Norman Wirzba—
Why bother with hope?
This question is on the minds of a lot of people I know, especially younger people. When they look to the past, they see a history of violence and injustice that makes them lose faith in human progress, enlightenment, or success. When they look to the future, they see a world of diminished prospects in which greed, negligence, and the unceasing pursuit of personal advantage are tearing apart the social and ecological fabrics upon which a good life depends. And the present? Well, with worries about things like climate change, gross economic and social inequality, and the normalization of racism and xenophobia, it’s mostly distressing and depressing. This is why a growing number among them are opting not to have children.
In contexts like this, the lofty admonition to “Be hopeful!” is not only out of touch with reality. It is cynical and cruel. It can even be characterized as dangerous, especially when it excuses the (often comfortable) purveyors of hope from healing the economic and social conditions that are creating so much anxiety and despair in the first place. This is why they are suspicious of the idea of hope.
The trouble with various expressions of hope—and optimism, more generally—is that they can create what a friend of mine calls “the ultimate bystander effect.” Don’t worry. Everything’s going to be alright. Somebody else or some technological invention will save us. The problem with this position is that when people become bystanders, the status quo that fosters hopelessness doesn’t get challenged or corrected.
For hope to matter, and for it to serve as a source of inspiration to people, we need to have some clarity about what hope is for. What’s the point of hope, and why should anyone care?
To get at the point of hope I now ask people a very direct question: “What and who do you love?” I think this is a better question than, “Do you have hope?” because the latter makes hope seem like something people obtain and possess, like a vaccine or security blanket that will protect people from whatever trouble comes their way. Some people have it. Some people don’t.
Hope is something people do. It is an affective capacity they live into. That makes hope more like a power than a possession. The name for this power is love. Hopeful people inspire us because they show us that places and people are worthy of our love, and they help us see what love-in-action looks like. They give us reasons to know that striving for a better future is worth it.
The point of hope, and the reason hope matters in every time and place, is that it signals the resolve to work for a future in which people and places can thrive together. A future of shared flourishing is worthy of everyone’s commitment.
Stories of hope are fundamentally love stories. Hope begins with the conviction that someone or some place is worthy of your cherishing. Suitably convicted, you now have what you need to commit to their nurture and protection, and that is enough to put a spike in the wheels of degradation and abandonment that cause us to despair.
Hope germinates wherever and whenever love goes to work. It grows as love takes root in a person’s life and world. It flowers and fruits when people feel the power of love nurturing and healing the neighborhoods in which they live. This is why I think questions about hope are always questions about love.
Loneliness, abuse, and abandonment are the primary enemies of hope. Too many people feel they don’t really matter. Too many of our built environments are either ugly, dangerous, or designed to increase investor profits. Too many people are toiling away in “bullshit jobs” that steal their dignity and damage their well-being. Looking around it is hard to see material and social signs of the cherishing of life.
The way of hope, or what I also call the logic of hope, is rooted in the power of connection. It depends on people coming into the presence of each other so they can see how they can be a help to each other. It depends on building strong relationships so that no one has to face on their own whenever troubles come their way.
For many people, hope can often feel far off. We can bring it near if we choose to give ourselves to the care of each other. Hope is a vulnerable thing, but that doesn’t make it weak. Hope moves with the power and the pacing of love. There is no better power.
Norman Wirzba is the Gilbert T. Rowe Distinguished Professor of Christian Theology at Duke Divinity School, as well as director of research at Duke University’s Office of Climate and Sustainability. His books include Agrarian Spirit: Cultivating Faith, Community, and the Land and This Sacred Life: Humanity’s Place in a Wounded World. He lives in Hillsborough, NC.