John F. Kennedy once famously pronounced: “When written in Chinese, the word ‘crisis’ is composed of two characters — one represents ‘danger’ and one represents ‘opportunity’.” However, it might be more accurate to translate ‘opportunity’ in this sense as ‘crucial point.’ So rephrasing the crux of Kennedy’s message we can say that, in Chinese, ‘crisis’ is represented as danger at a crucial point which, if seized upon, might develop into an opportunity.
In other words, where danger exists, so too does opportunity (or its possibility, at least) of. This is ancient Chinese wisdom, as evident in the Tao Te Ching, a work rich in fruitful contradictions. Philosopher Lao Tzu, author of the Tao, reconciles these apparent tensions in this paradoxical truth: “Prosperity rests on disaster, disaster is hidden in prosperity. Who knows the line that separates them?”
In these cash-strapped days, ‘crisis’ is a word much-bandied about typically preceded by the word ‘economic,’ second only to the coupling ‘environmental crisis,’ and with ‘spiritual crisis’ perhaps a distant third in the collective imagination. It’s a pity that the book crisis (something people seem to speak little of and care less for) must be an early victim of the current financial one, since the values and culture that reading promotes – a respect for the classics, a historical gaze, free and sustained inquiry – might be precisely what is needed to sidestep this mess. But, in all fairness, the mindset of close reading and deep thinking was already hostage to a shift in technology towards television and internet, with the shortened attention spans they engender.
Yet, there is precious little mention of the inherent opportunities such crucial points present us with. 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.
The situation JFK addressed, with its Cold War dangers, such as Soviet military expansion, as well as US space exploration opportunities, might have shifted in emphasis since then. But that is precisely the point: any position of strength or good fortune is always under some sort of real or imagined threat, and cannot endure forever. Still, no matter how we delude ourselves or are deluded into believing otherwise, “the only constant is change... all is flux” to borrow the immortal words of ancient Greek philosopher Heraclitus.
This means that our positions of privilege, as individuals and as nations, are bound to shuffle from time to time. Nothing personal – that’s just the natural order of things. This Emerson refers to as “a kind of mechanical exactness, as of a loom or mill in what we call casual or fortuitous events.” To think otherwise is to build sky-high upon a fault line, and then to be astonished when the earth shakes beneath our feet. Which is precisely what we humans do…
Continuing to Live
Sages and prophets have long warned us: ‘Life is a bridge, build no home upon it,’ or else ‘die before you 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, a job, a loved one, 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.
Just as we must gracefully surrender the gifts of youth in old age (if we’re lucky enough to live that long), so must we be ready to relinquish all the other pieces along the way. There are no guarantees that our lucky streak will last: hearts will be broken, empires collapse, and all favorable circumstances alter at some point. So that, if we manage to avoid a collective crisis, we shall be confronted with personal ones along the way.
This is not within our control. What little say we have in the matter is how we choose to respond to the ‘slings and arrows of outrageous fortune.’ Attempts to take arms will only do us harm. 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
That 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 foolhardly to think we could possibly win.
Appreciation of Tragedy
Different cultures at various historical moments are better at their appreciation of these hard truths than others. Cultures present or past that live with suffering or deprivation on a continuous basis, if not actually then at least by cultivating an appreciation through spiritual or philosophical practices, tend to fare better at accepting difficult circumstances. 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 typically make light of their burdens through acceptance. It is not uncommon for an average Egyptian, freshly struck by misfortune, to respond with utter resignation and the simple word, ‘maktoob’ (it is written). Not unusual either for this patient sufferer to point to their forehead (where it is believed their fate is written) and offer up 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 that: an appreciation of tragedy. In a discussion of his memoir, The Lost, the story of his five-year, world–wide search to discover the fates of relatives who were Holocaust victims, he suggests that “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 characterized 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.
Nearly two centuries earlier, an American giant and diagnostician of the spirit, Emerson, is seen reproaching his homeland along the same lines (in his essay, 'Fate') :
Our America has a bad name for superficialities. Great men, great nations, have not been boasters and buffoons, but perceivers of the terror of life, and have manned themselves to face it…. The Greek Tragedy expressed the same sense. “Whatever is fated that will take place. The great immense mind of Jove is not to be transgressed.” … Nature is no sentimentalist, ----does not cosset or pamper us… Let us not deny it up and down. Providence has a wild, rough, incalculable road to its end.
