individual and the particular style of lifethat person has developed over the years. W e have all known some old bores who were hardly out of their twenties. Once you learn the knack, it'shard to break the habit. There are plenty of dirty old m e n at thirty; and as for courtesans, they start early like old soldiers and never die, but just fade away. One of the primary lessons of age seems to us to be that the self we have inherited and had a hand in forming and reforming through sixty years or more is the one we are going to accept, work with, and improve in only minor ways for the rest of our life.That is not such a terriblefate. To have survived for sixty years one must have done a few things right. There are, at least in our experience, some pleasant surprises. One is expressed in a briefpoem by Archibald MacLeish called "With Age, Wisdom." At twenty, stoopinground about I thought the world a miserableplace, Truth a trick,faithin doubt, Littlebeauty,lessgrace. Now at sixtywhat I see, Although the world isworse by far, Stops m y heart in ecstasy. God, the wonders that thereare. Parenthetically, it seems to us that the poets do better than the preachers, the philosophers, and the psychologists in catching the mood and expressing the authenticity of the way lifefeels at various stages. W e trust the poets more because they are not so bound by the necessity of making things into a coherent system and can catch the m o m e n t as it passes and the experience, transitory and meaningful, as itreallyis. Another pleasant surprise of advancing years is the discovery of a great m a n y areas of knowledge, activity,and enjoyment that we never had time for or even thought of as possibilitiesfor ourselves. Exciting and stimulating as this fact is, it can also be dangerous. W e have a friend, a former bank executive, who is retiring with a burst of activity perhaps never seen or permitred in the high financialcircleswhere he lived and worked for m a n y years. H e has become in a very short time a home repairman and landscape architect, a gardener, a cook, a sailor,a lobsterman, a concerned citizen,a tennis player, and a social lion. Some of these things he has done before, but not with this intensity. It is wearing him down. H e suffers from what Thomas Kelly called "the poverty of lifewhich is brought about by the overabundance of our opportunities." Being free to do m a n y things, we experience the youthful crisis of trying almost everything and must learn, as Kelly says, "to center down." Yet it is a rich and deepening experience to move out of a demanding profession or vocation and discover that there are m a n y worlds out there
173
Harry C. Meserve
which one has not had time to pay attention to. This discovery has spiritual value, for it remains one that no matter how distinguished, competent, and successful we m a y have been--and, of course, we all were, whether the world recognized it or not--we are now as littlechildren who must be taught from the start how to make our way in other fields of knowledge and activity. Such experience is good for the soul. One might even say itkeeps one young. But no matter how we gloss it over, the body tires.F e w people reach an age of retirement without having been decked at least once by some physical problem that reminded them of their mortality. "Brother Ass," as St. Francis called the body, gets tired and cannot do what was once easy and customary. As most of us have learned, there is no w a y out of this decline.All one can do is make the best of what one has left without useless mourning over what one once was. It is true that one's physical powers decline.There is no way a sixtyyear-old "can run as fast or walk as far or liftas much or endure hard physical exercise as long as a twenty-year-old or a thirty-year-old.But the experience of health and the benefit of exercise are felt when the individual at any age is using his or her skillsand powers at their peak. This experience, which is the true reward of bodily activity, is possible at any age and in any degree. Disciplined muscles and sl~illsdeveloped over a long period of time can make up for a considerable lack of brute strength and endurance. The body is at its best when, like the mind, it is used up to but not beyond the limits of its strength. Often the years liberateus from other problems. One tyrant of the early and middle years is ambition. Somehow, as the dust clears and the struggle for recognition, power, fulfillment dies down, we realize that a lot of things that used to matter, supremely, as it seemed, really do not matter any more. That is a true liberation. As usual, it is a poet who says it best. This is Witter Bynner's rendition of one chapter of the Tao Teh Citing: Knowledge studies others, Wisdom is self-known; Muscle masters brothers, Self-mastery is bone~ Content need never borrow, Ambition wanders blind: Vitality cleaves to the marrow Leaving death behind. Reminiscence is, of course, one of the most pervasive qualities of the riper years. The only advice we can offer for the temptation to share one's memories with others is, "Wait until they ask you, and then do it sparingly and relevant~ ly." B u t the riches of memory visited in times of quiet reflection on one's own life can be enjoyed and re-experienced to our profit and growth in wisdom. Masefield said, "The days that make us happy make us wise." We believe that, b u t it is also true that the days that have made us sad, the r~lization of the howling mistakes we have made, can also make us wise and contribute to our sanity and peace of mind. We do not believe that memory m u s t decay with age, although it often does. Memory is like a muscle which stays strong with
