Finding Joy in Troubled Times
We exist in a time that has been called a “polycrisis.” This means we exist in a confluence of multiple political, economic, and environmental issues which continue to compound each other to a mass-existential level. Although recent times have been an unusual period of comfort and stability the pendulum is swinging to a direction that is potentially even more erratic.
When the world feels upended by political strife, economic fears, or looming catastrophes, it is easy to believe that despair is our only logical response. Yet history tells a different story. Across centuries of turmoil, people have discovered ways to kindle joy and hope within their communities, preserving their sanity and humanity even as events rage around them. In times of war and persecution, in economic depressions and plagues, individuals and groups have found moments of laughter, solidarity, and meaning. These glimmers of joy were not trivial distractions; they were lifelines. They remind us that suffering is impermanent, that even the darkest night gives way to dawn, and that we must not waste the brief miracle of life in endless despair.
The Impermanence of Suffering
One ancient proverb, often traced to Persian sages, advises that “This too shall pass.” It’s a simple phrase carrying profound wisdom: no state of misery (or joy, for that matter) lasts forever. The idea of impermanence has been a cornerstone of philosophies and religions worldwide. Buddhist teachings, for example, emphasize that all of life’s conditions are transient – understanding this helps one endure hardship with equanimity. The Stoic philosophers of antiquity offered similar counsel. In the 6th century, the Roman statesman Boethius, imprisoned and awaiting execution, wrote The Consolation of Philosophy. In that work, personified Philosophy sings to him, urging that he “stay composed and stable in the face of fortune good and bad.” The wise, she counsels, will relinquish both excessive hope and excessive fear, remaining steady regardless of how tyrants or fate may lash out. Such advice – to recognize the temporary nature of both good luck and bad, and to locate one’s center beyond the reach of external chaos – has consoled many caught in history’s storms.
Indeed, the awareness of life’s brevity can itself inspire hope. Marcus Aurelius, the philosopher-emperor who weathered wars and plague in the 2nd century, observed in his Meditations that the universe is change; our lives are what our thoughts make them. He reminded himself that if one has seen the present, one has seen all – the same dramas that unfolded in ages past. In other words, our struggles are not unique, and those past struggles eventually gave way to calmer times. This perspective can be bracing. It tells us that others before us have endured tumult and emerged intact; the very passage of time ensures that today’s crises will one day be history.
To say suffering is impermanent is not to dismiss its pain, but to put it into context. Even immense anguish – a war, a collapse – eventually ends. New leaders come to power, economies recover, seasons change. Medieval Europeans endured the Black Death and religious wars; within a generation, society rebuilt and found new normals. As an old Sufi tale goes, a king asked his sages for a sentence that would always be true, in good times or bad. They answered: “This too shall pass.” Remembering this helps us take heart. The clouds will eventually part. What, then, shall we do in the meantime? History’s answer: We must live as fully as we can, despite the clouds – cherishing our human connections and snatching joy from the jaws of despair.
Communities of Hope
Time and again, people in eras of political turmoil have found hope and even happiness not by isolating in fear, but by turning toward each other. When external certainties fall apart, communities often become the bedrock of emotional survival. In the Great Depression of the 1930s, when unemployment and poverty swept America, many could easily have surrendered to hopelessness. Yet even as they struggled to put food on the table, Americans found ways to have fun and uphold one another. Neighbors organized dance contests and banded together for cheap entertainment. Families gathered around radios to laugh at comedies or cheer the heroics of adventure serials. It was observed that even as many Americans struggled to survive, they still found ways to have fun, finding little diversions from daily deprivation. Attendance at movie theaters actually rose in the 1930s because cinema was an affordable escape; Hollywood provided technicolor dreams and laughter for pocket change. Remarkably, even at the height of the Depression, about 40% of Americans went to the movies weekly, finding solace and inspiration on the silver screen. Such moments of collective entertainment were more than frivolity – they were a mental health valve, a reminder that life held enjoyment and beauty even in hard times.
