This Crucible

from "Living Life Well"

An earlier, briefer version of this article appeared in The Kenwood Press August 1st, 2025.

There is an old Vedic saying: “Man thinks there is another way— but there is not.” I tend to agree. It reminds me of the more familiar, resigned expression: It is what it is. But rather than passively accept what is, we might ask instead, If it is what it is... then what the heck is it?

We live in a world that seems to grow more chaotic each day— our minds filled with restless thoughts, our hearts barraged by racing emotions. Why? Perhaps because nothing is ever truly deleted. Nothing has been removed since that first apple was eaten, and nothing since the path was first followed from the garden into the teeming, ever-expanding cosmos. Everything that has ever happened is still here— layered, accumulated, and still growing.

The river of life flows on, swift and surging, reflecting the inexhaustible complexity of existence. We are not responsible for what we’ve inherited, but we are responsible for how it is carried.

Welcome to this world— our only world— with its endless array of opinions, hopes, and fears. While we may not always be able to change what happens, we can choose how to respond. “There may be no alternative to it,” as the saying goes, “but there are many alternative perspectives upon it.” Some of these perspectives can help us look beyond superficial appearances and glimpse life’s deeper truths.

When I was young we said, “Make love, not war,” as though we had a choice between the two. But history has shown us: sometimes there is no choice. Love must persist even during war. We cannot afford to lose our hearts in the fog of conflict. Some now cry, “The enemy is winning!” but I don’t believe anyone is winning— not yet.

Scientists wrestle with climate change while survivors brace for ever more violent storms. Doctors strain under new epidemics and economists cope with uncertain statistics. The people are disillusioned by failing governments while politicians, anxious to maintain control, cling to their strategies. No one is winning— yet we are responding. We are showing up. Working. Trying. This, perhaps, is the very definition of humanity.

This season the heat is rising— in our world and in ourselves. Each day brings news of unrest, upheaval, and confrontation. Authority grows more aggressive, the electorate more alert. A sleeping public is awakening, and we are moving out of denial and into a reckoning. It feels like a test, as if our national character is being weighed and forged. Keats once called life “the vale of soul-making.” He wrote that hardship is not meaningless, but sacred— necessary for the development of the soul, for what we suffer shapes us.

During crises, certain types of leaders step forward. Some wield power through charisma, spectacle, and authoritarian control. These are the “strong men,” figures who dominate headlines and stages, promising order through command. They often seem reassuring— decisive, unshakeable— especially when society is in flux. But that path is not the only one.

History also offers us another model: the wise leader, or mentor. These individuals lead not through force, but through presence. Hermann Hesse’s Journey to the East introduces us to Leo, a seemingly minor character who quietly assists a group of pilgrims— only to be revealed in time as their true guide. His humility and attention were not signs of weakness, but a deeper, sustaining strength.

This distinction is not theoretical. One need only compare two real-world figures: our president, who embodies the strongman’s penchant for dominance and personal gain, and Pope Leo XIV, the first American-born Pope, who has become a rare global symbol of humility and dialogue. His leadership revitalizes not just Catholics, but inspires leaders and thinkers across the political and spiritual spectrum.

Interestingly, they share the name “Leo,” which invokes the lion— courageous and noble in myth and astrology alike. Though Pope Leo was born under the sign of Virgo, key placements in his horoscope suggest the radiant leadership associated with Leo. He reflects what true leadership should be: strong, but not domineering; bold, yet quietly grounded.

Too often, cruelty and incompetence in politics result not from individual failings alone, but from a system shaped by short election cycles, partisanship, and a media landscape that rewards spectacle over substance. Strong men adopt blunt rhetoric, seek loyalty over expertise, and ignore long-term needs for quick wins.

By contrast, civil servants— those devoted to the public good, selected for merit rather than popularity— offer stability and long-term insight. Their work often goes unnoticed, but when allowed to function properly they keep governments humane and informed. Sadly, a growing trend of politicizing the civil service has undermined its competence, has corroded public trust, and has robbed the nation of a vital source of intelligence and continuity.

The new administration, having rejected the responsibilities of its predecessors, has instead imposed harsh burdens upon us— and seems to regard the public as disposable. In their so-called “free market,” people are becoming commodities. Some accept this dehumanizing vision as strength or efficiency, but I cannot. It is not strength, it is superstition masquerading as realism. It’s built on indifference and serves only personal ambition. No end can justify such means.

The future is not dictated, it is shaped. Let us shape it together— and shape it wisely. Our country is undergoing deep convulsion. Ignoring it is dangerous; becoming overwhelmed by it is paralyzing. We must find a balanced middle ground— an adaptable internal thermostat that helps us regulate how we respond, moment by moment.

This is a call to participate with mindfulness. There will be days to speak out, to protest and organize— and there will be days when it is best to rest, to reflect, and to care for those close to us. Resilience is not a fixed trait; it is a living process, a continuous calibration of presence and withdrawal.

I’m reminded of a whitewater rafting trip years ago, when a wrong turn threw me from the raft into a chaos of rocks and rapids. Then the river in its wisdom carried me around and past each rock, and I found myself below on a sandbar, stunned but unharmed. In that moment, I thought how strange it would have been for such a busy life as mine to be abruptly done. And then I realized that the only way to avoid being interrupted by death is to live so completely that nothing remains unfinished. If I live fully as I go, then nothing will be lost when I am gone.

In this turbulent time, we must remain whole. Not rootless, not dismembered, but remembering— aware of what we face, and who we are while facing it. So yes, life may be a crucible, but it’s also a river. Sometimes calm, sometimes fierce— but always flowing. The Buddha once said: there is suffering, but we need not suffer forever. There is difficulty, but also meaning. The key is to open our eyes, engage our hearts, and remain present— especially in chaos. That is how we reach the open sea intact, and complete.

This requires action— not just emotion. It means responding to what is, not clinging to what was. More than endurance, it calls for resilience. We must strive to be three things: sensitive, attentive, and effective. To be sensitive we must be attuned to our own suffering, and that of others. Empathy is the antidote to cynicism. As Hannah Arendt warned, “The death of human empathy is one of the earliest and most telling signs of a culture about to fall into barbarism.”

To be attentive we must be watchful, both inwardly and outwardly. Attention is what grounds us in truth, for when we pay attention we know what is false, what is urgent, and what is possible. To be effective we must be purposeful, active, and generous. You don’t have to do everything, but you must do something— advocacy, service, or support— whatever is within your reach. These are not gifts we are born with, but skills we must practice— and with this practice we become capable of real change.

Now, as temperatures— physical and political— continue to rise, we find ourselves caught within this crucible. But a crucible isn’t only a place of pressure and risk, it is also a vessel for transformation. The heat that threatens us also purifies, forges, and reveals who we truly are. We cannot allow creeping injustice to lull us into slow submission.

This moment is our fire— and our opportunity. Let us meet it with courage. Let us shape it with sensitivity, attention, and effectiveness. Let us be led by those who serve, not those who dominate. Let the example of Leo remind us: the true leader does not aggrandize himself, but guides others toward wholeness.

In the end, we are not just enduring this crucible. We are becoming tempered by the heat, shaped by the pressure, and called upon not simply to survive but to awaken, and to take part in what is taking place.