174
Journal of Religion and Health
exercise. It is said that the s u m total of our experience (and even perhaps vast segments of the entire h u m a n experience) lies deep within the unconscious mind and can be brought to the surface by various perceptions and disciplines. It is certainly true that all of us can be forgetful, as everyone's spouse will remind him or her. W e do forget things we might like to forget and develop decorated memories of things we enjoy recalling. Stillwe do have some control over the m e m o r y process and can have more with practice and careful attention. Nothing we can think of can add more to perspective and a deepened personal philosophy than the sustained attempt to bring m e m o r y into play so that one's whole lifecan be seen and valued in a larger perspective than was possible in earlieryears. Erik Erikson, in Identity, Youth, and Crisis, reminds us that we all have and cultivate over the years a vision of the superior life we wish could be ours, something better than what we have known so far. Browning says, "The best is yet to be." Our answer to that is, "Well, maybe, b u t not necessarily, not if we do not try to shape what we can of our own lives." " A meaningful old age," Erikson says, "preceding a possible terminal senility, serves the need for that integrated heritage which gives indispensable perspective to the life cycle. Strength here takes the form of that detached yet active concern with life bounded b y death which we call wisdom in its many connotations from ripened wits to accumulated knowledge, mature judgment, and inclusive understanding." In short, we want to live to a dignified and ripe old age, remaining useful to some, holding our loves and loyalties close, and finding such wisdom and peace of mind as we can create a n d the world will permit. That m a y not be much, b u t it is the best we can hope for, and more than many find. H o w do we think about our own deaths? H o w do we who exist think about non-existence? Even if we have the alleged comforts of faith in some afterlife, how do we think about a phase of existence of whose environment and circumstances we know absolutely nothing? Death has become a popular subject in our day, as perhaps it should be, since planetary extinction is one of the possible destinies that lie before us. Yet death is a very personal thing, as we know when it happens to another near to us and also when we think about our own death. Woody Allen, the eminent philosopher, said it well when he remarked, " I ' m not afraid of death. I j u s t don't want to be there when it happens." Elisabeth K~abler-Ross has not made things any easier for many of us b y her almost ecstatic embracing of death as the crowning experience of life. We tend to side with the octogenarian who was asked about his feelings on old age. " N o t bad," he said, "considering the alternative." Again the poets come to our rescue in helping to clarify the situation. For years we have known and admired Dylan Thomas's great poem: Do not go gentle into that good night, Old age should burn and rave at close of day; Rage, rage against the dying of the light. A s a striving, unpublished poet, we have considered that p o e m as poetry a true masterpiece. A n d there was a time when we believed it stated the best posture for a mortal in the later years. But n o w we feel that there is enough rage in the
Harry C. Meserve
175
world already, too much by far. And there are too m a n y people who never get a chance to rage against the dying of the light because they never get a chance to experience the warmth and b e a u t y of the fight of ordinary life in a world with enough to eat and nothing to fear. We would like to cool the rage rather than intensify it. Yet we cannot go all the w a y with Algernon Swinburne: From too much love of living, From hope and fear set flee, We thank with brief thanksgiving Whatever gods may be That no life lives forever; That dead men rise up never; That even the weariest river Winds somewhere safe to sea. That is a good poem, too. Philosophically, emotionally, we find ourselves somewhere between Thomas and Swinburne. We know we shall live and die, but "not too long, and not too soon." This situation seems to indicate something that is only beginning to be understood in our culture today. H u m a n beings are expected to plan their fives. M a y they also be permitted to plan their deaths? Already the issue of people choosing death rather than extended suffering and helplessness has come up in a number of well-publicized cases. A kindred issue is whether relatives or friends m a y decide that death is better than continued tormented fife for a loved