Page 67 - Creating Spiritual and Psychological Resilience

36 Creating Spiritual and Psychological Resilence

a person is having. Recognizing and reverberating with an experience is
not the same as trying to erase or eradicate it.
For me this raises the complicated issue of the nature of human empa-
thy, another question I address more fully elsewhere (Buechler, 2008). But,
here I would say that empathy in a time of tragedy can include recognition
that loneliness is intensifying someone’s sadness, or that profound regret
about unlived potential is making grief unbearable.
But, often, this is not enough. And even when pain is mostly “pure” of
other feelings, it can still paralyze. From where can come the will to go on?
Collaboration is so necessary, in my view, precisely because what I have to
offer may not suffice to help people feel their lives have purpose.

Purpose

Elsewhere I have discussed the sense of having purpose, as separable from
any particular goal (Buechler, 2004). I believe it is a necessary ingredient
in life. I would suggest that its core is often spiritual. Thus, it seems natu-
ral to me that relief work often requires the collaborative effort of mental
health workers and spiritual guides. In my better moments, I can discern
the truly lonely from the prevailingly sad. But, though I may try, I may not
be able to help either one feel sufficient reason to go on.
Sometimes my work with someone does help him or her connect with
motivations for living. They may recognize how much they care for a part-
ner, child, or others. But, for many, spiritual beliefs augment the will to
live. Victor Frankl (1985), in his moving autobiographical story of survival
in concentration camps in World War II, quotes Nietzsche, who said that
if we have a “why” we can live with any “how.” A strong enough sense of
purpose can carry us through much that would otherwise be unbearable.
Some of us go on for each other. Martha Manning, a victim of paralyzing
depressions, tells us:

At the very end, I kept going only for my daughter. Every morning, Keara
stumbles semiconscious into the bathroom and turns on the shower. Within
the space of thirty seconds she starts to sing. She starts out humming so softly
that her voice blends with the spray as it bounces off the wall. And then she
chooses her song—sometimes sweet and lyrical, sometimes loud and rocking.
Each morning, when I had to face another day on two hours of sleep and abso-
lutely no hope, I leaned against the bathroom door waiting for her to sing and
let her voice invite me to try for one more day. (Casey, 2001, p. 266)