Much about hope is self-evident. The feelings associated with hope, and with the lack of it — hopelessness, are so palpable that the experience seems beyond a need for questioning. Consequently, the cognitive aspects of hope, the “mechanics” of hope, may seem redundant, which is far from being the case.
As a rule (and a central theme in this work), the affective, or emotional, facet of any conscious event is, of course, important, but it is only part of the experience. A (synchronized) cognitive, language-dependent, component provides the narrative and, ultimately, a meaning, and is therefore necessary for the conscious experience to “make sense”. Insight into the cognitive component of any event in consciousness has a considerable practical importance, because a deliberate influence over one’s own state of mind can only occur through the cognitive end of the experience; emotions simply do not offer access for influencing the mental process (we don’t have a say or a handle on our emotions — we feel what we feel; but, we can choose what to think about).
The following discussion aims to contribute to the understanding of the cognitive, i.e., rational, underpinnings of hope. I hope that you will find it useful in gauging, protecting, and cultivating your hope.
The Merits of Hope
The feeling associated with hopefulness is, unquestionably, positive and pleasant. Conversely (and equally obviously) the feeling associated with hopelessness is negative and painful. This can be attributed to the impact of hope on the way we relate to the future: Without hope the future is daunting — an anxiety provoking threat; add hope and the same future becomes inviting and exciting. The powerful effect should not obscure the additional important roles that hope plays in the human condition, which extend far beyond its obvious “feel-good” effect. Hope makes a difference to some of the most important elements in the pursuit of happiness: freedom, acceptance, and compassion.
Hope and Freedom: Freedom of choice and, by extension, freedom itself, hinge on hope. Volitional acts are taken only when the actor recognizes some likelihood for the action to be successful, that is, when the actor has hope that the act will yield some reward. The alternative — knowingly taking an action that has no chance to succeed is, at best, irrational.
Actions that are considered to have no chance of success. i.e., hopeless acts, are normally avoided. If for some reason a hopeless act can not be avoided, the actor will experience it as a forced action rather than as the exercising of free will. (The exception to the rule is in actions taken on a principle. That is, an action that is considered to be doomed to fail may be chosen freely, as an expression of one’s moral, ethical, or religious values; typically, the circumstances behind such actions are dire and thankfully, scenarios in which freedom of choice is exercised by taking hopeless actions are not common).
The link between hope and freedom of choice is sometimes illustrated in the course of major depression: Hopelessness is a very common feature of depressive disorders — the brain’s capacity to generate hope appears to diminish with increasing severity of depression. With worsening symptoms, depressed patients typically become increasingly passive, progressively avoiding activities. In very severe cases some patients experience a “psychological paralysis”, whereby they cease nearly all activities, spending days on-end in bed. This paralysis is typically the result of extreme hopelessness rather than lethargy or other symptoms of the condition (which, of course, make matters worse). Patients in that state report of an overwhelming sense of futility at the thought of taking any action, a result of the oppressive hopelessness that dominates their thought process. In a state of hopelessness, actions taken are perceived as doomed to fail, and therefore are experienced subjectively as forced, and a source of a struggle.
The mental steps leading to the paralysis of major depression are readily traceable: Volitional actions are conditioned on the actor having an incentive to act — a justification for making the required effort. Incentive, in turn, is conditioned on hope: With no hope for a desired outcome, i.e., when an action is doomed to fail, there is no incentive to act (notwithstanding the exception mentioned above). Since hopeless actions are futile, and investing in futility is irrational, the depressed patients’ passivity actually makes sense. The point here is that the patients’ paralysis arises from pathological hopelessness rather than an impairment of the choice-making process (which may be intact or may be affected by the disorder). Extreme hopelessness can render the mere effort that is required to go on living seem futile which, unfortunately, contributes to the appeal of suicide.
Hope and Acceptance: Acceptance is a critically important psychological capacity, as it is a prerequisite for a functional relationship with everything we experience as part of the present. Acceptance of reality is not optional, it is simply a must, given that all its alternatives (e.g., denial, rejection, and dissociation) impede effective functioning.
Acceptance is effortless and automatic as long as that which is being accepted is experienced as neutral or better (i.e., painless or pleasurable). However, acceptance of difficult, painful circumstances can be a challenge, the magnitude of which is proportional to the intensity of the pain and suffering involved.
Acceptance of a difficult reality is supported by tolerance of the pain and suffering therein. Hope eases the challenge of tolerance: It is easier to tolerate pain when one is confident that it will lessen or cease with time; conversely, hopelessness undermines acceptance — the conviction that a pain will not improve, that it will persist or become worse, adds to the hardship of tolerating it. Without hope tolerance becomes resignation and then acceptance becomes surrender.
