Finding One's Way By Losing It

By David E. Shi, President

We are living amid a period of concussive changes reminiscent of the mid-eighteenth century Europe described by Charles Dickens in his novel A Tale of Two Cities.  In that book, published in 1859, Dickens began with a haunting description of Europe a hundred years before:   “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.”  Most of us have heard that famous opening line.  But many people have never read what follows that memorable beginning:

"...it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to heaven, we were all going direct the other way - in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only."

Were it not for the unprecedented turbulence in the financial markets and the onset of a global recession, this would be a banner year for Furman. 

But we are not immune from such global forces.  For all of the time we spend on detailed, systematic, long-range planning, we now find ourselves buffeted by a vortex of external forces that defy predictability. 

Are we prepared to manage the chaos of the unknown?  Are we ready to deal with what comes next—when we have no idea of what will come next?

The answer is yes, but with a twist.  As we careen toward an uncertain future and as we prepare for a variety of possible scenarios, I recall the Buddhist story about a man on horseback galloping past a monk.  “Where are you going,” yells the monk.  The man replies, “I don’t know—ask my horse.”

In recent weeks we have often felt that we are on a runaway horse.  The quasi-recession is already deeper than the 2001 downturn.  And there are clear signs that it is, or soon will be, worse than the 1990-’91 recession as well.  October was the worst month for the stock market since 1987.
Who knows what the next 6 months or two years will bring to the national economy in general and to the higher education sector in particular.

For those like me who are by inclination oriented toward detailed planning and confident predictability, the volatility of the world economy and the equity markets can be very disorienting and disconcerting.  

It’s quite natural for people to feel perplexed—and perhaps even paralyzed—by the unique circumstances that have conspired to distract and disorient us. 

Yet while we are taking a widening array of careful steps to prepare for an ever-worsening financial environment, there is no need to bemoan our situation.  In fact, we should seize fresh opportunities afforded by the financial crisis and embrace the uncertainties of the unknown.

In that regard our situation resembles that of the French army commander who reported to headquarters during the Second Battle of the Marne in World War I:    “My center is giving way, my right is in retreat.  Situation excellent, I am attacking.”

Sometimes we attack uncertainty by leveraging the power of the unknown, as often occurs in the martial arts.  On other occasions, we seek to confront the unknown.  During Passover, for instance, Jews set out a glass of wine and leave a door open as an invitation to the prophet Elijah to visit their home.  The Elijah story provides a powerful parable for us at the moment. 

The current financial turmoil may in fact be advantageous to us to the extent that we are willing to open doors to the unknown.  Out of the roiling darkness may come beneficial light.

 In this regard, a few weeks ago I happened to order a new book by one of my favorite writers, the cultural essayist Rebecca Solnit.  The book features an intriguing title.  It is called “A Field Guide to Getting Lost.” 

The book’s narrative is held together by the counterintuitive notion that we can actually benefit from occasionally being dazed and confused and lost.

Solnit argues that we should embrace the energies of the unforeseen even as we prepare concrete plans.  To never to have been lost, she says, is never to have lived.

In a passage reflecting on the Passover story of Elijah, Solnit urges us to “Leave the door open for the unknown, the door into the dark.  That’s where the most important things come from, where you yourself came from, and where you will go [in the end.]”

Solnit reminds us that it is important to remain open to chance and the unknown, for it is only by relinquishing certainty that we approach the divine.

Yesterday we officially dedicated the magnificent new Charles Townes Center for Science.  In its classrooms and laboratories, hallways and offices, Furman scientists, young and old, will live excitedly at the edge of mystery and along the cusp of curiosity.  For generations yet to come, they will delight in traversing the boundaries of the unknown.

There is, in other words, great value in exploring the unforeseen—and in remaking ourselves in the process.  Butterflies, as you know, must disintegrate and reform themselves more than once in their lives.

So do colleges. 

In helping Furman navigate the disorienting months ahead, I told the trustees, let’s decide that we will be like butterflies:  we will have a graceful metamorphosis. 

We will traverse the unmapped territory of our future not with gloomy foreboding or unspoken terror but with eager anticipation for what good and unexpected things might emerge from the unknown and unfamiliar.

Somewhere in the distance of this murky dilemma lies the opportunity for new discoveries and clarifying insights. 

By embracing the mystery of uncertainty, we will find its own forms of beauty and energy and coherence—and we will discover in ourselves the ironic capacity to be renewed and even transformed by the shock of insecurity.  

In reflecting about his experience living at Walden Pond,   Henry David Thoreau once wrote that “It is a surprising and memorable, as well as valuable, experience to be lost in the woods….  Not till we are lost, in other words, not till we have lost the world, do we begin to find ourselves, and realize where we are and the infinite extent of our relations.”

So, like the horseman in the Buddhist story, let’s resolve to enjoy the hellbent ride into the unknown.  It may not be the best of times, as Dickens wrote, but it does not need to be the worst of times either.  Best or worst:  that is our choice to make of it what we will.