Yaser Mirdamadi, “Philosophy in Hard Times: Hope for No Miracle from Philosophy”

In times when “the sky’s catapult rains stones of strife,” can philosophy soothe all this suffering that leaves no “breath to sigh”? In the first and second parts of this essay, I argue that there is no straightforward answer to this question; that is, one cannot give an unqualified yes or no.

Nevertheless, my argument in the third and fourth parts will be that philosophy, in a very specific sense, can be of help in hard times; yet philosophy in that very specific sense in which it can help is so elitist that to say philosophy offers little comfort to ordinary people in times of crisis would not be far from the truth, it seems.

Was that disappointing? In return, I gave you the gist right at the start: if you are looking for a quick fix of hope, the kind of “success in a split second,” and lack the patience for a somewhat disheartening and weighty article, spare yourself the trouble of reading it.

1. The Logic of Transformation

Philosophy is not soothing if by “soothing” one means something akin to a miracle. No idea or theory brings about transformation miraculously. The classic and common image of “transformation” is this: a mystic was passing through an alley; the neighborhood ruffian insulted the mystic; the mystic uttered but a single sentence, and the ruffian was utterly transformed, the copper of his being seemingly turned to gold. This image of transformation, while not necessarily entirely false, is likely idealized. Some idealized examples, however, retain a possible trace of the complexity of the transformed person’s character.

Fudayl ibn ‘Iyad, according to Attar’s account in Tadhkirat al-Awliya, was a notorious highwayman who was transformed upon hearing a verse of the Quran and became a great mystic. But before his transformation, he was a pious and believing highwayman. If Attar’s account has any historical value and is not entirely idealized, then one could say Fudayl was not transformed in a single moment; rather, he had likely begun his course of transformation much earlier. That is, he had already been gradually treading a pious path.

One might guess that hearing that verse was the climax of the highwayman ‘Iyad’s transformation, or, as Muslim philosophers would say, hearing that verse was the “final component of the complete cause” of his transformation; it is not that someone spent his whole life robbing recklessly, stealing from young and old, poor and rich alike, with no trace of chivalrous or pious conduct, and then was suddenly transformed upon hearing a verse. Someone who robs recklessly and does not observe the “etiquette of highway robbery” will not bat an eye upon hearing thousands of verses, hadiths, and motivational sayings; rather, his hard-heartedness may well increase.

Let me note in passing that yes, you read correctly: I spoke of the “etiquette of highway robbery,” without in any way condoning highway robbery itself. Ethicists of old believed that even a bad deed has its etiquette, and the mere fact that an act is bad does not mean ethics has nothing to say about it beyond condemnation. Hence, some Muslim ethicists of the past, while deeming wine-drinking forbidden, also discussed the “etiquette of wine-drinking” in their books on ethics.

Let me return to the main point. The Quran pays attention to the complexity of the logic of transformation and expresses it thus: “And We send down of the Quran that which is a healing and a mercy to the believers, but it does not increase the wrongdoers except in loss.” (Al-Isra, verse 82, translation by Fooladvand). The Quran refutes the common notion that merely reading the Quran brings salvation. For someone in whom the disposition of wrongdoing has become entrenched, reading the Quran not only does not inherently bring salvation but even distances him further from it. So it is not the case that someone can do whatever he wants—in such a way that it becomes his habit and second nature—and then recite some magical incantation, or have a miraculous situation arise for him, and be suddenly transformed. Just as “guaranteed English learning in your sleep” is nothing more than a myth, so too is sudden, miraculous transformation nothing more than a myth.

In addition to the Quran, Muslim mystics have also paid attention to this point. For example, one of the concerns of Muslim mystics has been how one can have "presence of heart" during prayer. The common answer of the mystics was that to have presence of heart "in" prayer, one must pay attention to what is "outside" prayer. Outside of prayer, one must be sensitive to "incoming thoughts of the heart" (that is, the things we see, hear, touch, think, and say). According to the mystics, if a person guards their ears, eyes, tongue, and modesty throughout the day, they will gradually find "humility" and "presence of heart" in prayer. This means the mystics did not believe that the mere act of praying brings humility and presence of heart and has a miraculous effect; rather, to attain "humility" and "presence of heart," one's entire lifestyle must be in the service of acquiring virtues. Otherwise, no single action in and of itself, even if repeated many times with good intention, works a miracle within.

2- Philosophy Does Not Work Miracles

If the logic of transformation is as we have described, then the influence of philosophy follows this same logic and is no exception to it. That is, it is not the case that amidst personal, national, regional, and international problems, a sentence from a philosopher or a philosophical theory can be found that will smooth over the suffering of hardships entirely for us, or even necessarily offer a solution; it does not offer a solution because major problems are usually more complex than for a single theory, or even a collection of theories, to solve those problems (in the short term, or at all).

