Active Hope. Joanna Macy
We begin with gratitude, remembering the words of Thich Nhat Hanh: “If you are a poet, you will see clearly that there is a cloud floating in this sheet of paper. Without a cloud, there will be no rain; without rain, the trees cannot grow: and without trees, we cannot make paper.” So it is with this book. Without all those who’ve played supporting roles, it would simply not be here. So our thanks extends to all who have helped, particularly:
The core team involved in its production. Early on in our book-writing journey, we were joined by two people who understood what we were setting out to do and who were with us in this purpose: our agent, Suresh Ariaratnam, and our editor, Jason Gardner. What a relief to have you alongside us. Thank you. We’re grateful to Dori Midnight for the wonderful spiral illustration in chapter 2, to Dave Baines for the two intriguing spirals of time in chapter 8, and to all at New World Library for the different roles they’ve played, particularly Mimi Kusch for copy editing, Monique Muhlenkamp for publicity, Tona Pearce Myers for the interior design, Tracy Cunningham for the cover design, and Munro Magruder for marketing. We would like also to thank the many who have inspired us, particularly those we’ve quoted, such as John Robbins, John Seed, Rebecca Solnit, Tom Atlee, Nelson Mandela, and the late Arne Naess and Elise Boulding.
The many friends and family who have supported us while writing. Joanna’s husband, Fran, supported us right from the beginning. We have felt him as a powerful ally, even after his death in 2009. Joanna particularly thanks her assistant Anne Symens-Bucher, her children, Peggy, Jack, and Christopher, and her grandchildren, Julien, Eliza, and Lydia. Chris’s wife, Kirsty, encouraged him through writing ups and downs; his mum, Sheila, brother, Dave, and sister, Diana, were great allies too. Hamish Cormack interviewed Chris about each chapter and commented on early drafts. We received invaluable and encouraging feedback from our panel of “test readers,” which included Roz Chissick, Marion McCartney, Philip Raby, Helen Moore, Manu Song, Edi Hamilton, Pete Black, Sally Lever, Alex Wildwood, and Sue Mann. Our dear friend Kathleen Sullivan, who has known us both for decades, has been a friend of our writing too, and we thank her.
The countless colleagues in the Work That Reconnects, who have engaged with it as a practice, offered it in places all over the planet, and added their own distinctive contributions. As we take the essence of this approach to wider audiences, we are aware of the ways you have enriched it; our pleasure in your company is boundless.
“Dangerous,” “frightening,” “out of control” — as we go around the room, people are calling out the word or phrase that comes to mind as they complete this sentence: “When I consider the condition of our world, I think things are getting…” Over the last few decades, we’ve done this process with tens of thousands of people in a wide range of settings. The responses we hear echo survey findings that show high levels of alarm about the future we’re heading into.1
Such widespread anxiety is well-founded. As our world heats up, deserts expand and extreme weather events become more common. Human population and consumption are increasing at the same time as essential resources, such as freshwater, fish stocks, topsoil, and oil reserves, are in decline. While reversals in the economy have left many feeling desperate about how they’re going to manage, trillions of dollars are spent on the making of war.2 Given these adversities, it is no surprise if we experience a profound loss of confidence in the future. We can no longer take it for granted that the resources we’re dependent on — food, fuel, and drinkable water — will be available. We can no longer take it for granted even that our civilization will survive or that conditions on our planet will remain hospitable for complex forms of life.
We are starting out by naming this uncertainty as a pivotal psychological reality of our time. Yet because it is usually considered too depressing to talk about, it tends to remain an unspoken presence at the backs of our minds. Sometimes we’re aware of it. We just don’t mention it. This blocked communication generates a peril even more deadly, for the greatest danger of our times is the deadening of our response.
We often hear comments such as “Don’t go there, it is too depressing” and “Don’t dwell on the negative.” The problem with this approach is that it closes down our conversations and our thinking. How can we even begin to tackle the mess we’re in if we consider it too depressing to think about?
Yet when we do face the mess, when we do let in the dreadful news of multiple tragedies unfolding in our world, it can feel overwhelming. We may wonder whether we can do anything about it anyway.
So this is where we begin — by acknowledging that our times confront us with realities that are painful to face, difficult to take in, and confusing to live with. Our approach is to see this as the starting point of an amazing journey that strengthens us and deepens our aliveness. The purpose of this journey is to find, offer, and receive the gift of Active Hope.
WHAT IS ACTIVE HOPE?
Whatever situation we face, we can choose our response. When facing overwhelming challenges, we might feel that our actions don’t count for much. Yet the kind of responses we make, and the degree to which we believe they count, are shaped by the way we think and feel about hope. Here’s an example.
Jane cared deeply about the world and was horrified by what she saw happening. She regarded human beings as a lost cause, as so stuck in our destructive ways that she saw the complete wrecking of our world as inevitable. “What’s the point of doing anything if it won’t change what we’re heading for?” she asked.
The word hope has two different meanings. The first involves hopefulness, where our preferred outcome seems reasonably likely to happen. If we require this kind of hope before we commit ourselves to an action, our response gets blocked in areas where we don’t rate our chances too high. This is what happened for Jane — she felt so hopeless she didn’t see the point of even trying to do anything.
The second meaning is about desire. When Jane was asked what she’d like to have happen in our world, without hesitation she described the future she hoped for, the kind of world she longed for so much it hurt. It is this kind of hope that starts our journey — knowing what we hope for and what we’d like, or love, to take place. It is what we do with this hope that really makes the difference. Passive hope is about waiting for external agencies to bring about what we desire. Active Hope is about becoming active participants in bringing about what we hope for.
Active Hope is a practice. Like tai chi or gardening, it is something we do rather than have. It is a process we can apply to any situation, and it involves three key steps. First, we take a clear view of reality; second, we identify what we hope for in terms of the direction we’d like things to move in or the values we’d like to see expressed; and third, we take steps to move ourselves or our situation in that direction.
Since Active Hope doesn’t require our optimism, we can apply it even in areas where we feel hopeless. The guiding impetus is intention; we choose what we aim to bring about, act for, or express. Rather than weighing our chances and proceeding only when we feel hopeful, we focus on our intention and let it be our guide.
THE GIFT IS BOTH GIVEN AND RECEIVED
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