one. A great many people have signed some form of the Living Will, which provides that in the event of irreversible and painful illness heroic treatment merely to preserve the signs of life should not be undertaken. Another form of this same controversy is to be found in the cases of several people who, being unable to bear any longer the hopeless suffering of somebody they deeply loved, have helped him or her to die by some active measure. Two such people, one a doctor, have been charged with murder. We predict that this kind of death will be one of the most serious moral and legal problems in the years ahead. We ourselves or others known to us m a y be involved. We m a y in some cases help others to make their choices. We m a y make our own. Seniors in the helping professions m a y from time to time be able to help the younger men and women who come after them in thinking out these life-and-death choices. It is the first time in which death has been considered as an intelligent, compassionate, humane choice for individual h u m a n beings in extreme, incurable suffering. If we can plan birth in a constructive, compassionate way, why should we not plan death when fife becomes insupportable7 There will, of course, be many hard and complicated decisions related to these choices, but the necessity for thinking about them is upon us. One thing is certain. None of the old cliches about retirement, old age, and death will do. Each one of us must make our own individual way and develop our personal style. Nobody ever wins in this struggle. But each can develop a manner of life, a way of taking the inevitable pains, weaknesses, partings, and endings that has integrity and even a certain dignity and beauty. E.B. White, a great human being and probably the greatest American stylist of the
176
Journal of Religion and Health
English language, died not long ago. In thinking about him and his contribution to our general w i s d o m and wit, w e opened the collection of his letters and found these words addressed to a Mr. Nadeau: As long as there is one upright man, as long as there is one compassionate woman, the contagion m a y spread and the scene is not desolate. Hope is the thing that is left to us, in a bad time. I shall get up Sunday morning and wind the clock, as a contribution to order and steadfastness. Sailors have an expression about the weather: they say, the weather is a great bluffer. I guess the same is true of our human society--things can look dark, then a break shows in the clouds, and all is changed, sometimes rather suddenly. I t is quite obvious that the human race has made a queer mess of life on this planet. But as a people we probably harbor seeds of goodness that have lain for a long time, waiting to sprout when the conditions are right. Man's curiosity, his relentlessness, his inventiveness, his ingenuity have led him into deep trouble.W e can only hope that these same traitswillenable him to claw his way out. Hang on to your hat. Hang on to your hope. A n d wind the clock, for tomorrow isanother day. W e c a n t h i n k of no w i s e r a d v i c e for r e t i r e d p e o p l e w h o h a v e w o r k e d long a n d h a r d a t t h e i r p r o f e s s i o n a n d n o w climb t h e s a m e hill into a n u n k n o w n c o u n t r y . T o k e e p o n e ' s s e n s e of h u m o r a n d to live w i t h i n t e g r i t y a n d c o u r a g e is t h e b e s t t h i n g a n y b o d y c a n do a t a n y a g e for p e r s o n a l fulfillment a n d for h u m a n destiny. H a r r y C. M e s e r v e
Editorial
How Old Is Old? M a n y scholars and teachers older and wiser than we are have undertaken to describe in detail their theories of the stages of life.W e have read them with interest but still think it comes d o w n to three basic aspects of a h u m a n life. There is a beginning period w h e n we are young and weak and pretty ignorant. W e have a great m a n y things to learn very fast. They run all the w a y from care of the body, recognition of the natural drives of hunger, sex, self-preservation, to the more subtle ones of desire for knowledge, power, love, and even something more: beauty, truth, goodness, or eternity itself. There is a second stage when, more or less well prepared, we are pushed or dragged into the stage of life where we have to put to work such knowledge, powers, and concerns as we have in various social forms like families, churches, academies, governments, and numerous other human associations. We have to create and raise a family, practice a profession, function as citizens, create whatever works of usefulness and beauty we can, and contribute something of value to the general good of society and the advancement of human knowledge and decency. The demands and excitements of this stage of life, the comings and goings, the successes and failures, the wild pursuits and struggles to escape are so varied and many that we hardly have time to think of anything else or get anything into a broader perspective. "The tides of life are flowing," as the hymn says, "fresh, manifold, and free." Then, at flood tide, the movement begins to change. Watching it dally, because we live beside a tidal cove, one can see the water