Times of crisis, where danger and opportunity meet, are inevitable. The only choice we have is how we perceive them, writes Yahia Lababidi* Times of crisis, where danger and opportunity meet, are inevitable. The only choice we have is how we perceive them, writes Yahia Lababidi In these cash-strapped days, "crisis" is a word much bandied about, typically preceded by the word "economic" second only to "environmental", with "spiritual crisis" perhaps a distant third in the collective imaginary. Yet there is precious little mention of the inherent opportunities such "critical points" present to us. And while the current (economic) panic is material in nature, and arguably triggered by a combination of greed and irresponsibility, in fact there has never been a time or a people without some sort of crisis; just as there is hardly a crisis that is entirely without a spiritual dimension, that cannot also be addressed philosophically. Any position of strength or good fortune is always under some sort of real or imagined threat, and cannot endure forever. Pity that the book crisis (something people seem to speak little of and care less for) preceded the current financial one, since the values and culture that reading promote -- a respect for the classics, a historical gaze, free and sustained enquiry, etc -- might be precisely what is needed to sidestep this mess. Still, no matter how we delude ourselves, or are deluded into believing otherwise, "the only constant is change... [and] all is flux," to borrow the immortal words of ancient philosopher Heraclitus. And this means that our positions of privilege, as individuals and as nations, are bound to reshuffle themselves from time to time. Nothing personal, it's just the order of things. To think otherwise is to build sky-high upon a fault line, and then to be astonished when the earth shakes beneath our feet. CONTINUING TO LIVE: Sages and prophets have long warned us: "Life is a bridge, build no home upon it", or else "die before we die". But, as a race, we're generally short sighted and death-denying. We are, therefore, not any more comfortable with that other inescapable aspect of life: loss. Along with change, loss of some sort also generally tends to precipitate crisis, whether it's loss of our possessions, job, loved ones, or even the inevitable subsiding of what we believe is our birthright -- youth, health, beauty. Yet as poet Philip Larkin bitterly sums it up, in "Continuing to Live", to live is a losing game: This loss of interest, hair, and enterprise -- Ah, if the game were poker, yes, You might discard them, draw a full house! But it's chess. For just as we must gracefully surrender the gifts of youth in old age (if we're lucky to live that long), so must we be ready to relinquish all the other things along the way. There are no guarantees that our lucky streak will last: hearts will be broken, empires collapse, and all favourable circumstances alter at some point or another. So if we manage to avoid a collective crisis, we shall be confronted with a personal one. Indeed, what little say we have in the matter is how we choose to respond to the "slings and arrows of outrageous fortune". All attempts to take arms will only harm us. We might cower in fear, grow bitter, or rage and bemoan our plight until we exhaust ourselves, but to quote another great poet, Omar Khayyam: The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ, Moves on: nor all your Piety nor Wit Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line, Nor all your Tears wash out a Word of it This is to say, some form of acceptance is required as the only sane solution to an unalterable fate. To phrase this in more spiritual terms: "When two great forces oppose each other the victory will go to the one that knows how to yield," says Lao Tzu, meaning, even if our initial response to calamity is not a serene and courageous acceptance, and we cringe, curse and rebel, we must still eventually yield at some point if we are to survive. For, if it is life itself that we do battle with, it is fool-hardly to think we could possibly win. APPRECIATION OF TRAGEDY: Different cultures at various historical moments are better at their appreciation of hard truths than others. For example, cultures present or past that live with suffering or deprivation on a continuous basis -- if not actually then at least cultivate an appreciation through spiritual or philosophical practices -- tend to fare better at acceptance. One such example of an ancient culture, whose heirs are no strangers to hardship, is to be found in Egypt. Past masters at submitting to the dictates of fate, no matter how harsh, these natural-born fatalists actually make lighter their burdens by fully accepting them. For example, it is not uncommon for the average Egyptian, freshly struck by misfortune, to respond with utter resignation and one word, maktoob (an act of fate -- literally translated as: it is written). Not unusual either for this patient sufferer to point their forehead (where it is believed their fate is written) and offer a winsome smile, as if to say, "what would be the point of struggling?" Literary critic, classical scholar and cultural diagnostician Daniel Mendelsohn finds that what seems to be missing in contemporary American culture is just this profound appreciation of fate and life's tragic dimension. In a discussion of his memoir, The Lost (the story of his five- year, worldwide search to discover the fates of relatives who were Holocaust victims), he suggests: "spending your life reading Greek tragedy is good preparation for confronting the Holocaust." Elsewhere, in Mendelsohn's introduction to his fine collection of essays, How Beautiful it is and How Easily it Can be Broken, we find him carefully examining literature, arts and contemporary culture through the prism of his beloved ancient Greece: "The necessity, in the end, of yielding to hard and inexplicable realities that are beyond our control is a tragic truth... That so much of contemporary