Communities under extreme duress have also often turned to music, dance, and storytelling as bulwarks of hope. During the era of slavery in the Americas, enslaved African people survived the immense brutality in part by creating a rich tradition of spirituals and communal songs. These songs were sung in fields and hush harbors, and they carried coded messages of freedom as well as messages of faith. Historian Yolanda Y. Smith notes that even amid “overwhelming despair, \[enslaved people] never lost sight of their faith.” Their spirituals sustained the community, giving them a way to voice their deepest hopes for liberation and to affirm an “enduring legacy of hope, resilience, survival, and unwavering faith.”. Through melody and harmony, they found spiritual uplift and a sense of unity. Singing together reinforced the feeling that they were more than victims – they were keepers of a proud heritage and believers in a better future. Similarly, in other oppressed communities, art and story have been a wellspring of resilience. In Eastern Europe under Soviet domination, for example, songs became an instrument of peaceful resistance. The late 1980s saw the rise of the “Singing Revolution” in the Baltic states, where thousands gathered in public to sing national songs forbidden by the regime. Over four years of mass singing protests (1987–1991), Estonians, Latvians, and Lithuanians unified their people through music and ultimately won independence. Oppressive authorities often fear collective joy for this very reason – they know it has the power to bind people together and propel change. As one writer put it, dictators understand that joy is a propulsive force: anything that gathers people in exuberant energy – be it music, dance, or art – threatens the rigid control of a fearful regime.
History also shows that ordinary folks find hope by continuing the rhythms of normal life in abnormal times. During wars or political crackdowns, communities have preserved rituals of celebration as acts of quiet defiance. Consider the simple fact that people still fall in love and marry, even amid conflicts. There were wedding ceremonies in London during the Blitz of World War II, held in bombed-out churches with makeshift decorations. In besieged cities, families have gathered for holidays, lighting candles in dark cellars or sharing scraps of special food – gestures of continuity with better times. Such events reaffirm life’s meaningful milestones and bring brief joy that we are still human.
One striking historical example comes from the enslaved communities in the Caribbean. Under the cruel conditions of colonial rule, enslaved Africans were often forbidden from openly celebrating their heritage. Yet they ingeniously found ways to do so. On the island of Martinique in the 17th and 18th centuries, French colonists held grand costume balls for themselves, but the enslaved people held their own parallel celebration. They used satire, music, dance, and vivid costumes as a means of creative freedom and communal joy. This was the early origin of what we now know as Caribbean Carnival. Under the guise of harmless festivity, they actually poked fun at their oppressors and kept cultural traditions alive. In a world of repression, the very act of dancing through the streets in brilliant attire was a bold statement of identity and hope. It said: We still have our spirit. You have not crushed our capacity to celebrate. Carnival, in this sense, became a catharsis – a temporary suspension of suffering through collective laughter and dance, after which people returned to daily hardships with renewed strength.
Even in the bleakest enclaves of history, traces of joy and community survive. Prisoners in concentration camps during the Holocaust whispered songs and shared jokes; some secretly wrote poetry or drew pictures. In Soviet gulags, political prisoners taught each other literature and math in the barracks after exhausting days of labor. Such stories illustrate a crucial point: joy can be an act of resistance. To smile, to create, or to care for one another in dark times is to assert that life has meaning beyond the control of tyrants. As the poet Toi Derricotte famously wrote, “Joy is an act of resistance.” Oppressors may grasp this intuitively – which is why totalitarian regimes so often try to ban music, dancing, or gatherings. Yet again and again, people find ways to resist that suppression. By sharing joy, they preserve their sanity and solidarity. It is a quiet rebellion of the soul.
Philosophy: The Mind’s Refuge
How have people mentally coped with turmoil to remain hopeful and sane? Many turned to philosophy, faith, or spirituality as a refuge for the mind when the external world was in chaos. We see this in the writings of those who lived through desperate times. The Roman Stoics encouraged focusing on one’s inner virtue and duty, since external fortune is fickle. The early Christian martyrs found strength in the belief that their sufferings were temporary trials before eternal peace. Centuries later, during the English Civil War, the Puritan poet John Milton—having lost his political hopes and even his eyesight—penned Paradise Lost, sublimating his tumult into art and faith. His contemporary, the Anglican priest Thomas Traherne, wrote serene meditations on the goodness of creation even as England was embroiled in conflict. Their inward turn to faith and philosophy was not escapism but a way to anchor themselves against despair.