reach its height and begin to ebb, not fast at first but perceptibly, until at length the bottom appears here and there with familiar rocks, promontories, and even an occasional island formerly hidden by the high tide. The ebbing is the season of age. Santayana said that the gradual losing of what we have been and are is death. And Emerson wrote: This losing is true dying; This is lordly man's down-lying, This his slow but sure reclining, Star by star his world resigning. It is not so sad really. There are a lot of things one has been that one can be glad not to be any more. A n d there are a lot of things one can be that one has never had a chance to be before. Henry Cadbury, a distinguished scholar and teacher w h o lived well into his nineties, was asked h o w he felt about the prospect of death. H e replied with a smile, "Don't want to live too long; don't want to die too soon." W e believe he spoke for most of us. Of course, these stages of life are never absolute. The process is more like a flowing river than a series of stations along the way. S o m e of us in some part remain children all our lives, and that is not wholly a bad thing. Children learn very fast, and the guilelessness and innocence of childhood are at times enor171
9 1986Institutes of Religionand Health
172
Journal of Religion and Health
mously valuable in later years. After all, somebody has to be bold enough and sharp enough to tell the emperors they have no clothes. We preserve into the years of retirement and aging many of the loves and concerns we found in childhood and middle life. We do not know how old old is. It seems to depend to a very large degree on the individual and the particular style of lifethat person has developed over the years. W e have all known some old bores who were hardly out of their twenties. Once you learn the knack, it'shard to break the habit. There are plenty of dirty old m e n at thirty; and as for courtesans, they start early like old soldiers and never die, but just fade away. One of the primary lessons of age seems to us to be that the self we have inherited and had a hand in forming and reforming through sixty years or more is the one we are going to accept, work with, and improve in only minor ways for the rest of our life.That is not such a terriblefate. To have survived for sixty years one must have done a few things right. There are, at least in our experience, some pleasant surprises. One is expressed in a briefpoem by Archibald MacLeish called "With Age, Wisdom." At twenty, stoopinground about I thought the world a miserableplace, Truth a trick,faithin doubt, Littlebeauty,lessgrace. Now at sixtywhat I see, Although the world isworse by far, Stops m y heart in ecstasy. God, the wonders that thereare. Parenthetically, it seems to us that the poets do better than the preachers, the philosophers, and the psychologists in catching the mood and expressing the authenticity of the way lifefeels at various stages. W e trust the poets more because they are not so bound by the necessity of making things into a coherent system and can catch the m o m e n t as it passes and the experience, transitory and meaningful, as itreallyis. Another pleasant surprise of advancing years is the discovery of a great m a n y areas of knowledge, activity,and enjoyment that we never had time for or even thought of as possibilitiesfor ourselves. Exciting and stimulating as this fact is, it can also be dangerous. W e have a friend, a former bank executive, who is retiring with a burst of activity perhaps never seen or permitred in the high financialcircleswhere he lived and worked for m a n y years. H e has become in a very short time a home repairman and landscape architect, a gardener, a cook, a sailor,a lobsterman, a concerned citizen,a tennis player, and a social lion. Some of these things he has done before, but not with this intensity. It is wearing him down. H e suffers from what Thomas Kelly called "the poverty of lifewhich is brought about by the overabundance of our opportunities." Being free to do m a n y things, we experience the youthful crisis of trying almost everything and must learn, as Kelly says, "to center down." Yet it is a rich and deepening experience to move out of a demanding profession or vocation and discover that there are m a n y worlds out there
173
Harry C. Meserve
which one has not had time to pay attention to. This discovery has spiritual value, for it remains one that no matter how distinguished, competent, and successful we m a y have been--and, of course, we all were, whether the world recognized it or not--we are now as littlechildren who must be taught from the start how to make our way in other fields of knowledge and activity. Such experience is good for the soul. One might even say itkeeps one young. But no matter how we gloss it over, the body tires.F e w people reach an age of retirement without having been decked at least once by some physical problem that reminded them of their mortality. "Brother Ass," as St. Francis called the body, gets tired and cannot do what was once easy and customary. As most of us have learned, there is no w a y out of this decline.All one can do is make the best of what one