culture is characterised by this kind of sentimentality, by a seeming preference for false 'closures' over a strong and meaningful confrontation with real and inalterable pain, is a cultural crisis." Indeed, only an outlook that is naïve and sentimental would be shocked by loss or change, two unavoidable aspects of life that the ancients -- and wiser contemporary cultures -- understand all too well. And this is precisely what a study of history or philosophy can do; tutor us in the tragic dimension of human existence if we have not experienced it firsthand. NO YOKE SO TIGHT: Insofar as classical philosophy is concerned, stoicism provides an excellent prescription for the chronically optimistic, or full-blown idealistic, with their belief that everything can be fixed and an insistence on happy endings. Alive to the dangers and tyranny of unchecked emotions, stoicism emphasised rational self- mastery. To attain the stoic ideal of "moral and intellectual perfection" one could not be at the mercy of (negative or destructive) emotions and also be of sound judgement. One can see how such equanimity might be useful in confronting a crisis, but the stoics went one step further. Their worldview anticipated, and braced against, disaster and included specific practices such as contemplation of death and meditations on the dangers of existence and misfortunes one might encounter on any given day. The stoic trick was maintaining a will ( prohairesis ) that is in harmony with the natural world, namely a sober self- control that yielded to fate. The great philosopher of late stoicism, Seneca, illustrated such a worldview in this powerful metaphor: "An animal, struggling against the noose, tightens it... there is no yoke so tight that it will not hurt the animal less if it pulls with it than if it fights against it. The best alleviation for overwhelming evils is to endure and bow to necessity." Like the ancient Greeks, the spirited philosophy of existentialism, recognised as a movement only in the 20th century, was also primarily concerned with "how to live". (As far as philosophies go, there is nothing bloodless or strictly academic about it). Situated at the crossroads of religion, art and psychology, existentialism seems conceived by and for seekers with something of a (spiritual) crisis. Moreover, like the stoics, existentialists concerned themselves with "will" and "freedom" (as well as choice and authenticity) in their quest to lead a noble life. Perhaps less predisposed to determinism than stoicism (its members held varying beliefs regarding fate and free will), existentialism was itself a philosophy in a state of emergency -- no longer content to unquestioningly accept previous givens such as God, goodness or purpose, this worldview presents us as "thrown-into-being" (Heidegger) and quite possibly alone in an absurd world. Thus, it is entirely up to us to negotiate how to get up, begin walking and give meaning to our existence. THE THING OF VALUE: What does all this have to do with the current financial crisis, as an example? I think the ancients (Lao Tzu and the stoics) as well as more contemporary philosophers have a great deal to say that is relevant to us now. Certainly, a degree of stoic calm or temperance in the face of crisis would not go amiss. Just as a baseline acceptance of life's fickle nature, and perhaps a modicum of detachment and brave endurance, can also go a long way at this time. Regarding the self, these philosophies recommend self- examination, self-discipline, and ultimately self-reliance. Having collectedly evaluated the materialistic values that might have contributed to this crisis, people might choose to follow the advice of another ancient philosopher, Diogenes, and "restamp the currency", or come up with an alternate -- perhaps more spiritual -- set of values that are better suited to these times and stand a chance of weathering the storm. This advice is echoed in the words of existentialist philosopher Nietzsche, who upon surveying the debris of old values littering the cultural landscape of Europe over a century ago decided that nothing less than a "revaluation of all values" was needed. Yet, past practical advice for those seeking a way out of the panic of the current economic crisis, such philosophy-inspired courage-in-the- midst-of-confusion should also resonate with all the other wrecks that we barely survive: existential, spiritual, romantic, familial, etc. Spirituality teaches us: "that which survives the shipwreck is the thing of value". In turn, when surveying the scene after a crisis to assess the damage, be it a natural disaster or a private calamity, we might begin by taking stock of what remains intact before proceeding to reassemble our lives. Only then can our sense of disorientation or despair be replaced by true reorientation and renewed purpose. To return to the ancients once more, the definition of crisis in Greek means "judgement" or a "trial". In testing our mettle, such trials rearrange our priorities and we are sternly reminded how little we actually need, and how much more we can in fact do without. In other words, a crisis can shock us out of the complacency of false comforts, habits and routine, and teach us instead difficult lessons about life. More pointedly, such trials reveal us to ourselves in a new light, without the least regard for our tenderly incubated self-images. Times of crisis often offer us the opportunity we didn't (consciously) ask for to do what we'd rather not: interrogate our lives more closely. By forcing us to refine our attention as well as deepen our appreciation for all things we are granted the golden opportunity to rewrite our souls. If you want to become full, Let yourself be empty. If you want to be reborn, Let yourself die. If you want to be given everything Give everything up. -- Lao Tzu, Tao Te Ching * The writer is an Egyptian poet and essayist and author of Signposts to Elsewhere . His forthcoming book is, Trial by Ink: On Everything from Nietzsche to Belly Dancing .
