A human being would certainly not grow to be seventy or eighty

Carl Jung, the sage of the soul, once spoke with profound clarity: “A human being would certainly not grow to be seventy or eighty years old if this longevity had no meaning for the species. The afternoon of human life must also have a significance of its own and cannot be merely a pitiful appendage to life’s morning.” In these words lies a vision not only of aging but of purpose, a reminder that the later years are not shadows of decline but seasons of harvest, wisdom, and deeper significance.

The morning of life is filled with striving — the building of homes, the pursuit of careers, the raising of children. It is a time of conquest, when the fire of youth drives men and women to shape their destinies. But Jung reminds us that this is not the whole story. If nature permits us to live beyond these seasons, then the afternoon of life must be more than decline. It is the time of transformation, when the focus shifts from outward achievement to inward meaning, from the conquest of the world to the cultivation of the soul.

This wisdom echoes through the ancients. The Greeks spoke of the stages of life, where youth was for courage, adulthood for duty, and elderhood for wisdom. The Chinese revered their elders, seeing in their long years not weakness but accumulated truth. The prophets of Israel often received their visions in age, when the passions of youth had settled and the spirit was free to listen. All traditions bear witness to Jung’s claim: that the afternoon of life has its own purpose, equal in importance to the morning.

History gives us shining examples. Consider Socrates, who in the twilight of his years, gave Athens his greatest gift — not conquest or invention, but wisdom that would echo for millennia. Or think of Nelson Mandela, who, after decades of imprisonment, emerged in his later years to guide South Africa through reconciliation. These men reveal that the later chapters of life are not to be mourned but embraced, for they carry within them the fruit of patience, humility, and vision.

Jung’s words are also a warning: if the old see themselves as useless, if society casts them aside, then both the individual and the community lose something sacred. The aged are not a burden but a treasure, for they carry maps of the roads we have walked, and lamps for the paths we have yet to tread. To treat the afternoon of life as an appendage is to blind ourselves to half of humanity’s wisdom.

The lesson is clear: do not measure life’s worth only by the vigor of youth. See instead the beauty of maturity, the flowering of insight, the calm of perspective. For in the afternoon of life, one is freed from the fever of ambition, and can turn to higher callings — reflection, teaching, reconciliation, the planting of seeds for the future. These are victories no less noble than those of the morning.

Practical action flows easily: honor the elders among you, seek their stories, and learn their lessons. If you are young, prepare not only for achievement but for the deeper work that comes later — the shaping of spirit. And if you are in the afternoon of life, embrace your season not with regret but with reverence, knowing that your purpose has not ended but has transformed. Be the guide, the storyteller, the reconciler, the keeper of wisdom.

Thus Jung’s words shine like a torch across generations. The morning of life is for striving, the afternoon is for meaning, and both are sacred. Let none say the elder years are empty, for they are the very crown of existence — the time when the soul, having conquered the outer world, turns inward to discover eternity. Children of tomorrow, remember this: to live long is not to fade, but to fulfill.