Non-religious thinkers likewise have sought perspective. The French essayist Montaigne, living through the bloody Wars of Religion in the 16th century, famously retired to his library to reflect on human nature. In his Essays, he examined fear, death, and constancy, concluding that “even on the highest throne in the world, we are seated on nothing but our own tail.” With wry humor, Montaigne reminded himself that kings and peasants alike are mortal and weak, so he strove for personal tranquility rather than getting swept up in fanaticism. His skepticism of politics helped him stay sane while France tore itself apart. Likewise, the Buddhist monastics of Vietnam during the war in the 1960s (like Thích Nhất Hạnh) practiced mindfulness and compassion, teaching that peace in one’s heart can exist even as bombs fall – and that this inner peace can radiate outward to help end violence. Such philosophies emphasize that while we cannot always change external events, we can change our mindset. Choosing not to dwell in rage or hopelessness is itself a survival tactic.
A recurring theme in these philosophies is the focus on the present moment. In turmoil, people often catastrophize about the future or endlessly ruminate on the past (“How did we get here? What if everything gets worse?”). Stoics and Buddhists alike advise breaking this cycle. Pay attention to small, immediate goodness, they say – the warmth of a cup of tea, the sound of a friend’s laughter, the fact that you are breathing at this moment. Such simple mindfulness can ground us when the larger world feels uncontrollable. It does not solve political chaos or stop a war, but it keeps the flame of sanity alight in an individual, which is the first step. Many soldiers in trenches, prisoners, and refugees have unknowingly practiced this: cherishing a photograph of loved ones, telling a humorous story to a comrade, admiring a sunrise even in a wasteland. These micro-moments of appreciation are threads of joy that can be woven into a cloak against despair.
Sustenance and Joy
A famous slogan from a 1912 workers’ strike encapsulates a vital lesson: “Bread and Roses.” The striking factory women demanded not just fair wages to fill their bellies (bread), but also dignity and quality of life (roses) – essentially, the right to joy and beauty even in hardship. This phrase has echoed through history because it speaks a fundamental truth: Material survival alone is not enough; we hunger also for meaning, culture, and delight. In times of political and economic turmoil, there is often an argument that people should set aside pleasures and focus solely on survival or the fight at hand. Art, music, celebrations – these might be dismissed as luxuries. But history warns us not to make that mistake. The women of the Bread and Roses strike understood that without “roses” – without joy and human dignity – “bread” is insufficient. Hearts starve as well as bodies.
Across rough eras, we see the wisdom of balancing struggle with celebration. During South Africa’s anti-apartheid movement, activists would come together not only to protest but also to sing freedom songs and dance at rallies, forging unity and relieving stress. In the darkest days of the American Civil War, President Lincoln insisted on holding Thanksgiving celebrations to remind the fractured nation of shared blessings. During the grim early 1940s in Britain, Prime Minister Churchill understood the morale-boosting power of the arts; he famously resisted cutting funding for culture, quipping “Then what are we fighting for?” when asked to sacrifice art budgets for the war effort. These leaders and movements intuited that preserving joy and beauty amid crisis is not a secondary concern – it is central to why humans persevere at all.
Psychologically, joy acts as a release valve and a source of strength. Modern science has shown that moments of laughter and pleasure can lower stress hormones and boost the immune system – literal medicine for minds and bodies under strain. Communal joy, in particular, creates social bonds that make a group resilient. When people sing or dance together, their heart rates and brain waves can synchronize, producing a sense of togetherness that dissolves barriers. This unity is crucial when facing a common challenge: it builds trust and a feeling of “we’re in this together.” In a divided society, finding occasions to share joy can remind citizens of their common humanity, bridging political rifts. For example, during the Cold War, the Olympic Games and international cultural festivals allowed people from hostile nations to appreciate excellence and beauty together, if only briefly, fostering hope that cooperation was possible. Even today, amidst U.S. political polarization, one might notice how a local sports championship or a community concert brings diverse neighbors into one celebratory space. Such experiences, however small, chip away at the walls of anger and suspicion.
