As America approaches the 4th of July, like many of us, I am not feeling optimistic. I am not feeling optimistic about the national celebration itself, as it portends (promises?) to be overtaken by a political spectacle that celebrates a part of American life and history while at the same time intentionally denigrates anything and everything that is not similarly aligned. Like many of us, I am not optimistic about the prospects for the cease fire with Iran and its ultimate outcome —for that country, our country, or Israel. I am not optimistic about the economy, the implications of Supreme Court decisions, civil rights, safe, fair and free elections, or a de-escalation of the unending cacophony of toxic rhetoric that makes our heads spin, our stomachs churn, and our fists clench.
Optimism has long been a common currency in American culture. But optimism is a feeling, and is largely dependent on success, or the prospect of success. Optimism can be fleeting, and it can also be isolating.
I am not feeling optimistic. And yet, somewhat paradoxically, I am hopeful. Hope is quite different. Whereas optimism is a feeling, hope is an investment — of the heart and soul, and of one’s time and skill. For me, one of the most influential champions of hope was Vaclav Havel (1936-2011), playwright, poet, statesman, and the first democratically elected President of the newly formed Czech Republic, a position he held from 1993-2003. A period in that country’s life when there wasn’t much optimism. He describes hope:
“ Hope is a state of mind, not the state of the world…. Hope transcends the world that is immediately experienced, and is anchored somewhere beyond its horizons. Hope, in this deep and powerful sense, is not the same as joy that things are going well, or a willingness to invest in enterprises that are obviously headed for early success, but rather, an ability to work for something because it is good, not just because it stands a chance to succeed.”
I spent this past weekend with 850 others who have been — and continue to be — invested in hope. I was at the Braver Angels Convention in Philadelphia, a movement that began after the 2016 elections for the purpose of addressing, and healing, the polarization that has increasingly been dividing families, communities, organizations and political parties. www.braverangels.org. For nearly ten years Braver Angels has sought to gather people together — across political and ideological difference — to engage in carefully designed conversations and debates about guns, abortion, immigration, civil rights — any issue that is fraught with tension and division. Every group and department of Braver Angels — from Braver Faith (which I co-chair), Braver Politics, Braver Education, Braver Arts, Braver Workplace, Braver Music, along with other initiatives — is chaired by a red (conservative) and blue (progressive) leader, which reflects a commitment to the belief that difference is a value and not a problem. That we can both work with our differences and through them.
This is hard work. It can be exhausting and dispiriting. We shared with one another the difficulty of seeking to engage and recruit people for this work, and we heard a common refrain:
– they don’t have the time to join us; they are too busy dealing with other things
– they think the work is fanciful or hopeless
– that they can’t talk or engage with someone who thinks and acts THAT way
– that the horizon is too vague or too unrealistic — that this will never work; but are glad we are doing it
Hearing all that from fellow delegates gave me hope because we were able to recognize that we are all pushing big rocks up very steep hills, and we are doing it because, to use Havel’s words, it is good work. I would add that it is holy work. That it matters. Our sharing with one another bolstered my sense of hope. One delegate said that she learned that the challenge is not so much to change someone on the other side, but to change how I view the other side. So we can live in some semblance of harmony with one another.
There are many hopeful things that I took away from our three days together. What stands out is a workshop I led with a colleague and friend on” Bridging the Divide on Firearms”. For the past two years he and I have been part of a panel of 23 people who have experience and credibility on the gun issue (we had equal representation from both sides of this polarizing issue) who — following a Braver Angels type process — came up with a set of proposal on gun safety that neither side was completely happy with. There was some serious horse trading and consensus building that we had to work through. It was hard work. Some attendees at the workshop, recognizing that the proposal honored both sides of the firearm debate and the civility and respect that framed that debate, expressed interest in bringing the proposal to their state legislators. It will take a lot of work. Another big rock up a steep hill. And it may not work out. I am not optimistic.
But I am hopeful.
