|
Work in the Third Age of
Life
By John G. Sullivan
Editor's
note:
A much-loved teacher at Elon University in North
Carolina, philosopher
John G. Sullivan
was named its first
Distinguished University Professor in 2002. He is
the author of Living Large:
Transformative Work at the Intersection of
Ethics and Spirituality. He
will be a presenter in the seminar, Spirit, Service, and
Community in the Second Half of Life, which will be held
on February 23, 2008, at the Seymour Center in Chapel Hill,
NC (click here
for further information). John Sullivan is a member of the
Second Journey Board of Directors.
Click
here to view John Sullivan's article from the Fall 2007
issue of Itineraries.
"We have to realize that our lives are at stake, the one unique life, entirely our own, it is possible for each of us to live. Death is much closer to each of us then we will admit; we must not postpone that living as if we will last forever." — David Whyte, Crossing the Unknown Sea: Work as a Pilgrimage of Identity
Here is a story about work:
For
several weeks strange sounds had drifted over the mountains
from the neighboring valley. There was much talk in the
village about what these noises could be, but no one could
make sense of them. Even the village elders had never heard
anything like them. Finally one of the young men of the
village was chosen to cross the mountains and see what was
going on.
After two days of hiking he reached the mountaintop and saw
in the valley far below a hive of activity with dozens of
people working. As he drew closer, he saw a line of people,
each with a huge stone in front of them that they were
hammering and chiseling.
When
he finally reached the valley floor he approached a young
man at one end of the line and asked, “What are you doing?”
“Huh!” grunted the young man. “I’m killing time until I
get off work.”
Puzzled, the hiker turned to the second person in the line,
a young woman, and asked, “Excuse me, but what are you
doing?”
“I’m earning a living to support my family,” she
responded.
Scratching his head, the hiker moved on to the third person
and asked again, “What are you doing?”
“I’m creating a beautiful statue,” came the reply.
Turning to the next person, the hiker repeated his question.
“I’m helping to build a cathedral,” came the answer.
“Ah!” said the hiker. “I think I’m beginning to understand.”
Approaching the woman who was next in line he asked, “And
what are you doing?
“I am helping the people in this town and
generations that follow them, by helping to build this
cathedral.”
“Wonderful,” exclaimed the hiker. “And you, sir? He called
to the man beside her.
“I am helping to build this cathedral in
order to serve all those who use it and to awaken myself in
the process. I am seeking my salvation through service to
others.”
Finally the hiker turned to the last stone worker, an old,
lively person whose eyes twinkled and whose mouth formed a
perpetual smile. “And what are you doing?” he inquired.
“Me?” smiled the elder. “Doing?” The elder roared with
laughter. “This ego dissolved into God many years ago. There
is no ‘I’ left to ‘do’ anything. God works through this body
to help and awaken all people and draw them to Him.”1
This is a story of how what we do takes
on meaning and purpose through the mode of consciousness
which gives context to what we do.
“What are you doing?” asks the young man. There were six
answers and then a seventh. Let’s look at the first six:
-
“I’m killing time until I get off work.”
-
“I’m earning a living to support my family.”
-
“I’m creating a beautiful statue.”
-
“I’m helping to build a cathedral.”
-
“I am helping the people in this town and generations
that follow them, by helping to build this cathedral.”
-
“I am helping to build this cathedral in order to serve
all those who use it and to awaken myself in the
process. I am seeking my salvation through service to
others.”
The first pair of responders do not
prize the work at all. For the first person, work is an
obstacle to get through in order to have “free time.” For
the second, work has value solely in terms of the money
earned. Of course, the goal of supporting one’s family is
surely a worthy one, but many activities — ethical and
unethical — gain recompense. So recompense is only
externally linked to the work itself.2
The next pair of responses center on
what is being done — building a statue, building a
cathedral. Work here has the mark of a craft with its
own intrinsic standards of use and beauty. Statues may be
well made or ill made; they may be beautiful or not.
Furthermore, the cathedral as a whole is marked by standards
of use and beauty. Such structures may be poorly built,
hazardously built, built without taste or beauty, or they
may be well built, safely built, beautifully built,
inspiringly built.
The next pair of responses broadens the
context still further. What is the point and purpose of the
work, in this case building a cathedral? Who is to be
served? “The people of this town and generations to come,”
says one. “Myself and all who use it,” says another
who adds, “I am seeking my salvation through service.”
Here the context broadens. For the sake
of whom or what is the work? What is its point and purpose?