Daily Practice
If the past could whisper to the present, it would say: Hope is not naive; it is necessary. To stay hopeful and sane in tumultuous times is a practice, a discipline of mind and spirit. It does not mean ignoring the very real dangers and injustices around us. Rather, it means refusing to let those external woes consume our inner life completely. The people of history who survived and thrived during crises were not always the strongest or the smartest, but often the ones most determined not to let despair become their master. They found purpose – whether in protecting their family, preserving a tradition, or fighting for a cause – and through that purpose, they found hope.
Consider the example of Viktor Frankl, a Holocaust survivor who wrote Man’s Search for Meaning. In the hellish environment of a concentration camp, he observed that those who had a reason to live (such as loved ones to reunite with or work to finish) were more likely to survive than those who felt hopeless. He concluded that humans can endure unimaginable suffering if they believe it has meaning. His mantra became, “He who has a why to live can bear almost any how.” To cultivate hope, then, is to cultivate a “why” – a sense of meaning or a vision of a better future that pulls you forward when the present is bleak.
On a community level, hope can be fostered by coming together in action. During the U.S. Civil Rights Movement of the 1950s and 60s, black Americans facing violent oppression did not simply wait and wish for change; they gathered in churches and meeting halls, organized, marched – and yes, they sang and prayed together. Their collective action itself created hope, each person lifting the other. As activist and scholar Rebecca Solnit noted, “Hope is a gift you don’t have to surrender, a power you don’t have to throw away.” By engaging with others, we keep that gift alive.
Today’s Americans worry about deep political divisions, economic instability, and the existential threat of climate change. These are legitimate concerns, echoing past trials but also new in scale. Our generation can draw strength from how previous generations coped. Political division can be tackled by remembering that this nation has been bitterly divided before – recall the turmoil of the 1960s or even the 1860s Civil War – yet managed to eventually find common ground and renew itself. The key was dialogue, the courage of bridge-builders, and shared national experiences that reminded Americans of their unity. Economic anxiety can be met with the spirit of the Great Depression communities, who showed that solidarity and ingenuity can lighten the load – neighbors helping neighbors, families pooling resources, and collective calls for fairer systems. And the climate crisis, daunting as it is, might be met in part by the resilience thinking that indigenous peoples have long cultivated: the idea that humans are adaptable, that we can live with respect for nature’s cycles, and that even if the environment changes, we can find ways to protect each other and find beauty in a changing world. Around the globe, youths are banding together in climate activism, forging a community of hope that insists on solutions. Their determination is a form of hope in action.
In our personal lives, we, too, can practice small acts of hope amid turmoil. We can limit our doom-scrolling and instead seek out stories of people helping each other. We can plant gardens or trees as a tangible investment in a future we believe in. We can create art or write in a journal, externalizing our anxieties in a creative way. We can volunteer in our community, be it a food bank or a local cleanup, to reinforce that our actions matter. And we can still celebrate the good days – birthdays, cultural festivals, any excuse to share joy. Far from being frivolous, these acts are the oxygen for our collective spirit.
History’s survivors and thrivers teach us a final, simple lesson: do not be ashamed of joy, even now. In a world full of suffering, one might feel guilty for feeling happy. But joy does not ignore pain; it coexists with it, giving us strength to carry on. The great novelist and activist Toni Morrison, who lived through the civil rights era’s trials, advised writers and artists, “This is precisely the time when artists go to work… We speak, we write, we do language. That is how civilizations heal.” In other words, times of turmoil are exactly when we must double down on creating beauty and meaning. The same applies to everyone: this is precisely the time to love, to sing, to dance, to laugh, to imagine a better future.
Suffering, no matter how dire, is not the whole of existence. Each day still offers sunlight, friendship, humor, and the potential for change. By embracing those gifts, we assert that the human spirit is not defined by the woes that afflict it. Empires rise and fall, economies boom and bust, climates and borders shift – but the fundamental need of people to connect with each other and find joy remains. It is our eternal birthright. Our time on earth is short, as philosophers remind us. We must not sacrifice it entirely to despair. The people of the past whisper to us their hard-earned wisdom: find joy within your community; seize it, create it, nurture it – especially when it’s hardest to do so. In that imperative lies the seed of sanity and the promise that we, like them, will get through the storm and see the sun rise again.