We're all like children. We may think we grow up, but to me

Mary Wesley once spoke with the candor of one who had lived long and seen much: “We’re all like children. We may think we grow up, but to me, being grown up is death, stopping thinking, trying to find out things, going on learning.” At first these words seem paradoxical—how can maturity be death, and how can remaining a child be the path of life? Yet hidden within this statement is an ancient truth, the wisdom of countless generations: that to live is to remain curious, to wonder as a child wonders, and to resist the heavy chains of finality that adulthood often places upon the heart.

To be like children is not to be naive, but to be alive with questions. The child reaches for every object, asks endlessly, refuses to be satisfied with silence. The child is unashamed of wonder. In saying that being grown up is death, Wesley names the danger that so often comes with age: the hardening of the spirit, the closing of the mind, the ceasing of exploration. When one ceases to seek, one does not merely grow older—one begins to wither. True death begins not with the body’s collapse, but with the spirit’s surrender.

The ancients knew this. Socrates declared that he knew nothing, though he was the wisest man in Athens. His greatness lay not in having answers, but in unending thinking and questioning. Similarly, Confucius said that at every stage of his life he learned anew—from youth, from teachers, from all who crossed his path. Their greatness lay in preserving the openness of the child, refusing the illusion of final maturity. In this way, Mary Wesley aligns herself with these eternal seekers, affirming that life is defined not by conclusions, but by continual learning.

Consider the story of Leonardo da Vinci, who into his final days carried notebooks filled with sketches and questions. He studied anatomy, light, flight, machines, and the flow of water. Though hailed as a master in art, he remained ever a student, probing the mysteries of the world. His genius was not his knowledge alone, but his refusal to be “grown up” in Wesley’s sense—that is, never ceasing to wonder. It was this childlike spirit, married with discipline, that allowed him to touch the infinite.

The danger of ceasing to question is seen in empires that crumbled when they declared themselves supreme. When Rome believed it had nothing left to learn, it grew decadent and fell. When leaders presume they know all, stagnation sets in and decay follows. Wesley’s words are a warning: those who stop learning, whether individuals or nations, have already embraced death, for they have abandoned growth, and life itself is growth.

Her insight is not a call to childishness, but to childlikeness. There is a difference. Childishness is selfish, unformed, demanding. Childlikeness is humble, open, filled with awe. To remain childlike is to see the world with eyes fresh each morning, to be unafraid of admitting ignorance, to delight in discovery. It is to hold the universe not as conquered territory, but as an endless frontier.

Therefore, the lesson is clear: guard against the illusion of having “arrived.” Each day, strive to ask one new question, to open one new book, to look at one familiar thing with new eyes. Learn from strangers, from your own mistakes, from the patterns of nature, from the wisdom of history. Refuse to let the spirit grow stale. Nurture curiosity as sacred fire, for it keeps the soul alive.

So let this teaching be sealed upon your heart: to be truly alive, be as the children are—ever searching, ever questioning, ever learning. Do not mistake the weariness of age for wisdom, nor the complacency of habit for maturity. As Mary Wesley tells us, to cease our seeking is to embrace death before its time. But to remain curious, to think deeply, to pursue discovery even in the twilight of our years—that is to live fully, and to pass on to those who follow not only knowledge, but the radiant flame of wonder.