Who is to be served? The answers given are instructive. The
first brings in place and people; in fact, people of this
generation and generations to come. The second answer adds
the person him or herself as part of a community that
extends to all who use the work, and this answer explicitly
brings in the spiritual as well — seeking salvation through
service.
And the seventh answer?
“Me?” smiled the elder. “Doing?” The elder roared with
laughter. “This ego dissolved into God many years ago. There
is no ‘I’ left to ‘do’ anything. God works through this body
to help and awaken all people and draw them to Him.”
This is the answer of a sage — one who
has reached a high level of development. There is a sense of
no work (in the usual sense). Work and play merge, and
gratitude fills the heart. Robert Frost’s lines might apply
when he says:
But yield who will to their separation,
My object in living is to unite
My avocation with my vocation
As two eyes make one in sight.
Only where love and need are one
And the work is play for mortal stakes,
Is the deed ever really done
For Heaven and the future’s sake.3
But what is the nature of work? And is
there a special opportunity to relate to whatever we do in
new ways as we enter our third age? I think here that the
first age is that of being a student, and the second age is
being a householder and often having care of a family. I
think of the third age as what are now called retirement
years. In the Hindu frame I am following, this age invites
us to simplify and reconnect with nature in a way similar to
the forest dweller of old. And it also holds out the sage
beckoning. Surely just as the work of student can continue
in different ways throughout life, so the work of the
householder can continue into retirement years. We learn
much of the ways of the world in the householder stage. We
can offer much to many sectors for the upbuilding of the
community. Yet perhaps our gifts for the household or the
kingdom or commonwealth (to put it in the older way) can be
offered in a different spirit, more mindfully and less
beholden to the forces of fame and fortune.
Perhaps there is a way to do everything
we do in this third age with more attentiveness and more
gratitude and more joy.
Philosopher–economist E. F. Schumacher
speaks of good work and says that good work has these
three purposes:
 |
First, to provide necessary and useful goods and services. |
 |
Second, to enable every one of us to use and thereby perfect
our gifts like good stewards. |
 |
Third, to do so in service to, and in cooperation with,
others, so as to liberate ourselves from our inborn
egocentricity.4 |
In thinking of these three purposes, perhaps we might look
to the three levels of body, mind/heart, and
spirit.
First, at the physical level, there are goods and services
to be provided, and we may aid in providing them through our
labor, whether volunteering or working for pay. Some are
done within the sphere of the home; others, outside the
home. Wherever done and however recognized, such work can be
done in large mind and heart. Such work matters in all of
the ways the cathedral builders discovered.
Second we have talents of mind and heart and hand, and to
continue to develop those talents is a second dimension of
good work.
Third, we work in and for communities. We work with others
and for others as well as ourselves. How we are with family,
friends, and colleagues who companion us in this third age
is itself an opportunity to grow, and to do this with
laughter and lightness of being. “Ah, there I go again,
doing and saying that. How foolish at times, how wise at
times. How human always.” Our egocentric stance lessens and
we acknowledge our true size, between everything and
nothing.
So simplification and a reconnection with nature befit the
forest dweller stage. And the sage-in-us beckons. At moments
we, too, can burst into laughter.
“Me?” smiled the elder. “Doing?” The elder roared with
laughter. “This ego dissolved into God many years ago. There
is no ‘I’ left to ‘do’ anything. God works through this body
to help and awaken all people and draw them to Him.”
May we experience a few “sage moments” along the way —
utterly and completely through grace, as the trees in autumn
stand golden and red in the sunset. Then the sage-in-us may
think, along with the poet Anna Akhmatova:
And the sunset itself in waves of ether
is such that I can’t say with certainty
Whether day is ending, or the world, or whether
The secret of secrets is again in me.5
Notes
1 Roger
Walsh, Essential Spirituality (New York: John Wiley &
Sons, Inc., 1999), pp. 60–61.
2 For
example, selling illegal drugs or engaging in other socially
or environmentally destructive behavior can be a way to
support one’s family.
3 Closing
lines from “Two Tramps in Mud Time.” See The Poetry of
Robert Frost, edited by Edward Connery Lathem (New York:
Holt, Rinehart and Winston, 1969), p. 277.
4 See E. F.
Schumacher, with Peter N. Gillingham, Good Work (New
York: Harper and Row, 1979),
pp. 3–4.
5 See Anna
Akhmatova’s poem, “On the Road,” in Anna Akhmatova, Poems,
selected and translated by Lyn Coffin (New York: W.W. Norton
& Company, 1983), p. 100.
|