Fighting the Losing Battle

On doing your best while the world gets worse

Existence is Frantic.

I’m sure you feel it too. You, like I, probably try your best to be good in a world that is visibly declining while hoping your efforts, no matter how small, may help to reverse the trajectory. A Helper. You may be a healer, an activist, a politically engaged person, an advocate for human decency, someone who writes posts trying to change hearts and minds. Perhaps you pray, donate, march, teach, or do any number of other things you think could help.

But it doesn’t really look like we’re going to “win” in this lifetime.

In fact, it looks like humanity might be on the losing end of a battle with itself. Like deep down, we collectively have some secret agreement to destroy ourselves, though individually we’re all grieving over it. It’s an awful equation, and I personally can’t avoid fixating on it for long. I’m heartsick over it, if we’re being honest.

I’ll just use myself and my efforts as an example. I write about philosophy and pursuing truth with the hope that the people who are most destructive, hateful, and ignorant may be woken up and stop ravaging this lovely world I call home. To my knowledge, none of them have read a word I’ve said. It’s a few friends from college, select relatives, and some really cool Substackers. If you’re reading this, you’re the best.

Nobody in elected office has read my rants and ramblings and ditched their lust for power for a love of truth, nor have any mindless activists stopped screaming violent slogans after generously restacking my efforts.

And I know I’m not a particularly great writer and the things I’m putting forward aren’t generally that original or world-changing, but the point is I’m trying because I refuse to sit back as the world self-immolates. Knowing the bulk of my audience, I think there’s a large chance you feel the same way. There’s also a big possibility that you feel fighting the suicide of civilization feels as futile as using cheap paper towels to dry up the ocean.

So today I want to talk about the value of our valiant defeat by discussing two very contrasting figures: Mother Teresa, the saint of Calcutta, and Ravana, the demon king from the Ramayana. After that, I would like to add a personal reflection, and I invite everyone to share their experiences in the comments.

The Saint of Calcutta

I would like to start by talking about Mother Teresa. I know we often deify people and then hate them when we find out they’re human, so please relate to Mother Teresa as another one of us—just a human being doing her best in a battle she couldn’t win. In her letters, there were two constants:

1. Her desire to serve God and man

2. Her worsening battle with suffering

The book containing her letters, Come Be My Light, begins with a quote that strongly encapsulates her time on earth:

“If I ever become a Saint — I surely be one of ‘darkness’. I will continually be absent from Heaven — to light the light of those in darkness on earth.”

And that she did. As her work continued, she saw the pain of others and fell into despair. Here are two additional quotes from her letters that I think many of us can relate to:

“...I did not know that love could make one suffer so much.—That was suffering of loss—this is of longing—of pain human but caused by the divine. Pray for me—more now than ever.”

“As for me—what will I tell you? I have nothing—since I have not got Him—whom my heart & soul longs to possess. Aloneness is so great.—From within and from without I find no one to turn to.—He has taken not only spiritual—but even the human help. I can speak to no one & even if I do—nothing enters my soul.

…If there is a hell—this must be one. How terrible it is to be without God—no prayer—no faith—no love.—The only thing that remains is the conviction that the work is His—that the Sisters & Brothers are His.—And I cling to this as the person having nothing clings to the straw—before drowning.”

But she did exactly what she said she would do. She entered the darkness our world has to offer and she suffered in it for the good of others. She did her best, but being in Hell hurts, and she died emotionally wounded and exhausted.

But what is she now?

Who we are while we’re on earth belongs to the rest of humanity. The nature of our world is tragic, even vicious, but those elements set the stage for courage and compassion.

In her life, she was a refuge for many around her. She was an example for those who saw her from afar. She was a teacher to those attempting to embody the spirit of service. She was an invitation to bystanders to join in on helping our fellow man.

And she was a human in hell, which is where love is needed the most.

Now she’s a symbol for what one person can do, despite the world remaining harsh. The world’s not any kinder now that she’s gone, but we’ve all been gifted a reminder in the power of kindness, so that we may be brave enough to exercise it—which is not an easy thing. I’m sure many of you reading this have been various levels of beaten by life for attempting it, and perhaps you’ve felt dismayed that it hasn’t gotten better.

But goodness is good anyway, and goodness is most needed where things are bad. Mother Teresa fostered a great deal of goodness while feeling very little of it for herself. She kept going and so should we.

One last note from Mother Teresa to drive it home from later in her life:

“God is in the love with us and keeps giving Himself to the world—through you—through me…

May you continue to be the sunshine of His love to your people and thus make your life something truly beautiful before God.”