Hope and Compassion: The link between hope and compassion is based on the same principle, because the centerpiece of compassion is the capacity to accept someone exactly as they are. Accepting someone pleasant (or just neutral) is not much of a challenge. Accepting someone exactly as they are (i.e., without demanding that they change) while they cause us discomfort or pain is more difficult. In other words, the more problematic a person is, the more difficult it is to sustain compassion toward them. Tolerance of the discomfort or pain caused by a problematic person is a condition for accepting them as they are. Lack of tolerance of the discomfort or pain negates compassion. Without hope for their future improvement, accepting a problematic person as they are becomes either pitying or giving-up on them, which amount to withholding compassion.
The Logic of Hope
As mentioned above, the ability to influence hope by design requires understanding its logic, its “mechanics”. Establishing the definition of hope is a good place to start the process of acquiring this understanding.
Clarifying its distinction from optimism is a useful step toward generating the definition of hope: Optimism is the conviction that the future will be better than the present. Given that the future is non-negotiably unknowable, a conviction of the specific makings of any future can not be founded. In other words, it is simply impossible to predict the future with certainty (the exception that proves the rule is the prediction that the laws of nature will continue to govern the future as they have governed the past; ironically, everything that can be predicted with certainty — suffering, death, and uncertainty, is inherently unattractive). Optimism then is based on denial of the reality that the future can not be foretold with certainty. Hence, optimism is illusory. It feels good, but it is irrational (just as is its opposite, pessimism).
Hope, in comparison, is defined as the conviction that the future may be better than the present. The difference (between “will” and “may”) is small, yet its implications are profound. Optimism is a conviction that the future will become a desired present. Hope is a conviction that the future has a potential to support movement in a desired direction.
The rational underpinnings of hope originate in the simple fact that (at any given present) the future doesn’t yet exist. This not only precludes knowing it with certainty, it means that until the future materializes (i.e., until it becomes the present) it is only a potential. As such, the realization that the future may turn out to be better than the present, i.e., having hope, is always on a solid foundation. Of course this realization is inseparable from the realization that the future may turn out worse than the present, which inevitably diminishes the appeal of hope relative to the appeal of optimism. In this regard, optimism is like psychological candy — sweet, but without much nutritional value. Hope, in comparison, is like psychological fruit — perhaps not as sweet, but much healthier and better for you than candy.
The law of impermanence guarantees change. The specifics of the change are unknowable, which is to say that the future has (to be precise, the future is) a potential to materialize into any imaginable (and unimaginable) scenario, as long as it does not violate any law of nature. In other words, the potential of any (present) circumstances to improve is an inherent consequence of uncertainty; hence: Where there is uncertainty, there is hope; and conversely, where there is certainty, there is no room for hope. Thankfully, the future’s uncertainty is certain (which is the source of Alexander Pope’s assertion that “hope springs eternal”).
Failure to distinguish between optimism and hope is linked to the failure to distinguish between expectations and aspirations. Optimism breeds expectations; hope breeds aspirations. An expectation is a specific and detailed imagery of a future outcome. An aspiration is a less specific vision of the future — an aspiration focuses on the direction of change rather than on its outcome. By focusing on a desired outcome expectations invite attachments to it. Aspirations, which focus on the journey — the process, invite sustaining a commitment to it.
The distinction between expectations and aspirations is of the utmost practical importance. Expectations are the cause of the pain of disappointment. As a matter of fact, to experience disappointment one must first have an expectation. By inviting attachments, optimism is a setup for the pain of disappointment. Hope, in comparison, may be associated with pain only when it is contaminated by expectations. Pure hope cannot cause pain.
Common expressions such as “don’t get your hopes up” attest to the prevalence of the failure to distinguish between optimism (and expectations) and hope (and aspirations). Failure to distinguish between optimism and hope readily leads to the rejection of both, driven by the wish to avoid the pain of disappointment. The rejection of hope is an unaffordable mistake, given its role in the human condition in general, and in the pursuit of happiness specifically.
The Barriers to Hope
If hope is indeed so simple, rational, and important, why is there a need to discuss it at all? Why are we not automatically better at it? The answer begins with the instinctive reaction to uncertainty: We are conflicted about hope because uncertainty — the prerequisite for hope, elicits discomfort. The fact that future-reality has an inherent potential to be better than present-reality (moreover, it has a potential to be better than the best imaginable reality), which supports hope, is inseparable from the fact that the future-reality has an inherent potential to turn out worse than the present reality (and worse than the worst imaginable reality), which contributes to an ambivalence about hope.
Moreover, acknowledging the fact that the future is uncertain is synonymous with acknowledging the lack of control over it, which is inherently anxiety provoking. Anxiety triggers reflexive avoidance. Avoiding dealing with something inevitably gets in the way of developing mastery of it. Making matters worse, the wish, or the reflex, to avoid something that is unavoidable (such as the uncertainty of the future) results in an internal conflict, charging the ambivalence about hope with added tension.
Sustaining hope then requires resolving the inner conflict and enduring the discomfort it can elicit. This, in turn, requires a level of psychological maturity. Maturing (unlike aging) requires more effort than just allowing the passage of time. The specific psychological maturation relevant to hope is fraught with unique challenges that stem from normal development.
