Varieties of Hope
What do we
hope for? How might that hope come to
pass? How crucial to our overall future
is the hoped for good? Answering these
questions helps us to see that there are many kinds of hope.
Suppose a
homeless woman said her fondest hope was to get an apartment for herself and
her two children and a job that would let her afford the apartment. But how do you apply for a job when you live
in a car? Even if you got a job, how can
you keep it without childcare? The woman
feels trapped—and guilty: she blames herself for the failed relationships that saddled
her with the children, and she worries that she has undermined their future as
well as her own. Most of the time, she
lives in despair. Unsurprisingly, she is
often also depressed.
How should
we think about the future this woman desires? There are jobs she could work, there are
apartments she might rent, and there are childcare providers (for a price), so in
one sense her imagined future is possible.
But as things stand now, the woman sees no way to put them together. To her, the good future seems impossible.
According
to the “Hope Theory” of C.R. Snyder and his associates, the woman needs two
things to gain hope. Charles R. Snyder
(d. 2006) was a theorist in positive psychology at the University of
Kansas. He postulated that hope consists
of perceived capabilities to produce
routes to desired goals, along with the perceived motivation to use those
routes. Snyder and his colleagues
have produced lots of empirical data to show that when a client gains these two
self-perceptions many positive outcomes follow.
She will feel better about her situation and she will be much more
likely to gain the good future she desires.
Accordingly,
“hope therapy” is pretty straightforward (though not easy). If as therapists or friends we want to help
the woman, we need to help her imagine ways to find work, childcare and
housing; and we need to help her to feel her own motivation to do those things. So imagine a friend or a social worker
offering timely help. Together they
think of ways forward: perhaps a relative or church can provide temporary
shelter and an address; maybe the woman has friends she can trust for short
term childcare while she interviews for jobs; the woman qualifies for housing
assistance from the government; and there is a program of subsidized
transportation in the area. Once the
woman sees that these routes might actually get her to her goal and she
realizes that she can use them, she has hope.
I do not
imply, by this illustration, that overcoming homelessness is as easy as
thinking differently. “Hope theory” does
not imply that. According to “hope
theory,” hope consists in the new way of thinking, that there are routes to the
goal and that the agent can take them.
But hope is still only hope; the good future is still future. Unseen obstacles or bad luck can get in the
way.
What the
illustration does show is this. Some of
the things we hope for are “possibles,” in that we think we know how they might
come about, while other good futures are “impossibles,” because we have no idea
how to achieve them. At first, the woman
thought of a future with an apartment + job + childcare as impossible; later,
we imagine her seeing this future as possible.
Actually,
even that is too simple. Rather than
segregate our hopes into “possibles” and “impossibles,” we should see that the
things we hope for fall into a wide spectrum.
On one end are good futures that we think are very likely (e.g. I
fervently hope someone other than Donald Trump will be elected president in
2016, and I am extremely confident my hope will come true), and at the other
extreme are good futures we think are very unlikely (e.g. I hope that
environmentally benign renewable energy sources will crowd fossil fuels out of
the market in my lifetime, but I don’t expect it). The good futures we want—the things we hope
for—lie scattered all across this spectrum.
Besides
probability, the things we hope for also differ in the mechanisms by which they
might come about. “Hope Theory” focuses
exclusively on the routes and motivations of the agent. Suppose someone hopes for plentiful snow and
an early start to the ski season. Such a
case falls outside the scope of Snyder’s theory, since there is no way for the
agent to bring about the thing hoped for.
“Hope therapists” would advise us to concentrate on the things we can
change, or at least influence.
Nevertheless,
the class of things we cannot bring about includes some important hopes. Like all orthodox Christians, I hope for the
resurrection of the dead. I can do
nothing to make this great thing happen, yet I think this hope is—and should be—central
to my life. The fact that Snyder’s
theory has almost nothing to say about such transcendent hopes is a significant
limitation to his theory. “Hope Theory”
has other defects as well, but I reserve that discussion for another time. Snyder’s theory illuminates certain aspects
of some hope, a very useful thing to have done.
In our
taxonomy of hope, then, we can sort hopes by the objective probability that the
hoped for thing will occur (from very likely to very unlikely) and by the
mechanism of achievement (from under the influence of the agent to completely
outside the agent’s power). And there is
at least one more difference among hopes.
Some things
we hope for are not really very dear to us, while other hopes are so important
as to be essential to any good future. Again,
we should think of a range from very unimportant hopes to the most important
ones. A person might hope for ice cream
after dinner (little importance), for a promotion at work (moderate
importance), or for an end to a civil war (great importance).
In summary,
then: the things we hope for differ in their probability, in their mechanism of
achievement, and in their importance. If
hope is a virtue, as many moral philosophers aver, that virtue may be better
exemplified in some hopes than in others.
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