by Rachel Robison-Greene
In 524, the Roman philosopher Boethius was imprisoned in exile awaiting his execution. He was used a as a political tool and was convicted on false charges, including the charge of sorcery. In these dire conditions, he wrote The Consolations of Philosophy in which his muse, Lady Philosophy, appears to him to provide her “doctor’s help” for his anguish. She speaks to him in verse,
Why then are miserable men in awe
When tyrants rage impotently?
If you first rid yourself of hope or fear
You have disarmed the tyrant’s wrath
But whosoever quakes in fear or hope
Drifting and losing mastery
Has cast away his shield, has left his place
And binds the chains with which he
Will be bound.
The advice that Lady Philosophy imparts to Boethius resembles that offered by the Stoics—we cannot control external circumstances. We can’t prevent people from being ignorant and cruel. We can’t stop tyrants from manipulating and harming people in pursuit of power. Chaos, suffering, and death are inevitabilities. In challenging times, we must focus only on what we can control—what is in our own minds. For Boethius and for the Stoics, desperate times (and all other times) call for a turn toward philosophical reflection on the nature of virtue and of the good life.
In The Enchiridion, the former slave turned Stoic philosopher Epictetus takes the idea that we ought not to be concerned with what is outside of our control to an extreme. He says,
With regard to whatever objects give you delight, are useful, or are deeply loved, remember to tell yourself of what general nature they are, beginning from the most insignificant things. If, for example, you are fond of a specific ceramic cup, remind yourself that it is only ceramic cups in general of which you are fond. Then, if it breaks, you will not be disturbed. If you kiss your child, or your wife, say that you only kiss things which are human, and thus you will not be disturbed if either of them dies.
Most people in search of a philosophy for hard times would be unlikely to go this far. What is needed is a path forward that allows us to cope with tragedy and injustice without abandoning the value of people we care about or the issues we find important. We long for solutions that ease our anxiety but also provide us with reasons to live.
Centuries later, Viktor Frankl reflected on the question of how to endure the most evil and senseless injustices perpetrated by humanity. In Man’s Search for Meaning, Frankl offers his philosophy in the context of describing his experiences living in a Nazi death camp. He says,
It is very difficult for an outsider to grasp how very little value was placed on human life in a camp. The camp inmate was hardened, but possibly became more conscious of this complete disregard of human existence when a convoy of sick men was arranged. The emaciated bodies of the sick were thrown on two-wheeled carts which were drawn by prisoners for many miles, often through snowstorms, to the next camp. If one of the sick men had died before the cart left, he was thrown on anyway—the list had to be correct! The list was the only thing that mattered. A man counted only because he had a prison number. One literally became a number: dead or alive—that was unimportant; the life of a “number” was irrelevant. What stood behind that number and that life mattered even less: the fate, the history, the name of the man.
In the case Frankl describes, power-seeking tyrants have stoked the xenophobia of the populace, convincing many of them that their own social and economic woes were caused by Jews, immigrants, and other minorities. These groups were demonized and treated as “other” to such an extent that they were no longer treated as human beings with dignity—they were subject to mass deportations and sent to concentration camps. Nevertheless, Frankl argued that one’s sense of human dignity could be restored, at least in one’s own mind, by finding meaning in suffering. He says,
We must never forget that we may also find meaning in life even when confronted with a hopeless situation, when facing a fate that cannot be changed. For what then matters is to bear witness to the uniquely human potential at its best, which is to transform a personal tragedy into a triumph, to turn one’s predicament into a human achievement. When we are no longer able to change a situation—just think of an incurable disease such as inoperable cancer—we are challenged to change ourselves.
The wisdom of the ancients advises us to reduce our anxiety by reflecting only on what is in our control. Frankl points out the value of finding subjective meaning in even the most unimaginable suffering. These are both compelling pieces of practical philosophy, but they miss an important aspect of navigating challenging times—the social element. After all, unless we’re Boethius abandoned alone in a prison cell, we experience the world’s cruelty together.
In Where Do We Go From Here: Chaos or Community?, Martin Luther King Jr. describes the success of the Civil Rights Movement leading to the passing of The Voting Rights Bill of 1965. He then describes the precipitous decline in public support for actually implementing any subsequent substantive changes. He says,
A year later, the white backlash had become an emotional electoral issue in California, Maryland, and elsewhere. In several Southern states men long regarded as political clowns had become governors or only narrowly missed election, their magic achieved with a “witches” brew of bigotry, prejudice, half-truths, and whole lies.
During the year, white and Negro civil rights workers had been murdered in several Southern communities. The swift and easy acquittals that followed for the accused had shocked much of the nation but sent a wave of unabashed triumph through Southern segregationist circles. Many of us wept at the funeral services for the dead and for democracy.
The ubiquity of racism and other forms of bigotry seems like an unescapable nightmare. If we were Stoics, we could reflect on the fact that the racism that exists in the minds of others and remember that the action of others is not under our control. That might go some way toward relieving anxiety, but that is a way of dealing with suffering in the world that results in no real change and allows us to ignore not just our own hardship, but the hardships of others we could help.
Some level of chaos may have to be accepted as unavoidable, but King argues that when one becomes resigned to chaos, one risks one’s own self of dignity and self-worth. Instead, he proposes that we harness the power of community. When we are shocked by the inhumane behaviors of the masses, we can take comfort in the humanity of our friends to deal with our grief. We can find meaning in the suffering, but it is a meaning that arises not as a purely internal matter, but a meaning born from love and care. When we’ve steadied ourselves, we rely on the unity we’ve built within our communities to organize. King says,
We will be deeply misled if we feel that the problem will work itself out. Structures do not crumble by passive waiting. If history teaches us anything, it is that evil is recalcitrant and determined, and never voluntarily relinquishes its hold short of an almost fanatical resistance. Evil must be attacking by a counteracting persistence, by the day-to-day assault of the battering rams of justice.
This is something we can only do together. As communities, we must, “unite around powerful action programs” to push back against injustice.
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