has left without useless mourning over what one once was. It is true that one's physical powers decline.There is no way a sixtyyear-old "can run as fast or walk as far or liftas much or endure hard physical exercise as long as a twenty-year-old or a thirty-year-old.But the experience of health and the benefit of exercise are felt when the individual at any age is using his or her skillsand powers at their peak. This experience, which is the true reward of bodily activity, is possible at any age and in any degree. Disciplined muscles and sl~illsdeveloped over a long period of time can make up for a considerable lack of brute strength and endurance. The body is at its best when, like the mind, it is used up to but not beyond the limits of its strength. Often the years liberateus from other problems. One tyrant of the early and middle years is ambition. Somehow, as the dust clears and the struggle for recognition, power, fulfillment dies down, we realize that a lot of things that used to matter, supremely, as it seemed, really do not matter any more. That is a true liberation. As usual, it is a poet who says it best. This is Witter Bynner's rendition of one chapter of the Tao Teh Citing: Knowledge studies others, Wisdom is self-known; Muscle masters brothers, Self-mastery is bone~ Content need never borrow, Ambition wanders blind: Vitality cleaves to the marrow Leaving death behind. Reminiscence is, of course, one of the most pervasive qualities of the riper years. The only advice we can offer for the temptation to share one's memories with others is, "Wait until they ask you, and then do it sparingly and relevant~ ly." B u t the riches of memory visited in times of quiet reflection on one's own life can be enjoyed and re-experienced to our profit and growth in wisdom. Masefield said, "The days that make us happy make us wise." We believe that, b u t it is also true that the days that have made us sad, the r~lization of the howling mistakes we have made, can also make us wise and contribute to our sanity and peace of mind. We do not believe that memory m u s t decay with age, although it often does. Memory is like a muscle which stays strong with
174
Journal of Religion and Health
exercise. It is said that the s u m total of our experience (and even perhaps vast segments of the entire h u m a n experience) lies deep within the unconscious mind and can be brought to the surface by various perceptions and disciplines. It is certainly true that all of us can be forgetful, as everyone's spouse will remind him or her. W e do forget things we might like to forget and develop decorated memories of things we enjoy recalling. Stillwe do have some control over the m e m o r y process and can have more with practice and careful attention. Nothing we can think of can add more to perspective and a deepened personal philosophy than the sustained attempt to bring m e m o r y into play so that one's whole lifecan be seen and valued in a larger perspective than was possible in earlieryears. Erik Erikson, in Identity, Youth, and Crisis, reminds us that we all have and cultivate over the years a vision of the superior life we wish could be ours, something better than what we have known so far. Browning says, "The best is yet to be." Our answer to that is, "Well, maybe, b u t not necessarily, not if we do not try to shape what we can of our own lives." " A meaningful old age," Erikson says, "preceding a possible terminal senility, serves the need for that integrated heritage which gives indispensable perspective to the life cycle. Strength here takes the form of that detached yet active concern with life bounded b y death which we call wisdom in its many connotations from ripened wits to accumulated knowledge, mature judgment, and inclusive understanding." In short, we want to live to a dignified and ripe old age, remaining useful to some, holding our loves and loyalties close, and finding such wisdom and peace of mind as we can create a n d the world will permit. That m a y not be much, b u t it is the best we can hope for, and more than many find. H o w do we think about our own deaths? H o w do we who exist think about non-existence? Even if we have the alleged comforts of faith in some afterlife, how do we think about a phase of existence of whose environment and circumstances we know absolutely nothing? Death has become a popular subject in our day, as perhaps it should be, since planetary extinction is one of the possible destinies that lie before us. Yet death is a very personal thing, as we know when it happens to another near to us and also when we think about our own death. Woody Allen, the eminent philosopher, said it well when he remarked, " I ' m not afraid of death. I j u s t don't want to be there when it happens." Elisabeth K~abler-Ross has not made things any easier for many of us b y her almost ecstatic embracing of death as the crowning experience of life. We tend to side with the octogenarian who was asked about his feelings on old age. " N o t bad," he said, "considering the alternative." Again the poets come to our rescue in helping to clarify the situation. For years we have known and admired Dylan Thomas's great poem: Do not go gentle into that good night, Old age should burn and rave at close of day; Rage, rage against the dying of the light. A s a striving, unpublished poet, we have considered that p o e m as poetry a true masterpiece. A n d there was a time when we believed it stated the best posture for a mortal in the later years. But n o w we feel that there is enough rage in the
