« Dad, is it permissible to remain clear-headed under such pressure? This isn’t Lebialem, Dad. »
Lucidity as the Last Form of Freedom
Some phrases no longer belong to us the moment they are spoken. They leave the intimate framework of a conversation to become the reflection of a universal experience. « Dad, is it permissible to remain clear-headed under such pressure? This isn’t Lebialem, Dad. » is one of those.
At first glance, it’s merely an exchange between a son and his father. Yet, behind this question lies a much deeper inquiry: can a human being still think freely when the pressures of existence become permanent?
For a long time, I believed that the greatest threats came from the outside. In the stories of my childhood, they took the form of witchcraft, jealousy, or bad luck. Later, when I left my village to continue my studies, I discovered another reality. The witches had simply changed faces. They now went by the names of precarity, loneliness, bureaucracy, administrative deadlines, family responsibilities, social comparison, or fear of failure.
« This isn’t Lebialem, Dad. » This phrase does not deny roots. It simply observes that every society has its own mechanisms of oppression. Beliefs change, but anxieties remain. Once, people feared bad luck; today, we dread an administrative letter, a delayed response, an unexpected bill, a decision that could upend an entire life. The forms evolve, but pressure remains a constant of the human condition.
From then on, the real question is no longer about the events themselves, but about our response to them. What is lucidity?
Being lucid does not mean being insensitive or devoid of fear. Lucidity is about seeing reality as it is, without sugar-coating it with naive optimism or distorting it under despair’s influence. It is the ability to recognise danger without giving it control over our mind.
Yet this disposition is probably one of the most difficult to maintain when various forms of pressure exert themselves simultaneously.
Think of a student leaving the village to study abroad. Even before departure, they must gather financial means, convince their family, reassure loved ones, face uncertainty. Once arrived, a new series of obstacles begins: finding accommodation, opening a bank account, understanding unfamiliar administration, learning the codes of a new society, enduring loneliness.
Taken individually, each of these challenges seems surmountable. But their accumulation creates an invisible fatigue. Pressure doesn’t reside solely in major catastrophes; it settles in repeated minor worries. A misunderstood letter. An unexpected bill. A family call loaded with expectations. An administrative silence lasting too long. These details gradually colonise the mind.
It is precisely here that the question posed to the father takes on its full depth.
The son doesn’t ask how to eliminate pressure. He knows it’s unavoidable. He asks something far more fundamental: « Do we still have the right to remain clear-headed? »
In other words, does our era still allow space for reflection when everything urges us to react urgently?
The Stoics had already identified this paradox. Epictetus distinguished what depends on us from what does not. On paper, this distinction seems clear. In real life, it becomes infinitely more complex. When rent approaches, resources run dry, family responsibilities pile up, or the future appears hinged on an external decision, the boundary between what depends on us and what eludes us becomes blurred.
Pressure muddles judgment.
Contemporary neuroscience confirms this philosophical insight. Under prolonged stress, the brain prioritises immediate responses over rational analysis. Our mental horizon narrows. We gradually stop asking: « What kind of person do I want to become? » and focus only on « How will I survive until tomorrow? »
This is perhaps pressure’s greatest danger: it not only disrupts comfort, but threatens inner freedom.
Yet, some people seem to retain astonishing clarity of mind in the midst of storms. Why?
Viktor Frankl, a concentration camp survivor, wrote that everything can be taken from a man but one thing: the freedom to choose his attitude in any circumstance. This freedom doesn’t eliminate suffering. It merely prevents suffering from becoming our sole identity.
Lucidity then appears as a form of resistance.
Refusing to panic doesn’t mean denying danger; it means preventing danger from becoming the absolute master of our thoughts. In a world saturated with injunctions, perpetual urgencies, and incessant comparisons, remaining lucid becomes almost an act of dissidence.
However, this lucidity does not fall from the sky. It is built. It is educated. It is nourished by philosophy, faith for some, sincere friendships, humour, the memory of past trials, and the conviction that every difficulty overcome prepares one for the next.
Humour, specifically, plays an often underestimated role. Laughing at one’s clumsiness, cultural misunderstandings, or early failures doesn’t erase difficulties. It simply reintroduces a distance between us and our problems. This distance is already a form of freedom.
This reflection then joins another question that spans all existence: the question of happiness.
We like to think happiness arises from the absence of pressure. Yet, human experience shows the exact opposite. Some of the happiest people have endured considerable trials. What distinguishes them is not the absence of difficulties, but their ability to not let these difficulties entirely define their identity.
Happiness is therefore not necessarily a state of comfort. It can be a way of inhabiting trials without surrendering one’s soul to them.
The answer to the initial question cannot be entirely optimistic or entirely pessimistic.
Yes, pressure sometimes alters our judgment.
Yes, it wears out intelligence.
Yes, it darkens hope.
But no, it doesn’t inevitably destroy lucidity.
The latter remains fragile, wavering, always to be regained. It demands daily effort. It requires courage. It supposes accepting uncertainty without renouncing thought.
Ultimately, humanity’s greatest victory may not be in eliminating all the pressures surrounding it. It lies in preserving enough inner clarity to not become a stranger to oneself.
By shifting the question from material success to the preservation of mental clarity, this reflection proposes a true philosophy of resilience. Faced with the sea of economic, familial, administrative, social, and existential pressures, the right to lucidity appears as the last freedom no one should be able to take from us. It is the assertion that, despite circumstances, the human being remains the guardian of their own inner sanctum.It is this hard-won lucidity that allows a displaced student not to fall into despair, an undocumented person not to renounce their dignity, an entrepreneur to turn adversity into a project, and a man to continue to believe in the future when everything seems to beckon him to give up. The most decisive victories may not be those recorded on a curriculum vitae, but those won every day against fear, discouragement, and resignation.
The phrase “Dad, is it permissible to remain lucid under such pressure? Here, this isn’t Lebialem, Dad.” is taken from Happiness is Free, a work scheduled for publication in 2027. Although it arises from a singular experience, it refers to a universal question: how to preserve one’s humanity when life’s pressures seem to wish to decide for us?
Perhaps this is the real silent revolution. Not to overcome all trials — for some exceed our strengths — but to refuse to let them deprive us of our ability to think, to love, to create, to hope, and to remain profoundly human. For while circumstances may sometimes confiscate our rights, our possessions, our comfort or our status, they truly triumph only the day they strip us of our lucidity.
This is why this reflection takes on an almost subversive dimension: yes, happiness is free, but it is never free in the sense of ease. It is the fruit of a heroic lucidity, patiently built at the very heart of the contradictions of existence. The lucidity of those who have stared absurdity in the face without ever giving up on singing, writing, undertaking, forgiving, loving, or smiling in adversity.
The phrase that gives this essay its title is taken from Happiness is Free, due for publication in 2027.
This philosophical essay was written by the author with the assistance of ChatGPT. The ideas, lived experiences, philosophical orientation, and intellectual project are the responsibility of the author.