Children (and childish, or immature, adults) are very receptive to the guaranteed promise of a better future, and are thus prone to optimism (and pessimism) rather than to hope. The guarantee that “everything will be alright” or “everything will turn out just fine” (especially coming from a powerful and trustworthy source, such as a parent or a parent-figure) has a considerable seductive appeal.
Recurring parental reassurances that the future will be fine (or better) are part of normal childhood (and infantilizing political campaigns). Loving parents deliver such reassurances instinctively to soothe and comfort their beloved children. Obviously, and with no exception, these messages are unfounded — who can back-up the guarantee that in the future “everything will be fine”? (A realistic, hope-compatible, message would be along the lines of “everything may turn out to be alright”, but realism is not central to these parent-child interactions.)
Repeated childhood exposure to promises that ensure a positive future may be unavoidable, but not inconsequential. Inevitably, the parental guarantees of a good future are exposed as unfounded, essentially amounting to false advertising. It should not be surprising that this countlessly repeated experience, in which a trusted, sweet message turns out to be a fallacy, would have deep reaching consequences.
In this context, the angst of adolescence and the anger adolescents typically and confusingly aim at their parents makes (some) sense. The exposure of the repeatedly made promises that “everything will be alright” as deceitful causes a painful disillusionment and disappointment. The residual craving for a guaranteed good future adds insult to injury. The typically subconscious nature of these dynamics adds to the surrounding confusion and to the challenge of handling them effectively.
The corrective message is simple, but not easy to deliver or to digest. For normal parents, owning-up to the fact that the future cannot be guaranteed to be positive elicits a discomfort, similar to the discomfort associated with debunking other childhood fantasies, such as the exposure of Santa Claus and the tooth fairy as not real.
Delivering the truth about the future’s uncertainty is more complicated and problematic than delivering the truth about most other childhood fantasies, for a number of reasons: Firstly, the practical implications of the future’s uncertainty are much more serious than the implications of the fictitious nature of Santa Claus and fairies. Secondly, the explicit (and often, emphatic) guarantee of a better future is made much more frequently (than once a year, in Santa’s case) and repeatedly (than twenty times or so, in the case of the tooth fairy). The high frequency with which children are promised that the future is guaranteed to be welcoming amplifies the pain caused by the discovery of the truth. And thirdly, the guarantee of a better future is powerfully rewarding — it has a calming effect similar to the effect of a powerful anti-anxiety drug (particularly for a child facing physical and/or mental pain). Consequently, it readily supports the formation of a habit (it is a fundamental behavioral-psychology principle that rewarding experiences create an appetite for repeated doses, easily leading to the development of a dependency). In other words, loving parents unintentionally promote in their children an appetite for the guarantee of a positive future, which readily turns into a habit manifesting with painful cravings for “the fix” once it becomes unavailable.
It should therefore not be surprising that, by the time we reach adulthood, many of us have a conflicted take on hope. We crave the guarantee that in the future “everything will be fine” but, as adults, we can’t accept it (regardless of where it comes from, be it our own brain or an external source). Furthermore, the realistic alternative — genuine hope, is not only less attractive than the illusion of optimism, it is also unpracticed and thus it tends to “not feel natural” or “feel foriegn”. The bottom line here is that the prevailing, normal childhood relationship with the future gets in the way of developing a correct understanding of hope which interferes with developing mastery of it.
The last hurdle on the road to mastering hope stems from a functional issue: Relating to the future rationally requires the use of statistical operations. The future can be considered realistically only in terms of likelihoods or probabilities. This means that the rational consideration of the future is a statistical endeavor; it requires an analysis of the odds of different imaginable scenarios to materialize. Consistently, the human brain has not only evolved the capacity to perform statistical operations, it performs these operations automatically. Our brains perform statistical calculations continuously and with such ease that most of the time it takes place subconsciously, i.e., without awareness of it happening at all which frees up precious room on the screen of consciousness.
One of the brain’s “built-in” statistical functions makes it possible for the brain to round likelihoods up (to 100%) or down (to 0%). The ability to round high probabilities up and low probabilities down is immensely useful for fast paced decision-making. But it comes with a cost (which should be expected, since nature doesn’t offer free lunches): Rounding off high and low probabilities can get in the way of hope by inviting the illusion of certainty. Rounding a high likelihood up to 100% supports the notion that the associated events are guaranteed to happen, with certainty; rounding a low likelihood down (to zero %) supports the notion that the associated events are guaranteed to not happen, with certainty.
The powerful appeal of (the illusion of) certainty together with the fact that the brain typically conducts its statistical operations subconsciously (including the rounding-off function) results in conditions that invite the illusion of certainty, which negates hope. Rounding probabilities up or down is justifiable in the name of “practical purposes”. Lack of awareness of the rounding-off step is unjustifiable if it leads to embracing the illusion of certainty. It is a mistake that is easy to make but is unaffordable, when it becomes a threat to hope.