Harry C. Meserve
175
world already, too much by far. And there are too m a n y people who never get a chance to rage against the dying of the light because they never get a chance to experience the warmth and b e a u t y of the fight of ordinary life in a world with enough to eat and nothing to fear. We would like to cool the rage rather than intensify it. Yet we cannot go all the w a y with Algernon Swinburne: From too much love of living, From hope and fear set flee, We thank with brief thanksgiving Whatever gods may be That no life lives forever; That dead men rise up never; That even the weariest river Winds somewhere safe to sea. That is a good poem, too. Philosophically, emotionally, we find ourselves somewhere between Thomas and Swinburne. We know we shall live and die, but "not too long, and not too soon." This situation seems to indicate something that is only beginning to be understood in our culture today. H u m a n beings are expected to plan their fives. M a y they also be permitted to plan their deaths? Already the issue of people choosing death rather than extended suffering and helplessness has come up in a number of well-publicized cases. A kindred issue is whether relatives or friends m a y decide that death is better than continued tormented fife for a loved one. A great many people have signed some form of the Living Will, which provides that in the event of irreversible and painful illness heroic treatment merely to preserve the signs of life should not be undertaken. Another form of this same controversy is to be found in the cases of several people who, being unable to bear any longer the hopeless suffering of somebody they deeply loved, have helped him or her to die by some active measure. Two such people, one a doctor, have been charged with murder. We predict that this kind of death will be one of the most serious moral and legal problems in the years ahead. We ourselves or others known to us m a y be involved. We m a y in some cases help others to make their choices. We m a y make our own. Seniors in the helping professions m a y from time to time be able to help the younger men and women who come after them in thinking out these life-and-death choices. It is the first time in which death has been considered as an intelligent, compassionate, humane choice for individual h u m a n beings in extreme, incurable suffering. If we can plan birth in a constructive, compassionate way, why should we not plan death when fife becomes insupportable7 There will, of course, be many hard and complicated decisions related to these choices, but the necessity for thinking about them is upon us. One thing is certain. None of the old cliches about retirement, old age, and death will do. Each one of us must make our own individual way and develop our personal style. Nobody ever wins in this struggle. But each can develop a manner of life, a way of taking the inevitable pains, weaknesses, partings, and endings that has integrity and even a certain dignity and beauty. E.B. White, a great human being and probably the greatest American stylist of the
176
Journal of Religion and Health
English language, died not long ago. In thinking about him and his contribution to our general w i s d o m and wit, w e opened the collection of his letters and found these words addressed to a Mr. Nadeau: As long as there is one upright man, as long as there is one compassionate woman, the contagion m a y spread and the scene is not desolate. Hope is the thing that is left to us, in a bad time. I shall get up Sunday morning and wind the clock, as a contribution to order and steadfastness. Sailors have an expression about the weather: they say, the weather is a great bluffer. I guess the same is true of our human society--things can look dark, then a break shows in the clouds, and all is changed, sometimes rather suddenly. I t is quite obvious that the human race has made a queer mess of life on this planet. But as a people we probably harbor seeds of goodness that have lain for a long time, waiting to sprout when the conditions are right. Man's curiosity, his relentlessness, his inventiveness, his ingenuity have led him into deep trouble.W e can only hope that these same traitswillenable him to claw his way out. Hang on to your hat. Hang on to your hope. A n d wind the clock, for tomorrow isanother day. W e c a n t h i n k of no w i s e r a d v i c e for r e t i r e d p e o p l e w h o h a v e w o r k e d long a n d h a r d a t t h e i r p r o f e s s i o n a n d n o w climb t h e s a m e hill into a n u n k n o w n c o u n t r y . T o k e e p o n e ' s s e n s e of h u m o r a n d to live w i t h i n t e g r i t y a n d c o u r a g e is t h e b e s t t h i n g a n y b o d y c a n do a t a n y a g e for p e r s o n a l fulfillment a n d for h u m a n destiny. H a r r y C. M e s e r v e