Let’s take her advice.

The God-Loving Demon King

My second example is the villain from the Ramayana, a Hindu epic and seminal religious text. I’m going to do something kinda weird and I’m gonna give a quick recap from the point of view of the antagonist, Ravana the demon king.

He was a tall demon with ten heads who was very devoted to Brahma, the deity representing the creator element of God. Ravana meditated for a thousand years at a time, and at the end of each session, he would cut off one of his own heads as an offering to Brahma. Brahma grants him immortality in the face of any being from the realms of Heaven and Hell, leaving Ravana free to terrorize the gods.

Lord Vishnu, the facet of God that presides over existence, has to incarnate as a human named Rama. Vishnu’s wife, Lakshmi, incarnates as a human named Sita. Though they reunite and marry on Earth, neither knows their true identities until the end. Long story short, Ravana kidnaps Sita and lures Rama to Lanka to fight an epic battle of demonic legions versus some badass monkey and bear warriors. It’s worth the read—it’s phenomenal, you guys.

Seriously, look at this stellar ensemble cast!

I recently read the William Buck retelling, which is a blend of the original Sanskrit version, later Advaita Vedanta reinterpretations, and novelization for modern audiences. In this version, he takes the Vedanta perspective on lila from later iterations and applies it to the final battle after Ravana lay defeated and dying at the hand of Rama. At this time, Rama is approached by one of Ravana’s men who hands him a letter from the slain demon king.

The following is an edited excerpt of William Buck’s version to make the ideas understandable to the completely uninitiated, while redacting enough that I’m not breaking any laws by sharing it. For the full letter, I suggest looking it up yourself, because I’ve cut out everything that doesn’t directly go into my spiel here.

“Dear Rama, Lord of the Worlds—think and remember
how you promised to kill me forever.
Nothing is forever except yourself.
Except dying at your hand, how else
could I make you take me?

I was only a demon, and you were very hard to approach.
Yet seeking wisdom I learned many things.
You do not know who you are again.
I knew it all along, but even still you do not know.

I took no protection against men.
You go everywhere and
know everything that ever has or ever will be done.
How was I careless? I was nowhere careless!

O Rama, did you think that dark was bad?

Best of Men, there are many kinds of love,
and I never hurt her.
I kept Lakshmi to lure you here.
I offered you my life and you accepted it.”

This seemingly horrendous character was so devoted to God, was so dedicated to his role, that he lived a life of conflict and suffering because he knew it was God’s plan. Understanding what God needed to accomplish, Ravana worked tirelessly to get violently killed in battle while being universally reviled.

The happy ending wasn’t Ravana’s to have. His lot was defeat from the beginning. The happy ending was for good to prevail, and his role was to enable that to happen. His personal reward was not in this world, but the fruits of his struggle with Rama are celebrated today every Diwali.

Ravana’s hollow life and painful death were offerings to God, and he wouldn’t have had it any other way—and Rama wouldn’t have, either.

The Meaning of Service

I do my best to help people suffering with trauma to find peace in a world full of suffering. As someone with a life largely based in Israel, a country falling apart in the face of war, I expect this battle to outlive me. I have plenty of friends with other causes, and things aren’t looking so hot for them, either. Many of my friends fight antisemitism, for example, and find themselves in a worsening global environment that abuses them for their efforts. I have other friends who try to fight addiction at large, and they, too, are watching the numbers get away from them. Don’t even get me started on my friends who care about the climate or the dangers of AI.

But that’s not the point.

The point is that there are people who are doing their part. My friend who I’ve mentioned before, Aunt Kimberly, likened Helpers to lighthouses. In a dark world where people are crashed around and are doing their best not to drown, a few will come across you, and it’s your job to take them in. When you’re in a lighthouse, you may be able to provide someone warmth, soup, or a shoulder to lean on. You can’t stop the dark storm or violent waves outside—that’s not your job.

Your job is to keep the lighthouse within you warm and ready to share whatever you have been stationed to provide. Maybe you deal in mental health treatment, maybe you deal in ambulatory services, maybe you’re trying to keep a sick world from succumbing to madness by screaming “step away from that proverbial ledge,” but your job doesn’t extend past that.

Like Mother Teresa, we need to keep doing our best, and like Ravana, the world will continue presenting us with darkness to navigate. Hindus call this dharma, Jews call this tikkun olam, Christians call this bearing your cross, and I call it exhausting.

But that’s what we’re doing.

And that’s all that we’re expected to do.

Have faith that the hand that turns the world will do the rest.

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