Paving a Road to Hell

The fundamental essence of hell lies in an absolute isolation. In their attempt to transform the lives of criminals, the Quakers who designed the original penitentiary system (a place where wrong-doers could do penance and thereby reform) envisioned them as places where men and women would spend time in solitude and contemplation. Instead the total isolation that these people experience frequently drove them mad. We humans are at the core social beings; even infants deprived of social contact (and touch) will die. The hell that we create for ourselves and upon which the descriptions of perdition are based is a state of utter aloneness. Some have said, "If I'm going to hell, I'll have a lot of good company." On the contrary: in hell there would be no "good company" . . . in fact, there would be no company at all!

Why am I bringing up what are essentially philosophical and theological speculations in an article about midlife? Whether hell as a state in the afterlife exists or not is surely debatable. What's not open to question, however, is that people can too easily create for themselves a hell on earth by succumbing to their fears — particularly their subconscious fears. I think that's the reason why Socrates said, "The unexamined life is not worth living." Hell begins when we allow ourselves to be victimized by our subconscious fears and where it ends, well . . . who knows? How hard is it, after all to look deeply at yourself in the mirror? Whom do you see there? Do you register a shock every time you see yourself as you really are, rather than that self you imagine yourself to be as you face the world? For most people reading this today, you're not 20 years old anymore. The reality of aging is there for everyone (but you) to ponder whenever they see you. How does that make you feel?

If you're holding on to that image you have of the 20-year-old (and who isn't), what are you holding on to, and why? From conception until death (and, I'm convinced, beyond), our human existence, mirroring the evolution of the universe itself, is characterized by one factor: growth. We can (and often do) stop or stunt our growth, but we can never reverse it. 168 hours of opportunity pass by us every week, regardless of how we choose to use or waste it. In this universe, at least, time seems to move inexorably forward. As we grow, however, we experience two fundamental flows of energy: at times we acquire; at other times, we relinquish. It's the ebb and flow of every life that bouys up our growth experience like the tides. Youth is designed for acquisition: allowing us to gain whatever we need to sustain and foster our life energies as we grow. Aging, on the other hand, is marked by relinquishment. The principle lesson of the whole of life consists of learning to let go.

Midlife — at whatever age it may come — represents a tipping point in your growth: the point where acquisition steps back and allows relinquishment to take center stage. This is the way life has to be, because acquisition serves as the support to growth, not its destiny. Our true destiny as human beings consists in transitioning into mature spiritual beings. All of our youth, all of our acquisitions, even our physical existence itself serves only to support and enable that process to progress. Our culture has it all wrong, but Robert Browning got it remarkably right in his poem, Rabbi Ben Ezra, when he wrote:

Grow old along with me!
The best is yet to be,
The last of life, for which the first was made:
Our times are in His hand
Who saith ‘A whole I planned,
Youth shows but half; trust God: see all, nor be afraid!’

I highly recommend that you read the poem in its entirety, because it makes my point abundantly clear. Carrie Pierce, who was guest on my internet radio program recently talked about our culture's worship of youth. That made me wonder. I'm starting to believe that it's not so much a 'worship' as an idolatry: replacing the essential with the peripheral out of fear.You see, in order for someone to be able to set aside the peripheral and embrace the essential, he or she must give up, once and for all, the illusion (and delusion) of self-sufficiency.

It's not until we humans reach the point where our best-laid plans have failed, where all the security we have so carefully amassed has proven useless, when all our striving to maintain our physical strength and beauty turned to vanity under the glare of bright lights or the challenge of a long and steep flight of stairs, when all those personal flaws that we've so carefully hidden from the world appear for all to see, that we begin to acknowledge the truth about ourselves: our true destiny lies within and in relationship with others. Paradise (now and hereafter) lies in our interdependence. An old (and favorite) saying of mine goes like this: Heaven would be hell for a godless person. The world's greatest prayer is composed of four letters: 'help!' Isn't it our own cowardice (our fear of admitting our dependency) that keeps us from uttering that prayer? Cowardice that prompts us to keep up appearances so that the outside gives the lie to what's really happening within? If it's our secrets that keep us sick, then isn't cowardice the disease?

And, the road to hell — living forever alone — is paved, not with good intentions, but with self-reliance.