Both critics understood that there is no bargaining with Fate and that what was required was to face the terrors of life. 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. 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 first hand.
No Yoke So Tight
Insofar as classical philosophy is concerned, Stoicism provides an excellent prescription for the chronically optimistic or the full-blown idealistic, with their belief that everything can be fixed and their insistence on happy endings. Alive to the dangers and tyranny of unchecked emotions, Stoicism emphasized rational self-mastery. To attain the Stoic ideal of ‘moral and intellectual perfection’ one could not be at the mercy of their (negative or destructive) emotions and also be of sound judgment. One can already see how such equanimity might be useful in confronting a crisis, but the Stoics went one step further. Their world-view anticipated and braced against disaster, through specific practices such as contemplation of death and meditations on the dangers of existence and the misfortunes one might encounter 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 world view 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 (recognized 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. Instead, 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 (since 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. Rather, its world-view presents us, in Heidegger’s terms, as ‘thrown-into-being’ and quite possibly alone in an absurd world. To Existentialists, it was 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, for 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 the 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.
These philosophies recommend: self-examination, self-discipline and ultimately, self-reliance. And having collectedly evaluated the materialistic values that 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, 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 proto-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.
As Islamic thinker, Al Ghazali, instructs us: “You possess only whatever will not be lost in a shipwreck.” So, 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 Greek word ‘crisis’ means a ‘judgment’ or a ‘trial.’ In testing our mettle, such trials rearrange our priorities. 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 hard 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. Thus times of crisis often offer us the opportunity we didn’t (consciously) ask for to do what we’d rather not: examine our lives more closely. By forcing us to refine our attention as well as deepen our appreciation 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.
- Tao Te Ching
Yahia Lababidi's latest book, Trial by Ink: From Nietzsche to Belly Dancing, is available for sale internationally. His first book, Signposts to Elsewhere (Jane Street Press) was selected for 'Books of the Year,' in 2008, by The Independent (UK). Otherwise, Lababidi's writing has been translated into Arabic, Slovak, Turkish, Swedish as well as Italian. http://www.pw.org/content/yahia_lababidi
In other words, where danger exists, so too does opportunity (or its possibility, at least) of. This is ancient Chinese wisdom, as evident in the Tao Te Ching, a work rich in fruitful contradictions. Philosopher Lao Tzu, author of the Tao, reconciles these apparent tensions in this paradoxical truth: “Prosperity rests on disaster, disaster is hidden in prosperity. Who knows the line that separates them?”
In these cash-strapped days, ‘crisis’ is a word much-bandied about typically preceded by the word ‘economic,’ second only to the coupling ‘environmental crisis,’ and with ‘spiritual crisis’ perhaps a distant third in the collective imagination. It’s a pity that the book crisis (something people seem to speak little of and care less for) must be an early victim of the current financial one, since the values and culture that reading promotes – a respect for the classics, a historical gaze, free and sustained inquiry – might be precisely what is needed to sidestep this mess. But, in all fairness, the mindset of close reading and deep thinking was already hostage to a shift in technology towards television and internet, with the shortened attention spans they engender.
Yet, there is precious little mention of the inherent opportunities such crucial points present us with. 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.
The situation JFK addressed, with its Cold War dangers, such as Soviet military expansion, as well as US space exploration opportunities, might have shifted in emphasis since then. But that is precisely the point: any position of strength or good fortune is always under some sort of real or imagined threat, and cannot endure forever. Still, no matter how we delude ourselves or are deluded into believing otherwise, “the only constant is change... all is flux” to borrow the immortal words of ancient Greek philosopher Heraclitus.
This means that our positions of privilege, as individuals and as nations, are bound to shuffle from time to time. Nothing personal – that’s just the natural order of things. This Emerson refers to as “a kind of mechanical exactness, as of a loom or mill in what we call casual or fortuitous events.” To think otherwise is to build sky-high upon a fault line, and then to be astonished when the earth shakes beneath our feet. Which is precisely what we humans do…
Continuing to Live
Sages and prophets have long warned us: ‘Life is a bridge, build no home upon it,’ or else ‘die before you 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, a job, a loved one, 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.
