The Sphinx (not the one in Egypt) sat outside Thebes, perched like a cat on a short pillar if the illustration above is representative. It would eat people if they were unable to solve a riddle it would pose to them. I'm not sure why.
One day, the otherwise unfortunate Oedipus encountered it. He answered the riddle which, as we know, asked what goes on four feet in the morning, two feet at noon and three feet in the evening.
I've always thought the riddle misleading, as it refers to something done in a day, not a human lifetime. But sphinxes must eat, I suppose. It didn't get to eat Oedipus as he guessed rightly that the riddle describes a man. His good luck didn't last, however.
The third foot mentioned in the riddle is a cane. In the evening of our lives, we're supposed to walk through use of a cane, it seems. I don't use one yet, but probably may be said to be in the evening of my life.
We change with time. That's the way of it. The universe is change, as Marcus Aurelius wrote. We hope that there are changes which offset the steady decline of our abilities. It's usual to claim that age brings wisdom. I think it can fairly be said that what we know increases as we accumulate experiences over time, but I don't know that it can be said that we become wise over time. We may know a good deal, have experienced a good deal, but it doesn't follow that we have good judgment or good sense. I think wisdom would require those characteristics.
Nonetheless, something should change as we age, regardless of whether we become wise, and I think that to be perspective. Concerns change with time; circumstances do as well. What the older believe significant is different from what the younger feel is significant. That's as should be. If it isn't, there's something wrong. The change in perspective which I think should take place is the realization, too long avoided sometimes, that was has been of such concern to us over the course of our lives, for the most part was unimportant. The problem is, that change of perspective may not do us, or anyone, any good as it comes too late.
Those said to be wise have remarked that we should treat every day as if it is the last for us. We may die at any time. "Memento mori" is supposedly what was whispered in the ear of someone awarded a triumph in ancient Rome-perhaps the greatest public recognition of glory ever given any Roman. At the height of his glory the triumphant general was told to remember he must die. He remained merely a mortal.
It's a useful reminder for us all, but though we're aware of our mortality it isn't much of a concern even when we're reminded of it in one way or another. Other concerns get in the way of it. What aging does, inevitably, implacably, is bring us closer to death. Being closer to it, we see it "better." If we're lucky--and wise--we know we approach the end of all we've done, thought, felt, and said, and the end, for us, of all felt, thought, done and said by others.
This should alter our perspective, because it should make all that's excited, angered, outraged and disturbed us feel small. Even silly and vain. It should become difficult to understand and to accept what we hear, see and read, now, day after day. The self-righteousness, hatred, crassness, cowardice, avarice, hypocrisy that is spewed from TVs, social media, pundits, politicians is mere noise, sound and fury signifying nothing, to paraphrase the Scottish play as we're supposed to call it. We more and more resemble chattering monkeys.
Some as the end approaches become concerned with the afterlife which may await us, and in that sense turn their heads from the absurd antics of others. Too often, that's an expression of fear and regret. Efforts are made to placate God, to repent of misdeeds. Suddenly, the self-love and self-infatuation that's characterized us for so many years is concerning; it may do us harm.
It's unfortunate that our self-regard dissipates only then, if it does at all. Fear of judgment in the afterlife has done nothing to temper our conduct, if our history is any indication, as we're quite content to be selfish, bigoted and hateful until that possibility draws close. As it is, we do nothing to rectify what's been done; we merely regret it, uselessly.
If it's wisdom we acquire with age, it doesn't seem to do us, or anyone, any good. It's a sad kind of wisdom, knowing that we've been unwise for the greater part of our lives, and that others are and will be unwise as well.
But though we can't change the past, we can impact the present, and the future of others if not ourselves. Or we can try to do so, at least. We can make others feel good, we can provide them with comfort, material and spiritual, we can teach by conduct and in speech or the written word, we can exemplify the life of virtue, we may even inspire. It may be that the effort will have no significant result. Living life an accordance with nature is worthwhile in itself, however.
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