A philosophical catchphrase may have a temporary effect in alleviating the suffering resulting from a problem. But major problems, such as displacement due to a flood or a massive fire, or losing a loved one in a plane crash, or more generally, climate change and tyranny, are so terrible that direct and prolonged engagement with them nullifies the effect of any palliative, and in the long run, inevitably changes a person's life completely from within. In other words, when grappling with major problems, just as there is no magic incantation for the transformation of people, there is also no magic philosophical theory.

3- Philosophy as a Way of Life

But this is not the end of the story. Philosophy's inability to work miracles in times of hardship does not mean that under no circumstances can one derive benefit from philosophy. But the kind of philosophy that "does things" is not philosophy in its common contemporary sense, but philosophy in an ancient sense. Philosophy, in its common contemporary sense, is an academic branch with its own departments, professors and students, journals and general or specialized books, and its own special terminology. Its consumers are either specialists or, if written a bit more generally, the interested public.

Philosophy in its common contemporary sense, in its highest quality form, is engaged in problem-solving; macro-problems such as: Does God exist? Are humans determined or free? What is the best form of governance? What is the mind (if there is even such a thing as the mind)? Is science a representation of reality or merely a tool for controlling the world? Is morality objective or subjective? And other questions of this sort. In the common contemporary understanding of philosophy, it is the solving of the problem that is important, not what kind of person the solver is or becomes. In philosophy departments, too, they teach the student the solving of philosophy, not "how to be." How to be, if it has any meaning at all from the perspective of modern philosophy, is something relegated to religion and mysticism and is not the business of philosophy.

In another understanding of philosophy, which dates back to ancient Greece and was also common among Jewish, Christian, and Muslim philosophers in the medieval centuries, philosophy is not an academic discipline centered on problem-solving—although it is not necessarily incompatible with it—but rather, philosophy is a way of life. The philosopher, in principle, does not solve problems but unties their own existential knot, becoming a different person. Philosophy is a mode of being-in-the-world, a kind of inner exercise and spiritual progress. The true wisdom that results from this exercise does not merely bring knowledge but makes a person into someone else. Accordingly, the goal of philosophy is not problem-solving but living philosophically through engagement with problems. Living philosophically means acquiring virtues such as truth-seeking (which requires avoiding prejudice and obscurantism), submission to truth (which requires avoiding arrogance), contentment (which requires avoiding ambition), and many other virtues.

Let me note in passing that this ancient conception of philosophy, which had fallen into obscurity in modern philosophy, has gradually returned to the center of attention in recent decades through the important works of Pierre Hadot (1922–2010), the French philosopher and specialist in ancient philosophy. On this subject, see in particular his work entitled Philosophy as a Way of Life, Blackwell, 1995.

4. The Consolations of Philosophy

Now, how can this ancient conception of philosophy help in times of hardship? In philosophy as a way of life, what matters is not what others and nature do to us, but what we do with ourselves and others; as the famous proverb says, “Whatever you do, you do to yourself, whether all good or bad.” For example, if you made every effort to protect your house—say, you built it legally, to standard, in a safe location, and insured it—but a flood, earthquake, or fire destroyed your house, you have no sorrow, not because the insurance pays for your house (suppose the insurer welshed and did not even pay for your house), but because you have done your duty properly.

In another example, suppose you were not an aider of tyranny but, to the best of your ability, fought against it, yet tyranny remained and even flourished. In that case, you have done your duty and have no cause for unhappiness. But if your bread was buttered, your water warm, your roof raised, your beloved in your arms—in short, if times were to your liking—but you built your prosperity upon oppression, you are wretched, even if you feel happy.

Note that the consolation of philosophy is in no way of the debased kind that says, “What matters is that you feel good.” The focus here is not on “feeling” but on “standing,” on where you stand, not necessarily on what you feel. If you have done your duty, even if you do not feel good, you are fortunate; and if you have not done your duty, even if you are euphoric, you are wretched. Of course, realizing that one has done one’s duty can also be consoling, but the focus is not on feeling.

The bad news is that philosophy as a way of life is not attained overnight; a lifetime of practice is at stake. For it involves acquiring virtues and eliminating vices, and this task is time-consuming and requires patience—if it is even possible at all. So if you are looking for a miracle, philosophy is not a shrine that grants healing, but it might be worth devoting your life to it, for perhaps it will become like a fertile garden where the buds of virtues gradually grow and the weeds of vices are removed.

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Philosophy in Hard Times;

Hope for No Miracle from Philosophy

Author: Yaser Mirdamadi

Published in: Andisheh Pouya Monthly, Issue 64

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