Just as we must gracefully surrender the gifts of youth in old age (if we’re lucky enough to live that long), so must we be ready to relinquish all the other pieces along the way. There are no guarantees that our lucky streak will last: hearts will be broken, empires collapse, and all favorable circumstances alter at some point. So that, if we manage to avoid a collective crisis, we shall be confronted with personal ones along the way.
This is not within our control. What little say we have in the matter is how we choose to respond to the ‘slings and arrows of outrageous fortune.’ Attempts to take arms will only do us harm. 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
That 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 foolhardly to think we could possibly win.
Appreciation of Tragedy
Different cultures at various historical moments are better at their appreciation of these hard truths than others. Cultures present or past that live with suffering or deprivation on a continuous basis, if not actually then at least by cultivating an appreciation through spiritual or philosophical practices, tend to fare better at accepting difficult circumstances. 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 typically make light of their burdens through acceptance. It is not uncommon for an average Egyptian, freshly struck by misfortune, to respond with utter resignation and the simple word, ‘maktoob’ (it is written). Not unusual either for this patient sufferer to point to their forehead (where it is believed their fate is written) and offer up 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 that: an appreciation of tragedy. In a discussion of his memoir, The Lost, the story of his five-year, world–wide search to discover the fates of relatives who were Holocaust victims, he suggests that “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 characterized 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.
Nearly two centuries earlier, an American giant and diagnostician of the spirit, Emerson, is seen reproaching his homeland along the same lines (in his essay, 'Fate') :
Our America has a bad name for superficialities. Great men, great nations, have not been boasters and buffoons, but perceivers of the terror of life, and have manned themselves to face it…. The Greek Tragedy expressed the same sense. “Whatever is fated that will take place. The great immense mind of Jove is not to be transgressed.” … Nature is no sentimentalist, ----does not cosset or pamper us… Let us not deny it up and down. Providence has a wild, rough, incalculable road to its end.
Both critics understood that there is no bargaining with Fate and that what was required was to face the terrors of life. 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. 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 first hand.
No Yoke So Tight
Insofar as classical philosophy is concerned, Stoicism provides an excellent prescription for the chronically optimistic or the full-blown idealistic, with their belief that everything can be fixed and their insistence on happy endings. Alive to the dangers and tyranny of unchecked emotions, Stoicism emphasized rational self-mastery. To attain the Stoic ideal of ‘moral and intellectual perfection’ one could not be at the mercy of their (negative or destructive) emotions and also be of sound judgment. One can already see how such equanimity might be useful in confronting a crisis, but the Stoics went one step further. Their world-view anticipated and braced against disaster, through specific practices such as contemplation of death and meditations on the dangers of existence and the misfortunes one might encounter 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 world view 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 (recognized 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. Instead, 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 (since 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. Rather, its world-view presents us, in Heidegger’s terms, as ‘thrown-into-being’ and quite possibly alone in an absurd world. To Existentialists, it was 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, for 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 the 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.
These philosophies recommend: self-examination, self-discipline and ultimately, self-reliance. And having collectedly evaluated the materialistic values that 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, 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 proto-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.
As Islamic thinker, Al Ghazali, instructs us: “You possess only whatever will not be lost in a shipwreck.” So, 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 Greek word ‘crisis’ means a ‘judgment’ or a ‘trial.’ In testing our mettle, such trials rearrange our priorities. 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 hard 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. Thus times of crisis often offer us the opportunity we didn’t (consciously) ask for to do what we’d rather not: examine our lives more closely. By forcing us to refine our attention as well as deepen our appreciation 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.
- Tao Te Ching
Yahia Lababidi's latest book, Trial by Ink: From Nietzsche to Belly Dancing, is available for sale internationally. His first book, Signposts to Elsewhere (Jane Street Press) was selected for 'Books of the Year,' in 2008, by The Independent (UK). Otherwise, Lababidi's writing has been translated into Arabic, Slovak, Turkish, Swedish as well as Italian. http://www.pw.org/content/yahia_lababidi
